WORDS OF COMFORT SEEMED TOTALLY INADEQUATE REFLECTS CON EDITOR
Words of comfort seemed totally inadequate', reflects 'Con' editor
Wesley Atchison, editor of the Tyrone Constitution, recalls the day that changed Omagh forever, and the harrowing time that was to follow. He stood side-by-side with a community torn apart by a terrorist car bomb, and brought together in grief. The support and compassion Omagh was shown back in 1998, he says, is needed now as much as ever, as we face the 10th anniversary of our greatest tragedy.
"Nothing will ever eradicate from my mind the horror that was visited on the people of Omagh and district on what should have been a carefree, happy Saturday afternoon.
Nothing can bring back the loved ones whose lives were so cruelly cut short. Nothing can take away memories of the terrible injuries inflicted on so many.
Equally nothing can erase the wonderful sense of community that prevailed in the wake of the atrocity and the resilience of a people left with such deep wounds - physically and mentally.
Omagh is the town where I was born - the town where I have worked with this newspaper for some 34 years and where I live - the town where my father before me worked in the former WJ Johnston's in High Street for several decades.
It is a town and its people I have taken to heart - but it is a town which had its own heart ripped apart on that dark day of August 15, 1998.
On that beautiful, bright sunny morning - as families thronged the streets in preparation for the return to school - my wife and I brought my mother into town.
Visiting Russells and Watterson's in High Street that morning, welcoming and helpful staff were going about their business as any other day. As my mother made some purchases in Watterson's ladies department, I talked and joked with the assistants whom I knew. Little did I think it would be the last time I would enjoy that banter.
Hours later three of those same ladies were among the victims of the province's single worst atrocity, and Tom Watterson and his remaining staff were left to demonstrate remarkable courage as they regrouped in the weeks and months to come.
That afternoon, as staff at Forster Richardson's kindly gift-wrapped a special gift my mother had bought, the horror of the day began to unfold.
Sirens
The calm of that afternoon was replaced by the sound of sirens and police cars rushing up Market Street in the direction of the Courthouse.
Then more sirens could be heard. A bomb scare, I thought, on what seemed to be a good day's trading for businesses in the town.
I walked in the direction of Scarffe's Entry to see what was going on and became immediately aware of a swell of people being guided away from the upper end of the town. Tape was being put across the street. It was a very different scene from earlier.
I got the feeling that this may not be just another bomb scare.
I returned to the shop where I had left my mother, who was becoming some what concerned by the sirens and general mayhem on the street outside.
We should try to get out of here, I said to my wife. As I got into the car, parked on Market Street, I recall seeing some of those I had met in the town earlier, including the staff of Watterson's who had been evacuated. We exchanged greetings - the last time we would do so.
Although people were obviously frustrated at being put out of their premises, a relatively happy scene still prevailed.
The sun still shone, but the darkest cloud ever to envelop Omagh was just minutes away.
I managed to do a U-turn and go back down Market Street against the flow of traffic, which had already been stopped at the junction. As I did so, little did I realise that I must have driven past the parked car with its deadly cargo outside Kells shop -but for the Grace of God......
I can still vividly recall familiar faces as I drove to the Market Street-Drumragh Avenue-Dublin Road junction where we were directed out by traffic warden, Rosemary Ingram, another familiar face on the streets in those days.
I remember Rosemary telling me later that mine was the last car to emerge from Market Street before tragedy struck. We were out of harm's way. Rosemary was not so lucky, I was to discover later, suffering severe injuries. To this day she still lives with the pain.
My journey then took me to Dunne's car park on Irishtown Road and we had literally just entered the store when the explosion took place. Cardboard 'Summer Sale' signs fell from the roof.
I knew instantly that a dastardly deed had been done - but I could never have imagined the extent.
With my mother growing ever more concerned, and a little weak, it was time to get her and my wife home to the Hospital Road. As we did so, the first casualties were being ferried to the hospital.
Things did not look good, I remarked. The biggest understatement I ever made.
Immediately afterwards I made my way to the Tyrone County Hospital, where there were scenes of chaos.
I remember a woman screaming - 'have you a car, we have to go to the Erne Hospital in Enniskillen. Please find a car...'
