Quote:
Originally Posted by gentlearts
I can't help getting teary from anything to do with soldiers. Like a flag draped casket coming off a plane.
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I started to tear up, then cry unashamedly when watching the TV news of the Ballygawley atrocity, on August 20 1988, when the Provisional IRA detonated a roadside bomb that killed 8 British soldiers on a bus, going to Omagh, County Tyrone, N. Ireland, 3 of the guys were 18, 3 were 19, and 2 were 21.
At the time, my 25 y.o. was stationed in Belfast, N. Ireland, and my 21 y.o. was stationed in Paderborn, Germany.
I knew the one in Germany was okay, even though the IRA had mounted attacks on service personnel there, and on the roads in Europe, even causing the Army to abandon having special licence plates to show that some cars were registered to forces personnel.
My kid in Belfast had called me that night, so I knew that he was okay too, but I felt for the poor bastards who’d died on an Irish roadside, and in particular for their families.
Ten days later, on August 30, British Special Forces, the S.A.S., shot dead brothers Gerard and Martin Harte, and Brian Mullin, 3 IRA members who had allegedly been fingered by Lord Maginnis, a former Ulster Defence Regiment soldier as being the perpetrators of the Ballygawley outrage.
I shed no tears on hearing that.
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