They were the four words you most dread when travelling on the other side of the world, but there they flashed in the email before me: "Please call home immediately." I was about to board a train to Bangkok but instead rushed to the main post office in Penang, Malaysia, in case it really was urgent.

When my mum picked up the phone, I was reassured briefly that it was nothing re ally - but she did have bad news; it was my granddad, she said, and as her voice choked up I heard her whisper: "He was murdered."

Just over 24 hours later I was flying into Knock airport, with the grim knowledge this would be the first time in my life that my granddad would not be there to meet me on arrival in Ireland. I was naturally tearful over his death, but had somehow managed to convince myself that I was coming for a funeral, a sad occasion with my family and that I would then get on with my life and probably continue my travels. Little did I know how much the experience ahead would have such a life-changing impact on not only myself but on my family and friends.

As I filed through Arrivals at the tiny Mayo airport, several local people who recognised me offered their condolences, yet I managed to remain calm. When I saw the local newspaper headlines detailing the gruesome circumstances of his death, I felt queasy. It was only when I saw the look of total devastation on my mum's face that it dawned on me how terrible this really was, but there was no time for tears. We had to go directly to the funeral home where her father's battered body was laid out.

All his life, my granddad had led an enviable healthy existence in the countryside: he insisted on walking wherever possible, which gave him a hearty appetite and the most amazingly clear and rosy complexion. People of ten mistook him for 20 years younger and I too was always amazed at how few lines he possessed while my own face was being slowly damaged by the stress and pollution of big cities.

So it was the sight of his bruised, swollen face - albeit poorly disguised by thick makeup - with the most anguished expression in death which finally sent me into shock. As I started to shiver someone placed a wool wrap around me, but the warmth brought no end to my shaking. All I could think was, "this is how he died, they left him to freeze to death."

For hours that evening, thousands of familiar and strange faces filed past his body to pay their last respects and offer condolences to us. I was almost in a trance, not believing what had happened, but I did see the look of horror on the faces of his old friends and neighbours, who were no doubt thinking, "it could have been me".

My mind couldn't help drifting back to happier times: spending the school holidays with my grandparents in Charlestown where I made many lifelong friends. It was a time when I could let myself into their houses courtesy of the key left in the door and how during the long summer days there was no need to worry about how late I stayed out.

Sadly those days are long gone and crime is a part of our society but you never expect it to happen in a small, friendly community. I have lived in several so-called "dangerous cities" in the world and have read endless newspaper reports about violent crime and murder but nothing can ever prepare you for murder in your own family. What kept swimming around in my head was: "Why here? Why us?"

Living alone was not something my granddad ever felt threatened about, in fact he was fiercely independent. He had, after all, lived for over 50 years in that house and ran a successful drapery shop, which he felt no need to give up when his wife died nine years ago. In fact I think it was the shop that kept him going. I would often be woken up in the morning by laughter coming from the shop below as he and a customer shared gossip and bargained over prices. It was not just old customers who enjoyed his banter either, many young men that I know in the town also came into Eddie's shop for bargains in wellingtons and outdoor clothing.

He was great company and I enjoyed going out for a pint with him, as did my friends, for he always got us laughing with his infectious roaring laughter and funny tales of past and present. For someone of his age, he had a surprisingly modern outlook on life and took everything in his stride, including meeting a pop star in his local. When Oasis singer Liam Gallagher and brother Paul arrived at Ca sey's pub, he had them laughing in no time; they bought him a Guinness and even mentioned their encounter in the new Oasis biography, describing him as "the witty well-dressed gentleman at the bar". "Murder is not normal," said Bishop Thomas Flynn at his funeral Mass, condemning his killers. He continued: "Eddie Fitzmaurice was an innocent man who made an important contribution to the life of the community for so many years."

It was an eulogy of which my granddad would have been proud. His two greatest passions in life were his faith and the nine o'clock news, and in death he was paid the highest tribute by the church with a bishop conducting a Requiem Mass, while his fate made the national headlines.

What surprised me was that it seemed the entire Irish nation was equally shocked at the callousness of robbing an old defenceless man of not only money but his dignity, to leave him tied up to die agonisingly in his own home when all it took was a 20p call to save him. It was comforting to know the world cared but the media attention became almost unbearable.