At this stage I had no idea of the extent of the tragedy, but it soon became apparent. At the back of the hospital people were running about everywhere. A man sat in a chair with a makeshift bandage on his arm. Another frantic man was being restrained from looking under a white sheet.
My mobile phone was snatched from my hand by someone desperate to make a call to glean information on a loved one. Confusion reigned. Terror was written over faces.
Soon stretchers were being rushed to the helipad with patients being transferred to other hospitals. The prevailing sound then was of military helicopters landing and departing as they transported shattered bodies.
I met many people I knew at the hospital. Some told me of loved ones who had been injured - others of missing relatives. Words of comfort seemed totally inadequate.
Then the numbered murdered began to filter through - 10, 12, 19, perhaps over 20 - where was it going to stop? Like so many, I was in something of a daze.
Could this be happening in the town I loved so well? Could such suffering have been heaped on it?
As the evening wore on I realised there was an insatiable appetite for information from the world's media.
As the editor of a local newspaper, I became a source of contact. But I, too, had to try to get my head around how we, as a relatively small weekly newspaper, could cover a story of such magnitude.
Then news came through that foreign visitors may have been killed -visitors to the town.
Little babies may have been among the carnage.
The tragedy grew and grew as darkness fell.
The long and heartbreaking task of identifying the dead and injured began. The hospital was inundated with more and more relatives searching for their loved ones.
The work done and the lives saved in the 'County' hospital must never be forgotten - and that is something which makes it so difficult for me to accept how it has been stripped of so many services since.
The town's leisure centre was converted for use as an emergency collation centre for lists of those injured as their names became known. When I reached there on the Saturday night anxious parents, families, friends scanned them, showing obvious relief when the names of the missing people they were searching for appeared. Others had to endure the anguish and pain through the night and into Sunday before they discovered the worst - that their son, daughter, parent, friend was among the dead.
Emergency mortuary facilities were made available at Lisanelly Camp and bodies were taken there, while the grim task of identification went on.
At 2am I walked out of the leisure centre with Rev Robert Herron and Rev John Murdoch. They informed me that the Moderator of the Presbyterian Church in Ireland would lead a service for local Presbyterians in First Omagh church the next morning. I was there.
As I sat in the pew the reality of the extend of the tragedy sank in for the first time. This was something I never expected to experience, despite having been to the scene of all too many senseless murders through my time with the 'Con' starting back in 1973-74.
Then came a tap on my shoulder - we would like you to do an live interview for radio in half an hour's time. To this day I am glad I refused and stayed in the peace of the church deriving what little strength I could to deal with the workload and emotions of what lay ahead.
Monday morning brought six live interviews before 9am and in Omagh's High Street the scene was one of disbelief. Business was at a standstill. People stood around in huddles.
But as the local newspaper, the shutters had to go up - the news had to be told.
It was not easy but the staff responded magnificently in all departments, even though they too were feeling the anguish and pain.
I received much encouragement and support from many quarters, for which I will always be grateful.
As the stories emerged, I was constantly mindful of the great suffering out there in the community. Many of the victims were well-known to me. We had to be sensitive. We had to treat the bereaved as gently as we could. We did not want to add to the pain.
To that end the families of the bereaved and injured showed remarkable strength in speaking of their loved ones.
As I left the office on the Monday night it was late, dark, wet, eerie. I emerged onto High Street and outside Watterson's shop someone had lit candles -one in memory of each of the deceased. The only sound was the sobs of a man sitting on his knees at those candles.
I did not know who he was, nor do I to this day. I placed my hand on his shoulder, but there were no words of mine adequate for that moment in time. I said a silent word of prayer and walked on.
That is one of a multitude of vivid memories.
The 'Con' that week headlined with 'Victims of the massacre that shocked the world'. On its completion in production I made my way into my office. Everyone had gone home. They had all played their part.
I put my head in my hands and shed tears. It was time to release some of the tension and remember personally the bereaved and suffering.
Tears in abundance were shed in the coming days as so many good and lovely people were laid to rest and final respects were paid.
More tears will be shed on this the 10th anniversary - but those who died must never be forgotten.
Deep wounds heal only slowly, someone wrote recently, and in some cases partially or not at all.
Utmost patience is needed in dealing with the legacy of Omagh and the good people of this town who suffered so much need every ounce of support, understanding and compassion now - just as they did 10 years ago."
