On the 8th of November 1987, twenty years ago today, a crowd gathered in Enniskillen, Northern Ireland at a monument for the war dead, for a memorial service on Remembrance Day. A bomb planted by the Provisional IRA, meant to kill soldiers and policemen at the service, went off ten minutes early. Eleven people, all but one civilians, died in the explosion and under the rubble, and one man left in a coma died 13 years later without recovering consciousness. Sixty-three people were injured. The Provisional IRA was forced by its own horrified supporters to apologize, and the incident has come to be seen as a turning point in the Troubles. The IRA lost support around the world because of video footage of the bombing and its aftermath. This led indirectly to more tranquility in the region, which is relatively peaceful today.
The most famous story to emerge from the massacre was that of Marie Wilson, a twenty-year-old girl who had been standing near the monument with her father, Gordon Wilson. They were buried under bricks.
We were both thrown forward, rubble and stones and whatever in and
around and over us and under us. I was aware of a pain in my right
shoulder. I shouted to Marie was she all right and she said yes, she
found my hand and said, "Is that your hand, dad?" Now remember we were
under six foot of rubble. I said "Are you all right?" and she said yes,
but she was shouting in between. Three of four times I asked her, and
she always said yes, she was all right. When I asked her the fifth
time, "Are you all right, Marie?" she said, "Daddy, I love you very
much." Those were the last words she spoke to me. She still held my
hand quite firmly and I kept shouting at her, "Marie, are you all
right?" but there wasn't a reply. We were there about five minutes.
Someone came and pulled me out. I said, "I'm all right but for God's
sake my daughter is lying right beside me and I don't think she is too
well." She's dead. She didn't die there. She died later. The hospital
was magnificent, truly impressive, and our friends have been great, but
I miss my daughter, and we shall miss her but I bear no ill will, I
bear no grudge. She was a great wee lassie, she loved her profession.
She was a pet and she's dead. She's in heaven, and we'll meet again.
Don't ask me please for a purpose. I don't have a purpose. I don't
have an answer, but I know there has to be a plan. If I didn't think
that, I would commit suicide. It's part of a greater plan, and God is
good. And we shall meet again.
I have lost my daughter, and we shall miss her. But I bear no ill will.
I bear no grudge. Dirty sort of talk is not going to
bring her back to life.*
Marie's father told the BBC that he forgave her killers and added: "I
shall pray for those people tonight and every night."
"Gordon Wilson's quiet
dignity had a profound effect on many people in Northern Ireland.
He was later involved with initiatives to improve community relations
in Enniskillen and eventually was appointed to the Senate in the
Republic of Ireland. Gordon Wilson died on 27 June 1995 aged
68." --From the website of CAIN [Conflict Archive on the INternet], Conflict and Politics in Northern Ireland (1968 to the present)
Conor Carson, a schoolboy at the time, wrote the poem below to commemorate Marie. The red-paper poppy, an uncontroversial sign of respect for war dead in Britain (and Canada, Australia and New Zealand), is seen by some Catholic nationalists in Northern Ireland as a symbol of British identity. Marie and the other victims at Enniskillen were Protestant.
* You can hear Gordon Wilson's 1987 BBC interview here.
Marie Wilson
Enniskillen, 8 November 1987
Under the statue
of the Unknown Soldier
a man prepares
a bomb. He is
an unknown soldier.
The patron saint of warriors
is Michael.
Between the unknown soldiers
is a wall.
It is the gable
of St Michael's Hall.
This was Remembrance Sunday.
Poppy Day.
They came to hear
the bugles in the square.
They did not count
the unknown soldiers there.
Today there were no sermons.
Unknown soldiers
said later it had not
gone off as planned.
Under the bricks
she held her father's hand.
Today there was no Last Post.
Her last words
were "Daddy, I love you."
He said he would trust
God. But her poppy
lay in the dust.
The protector of unknown soldiers
is Michael.
The father is at the grave.
A bell peals.
The name Michael
means "God heals."
--From the anthology A Rage for Order: Poetry of the Northern Ireland Troubles, ed. Frank Ormsby (1947- ) (pub. 1992)
