NO FANFARES AS A PRINCE CALLS TO PAY HIS RESPECTS
No fanfares as a prince calls to pay his respects
By MIRIAM LORD
TO the prayers of the people were added the prayers of a prince. To the ocean of sympathies, he offered his own. And to the monument of flowers, he tendered a simple arrangement.
No more and no less than anybody else. Because yesterday in Omagh, royalty held no distinction. Grief is not impressed by an aristocratic bearing. Sorrow recognises no title.
No royal visit of recent times was ever like this. A Prince of the Realm in an Ulster garrison town, and not a red carpet, brass band or receiving line in sight. There was no cheering or flag-waving. Just a solitary Union Jack flying half mast from the courthouse building.
The Prince of Wales had come to pay his respects to the residents of this shattered town. In the midst of their great loss and shining dignity, they couldn't but be humble. There could be no show of pomp or ceremony on this occasion.
Yet it was a visit that was welcome, as it was necessary to boost the ebbing spirit of the community. Above all, the visit had to be handled with the utmost sensitivity.
With a genuine sincerity that never strayed towards the saccharine and a willingness to spend time listening to people, Prince Charles ensured that what could have turned into a tacky, media-driven affair remained a low-key and fitting tribute to the victims dead and living of Saturday's bomb blast.
The turnout along High St wasn't huge. Many were there because they had chosen that particular time to come and lay floral tributes.
The flowers piled up outside Wattersons drapery, which lost three employees Anne McCombe (49), Vida Short (56) and Geraldine Breslin (43). The shop wasn't damaged; it was just bad luck that the three happened to be down the town at the wrong moment.
Then there were the tributes a few doors down outside Oxfam where schoolgirl Samantha McFarland worked part-time.
Lots of the cards were written in girlish handwriting embellished with felt pen pink hearts and kisses. "Saturdays will never be the same again, love Sorcha'', read one.
Hours before the Prince arrived, townspeople were venturing out, still talking in whispers, still looking beyond the security tape in disbelief.
"Remembering you all a widow of the troubles'', said another card tacked to a bunch of carnations.
It was into this fragile atmosphere that Charles had to venture. Discreetly positioned RUC men watched from buildings overhead. There didn't appear to be any troops about and the police presence seemed light for the category A type visit.
Just after ten minutes to three, eight motorcycle outriders and a six car cavalcade heralded the arrival.
Charles stepped from a bullet-proof Ford Scorpio and was greeted by David Trimble, Seamus Mallon and a local MP Willie Thompson. Introductions were short and businesslike and the Prince, wearing a grey suit and a black tie made immediately for the crowd.
EERIE SILENCE
His walkabout was conducted in an almost eerie silence. People greeted him respectfully.
One of the first women he met was Joy Camley, a widowed mother of four whose face still bore the wounds of glass shrapnel she sustained while sitting in a coffee shop.
When she told the prince she lost a relative he replied he understood what she must be going through as he had suffered when his great uncle Lord Mountbatten was killed.
He moved slowly with no sense of urgency along the barrier asking people how the atrocity had affected them and their families.
He looked straight at them, warm and interested, clutching hands and touching shoulders.
Mo Mowlam lifted two little girls over the barrier so they could meet the prince.
"I hope you are having a good holiday despite everything...all these awful things that have happened'', he smiled at one little boy.
When Kathleen Winters told him how she had been in the crowd mistakenly herded towards the bomb, he said to her: "I feel sorry for the policemen who pushed you into the arms of that bomb.''
Indeed, there is very little resentment in Omagh against the police. Responsibility rests solely with the depraved individuals who placed the device.
MESSAGES FROM SOUTH
And so the little group proceeded down the hill to stop outside Wattersons where both the prince and Dr Mowlam read the tributes.
There they would have seen messages from the Houston family from Sligo or the McEvoys from Togher, Dundalk or Phyllis and Arthur from Dublin.
Then, he laid his own floral tribute, an unostentatious arrangement of summer blooms to blend in among the garden roses and home-grown sweet peas and garage forecourt mixed bunches.
When he left there was no applause. People drifted away and the silence descended again. In the early evening the sounds of Abide With Me drifted across the air.
