Five years after the Omagh bomb, Suzanne Breen hears how families of the 29 dead are united in grief but divided in how to move forward
In Market Street, Omagh, on a sparkling sunny day, it's difficult to imagine anything bad happening. Teenage girls are trying on skimpy dresses in Dorothy Perkins's sale. A middle-aged woman is deciding between "aubergine" and "rose" lipstick in Kelly's chemist. Two old men sit outside the tourist office, drawing on their pipes. The coffee shops are full of people escaping the heat.
It was a disturbingly similar day when a bomb exploded in the same street almost five years ago, bringing devastation to the town. Next Friday, Omagh will come to a standstill for the commemoration service. The families of the 29 dead and many of the 400 injured will take part. They will be united in their pain and grief, but there are divisions over the way forward.
"Some people want to remember. Others want to forget," says Father Kevin Mullan. "It's still too early to talk about forgiveness."
One of the first to arrive at the bomb scene, Mullan gave the last rites to the dead and dying. "I can still remember that awful bang at 3.10 p.m. - the sound of lives ending. I'd like to talk to the bombers, to see if they've had a change of heart."
The shops in Market Street have been rebuilt. There are no plaques at the site. A stranger would never suspect it once resembled hell: a child's leg by the footpath, the shoe still on it; a man bleeding on the street, his arm lying beside him. Human beings buried beneath concrete slabs.
Oliver Gibson, whose cousin Esther died, recalls that even days later the bomb site had "the smell of death".
Michael Gallagher's son Aiden (21) was killed by the 500lb Real IRA bomb. He had been buying jeans. His father, like many of the bereaved, has never gone back to Market Street, although he often visits the Memorial Garden where marigolds, dahlias, begonia, and roses present a rainbow of colour.
Gallagher breaks down in tears, recounting his son's last movements. They ran a garage - Aiden specialising in the bodywork, Michael fixing engines. "We were more like friends than father and son," he says.
He regrets not insisting on Aiden enjoying life more. "He worked so hard. He was sensible. He put a lot of effort and money into building the business. He only had one holiday. He went to Spain. I'm glad he had that."
Gallagher still hasn't received compensation for the death. "They offered me £20,000 for Aiden - the price of a new car. I refused it. If he had been a company director, we would get millions. People are unequal in the eyes of the law."
It's far from the worst case. An Omagh widow was offered £7,500 because her husband, who had suffered a stroke, wasn't working when he died.
Gallagher closed the garage and now runs the Omagh Victims' Group full-time from a Portakabin at the back of a carpark. One man, Colm Murphy, has been convicted in connection with the bombing. But, despite dozens of arrests, no one has been charged with the 29 deaths.
Gallagher is instrumental in a civil action against five men, including jailed "Real IRA" leader Michael McKevitt, whom the families allege were involved. He welcomes the British government's announcement yesterday that it will fund the case. "We have desperately needed more money. This is long overdue but very good news. We had raised £1 million but needed another £500,000."
However, he says he has become "deeply cynical since the bomb". Politicians have offered "pious words about Omagh but little real help. There is a lot of anger in this town."
Gallagher and other relatives are demanding a cross-Border public inquiry into the bombing. They have "very serious questions" about the failure to act on security intelligence which they suspect could have prevented it. They are also unhappy with the progress of the police investigation.
Gallagher says his group has received only £4,000 official funding in five years. "Victims' organisations securing money are those offering tea and a bus run. We are expected to bury our dead and be quiet. They don't want uncomfortable questions."
He challenges the emphasis on therapy for victims "at the expense of practical help". The state should offer victims money to go on holiday, he suggests. "For some people, that would be better than spending hours with a counsellor." He says a "victims' industry", of no assistance to those in need, has "mushroomed" in the North. "The people who print colour brochures about us are making huge profits."
For Gallagher, the campaign has meant putting his own life on hold for five years, "but the only way I can deal with my loss is to immerse myself in it".
Laurence Rush, whose wife, Libby (57), was blown up in the pine and cane-work shop she ran in Market Street, says he is "very weary of this battle - but it must continue until we get justice". He is feeling "down" as the fifth anniversary approaches.
"I just want it over. I was married to Libby for 40 years. We met when we were 14. She was the love of my life," he says.
Gerry McFarland, whose daughter, Samantha (17), died, finds the anniversary meaningless. "I live with my loss every day. It will feel no better or worse next Friday."
