Events of March 11th 2004
¶ 1
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“Did you watch the football last night?” I was routinely asked
And the reflex : yes / no answer, with synopsis / excuse, kicked in
“Wife’s birthday, didn’t dare” was the autopilot response
But I chided myself straight away
Quickly remembering the gut-wrenching emotions of the night before –
How could those Spanish clubs have played, given the events of the day?
Plus, I had seen Man Utd jerseys on the telly
But they were worn by two little angels, Holly and Jessica
In the harrowing documentary about how they died
¶ 2
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‘Our Daughter Holly’ focussed on the Wells family
And the numbing tragedy that had befallen them
We marvelled at Holly’s parents
At how they seemed to be coping
At Kevin’s beautiful poem, the Soham Rose
And re-visited their living hell, those endless days of not knowing
Those dark, dark days, when tears scored river beds across the laughter lines
When sleep brought no comfort
When searching anywhere, was a release from the waiting
When any lead, however futile, brought hope
When a killer lay ensnared, yet unsuspected, within the community
When that same b*****d, bizarrely, became a mouthpiece
Brazenly lying to the microphone poking media
And we shivered in retrospect, as those soundbites, deafened our sensibilities
How calm, how composed, her family tried to be in re-telling their tale
How truly heroic, they, their family and their friends, in their shared support
But still, how we wept in unison, each time they broke down on camera
¶ 3
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And yet, as distressing and gripping as this documentary was
We still flicked channels, to watch, as the death toll mounted in Madrid :-
13 devices, 10 explosions, that ripped through the four Spanish trains
And speculation growing, as to whether this cold-hearted carnage
Was down to the home team of ETA, or the away side of Al Qaeda
¶ 4
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So, did I watch the football last night?
How could I, for it was invisible through the tears
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