FACE TO FACE WITH TERRORISTS WIFE
FACE TO FACE WITH TERRORIST'S WIFE
From EXTRA reporter, SEAN O'DRISCOLL, In Dublin
FOR a brief moment, two worlds met in the public gallery of the Special Criminal Court in Dublin yesterday.
Michael Gallagher, who lost his son in the Omagh bombing, was chatting with a journalist when Colm Murphy's wife stood behind him, waiting to get past. He turned back to see who was there and they instantly averted their eyes. He looked at his sleeve, she looked at the ground.
Anne Murphy walked past, looking straight ahead as she squeezed past person after person who had lost a loved one to a bombing plotted by her husband. The two sides retook their seats and waited - one side surrounded by journalist and supporters, ordinary people who had been caught in a situation that they could never have foreseen. Sitting on the other side of the gallery were a small group of people well used to the public galleries of terrorist courts. Anne Murphy was there with her sisters, along with a former IRA prisoner and a young woman from Republican Sinn Fein.
Convicted
After that moment, there was no contact between the two sides, apart from a quick glance to check reactions as the courtroom scene rolled on.
The Omagh group were seen clasping their hands and smiling as Justice Barr told defence counsel Michael O'Higgins to sit down and stop interrupting. Mr O'Higgins had tried to block garda evidence about the terrible events in Omagh in August 1998, as if they had no relevance to the court proceedings. "This court has no doubt that this case relates to the events in Omagh on that day, and that you client has been convicted in relation to those events," said Justice Barr, and a sigh of relief spread from one Omagh victim to another. They had not come this far to hear that their pain was not relevant. The other side of the public gallery registered their disgust.
The three judges left the court and after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, they returned to deliver their sentence. The Omagh families had waited more than three years for this moment. They stood up as the judges entered the room. On the other side of the room, only the Murphy family and close friends stood up, perhaps hoping a last-minute display of courtesy might help their his chances.
Fourteen years. Liz Gibson sat back in her chair and looked straight ahead. Three years ago, her sister Esther was murdered with the help of a man who stood just to her right.
Questions
Murphy was finally standing there, as the words of Justice Barr wrung in his ears. Fourteen years.
Reporters rushed to tell the news to a waiting world. Satellite dishes were pointed skyward and a long line of journalists rushed to their laptops in cafes all over the surrounding streets. The Murphy family left quickly, having barely enough time to wave their relative goodbye.
The Omagh families hugged each other and stepped out into the rain. Questions flew every direction, lightbulbs flashed, TV cameras pointed close to their faces. Some said they were relieved, others just wanted if over. Moments passed and the families started to drift away.
The last one left was Kevin Skelton, whose wife went into Omagh to do some shopping and never came back. As the families walked quietly to cafes nearby, he stood in the pouring rain as reporter after reporter asked him for comment.
"I didn't care what Murphy got. I just wanted to hear it," he said. 14 years. It was the words that everyone wanted to hear.
From EXTRA reporter, SEAN O'DRISCOLL, In Dublin
FOR a brief moment, two worlds met in the public gallery of the Special Criminal Court in Dublin yesterday.
Michael Gallagher, who lost his son in the Omagh bombing, was chatting with a journalist when Colm Murphy's wife stood behind him, waiting to get past. He turned back to see who was there and they instantly averted their eyes. He looked at his sleeve, she looked at the ground.
Anne Murphy walked past, looking straight ahead as she squeezed past person after person who had lost a loved one to a bombing plotted by her husband. The two sides retook their seats and waited - one side surrounded by journalist and supporters, ordinary people who had been caught in a situation that they could never have foreseen. Sitting on the other side of the gallery were a small group of people well used to the public galleries of terrorist courts. Anne Murphy was there with her sisters, along with a former IRA prisoner and a young woman from Republican Sinn Fein.
Convicted
After that moment, there was no contact between the two sides, apart from a quick glance to check reactions as the courtroom scene rolled on.
The Omagh group were seen clasping their hands and smiling as Justice Barr told defence counsel Michael O'Higgins to sit down and stop interrupting. Mr O'Higgins had tried to block garda evidence about the terrible events in Omagh in August 1998, as if they had no relevance to the court proceedings. "This court has no doubt that this case relates to the events in Omagh on that day, and that you client has been convicted in relation to those events," said Justice Barr, and a sigh of relief spread from one Omagh victim to another. They had not come this far to hear that their pain was not relevant. The other side of the public gallery registered their disgust.
The three judges left the court and after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, they returned to deliver their sentence. The Omagh families had waited more than three years for this moment. They stood up as the judges entered the room. On the other side of the room, only the Murphy family and close friends stood up, perhaps hoping a last-minute display of courtesy might help their his chances.
Fourteen years. Liz Gibson sat back in her chair and looked straight ahead. Three years ago, her sister Esther was murdered with the help of a man who stood just to her right.
Questions
Murphy was finally standing there, as the words of Justice Barr wrung in his ears. Fourteen years.
Reporters rushed to tell the news to a waiting world. Satellite dishes were pointed skyward and a long line of journalists rushed to their laptops in cafes all over the surrounding streets. The Murphy family left quickly, having barely enough time to wave their relative goodbye.
The Omagh families hugged each other and stepped out into the rain. Questions flew every direction, lightbulbs flashed, TV cameras pointed close to their faces. Some said they were relieved, others just wanted if over. Moments passed and the families started to drift away.
The last one left was Kevin Skelton, whose wife went into Omagh to do some shopping and never came back. As the families walked quietly to cafes nearby, he stood in the pouring rain as reporter after reporter asked him for comment.
"I didn't care what Murphy got. I just wanted to hear it," he said. 14 years. It was the words that everyone wanted to hear.
Further Information
Publisher: BELFAST TELEGRAPH EXTRA
Ref: BT/0841
Published Date: 26-Jan-02
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