Samantha, a student, was working in the town's Oxfam shop minutes before the explosion. "She said she wanted to do something for those less well off," McFarland says.
He believes security intelligence could have prevented the bomb blast and accuses "those at the top on both sides of the Border" of negligence. "There must be a public inquiry. We can't allow the two governments to sweep this under the carpet."
More than 1,000 people affected by the Omagh bomb - a fifth of them children - have received therapy since 1998, according to David Bolton of the Northern Ireland Centre for Trauma and Transformation. A large Edwardian house on the outskirts of Omagh, the centre opened three months ago and aims to build on the experience acquired by local therapists after the bomb.
Patients' symptoms have included nightmares, flashbacks, feeling detached and emotionally numb, panic attacks and alcohol abuse. Some felt guilty that they lived when someone close to them died.
"People deal differently with the anniversary," says Bolton. "Some find it difficult. Part of their life remains stuck in 1998. Others now live more fully and genuinely than before. They see things getting better."
Donna-Marie McGillion (27) had been shopping with her fiancé Garry (29) when the bomb went off. They were to marry a week later. Garry's 20-month old niece, Breda Devine, who was to be flower-girl, was killed. Donna-Marie suffered third-degree burns in the blast. She was unconscious for six weeks and given a one-in-five chance of survival.
For three years, Donna-Marie had to wear a Perspex face mask. Now, with her big smile and blonde highlights, she is unrecognisable.
"The priest who gave me the last rites co-celebrated my wedding seven months later," she says. "And two Augusts ago, I gave birth to my daughter, Cara Frances. The month has become a joyful one for us."
The bomb left Garry deaf in one ear and with impaired hearing in the other. "I pretend not to hear a word Donna-Marie says and I can lie on when the child is crying at night," he jokes. Shrapnel still in his arm recently set off alarms at JFK airport. The McGillions laugh about it. "I had a bit of explaining to do when they looked at me like an al-Qaeda suspect."
The couple find it tiring "always running to the doctor's or the hospital for a check-up or treatment".
But they support each other, he says. "When she has a bad day, I'm there for her and vice-versa. We're proud that five years on, we have moved forward with our lives. The bomb ripped the heart out of Omagh, not out of us."
Oliver Gibson, a local DUP Assembly member and councillor, lost his cousin Esther (36). Esther was a Free Presbyterian Sunday school teacher, "a lovely, quiet, thoughtful girl," he says. She was due to marry the following year.
Gibson would like the bombers brought to justice. But, confounding the hardline DUP stereotype, he has concerns about the civil action brought by some Omagh families. "I fear it could be a waste of time and money and the outcome could be a disappointment to the people of Omagh who have already suffered so much.
"We should concentrate on improving life for those left behind. The bombers have to live with their consciences. It's better leaving these things to God and providence. I want Omagh famous for something other than the bomb. We need a forward-looking society, not one with a chip on its shoulder."
He points out that 97 other people died in west Tyrone during the Troubles.
"Their relatives haven't been as vocal as some Omagh bomb families. They have coped with their grief with dignity, far away from the cameras. They feel some Omagh families seek special status, while they are relegated to being second- or third-class victims. That's felt in other parts of Northern Ireland too. When Omagh bomb spokesmen come on television, there is a feeling, 'here we go again'."
Gibson praises his neighbours, the Catholic Grimes family, who lost a grandmother, mother and baby in the bomb. "They were hit the hardest and they have dealt with it admirably in the privacy of the farmhouse kitchen."
In Omagh's drapery shops this week, reluctant children accompanied their mothers to buy new school uniforms. Philomena Skelton (39) was buying uniforms for her three daughters when the bomb exploded. The girls survived. Their mother did not.
Philomena's husband Kevin was in the shop next door. "We were only three feet apart, just a shop dividing us, yet she was killed and I had hardly a scratch." He spent an hour-and-a-half digging at the rubble.
Skelton says it might be wrong, but he can't forgive. He believes politicians and others exert unfair pressure on the families to do so. He is dreading the fifth anniversary. "It will be very, very hard. People say it gets easier with time. It doesn't.
"My kids are leaving home. Now that they're reared, Philomena and I could have done all the things we wanted to. But I've been left by myself. If I'm invited to a wedding, I have to go on my own. It doesn't seem like living any more."