Wesley Atchison, editor of the Tyrone Constitution, recalls the day that changed Omagh forever, and the harrowing time that was to follow. He stood side-by-side with a community torn apart by a terrorist car bomb, and brought together in grief. The support and compassion Omagh was shown back in 1998, he says, is needed now as much as ever, as we face the 10th anniversary of our greatest tragedy.
"Nothing will ever eradicate from my mind the horror that was visited on the people of Omagh and district on what should have been a carefree, happy Saturday afternoon.
Nothing can bring back the loved ones whose lives were so cruelly cut short. Nothing can take away memories of the terrible injuries inflicted on so many.
Equally nothing can erase the wonderful sense of community that prevailed in the wake of the atrocity and the resilience of a people left with such deep wounds - physically and mentally.
Omagh is the town where I was born - the town where I have worked with this newspaper for some 34 years and where I live - the town where my father before me worked in the former WJ Johnston's in High Street for several decades.
It is a town and its people I have taken to heart - but it is a town which had its own heart ripped apart on that dark day of August 15, 1998.
On that beautiful, bright sunny morning - as families thronged the streets in preparation for the return to school - my wife and I brought my mother into town.
Visiting Russells and Watterson's in High Street that morning, welcoming and helpful staff were going about their business as any other day. As my mother made some purchases in Watterson's ladies department, I talked and joked with the assistants whom I knew. Little did I think it would be the last time I would enjoy that banter.
Hours later three of those same ladies were among the victims of the province's single worst atrocity, and Tom Watterson and his remaining staff were left to demonstrate remarkable courage as they regrouped in the weeks and months to come.
That afternoon, as staff at Forster Richardson's kindly gift-wrapped a special gift my mother had bought, the horror of the day began to unfold.
Sirens
The calm of that afternoon was replaced by the sound of sirens and police cars rushing up Market Street in the direction of the Courthouse.
Then more sirens could be heard. A bomb scare, I thought, on what seemed to be a good day's trading for businesses in the town.
I walked in the direction of Scarffe's Entry to see what was going on and became immediately aware of a swell of people being guided away from the upper end of the town. Tape was being put across the street. It was a very different scene from earlier.
I got the feeling that this may not be just another bomb scare.
I returned to the shop where I had left my mother, who was becoming some what concerned by the sirens and general mayhem on the street outside.
We should try to get out of here, I said to my wife. As I got into the car, parked on Market Street, I recall seeing some of those I had met in the town earlier, including the staff of Watterson's who had been evacuated. We exchanged greetings - the last time we would do so.
Although people were obviously frustrated at being put out of their premises, a relatively happy scene still prevailed.
The sun still shone, but the darkest cloud ever to envelop Omagh was just minutes away.
I managed to do a U-turn and go back down Market Street against the flow of traffic, which had already been stopped at the junction. As I did so, little did I realise that I must have driven past the parked car with its deadly cargo outside Kells shop -but for the Grace of God......
I can still vividly recall familiar faces as I drove to the Market Street-Drumragh Avenue-Dublin Road junction where we were directed out by traffic warden, Rosemary Ingram, another familiar face on the streets in those days.
I remember Rosemary telling me later that mine was the last car to emerge from Market Street before tragedy struck. We were out of harm's way. Rosemary was not so lucky, I was to discover later, suffering severe injuries. To this day she still lives with the pain.
My journey then took me to Dunne's car park on Irishtown Road and we had literally just entered the store when the explosion took place. Cardboard 'Summer Sale' signs fell from the roof.
I knew instantly that a dastardly deed had been done - but I could never have imagined the extent.
With my mother growing ever more concerned, and a little weak, it was time to get her and my wife home to the Hospital Road. As we did so, the first casualties were being ferried to the hospital.
Things did not look good, I remarked. The biggest understatement I ever made.
Immediately afterwards I made my way to the Tyrone County Hospital, where there were scenes of chaos.
I remember a woman screaming - 'have you a car, we have to go to the Erne Hospital in Enniskillen. Please find a car...'
At this stage I had no idea of the extent of the tragedy, but it soon became apparent. At the back of the hospital people were running about everywhere. A man sat in a chair with a makeshift bandage on his arm. Another frantic man was being restrained from looking under a white sheet.