By MIRIAM LORD
TO the prayers of the people were added the prayers of a prince. To the ocean of sympathies, he offered his own. And to the monument of flowers, he tendered a simple arrangement.
No more and no less than anybody else. Because yesterday in Omagh, royalty held no distinction. Grief is not impressed by an aristocratic bearing. Sorrow recognises no title.
No royal visit of recent times was ever like this. A Prince of the Realm in an Ulster garrison town, and not a red carpet, brass band or receiving line in sight. There was no cheering or flag-waving. Just a solitary Union Jack flying half mast from the courthouse building.
The Prince of Wales had come to pay his respects to the residents of this shattered town. In the midst of their great loss and shining dignity, they couldn't but be humble. There could be no show of pomp or ceremony on this occasion.
Yet it was a visit that was welcome, as it was necessary to boost the ebbing spirit of the community. Above all, the visit had to be handled with the utmost sensitivity.
With a genuine sincerity that never strayed towards the saccharine and a willingness to spend time listening to people, Prince Charles ensured that what could have turned into a tacky, media-driven affair remained a low-key and fitting tribute to the victims dead and living of Saturday's bomb blast.
The turnout along High St wasn't huge. Many were there because they had chosen that particular time to come and lay floral tributes.
The flowers piled up outside Wattersons drapery, which lost three employees Anne McCombe (49), Vida Short (56) and Geraldine Breslin (43). The shop wasn't damaged; it was just bad luck that the three happened to be down the town at the wrong moment.
Then there were the tributes a few doors down outside Oxfam where schoolgirl Samantha McFarland worked part-time.
Lots of the cards were written in girlish handwriting embellished with felt pen pink hearts and kisses. "Saturdays will never be the same again, love Sorcha'', read one.
Hours before the Prince arrived, townspeople were venturing out, still talking in whispers, still looking beyond the security tape in disbelief.
"Remembering you all a widow of the troubles'', said another card tacked to a bunch of carnations.
It was into this fragile atmosphere that Charles had to venture. Discreetly positioned RUC men watched from buildings overhead. There didn't appear to be any troops about and the police presence seemed light for the category A type visit.
Just after ten minutes to three, eight motorcycle outriders and a six car cavalcade heralded the arrival.
Charles stepped from a bullet-proof Ford Scorpio and was greeted by David Trimble, Seamus Mallon and a local MP Willie Thompson. Introductions were short and businesslike and the Prince, wearing a grey suit and a black tie made immediately for the crowd.
EERIE SILENCE
His walkabout was conducted in an almost eerie silence. People greeted him respectfully.
One of the first women he met was Joy Camley, a widowed mother of four whose face still bore the wounds of glass shrapnel she sustained while sitting in a coffee shop.
When she told the prince she lost a relative he replied he understood what she must be going through as he had suffered when his great uncle Lord Mountbatten was killed.
He moved slowly with no sense of urgency along the barrier asking people how the atrocity had affected them and their families.
He looked straight at them, warm and interested, clutching hands and touching shoulders.
Mo Mowlam lifted two little girls over the barrier so they could meet the prince.
"I hope you are having a good holiday despite everything...all these awful things that have happened'', he smiled at one little boy.
When Kathleen Winters told him how she had been in the crowd mistakenly herded towards the bomb, he said to her: "I feel sorry for the policemen who pushed you into the arms of that bomb.''
Indeed, there is very little resentment in Omagh against the police. Responsibility rests solely with the depraved individuals who placed the device.
MESSAGES FROM SOUTH
And so the little group proceeded down the hill to stop outside Wattersons where both the prince and Dr Mowlam read the tributes.
There they would have seen messages from the Houston family from Sligo or the McEvoys from Togher, Dundalk or Phyllis and Arthur from Dublin.
Then, he laid his own floral tribute, an unostentatious arrangement of summer blooms to blend in among the garden roses and home-grown sweet peas and garage forecourt mixed bunches.
When he left there was no applause. People drifted away and the silence descended again. In the early evening the sounds of Abide With Me drifted across the air.
Further Information
Publisher: IRISH INDEPENDENT
Ref: II/185
Published Date: 19-Aug-98
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