NEVER THE SAME AGAIN
Never the same again
By MIRIAM LORD
IN terms of the mourning process, Omagh's parlour is still crowded. The town has suffered an immeasurable loss, and friends have gathered to pay their respects.
People who left this place decades ago have returned to be with their own kind at this terrible time it is the right, the only, thing to do. They heard about the bomb and they got in their cars and they drove back to Co Tyrone from all over Ireland and far beyond.
The roads into this town have been busier in the last two days than they have been in a long while.
And like family funerals this community's wait is a mixture of deep sadness, unexpected reunion and fond reminiscence.
The 28 who died in the weekend atrocity and the others whose lives will never be the same again have found that their kin extends to the 12,000 or so residents of this community and the many, many others who left to set up a life away from the banks of the river Camowen. Yesterday, in their droves, they went to the spot on the bridge and made their floral tributes.
Just like any funeral.
There is much happening to take the minds of the stricken relatives off the sheer horror of what has taken place. But when the private funerals are over and the commiserating dignitaries have left and the hectic media circus has upped stakes, they and their town will be left alone with their sorrow.
In a few days a real quietness will descend. Just like in any home when the funeral rights and rituals have passed. It is only then that the people of Omagh will realise the depth of the catastrophe that has befallen them.
It was a worry spoken of in whispers and the streets yesterday.
"You will all move away and there will be another story, but we will have to live with this for the rest of our lives,'' said one woman.
All day yesterday, a steady stream of locals walked through the line of cameras on Drumragh bridge bearing their tributes with dignity. Many of them were in tears as they stopped and said a silent prayer before moving away. Children often bewildered by the scene before them asked their mammies why they were there. "It's for the little boys and girls who died,'' they were told.
Among those who came home when they heard the news was Pat O'Malley, wife of former PD leader Des O'Malley. Pat grew up in McAleer's pub, just a few hundred yards away from the scene of the blast.
When it happened, her sister Bernie was sitting in the office of her travel agency when the windows came in. Luckily, they had been closed that afternoon so no staff were in the front of the building. Meanwhile, only a few doors away, their 91-year-old mother was in the hairdressers. That premises escaped any damage.
Clearly upset, Pat mentioned the names of all the people she knew who had been killed or injured. But in the same breath, she spoke of those who had lucky escapes. Stories of the man who turned sideways at the right time, or the woman who fell in a certain way are legion.
The McAleer family are used to bombs, the pub has been blown up on at least three occasions. But each time a proper warning was given.
Not last weekend though and the people of Omagh cannot understand why their bomb didn't go by the rules.
As a result, we had to witness the harrowing scene yesterday of one woman's distress as she made her way as if in a trance to lay flowers in memory of her sister. Caroline Gibson looked on the verge of collapse as two people steered her through the crowd. Afterwards, looking completely dazed, she commented "I don't want to be alive. I want to be up there with her.''
And she raised her head towards heaven.
Already though, the comings and goings of distraught townspeople were beginning to take second place to the sound bytes of visiting politicians.
David Trimble was first to survey the site in the morning. He left the scene grim faced and when he was asked "is this a setback?'' He reeled around and spat out an emphatic "No''.
And still the grim task of identifying the last few bodies remained. By lunch time the RUC were able to issue a list of 27 names. The last on the list had been identified through finger prints and there was still one more identity to be confirmed.
Now it is down to the survivors. Or, as one journalist put it, "the major story is the maimed''. Perhaps for us, but not for the people in this town who know what they will have to live with.
"Would you please give us quiet country people time to grieve. We want to weep in private,'' said Oliver Gibson, a DUP Councillor who lost his niece in the atrocity.
His words were sincere and moving as he stood, an elderly solid country man fighting to keep back the tears. For Peter Robinson and Willie McCrea and Robert McCarney, the words came much easier. In fact, you could stand 20 feet downwind of them and still hear their outraged comments.
Later in the evening, John Hume made a brief visit. He didn't stay too long, and when he bumped into Pat O'Malley, they embraced and cried. And the army officers behind the barriers continued to remove the mounds of flowers as they accumulated on the bridge, the most frequent message attached to the bouquets was "why''?