The television cameras were on us after we had paid our last respects and the next day as we buried my granddad, which we had accepted given the public outrage, but they became intrusive on the third day when they tried to film us entering the family home for the first time since the murder.

IT was a particularly difficult moment having to cross the Garda line and see the spot where he had been found. We had wanted it to be a private affair with a local priest who blessed the house. Insensitive to our grief, the camera crew even had the cheek to tell workmen at a nearby house to shut off all motors while they filmed.

It was this kind of trespassing and other unethical activities by journalists, which our friends and neighbours also had to endure, that was particularly distressing. As a journalist, I know the unwritten code of conduct that if you are going to quote someone, particularly by name, you first identify yourself as a reporter and explain you are going to publish what they say, but maybe I am naive.

Perhaps when it comes to someone else's anguish, it makes better copy to catch them unawares. If this is true, there must be some callous editors out there who have never experienced such pain themselves. Friends and family told me many stories of harassment from the media: one radio station called a cousin about the case and although unwilling to speak, she suspected it was recording her. Another relative said she was caught out by talking about what had happened on her own doorstep with a passer-by before she noticed a concealed tape-recorder in his pocket.

By far the worst intrusion was when a local journalist posed as a "concerned" neighbour, with whom my uncle was at ease to talk. Little did he know that his comments would be splashed over the front page of a regional newspaper the next day.

Despite quoting him saying things he never said, what upset us more was that the gardai had warned us not to talk liberally with the media as we could give away vital evidence which was not publicly known and that which could be used to pin on a suspect. This was the hardest thing, not being able to talk about what we knew with anyone - even partners or close family - for fear we let slip details not known by the general public.

Given the seriousness of the crime, gardai were called in from Dublin to assist with the investigation. While we understand that they have certain methods and procedures, we couldn't help also feeling victimised. One detective even apologised to me that they may seem unsympathetic, but they could not afford to become emotionally involved, which is perfectly understandable.

But was it really appropriate for "police sources" to leak very distressing details to the media before informing the family? My mum was told of her father's death by London police, who then refused to reveal further details. First thing the next morning, her cousin called from Ireland saying the radio had announced at 1 a.m. that her father had been tied up and left to die and wanted to know if it was true.

It was first of many incidents where the gardai let us down. Coming down to breakfast in the days after his death and reading about the case was difficult enough, but to read the story of a passer-by ignoring his pleas for help was by far the most distressing news. We naturally assumed it was some sensationalised twist of truth used by such tabloids to sell newspapers, so we spoke to our lawyer about getting an apology for printing such "lies" at our expense.

When a senior detective heard of our proposed legal action, he pulled me aside and confided that it was actually true. He didn't seem to want to tell us why we should have had to find out such horrific things in that way or who was leaking the story. There are still so many unanswered questions.

People naturally assume that there is a wide network of support for victims of crime, but nothing was offered to us automatically. I literally had to beg the gardai to assist us in making contact with Victim Support, which offers specific counselling for families of murder victims.

As for criminal compensation, our lawyer advised us that there is none available in Ireland, even if the victim survives a crime. I was reassured that Ireland had a high crimesolving rate and for that reason offered to help the investigation along by doing an appeal for information on Crimeline.

ANOTHER man featured on the same Crimeline was also tied up by robbers and left, but he survived thanks to a panic alarm he wore around his neck. It was disheartening to realise that such a simple device could have saved my granddad too.

But lest he died in vain, we have decided it would be fitting to establish the Eddie Fitzmaurice Memorial Fund to raise funds and awareness for the charity Security for the Elderly which provides these panic alarms and a 24-hour helpline. It is a worthy cause, yet despite our pleas for advice on how to go about it, no one has come forward, and so once again we feel alone.

People may assume that lowering the coffin into the ground is the end, but in the case of murder it is just the beginning and a trial will mean we have to relive the experience once more. We are all still struggling to come to terms with it, but it has brought us all closer together. Since his death, the family have had some things to celebrate: the birth of his great-grandson and an engagement. But it would have been nicer to celebrate with Eddie.

Audrey Snee grew up in London. Until recently, she was living in Hong Kong and working as a freelance journalist. She can be contacted on email at asnee@hotmail.com