THE NORTH RIDING PROJECT

It is only the Ceausescus we see, sitting at a small table in a Targoviste bunker.  They were defiant to the end, and strangely tender in their small proprieties.  It is always the small proprieties that stick in the mind. Perhaps it’s because they seem to take death’s measure and, for a brief moment, to square up to it: the way she buttons up her coat and juts out her chin decisively; the way he strokes her hand, smoothes his hair, puffs out his chest.

McGuiness/Hundred, 2011