By MIRIAM LORD
IN terms of the mourning process, Omagh's parlour is still crowded. The town has suffered an immeasurable loss, and friends have gathered to pay their respects.
People who left this place decades ago have returned to be with their own kind at this terrible time it is the right, the only, thing to do. They heard about the bomb and they got in their cars and they drove back to Co Tyrone from all over Ireland and far beyond.
The roads into this town have been busier in the last two days than they have been in a long while.
And like family funerals this community's wait is a mixture of deep sadness, unexpected reunion and fond reminiscence.
The 28 who died in the weekend atrocity and the others whose lives will never be the same again have found that their kin extends to the 12,000 or so residents of this community and the many, many others who left to set up a life away from the banks of the river Camowen. Yesterday, in their droves, they went to the spot on the bridge and made their floral tributes.
Just like any funeral.
There is much happening to take the minds of the stricken relatives off the sheer horror of what has taken place. But when the private funerals are over and the commiserating dignitaries have left and the hectic media circus has upped stakes, they and their town will be left alone with their sorrow.
In a few days a real quietness will descend. Just like in any home when the funeral rights and rituals have passed. It is only then that the people of Omagh will realise the depth of the catastrophe that has befallen them.
It was a worry spoken of in whispers and the streets yesterday.
"You will all move away and there will be another story, but we will have to live with this for the rest of our lives,'' said one woman.
All day yesterday, a steady stream of locals walked through the line of cameras on Drumragh bridge bearing their tributes with dignity. Many of them were in tears as they stopped and said a silent prayer before moving away. Children often bewildered by the scene before them asked their mammies why they were there. "It's for the little boys and girls who died,'' they were told.
Among those who came home when they heard the news was Pat O'Malley, wife of former PD leader Des O'Malley. Pat grew up in McAleer's pub, just a few hundred yards away from the scene of the blast.
When it happened, her sister Bernie was sitting in the office of her travel agency when the windows came in. Luckily, they had been closed that afternoon so no staff were in the front of the building. Meanwhile, only a few doors away, their 91-year-old mother was in the hairdressers. That premises escaped any damage.
Clearly upset, Pat mentioned the names of all the people she knew who had been killed or injured. But in the same breath, she spoke of those who had lucky escapes. Stories of the man who turned sideways at the right time, or the woman who fell in a certain way are legion.
The McAleer family are used to bombs, the pub has been blown up on at least three occasions. But each time a proper warning was given.
Not last weekend though and the people of Omagh cannot understand why their bomb didn't go by the rules.
As a result, we had to witness the harrowing scene yesterday of one woman's distress as she made her way as if in a trance to lay flowers in memory of her sister. Caroline Gibson looked on the verge of collapse as two people steered her through the crowd. Afterwards, looking completely dazed, she commented "I don't want to be alive. I want to be up there with her.''
And she raised her head towards heaven.
Already though, the comings and goings of distraught townspeople were beginning to take second place to the sound bytes of visiting politicians.
David Trimble was first to survey the site in the morning. He left the scene grim faced and when he was asked "is this a setback?'' He reeled around and spat out an emphatic "No''.
And still the grim task of identifying the last few bodies remained. By lunch time the RUC were able to issue a list of 27 names. The last on the list had been identified through finger prints and there was still one more identity to be confirmed.
Now it is down to the survivors. Or, as one journalist put it, "the major story is the maimed''. Perhaps for us, but not for the people in this town who know what they will have to live with.
"Would you please give us quiet country people time to grieve. We want to weep in private,'' said Oliver Gibson, a DUP Councillor who lost his niece in the atrocity.
His words were sincere and moving as he stood, an elderly solid country man fighting to keep back the tears. For Peter Robinson and Willie McCrea and Robert McCarney, the words came much easier. In fact, you could stand 20 feet downwind of them and still hear their outraged comments.
Later in the evening, John Hume made a brief visit. He didn't stay too long, and when he bumped into Pat O'Malley, they embraced and cried. And the army officers behind the barriers continued to remove the mounds of flowers as they accumulated on the bridge, the most frequent message attached to the bouquets was "why''?
Further Information
Publisher: IRISH INDEPENDENT
Ref: II/174
Published Date: 18-Aug-98
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