Terrorist threat still lingers on 25th anniversary of Omagh bombing
Saturday 12 August 2023 07:58, UK
"I saw Anne in the morgue. Nobody should ever see their wife in a state like that."
Ann McCombe had been working in a clothing store. Her husband Stanley identified her body after a 500lb car bomb explosion in Omagh, County Tyrone.
"I just don't understand. You wouldn't do that to an animal," he said.
The immediate aftermath of the bomb resembled a warzone.
The hot summer air of mid-August was filled with dust from the debris of collapsed buildings.
Men, women and children lay dead or dying in the street. In total, 29 lost their lives on 15 August 1998.
Three hundred others were injured.
The dead included a woman seven months pregnant with twins, her 18-month-old daughter and her mother - several generations of one family.
A Spanish child on a school trip to Northern Ireland and two schoolboys visiting from Donegal, just across the border in the Republic, were also killed.
Sixteen of the victims were under the age of 25.
Aiden Gallagher, 21, had gone into town to buy new jeans.
"I'll never forget as he walked down the hall, he turned and looked back and said 'I won't be long'.
"That was the last time we saw Aiden," his father Michael recalled.
Michael added: "I had to drive home and tell my wife and two children that Aiden wouldn't be coming home.
"At that time, it was starting to break daylight, and I could hear birds. It was just surreal.
"We just hugged each other and cried and there was no need for words."
The spectre of terrorism hasn't gone away
Northern Ireland's worst single terrorist atrocity was, and still is, the most difficult story I have ever covered.
A breakaway Irish republican group - the so-called Real IRA - had planted the bomb, shattering Northern Ireland's fragile peace.
The hope of the Good Friday Agreement - brokered just four months earlier - had been cruelly snatched away by those intent on pursuing Irish unity by violent means.
Twenty-five years later, the spectre of terrorism still hangs over Northern Ireland - the threat posed by dissident groups like the New IRA deemed severe.
"If you look at it in an even longer historical context, Ireland has always had periods where there are uprisings, where there are groups or individuals who carry out acts of resistance."
The self-styled New IRA is a conglomerate of breakaway factions still actively engaged in what they call "the armed struggle".
Security services estimate there are fewer than 100 members, but they have demonstrated their deadly capability by carrying out bombings and shootings.
Earlier this year, they grabbed headlines with another attack in Omagh - the attempted murder of Detective Chief Inspector John Caldwell.
In 2019, one of their gunmen opened fire on police during a riot in Derry's Creggan estate, fatally wounding the journalist Lyra McKee, 29.
"I think that there are people who will never be satisfied, no matter what happens," Lyra's partner Sara Canning told me.
"The rest of us have reached a level of contentment. We're trying to move forward into a peaceful existence ... and we just have these people who drag us backwards all the time."
Division continues over violence
Patrick Gallagher's bail conditions prevent him from entering the Creggan estate, but he agreed to meet us nearby.
The 31-year-old has two terrorist convictions and faces additional charges. He speaks for a small political party called Saoradh, the Irish word for liberation.
It denies being the political wing of the New IRA.
We walked past a wall mural stating "Saoradh salutes the men and women of violence".
Against the backdrop of other wall paintings - supporting what he calls "political prisoners" - he described violence as "understandable".
Patrick added: "If you look at it in the wider political sphere, we are under occupation and occupation breeds resistance, and with that comes political violence."
Every Easter, Saoradh organises a march through the Creggan estate to mark the 1916 uprising against British rule in Ireland.
Young men, many of them still teenagers, linger on the sidelines. They are masked and carrying petrol bombs, with which to attack armoured police vehicles.
Patrick Gallagher denies that dissidents are radicalising a new generation in places like the Creggan.
He said: "Saoradh don't seek out young people to recruit as party members."
"Young people, particularly around here ... and other working-class communities throughout Derry and across the occupied six counties have become more and more politically aware," he added.
He believes more violence is "inevitable" - a serious concern for thousands of police officers whose personal data has been mistakenly released by the Police Service of Northern Ireland.
Lyra McKee's partner Sara rejected Patrick's suggestion that the violence is "understandable".
"The opposite is true. The vast majority of people here condemn violence. We don't want to go backwards," she said.
'Sadly, he will always be 21'
The British and Irish governments vowed to eradicate the violence and bring the Omagh bombers to justice but no one has ever been convicted.
Ann McCombe's husband Stanley wants to know why.
"This was one of the biggest catastrophes in the history of Ireland, of all Ireland ... innocent souls, with no connection to security forces or political issues, murdered brutally in this town," he said.
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Attempts to prosecute have collapsed, mainly due to the poor quality of the evidence, raising many questions about police competence.
A report by Northern Ireland's Police Ombudsman suggested opportunities to prevent the bombing had been missed and Michael Gallagher agrees.
"Those responsible are those that planned, prepared and delivered the bomb ... but we have the best intelligence service in the world, MI5, MI6 and GCHQ.
"They have a responsibility to look after our safety and make sure these things don't happen," he said.
Bereaved families are pinning their hopes on a public inquiry later this year, motivated every day by the memories of their loved ones.
Michael added: "Aiden is still very much part of our family. Next week, I'll be picking up a new car and we will say, 'what would Aiden think about this?'
"Sadly, he will always be 21."
Stanley thinks about his wife Ann every moment of every day.
"You waken in the morning. You go to bed at night. You come into the house. Ann is always with me," he said.