My mobile phone was snatched from my hand by someone desperate to make a call to glean information on a loved one. Confusion reigned. Terror was written over faces.
Soon stretchers were being rushed to the helipad with patients being transferred to other hospitals. The prevailing sound then was of military helicopters landing and departing as they transported shattered bodies.
I met many people I knew at the hospital. Some told me of loved ones who had been injured - others of missing relatives. Words of comfort seemed totally inadequate.
Then the numbered murdered began to filter through - 10, 12, 19, perhaps over 20 - where was it going to stop? Like so many, I was in something of a daze.
Could this be happening in the town I loved so well? Could such suffering have been heaped on it?
As the evening wore on I realised there was an insatiable appetite for information from the world's media.
As the editor of a local newspaper, I became a source of contact. But I, too, had to try to get my head around how we, as a relatively small weekly newspaper, could cover a story of such magnitude.
Then news came through that foreign visitors may have been killed -visitors to the town.
Little babies may have been among the carnage.
The tragedy grew and grew as darkness fell.
The long and heartbreaking task of identifying the dead and injured began. The hospital was inundated with more and more relatives searching for their loved ones.
The work done and the lives saved in the 'County' hospital must never be forgotten - and that is something which makes it so difficult for me to accept how it has been stripped of so many services since.
The town's leisure centre was converted for use as an emergency collation centre for lists of those injured as their names became known. When I reached there on the Saturday night anxious parents, families, friends scanned them, showing obvious relief when the names of the missing people they were searching for appeared. Others had to endure the anguish and pain through the night and into Sunday before they discovered the worst - that their son, daughter, parent, friend was among the dead.
Emergency mortuary facilities were made available at Lisanelly Camp and bodies were taken there, while the grim task of identification went on.
At 2am I walked out of the leisure centre with Rev Robert Herron and Rev John Murdoch. They informed me that the Moderator of the Presbyterian Church in Ireland would lead a service for local Presbyterians in First Omagh church the next morning. I was there.
As I sat in the pew the reality of the extend of the tragedy sank in for the first time. This was something I never expected to experience, despite having been to the scene of all too many senseless murders through my time with the 'Con' starting back in 1973-74.
Then came a tap on my shoulder - we would like you to do an live interview for radio in half an hour's time. To this day I am glad I refused and stayed in the peace of the church deriving what little strength I could to deal with the workload and emotions of what lay ahead.
Monday morning brought six live interviews before 9am and in Omagh's High Street the scene was one of disbelief. Business was at a standstill. People stood around in huddles.
But as the local newspaper, the shutters had to go up - the news had to be told.
It was not easy but the staff responded magnificently in all departments, even though they too were feeling the anguish and pain.
I received much encouragement and support from many quarters, for which I will always be grateful.
As the stories emerged, I was constantly mindful of the great suffering out there in the community. Many of the victims were well-known to me. We had to be sensitive. We had to treat the bereaved as gently as we could. We did not want to add to the pain.
To that end the families of the bereaved and injured showed remarkable strength in speaking of their loved ones.
As I left the office on the Monday night it was late, dark, wet, eerie. I emerged onto High Street and outside Watterson's shop someone had lit candles -one in memory of each of the deceased. The only sound was the sobs of a man sitting on his knees at those candles.
I did not know who he was, nor do I to this day. I placed my hand on his shoulder, but there were no words of mine adequate for that moment in time. I said a silent word of prayer and walked on.
That is one of a multitude of vivid memories.
The 'Con' that week headlined with 'Victims of the massacre that shocked the world'. On its completion in production I made my way into my office. Everyone had gone home. They had all played their part.
I put my head in my hands and shed tears. It was time to release some of the tension and remember personally the bereaved and suffering.
Tears in abundance were shed in the coming days as so many good and lovely people were laid to rest and final respects were paid.
More tears will be shed on this the 10th anniversary - but those who died must never be forgotten.
Deep wounds heal only slowly, someone wrote recently, and in some cases partially or not at all.
Utmost patience is needed in dealing with the legacy of Omagh and the good people of this town who suffered so much need every ounce of support, understanding and compassion now - just as they did 10 years ago."
Further Information
Publisher: TYRONE CONSTITUTION
Ref: TC10An/24
Published Date: 14-Aug-08
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