'IRA weighed Robert's life against those who murdered him — they chose the murderers'

Suzanne Breen, Belfast Telegraph, January 31st, 2025

TWENTY YEARS AFTER THE HORRIFIC MURDER OF BELFAST MAN ROBERT MCCARTNEY, HIS SISTERS TELL HOW THEY WILL NEVER GIVE UP ON THEIR SEARCH FOR JUSTICE FOR WHAT HAPPENED THAT NIGHT

IT was the birth of Robert McCartney's first grandchild which broke the hearts of his sisters all over again.

“The christening last year was very tough,” says Paula. “It was a celebration of a new life, yet it also exposed the huge hole left when another life was taken.

“Robert would have been over the moon to see this beautiful baby girl, but he never got a chance to meet Éire Rose.

“A photo of him was sitting on the table at the reception after the christening. I looked at it, and I just couldn't stay. Robert, his sons and all of us have been robbed of so much.”

The father of two died on January 31, 2005, after being stabbed outside a Belfast city centre bar. His five sisters stepped forward to challenge the code of omerta which ruled in working-class nationalist areas.

Their quest for truth and justice took them all over the world, and turned their lives upside down. They travelled to Washington, DC, Strasbourg, Brussels and Berlin.

Their courage was praised by presidents and prime ministers, but their campaign goal remains elusive.

Fifteen people murdered an innocent man outside a busy Belfast bar, yet there's not been a single conviction.

“The IRA member who stabbed my brother, the man who supplied and then destroyed the knife, those who beat and kicked Robert as he lay on the ground defenceless, the ones who cleaned the bar to destroy forensic evidence - they all got away with it,” says Paula.

“They're going about their lives as normal. Everybody knows who killed Robert. It's the 20th anniversary of his murder, but I'm making no appeal to them. I ask nothing of them. Let it be on their own consciences.

“As time goes by, there's less and less of a chance they'll be brought to justice. I know that's the reality, but I still refuse to give up hope - miracles can happen.”

Robert's sons Conlaed and Brandon were aged four and two when their father died. “Every time I'm with them brings a torrent of emotions,” says Paula. “They always want to talk about their daddy and to hear stories about him.

“The affection and sorrow you feel for them is overwhelming because they've lost such a big support in their lives. Robert loved the cinema. He was always taking my kids to see the latest film released.

“Conlaed and Brandon missed out on so many movies with him. Robert was a big Liverpool fan. He never got to take his sons to Anfield. After he died, the players signed a shirt and sent it to us. The boys have it at home, that's the nearest they've got to sharing a love of football with their daddy.”

‘I stopped visiting the cemetery. It was too traumatic.’

Brandon is the image of his father. “He always was, but it really hits you now he's older,” Paula says. “He doesn't just look like his daddy, he has his mannerisms. He laughs like Robert, he moves like Robert - it's uncanny. Sometimes, it's like looking at a ghost.”

Today, the five sisters — Paula, Catherine, Gemma, Donna and Claire — will visit Robert's grave to lay flowers, say a prayer and light candles. Then, they'll go for coffee to laugh, chat and cry over memories of him.

“In the early years, I stopped visiting the cemetery,” says Paula. “It was too traumatic. I'd look at the grave, and just think Robert shouldn't be in it.”

The women's 82-year-old mother will go to the graveyard with her daughters today. Their father died five years ago.

Robert McCartney and his friend Brendan Devine had headed to Magennis's bar to enjoy a few pints and watch the football.

The pub was backed with republicans from the Short Strand and Markets area who had returned from the annual Bloody Sunday march in Derry.

An argument broke out after a woman took offence at a hand gesture Robert had made about a soccer team. IRA commander Jock Davison, who was himself killed 10 years later, became involved in the row.

A fight developed between Davison and Brendan Devine. A bottle was smashed over Devine's head and his throat was cut three times with another broken bottle.

Robert McCartney helped Devine, who was bleeding heavily, out of the premises. The pair were followed by men armed with bottles, sticks and a knife.

They were beaten, kicked, stabbed and left to die.

A passing police patrol found them. Devine recovered, but McCartney died in hospital nine hours later after suffering three heart attacks.

As well as a fatal stab wound to the stomach, he had a broken nose, black eye and extensive cuts and bruising. Belfast Crown Court later heard that he hadn't thrown a single punch and was a threat to no-one.

Three men went on trial in connection with the killing in 2008. Terry Davison — Jock's uncle — was charged with murder; Jim McCormick and Joe Fitzpatrick with causing an affray.

They were all found not guilty. The family said the verdict was correct, and branded the prosecution case “so weak it never should have reached a courtroom”.

The IRA leadership hadn't sanctioned the murder its members committed but, after it happened, they had a choice.

