A grove of steel trees, a man whose father died before he was born and the grief of a city

‘I was a boy living nearby during the Birmingham bombings. As time went by, the 21 victims became familiar’

For the past five years, relatives, friends and mourners have gathered outside Birmingham New Street Station in England on November 21st to mark the anniversary of the IRA’s bombing of two pubs in the city centre in 1974, which killed 21 people and injured an additional 182.

Ten of those 21 people died in the first blast, when a bomb went off in the Mulberry Bush pub; the second bomb exploded moments later, in the nearby Tavern basement pub. A 2019 inquest into the atrocities concluded that the 21 victims were unlawfully killed and murdered by the IRA.

In 2018 the Birmingham Irish Association, which offers welfare support and cultural services to the Irish community, unveiled a memorial. Located on the plaza in front of New Street Station, it has been described as a symbol of peace and hope as well as a space to reflect and remember those who were killed.

The memorial is in the form of a grove of trees. Each of the 150cm-long leaves on the trees, which are made of steel, is inscribed with the name of one of the 21 victims. A plaque underneath the trees reads: “This memorial stands as a testament to our grief, in the hope that the 21 will be ever rooted in this place; and as a symbol of peace and unity at the gateway of our city.”

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At the time of the bombings I was a young boy living in the neighbouring city of Coventry, within a strong and vibrant Irish community. As I grew up I became more aware of the tragic events that had occurred in Birmingham that November day, and as time went by the names of the 21 victims became more familiar.

As with many tragic events, the headline number of casualties and the scale of devastation are remembered, but individual stories of loss and grief are rarely told. At this year’s memorial event, Paul Bridgewater, whose father Paul Davies died in the bombings, was given the opportunity to talk.

Bridgewater never got to know his dad, as he was born after his father’s death. Davies was 17 years old at the time, a month shy of his 18th birthday. He had been walking past the Tavern with his best friend, Neil “Tommy” March, who, at the age of 16, was the bombings’ youngest victim.

Davies was said to have been a cheeky, quick-witted lad who enjoyed the carefree life of a teenager. He idolised Bruce Lee and had gained a black belt in karate. He was not due to go into the town that night; he would have normally gone to a youth club. Like his son, Davies liked to wear a hat, in his case to cover his dreadlocks.

Bridgewater, who lives in Yorkshire and is now a grandfather, thanked people for keeping the memory of his dad and all the victims alive, and for securing the public memorial. Now donations from the Irish Embassy, Network Rail and others make sure it is illuminated at night.

The mayor of the West Midlands, Andy Street, read the names of all 21 victims to the sound of a single bell chime. Then members of the Irish community read poems. Hearing Paul’s story about the dad he never got to know, and listening to the names of the other victims being read aloud, brought another level of detail and relevance to the memorial, which has been placed on one of the busiest pedestrian thoroughfares in the city.

The memorial brings so much comfort to the relatives and friends of those who died: it’s clear how much it means to them to know their loved ones will not be forgotten.

Chris Egan was born in 1968. His father moved to Coventry from Castlelough, in Portroe, Co Tipperary, when he was 19 years old. His mother moved there with her sisters from Ballywogs, Co Donegal, when she was 14. Egan is lead commissioner for strategic growth and infrastructure at Warwickshire County Council and a regional photographer for the Irish Post.

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