Jonny McCambridge: Reporting on Omagh bomb inquiry has left an indelible mark on me

Pauline was a 19-year-old student on the day a massive bomb devastated the centre of Omagh in 1998. Standing just yards from the car in which the device had been hidden, she ended up in flames trapped underneath its engine after the vehicle had been ripped apart. The fierce heat of the blast had melted the tar on the road and the teenager sank into it. A number of men, including civilians, worked to free Pauline. One man who helped later told her that he went home to find her skin had melted into his hands.

Pauline spent months in hospital being treated for horrific burns. When the bottom part of her left leg was amputated, her mother was right outside the theatre door. Even when she could hear the terrible sound of a saw going through the bone in her daughter’s leg, the mother refused to move from that door.

What was so remarkable about Pauline's experience was that, throughout it all, an ordeal for a young girl so traumatic that it would fill only the blackest of nightmares, her primary concern always appeared to be for others. She seemed almost weighed down by guilt as she reflected on the trauma of the men who helped her when she was trapped on that road, and her sadness that she still does not know the names of some of them. She was similarly concerned about the impact of the tragedy on the medical staff who worked to save her.

She said: "They absorbed my pain and I'm so grateful, yet so sorry they did this for me."

Pauline spoke lovingly about her family who have supported her in the many years since.

"My body is broken but I will be forever thankful that I don’t have a broken heart."

I got my first paid job in journalism in the summer of 1998, just a few weeks before the Omagh bomb. I was in a newspaper office when I first learnt of the attack. In the decades since I have attended multiple judicial hearings, interviewed many families and written countless stories about the terrible events.

I thought I knew the story. The account of Pauline, and several others I have heard in the past number of weeks, have brought it home that I actually knew nothing at all.

There was Caroline McKinney, whose infant daughter Niamh was blown across the street in her buggy by the bomb and had her tiny skull pierced by a piece of shrapnel.

Niamh, now fully grown and healthy but with the shrapnel still embedded in her brain, sat beside her mother as she gave testimony to the inquiry last week.

There was Suzanne Travis who was shopping with her mother on that sunny Saturday. In the aftermath of the bombing, she frantically looked for her mum without realising that her own foot had been blown off by the force of the explosion. Suzanne was 20 and studying to be a teacher in Liverpool. Remarkably, she graduated as planned in 2001 and has worked ever since. However, the injuries she suffered now limit the hours she can devote to the classroom.

And there was Garry McGillion who was in Omagh that day with his sister, his niece Breda and his fiancee Donna-Marie, who he was due to marry the following week. They were buying shoes for 20-month-old Breda, who was to be the flower girl at the wedding.

After they were caught up in the devastation, Garry, with his clothes in flames searched through the rubble for his niece. As he found her and carried her tiny body away to get medical help, he told her mother “I've got her, I'll look after her”.

Breda's life could not be saved and Garry, who suffered serious burns himself, told the inquiry that he remains haunted over the death of the infant.

Recalling how he carried his niece from the rubble, he said: "I felt her heartbeat, but I knew that she needed urgent help...to this day I can still feel Breda's heartbeat on my chest."

Garry and Donna-Marie got married the following year, but as they both said, there was one person missing on the day. As I have sat through day after day of evidence in the public inquiry it is difficult not to reflect on the starkly different directions in which humanity can travel.

On one hand the cowardice, the depraved and twisted sickness of those who could build, transport and leave a massive bomb in a town centre teeming with innocent people enjoying a sunny day.

On the other, the heroism of those who were impacted, those who rushed to help despite their own injuries, the selflessness of those who, over and over, put the needs of others ahead of themselves. The power of this is greater than any explosive device.

Millions of words have been spoken and written about Omagh in the ensuing years and I doubt that there is anything remotely useful that I could possibly add. The personal statements delivered in the past month stand alone as a towering testament to the unbreakable resilience of human nature in the face of the greatest adversity.

And finally, back to Lord Turnbull and his response when he heard that astonishing story of survival and grace, delivered by Pauline Harte.

He said: "I doubt whether I have ever heard of such an attitude of kindness and generosity being expressed in the face of barbaric violence of the sort which was inflicted upon you.

"Yours is truly an account of survival, not just of you as a person, but also an account of the survival of the qualities of humanity."