“The IRA had to weigh Robert's life against protecting those who murdered him, and they chose the murderers,” says Catherine McCartney.

Of 70 people in the bar that night who gave statements to police, none saw anything — all claimed to be in the toilet or on their mobile phones during the fight.

Catherine says she was naïve when her brother was murdered.

She thought local people who witnessed events that night would do the right thing, and that the authorities would deliver justice.

“I'm wiser now,” she says. “I've no faith in the legal system or the PSNI. I've no expectations that they'll deliver justice and hold murderers and their accomplices to account. I've come to accept that they're incapable of doing their job.

“I seek nothing from these institutions because I'm realistic. Our campaign for justice took over our lives for years. I'm no longer consumed by it, but I'm not at peace with Robert's murder and I certainly haven't forgiven.”

The McCartneys say Sinn Fein has “compounded” their grief on “many occasions over the past 20 years”.

Paula says; “The irony and hypocrisy of people who marched for justice for Bloody Sunday, then denying it to an equally innocent man like Robert is nauseating. I don't know how they live with themselves.”

Catherine describes the British government as “useless” in responding to the family's justice campaign, while the Irish government was “polite and useless”. She says: “Politicians used Robert's murder to exert political pressure on Sinn Fein to sign up to policing. Once that was done and the DUP went into government with republicans at Stormont in 2007, Robert's killing didn't matter any more to them. It disappeared from the political agenda.”

Legacy After Lives

The family paid a high personal price for their campaign. Paula and Bridgeen Hagans, Robert's partner and mother of his two children, were forced to leave their Short Strand homes after intimidation.

Those involved in the murder remained part of the community. There were no pickets outside their doors, and they weren't socially ostracised.

Paula returns to the Strand only for wakes and funerals, and finds even that hard. The women all lost friendships for taking on the IRA.

Donna ran a sandwich shop in Belfast city centre when her brother was killed. Police warned her of threats by “republican elements to burn it down”. She closed her business, and now works in a supermarket.

Gemma, a nurse, was spat on and abused. Paula was doing a degree in Women's Studies at Queen's University in January 2005. Unable to concentrate following the murder, she left the course. She is now a healthcare worker.

Claire, who was a teaching assistant, received counselling after Robert's killing. She became a mental health nurse.

Catherine recalls the obscene letters and death threats the sisters received. They were sent newspaper photos of Robert covered in excrement. They were called whores and prostitutes, and malicious false rumours circulated that they went to Palace Barracks in Holywood to have sex with soldiers.

Paula considered moving to Spain, and Catherine actually travelled to Australia after being offered a teaching job in Perth. “We both decided to stay,” she says. “Moving wouldn't have solved anything. You're still taking your head with you.”

The idea that 'time is a healer' is nonsense for the McCartneys. “I'll never come to terms with losing Robert,” says Paula.

“It's easier with a natural death, but this was murder. There's not a day I don't think about him, not a day I don't miss him.

“You're dealing with this massive blow of your brother being murdered, the fallout of campaigning for justice, as well as the other trials and tribulations of everyday life. Sometimes, you worry that your resilience is going to run out.”

While the sisters' campaign was challenging, they regret nothing. “The IRA thought that we'd just grieve quietly and go away. How wrong they were,” says Paula.

“This was our wee brother. From the day Robert was allowed out to play on the street, we looked after him. No matter how old or big he grew, he was always still our wee brother.

“His attackers left him to die on the street like a dog. They saw him as worthless. We were never going to let that pass. Robert McCartney was somebody and his life was precious.”

Third day of Omagh Inquiry told of impact on victims’ families

David Young, Irish News, January 31st, 2025

EXAM results that were set to open up a “new world of opportunity” for a student killed in the Omagh bomb arrived on the day of her funeral, the public inquiry into the attack has heard.

The third day of commemorative hearings for the victims of the 1998 bombing began with a tribute to 20-year-old Debra-Anne Cartwright.

The Real IRA attack on August 15 killed 29 people, including a woman pregnant with twins.

The inquiry heard that Ms Cartwright, a former pupil of Omagh High School, had just completed her A-levels and had been hoping to go to Manchester University to study textile design.

Reading a statement on behalf of the family, inquiry barrister John Rafferty said: “Her results, which arrived on the day of her funeral, confirmed that she had been successful.”

On the day of the attack, Ms Cartwright, from Birchwood in Omagh, was working in a beauty salon in the town centre. She evacuated the business during the security alert prompted by the bomb warning and was walking down Market Street when the device exploded.

Mr Rafferty told the inquiry that Ms Cartwright’s funeral at St Columba’s Church in Omagh heard that she was a woman “full of life and energy”.

Inquiry chairman Lord Turnbull reflected that she was one of several young people killed in the attack.

