I wrote this to a friend from my time in Dunblane - we were conversing on Facebook after he had read this piece I wrote on the tenth anniversary of the massacre in the local school thedrink.blog.com/2006/03/13/ten-years-ago-today/. I've taken out names. I wanted to place this here as I feel over time, the fragments of my memory of this time should be brought together.
Hi (Friend's name)
I really appreciated your
message. I often think of (child who was shot in Dunblane Massacre and survived) – I met
her one day with (another friend) in a wee café in Dunblane a few weeks after the
murders. It was a meeting that really
effected me. It is brilliant to know she
is happy – she was a really positive wee girl back then. I remember her telling me that she had met
Henrik Larrson and the Celtic team. She
had her Celtic scarf and top on.
I apologise for the self
indulgence of this message in advance, but lots of things have been going over
in my mind in the past few days.
Memories of Dunblane.
My time in Dunblane had a
huge effect on me – even though it was a short time. I worked in the hotel for a year from around
September 1995– and lived in LC from December 1995 to August 1996.
It’s a hard one to talk
about to people. I sometimes feel I have
an obligation to speak about certain things, like some of the things I
witnessed in Northern Ireland and of the horrible events in Dunblane. I don’t know what this compulsion is – but it
happens on anniversaries of these events or when similar tragedies happen. I suppose I just sometimes need an outlet or
I want people to understand something about the realities of these things. But few people either understand, or want to
hear.
Writing about them is my
outlet.
Our whole friendship
circle at the time was an odd one – though to me a very precious one – intense,
wonderful friendships that all seemed to end abruptly. A time in parenthesis. And one that bears thinking about and writing
about in it’s entirety sometime.
I look back at us all and
think about our stories. We were all
quite “frivolous” on the outside, but all with depths none of us wanted to
express or share. All of us were kind of
in hiding. Damaged in some way (is that
fair?) I know this is of no relevance to the horrible events, but I think those
events perhaps changed all of us in ways we perhaps won’t fully understand. I know that the events of 1996 – what
happened in the school, my meeting you, (list of friends) and the
others and then a family tragedy, pushed me towards the life I have now. My “escaping” life – running from it –
stopped.
I remember what happened
in Dunblane every year. I am not
religious, but I do think of those children and their teacher. Every one of them a tragic wee story. A wasted, beautiful life. It is more than I can sometimes bear to
remember some of the stories from that day and over the following few weeks.
I have been back to Dunblane
a couple of times, but find it a difficult place to be. I have never visited the memorials or the graves,
though I always feel I should. I think
the short time I spent there must have been some of the happiest – perhaps though
over-induced by chemicals- and some of the saddest times I have had. But definitely a time that will stay with me forever.
I hear what you are
saying about the conduct of the press.
At the time, I was absolutely disgusted at the behaviour of the press
and the media in general. I nearly hit a
journalist one night.
I remember this
particular journalist had been arrested for trying to take pictures at the
funeral of the teacher. He had also
spent his time complaining about service in the hotel and, if I remember
rightly, had upset (a friend who was a waiter ) in the cocktail bar.
When he was checking out,
I started the computer night audit, which meant he would have to wait for about
20 minutes for a printed bill. He came
with a list of complaints and added this wait on to the end. The night manager, not (the usual night manager), but a “stand in” - I can’t remember his name – was afraid to
serve him. I was only too glad to. He read his list to me, and I remember
standing listening, trying to control my temper. I remember him telling me he had been in
warzones all over the world and service had never been so bad. I let rip.
I told him he was not in a warzone, but a small village in Scotland
where a mad man had shot a class or five and six year olds along with their
teacher. I told him everyone in the
hotel had some connection to people who were effected. I told him what I thought of him and his
complaints and how he should feel privileged that these people had continued to
serve him even after his nastiness. I
remember he then challenged me by saying, “If what you are saying is true, then
rip up that list of complaints.” I did,
in front of his face. After he left, I
remember the coward of a night manager said to me, “you were a bit close to the
knuckle there, Neil.” I was really angry
with him, but said nothing. I wrote an
article for my local paper after that about the murders and also about how the
press treated the people in the village.
My time in Dunblane was on
many levels much more of a learning experience – and valuable in every way,
than my time in Stirling University.
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