Thanks for this Seosamh.

i was 8 y/o on the most beautiful winters day i can recall in my hometown. i was so excited because my father, who i think is a God, was letting me go with him! he held my hand as we walked down William st., and i remember looking up and seeing a brit sniper over Stevensons Bakery, as it happens, this is the same sniper that shot John Johnston, the 1st person shot on Bloody Sunday. And it also took him a year to die of his wounds.

we continued down to the free derry corner, we only got stopped and searched once, and yes i got searched too. the march began, and i remember getting tired. we were near the back when the shooting started. people were running and screaming, bullets were whizzing past my head, i got seperated from my dad, i remember running and screaming some how i got in front of the roswell flats. i was soaking wet and purple dye was all over me. the lad beside me was yelling at me to get down but fear had caused me to freeze and as he reached out to me, he got shot and i was covered in his blood. i passed out.

when i came to, i was in hospital. blood was every where, screams and moans filled the air. looks of anger, total disbelief and dispair were on my neighbours faces. no one was even aware i existed because they were inside of their own grief, and i have never blamed them for that. finally my dad walked through the door and saved me.

i could share more, but for now this is what i felt like sharing. today is always a sad day for me. so many of my friends lost their lives. so many young innocent boys, so many dreams not fufilled. what a waste.