“All of these were children or young people whose lives were taken from them before they had any chance to grow and live as adults and to experience any of the joys and tribulations of a full and independent life,” he said.

“In Debra-Anne’s case, as I have just heard, it further compounds the cruel denial of her future that on the day of her funeral she received confirmation of the exam results which would have taken her to university and opened a whole new world of opportunity to her.”

'Mum apologised for being caught up in the bombing as she lay dying'

Liam Tunney, Belfast Telegraph, January 31st, 2025

The son of an Omagh bomb victim has described the “torture” of not being able to see his mother before she was buried due to the nature of her injuries.

Geraldine Breslin (43), who was working in Wattersons clothes shop, used her last moments to apologise for being in the town when the Real IRA 500lb bomb exploded on August 15, 1998.

She had been on a tea break with her friend Ann McCombe (48), who also died in the blast.

Geraldine's son Gareth McCrystal and niece Joanie gave evidence to the Omagh bombing inquiry yesterday.

“Her body had been mutilated and desecrated. She was placed in a sealed coffin. We never saw her again. It was torture, pure torture,” said Gareth.

“I've made my peace with it now, I'm content that I didn't see her, but what was done to her was despicable, appalling.

“My mother was treated by the terrorists like she was rubbish, total garbage and I have no desire to see my mother battered, bloodied and bruised.”

It is the first time Gareth has spoken publicly about his mother's death.

He told the inquiry his mum apologised for being caught up in the explosion while she was dying.

“My father did see her and got comfort out of it.

“He said she apologised when she was lying on the stretcher moments from death,” he said.

“She apologised to my father for being caught up in this incident — she apologised that she was even there.

“God only knows what he thought of that.”

As well as recalling memories of the moment the bomb went off, he outlined the “fantastic relationship” he had with his mother.

“I adored her. I loved her unconditionally and she loved me unconditionally. We were very close,” he added.

“I was her only child and she was very protective of me as any mother is with any child.

“She was always about helping other people if the opportunity arose. She was very kind and had an infectious laugh; a laugh that made you want to be in her presence.”

It sounded like a bomb had gone off

The family had shared a meal together just hours before the horror unfolded as Geraldine returned home on her lunch break.

Gareth was out digging in the garden with his stepfather that afternoon and had popped inside when the bomb exploded.

“I came out of the house and my father was standing in the back garden; He looked at me and he said, 'Did you hear that? It sounds like possibly a bomb has gone off',” he said.

“We then heard a cacophony of sirens heading in the direction of the town centre from our house.

“My father had lived in Belfast during the 1980s so he was more familiar with the Troubles and even at that early stage, he had a terrible feeling.”

Geraldine had suffered devastating injuries and was taken to the Royal Victoria Hospital for surgery.

Gareth fell asleep on his grandmother's sofa after his father and grandfather left for Belfast. When he awoke, his father had arrived with the parish priest to break the news of his mother's death.

“My father came into the room behind me and sat me down. He sat beside me, put his arm around me and told me, 'Geraldine is dead. Your mother is dead',” recalled Gareth.

“I felt like I was going to be physically sick. I didn't know what to do, I felt like going out onto the street and screaming.

“I looked at my grandfather and his shoulders were just slumped forward, he was totally devastated. I knew that was it, I knew she was gone. I knew I was never going to see her again. I just collapsed on the stairs beside me.

“I had my head in my hands and was just crying like a baby.”

‘I believe I have turned my life around’

The inquiry heard how huge crowds attended Geraldine's funeral with lines of people stretching down the street next to their home. Gareth also outlined the devastating effect of his mother's death on him and his family.

“The bomb ruined everything. My father was a shell of the man he was prior to my mother's death,” he said.

“When I was about 20 years of age I had to leave Omagh, I couldn't stay any longer. There were too many people here who had been affected by the bomb. I was becoming very angry with life and society. I went to Birmingham to study computer science, to get away from everyone and everything.

“I began drinking. I drank to escape the emotional baggage. I was squandering vast sums of money and my drinking got out of control. I had become a very pathetic, pitiful person. I only seemed to care about myself.”

Gareth left Birmingham and returned to Omagh, where he is now married with three children.

“I believe I have turned my life around,” he said.

“I am definitely not the angry, bitter person I was 15-20 years ago. Everything I have achieved is bittersweet, because my mother is not here to witness it. She would have got a real thrill out of becoming a grandmother, meeting my wife.

“I'm proud of my achievements, but it is with a sense of regret. I wish she was here. I wish she was here to see this.

“I think about her every day.”

