The flowers come from all over these islands and further afield, from Spain and the United States . . . bouquets of roses and carnations, simple bunches of garden chrysanthemums, wreaths of holly and mistletoe laden with berries. Perhaps the most touching is a Christmas garland made of crepe paper, red flowers stuck with great care onto green. The message reads "From the children and staff of a pre-school creche." Others have been sent by the people of Liverpool, the Mayor of Preston, from schools in Cavan, Clare, Dublin and other cities and from "a group of us who care about you in Limerick".
The wreaths and bouquets have been fixed to the railings at the bottom of Omagh's main street, opposite the derelict site where the bomb exploded in August, when 29 people, including a number of children, were killed and more than 200 injured.
I had wanted to lay a few flowers, responding to the advertising campaign which the local council has been running in recent weeks urging people to "Give a Day for Omagh", and then found that many, many people from all over Ireland had already had the same idea. I am told that there have been coach-loads of visitors from as far away as Cork and Galway, come to express their sympathy for the atrocity which ripped this town apart. They have talked to people and listened to their stories of that terrible day in August and gone home, not realising perhaps the comfort they have given simply by giving the day to Omagh. There is a Christmas tree in front of the courthouse, a crib in the High Street where a choir sings the beautiful carols of peace: Silent Night, Come All Ye Faithful.
The people of the town and the surrounding villages of Co Tyrone are making a heroic effort to look to the future. In Watterstons, the draper's store, there are shoppers looking at Aran sweaters and slippers.
Several members of the staff were killed and injured in the explosion and an assistant there said to me "of course, it's very, very tough at Christmas, but we have to keep going. It's good to see such a crowd in the town because it's a sign that we may be returning to normal."
People spoke of the difficulty they had experienced in returning to the busy streets. "You always worry that they may come back, target us again," a young man who was injured in the blast told me grimly, "but if you give way to that, then the terrorists will win".
Reminders of the bomb are everywhere. There are appeals to upgrade the local hospital, making the point that this was the place where staff worked day and night to tend the dying and injured. "Mowlam, Blair, Clinton save our hospital" says a placard on the outskirts of the town.
Posters advertise a programme of Christmas events - Daniel O'Donnell switching on the festive lights, the Warrington male voice choir in concert, evenings of storytelling and other entertainments for children. A small girl holds a brightly burning candle and the message reads "Out of Darkness came Light".
Omagh is facing the task which has already burdened so many towns and villages in Northern Ireland. Its people are trying to come to terms with the past, to go forward towards a better future. Nobody can forget what happened and many people find it impossible to forgive the suffering and the grief which they have experienced.
Christmas is proving particularly difficult this year because so many prisoners are being released or given parole under the terms of the Belfast Agreement. We are experiencing this challenge at first hand in this State, where considerable anger has been expressed about the release of prisoners who were responsible for the murder of members of the Garda Siochana. In the North, where the geography is even more intimate and there is a real possibility of seeing the person responsible for placing the bomb which killed a loved one, the pain is raw and immediate.
Even those who accept that the release of prisoners is a necessary step towards building a secure peace, find these days at Christmas almost unbearable. This week Michelle Williamson, whose parents were killed in the Shankill bomb, has spoken very movingly of how difficult she has found it to accept that the man who placed the bomb at Frizzel's fish shop should be given Christmas parole. I have written before in this space of how crucially important it is for us to listen and give public recognition to those who have suffered in the violence. Unless we find some effective way of doing this there will be little hope of building a lasting peace.
But this week, in the small town of Omagh, there has been inspiration in seeing the courage of those who have suffered and their determination to go forward. Tracey Devine, who suffered 60 per cent burns in the August bomb, was the last of the Omagh victims to go home from hospital this week. Her 21-month-old daughter, Breda, was killed by the bomb, but it was six weeks before Tracey's husband could tell her of her baby's death. Now she says, quite understandably, she finds it impossible to forgive those who inflicted such grief on her family. But this brave woman adds: "As time goes on I have mellowed a wee bit, but I don't think I'll ever forgive them. But it's time now to get on with our lives, for the children at home and for ourselves. Breda will always be with us, but we have to get back to some kind of normality."
David Trimble has described the past year as "a nail-biting, knuckle-whitening roller-coaster ride". There have been many difficulties and the obscenity of the Omagh bomb casts a dark shadow. There are obstacles that still have to be overcome. But we can recognise that peace is more firmly rooted now than it was last Christmas.
We owe a great deal to the people of Omagh. After the bomb it seemed that the whole peace process was doomed to fall apart. Instead they showed us how tragedy can draw people together in a common determination not to be defeated by the violence. The town has asked for a day, but deserves more from us. Let us hope and pray that this Christmas brings it the peace and good will it so richly deserves.