For sake of the families, there must be an inquiry into Ballymurphy massacre

Martina Devlin, Irish Independent, January 31st, 2025

Unfinished business from the Troubles era continues to rear its hydra heads. This week, a public inquiry opened into the 1998 Omagh bombing, examining whether that attack by dissident republicans - intended to shatter the peace process - was avoidable.

It is one of many legacy issues that need to be investigated in the interests of transparency, some measure of justice for victims and their relatives, and as a means of helping a traumatised community come to terms with its violent past. Letting sleeping dogs lie may be convenient for administrations, especially where skeletons rattle in closets, but the principle of blind justice - impartial whatever the consequences - is too important to set aside.

Another episode that urgently deserves an independent public inquiry is the Ballymurphy massacre, sometimes called Belfast's Bloody Sunday. In August 1971, immediately after internment was introduced and unrest erupted, 10 people were shot on the streets of Ballymurphy in Catholic west Belfast. At least nine died at the hands of paratroopers.

Ballymurphy matters because it was a key link in the chain of events that unleashed 30 years of the Troubles. Those deaths were individual tragedies for their families, but also a disaster for the region, because they stoked antagonism against the British army and acted as recruiting sergeants for paramilitaries. After all, soldiers turned their guns on the people they were meant to be there protecting.

Ballymurphy was Belfast’s Bloody Sunday

Ballymurphy, like Derry's Bloody Sunday, was avoidable. It preceded that event by five months, and what happened there set a pattern. The same parachute regiment, 1 Para, became notorious for its lethal Derry rampage during a civil rights march, but it had already used excessive force with impunity in Belfast.

Crucially, whoever decided to send the paras to Derry in 1972 knew what those soldiers were trained for and capable of: the material difference between those two appalling episodes is that no cameras were present in Ballymurphy. In Derry, the world's media witnessed the carnage.

In Ballymurphy, as with Derry, the dead were found to have gunshot wounds in the back - fleeing rather than posing a threat. In Ballymurphy, as with Derry, the soldiers lied and said they killed bombers and gunmen. Among the victims were a mother of eight and a priest who was going to the aid of one of those shot.

In Ballymurphy, as with Derry, the British establishment closed ranks and supported its military - the Northern conflict was a propaganda war as well as a military one.

For half a century, the Ballymurphy families struggled for some degree of accountability, and finally won the reopening of an inquest, which reported in 2021 and totally exonerated the dead. They were "entirely innocent”, ruled the coroner, Ms Justice Keegan. The UK's Ministry of Defence subsequently paid undisclosed damages to relatives.

The North has been characterised repeatedly as a dysfunctional society. But how could social cohesion ever hope to put down roots where citizens saw unarmed neighbours killed by agents of the state, the shootings defended by the establishment and the dead vilified?

Most Troubles deaths were caused by the IRA, but according to the Sutton Index of Deaths at CAIN, the Conflict Archive on the Internet, the British military killed 307 people. This amounted to 10pc of deaths, about half of them unarmed civilians. That cannot be glossed over - there must be accountability.

For half a century, Ballymurphy protests were allowed to go unanswered. But the families kept on campaigning for the truth to be told. They deserve a full public inquiry.

Such hearings matter. While they lack the power to impose penalties, they can make findings that could lead to criminal charges or other legal repercussions. Inquiries may also make recommendations that would prevent a recurrence.

Individual Ballymurphy inquests were convened in 1972 and gave open verdicts. A Royal Military Police hearing was also held, later described as "inadequate” by Ms Justice Keegan. No real effort was made to investigate events at the time, and no attempt was made to correct the record. Ballymurphy families had to fight the British state tooth and nail over five decades.

After the reopened inquest reported, then Northern secretary Brandon Lewis acknowledged "the terrible hurt” done (note how far short of an apology that falls) and promised his government would "carefully consider” the coroner's findings.

Ballymurphy is not history but unfinished business that can fester

Almost four years have gone by. Now, a new government is in place in the UK that says it takes its human rights obligations seriously.

Dozens of legacy issues remain to be investigated, including cases involving alleged security forces' collusion with loyalist paramilitaries, authorised in an effort to defeat the IRA. In that context, Keir Starmer's government recently announced a public inquiry into the 1989 murder of solicitor Pat Finucane, who was shot dead in front of his wife and children.

Ballymurphy, too, is not history but unfinished business, and unfinished business can fester.

No matter how long ago it happened, the families are entitled to justice. They are not getting any younger. They should have a full public investigation into their loved ones' deaths.

It won't bring them back, but it matters to the families - and the community at large - for the British state to deliver a transparent process addressing what happened, with those responsible held to account

Britain and its justice system failed Northern Ireland abysmally during the Troubles - Ballymurphy is one more example.

Meanwhile, the human cost to delaying the administration of justice is carried by those who already bear a weighty load of disillusionment and grief.