Victims and their Suffering

[Conuil]

Romana Bradwell adores her boyfriend, the father of her two young children. The couple would like to marry but Romana cannot face a wedding.

''It's because the father she worshipped wouldn't be there to give her away,'' says her mother Pamela sadly.

''Romana just breaks down in tears at the thought of walking down the aisle without her father by her side.

And he would have been so very, very proud to give away his only daughter. It would be just one more of so many family occasions that would be blighted by Jim not being here.''

It has been 11 years since Pamela's husband and Romana's father, Warrant Officer James Bradwell, then 43, was killed by an IRA car bomb outside the Army camp at which he was stationed in County Antrim in Northern Ireland.

His name, just one among those of 763 soldiers who died in the Ulster Troubles, is now unknown to most. It is remembered - like so many other brothers, fathers, husbands and sons who were murdered during the 38 years of Operation Banner - only by his family and the comrades with whom he served.

Those who died live on in family memories: theirs was the ultimate sacrifice. The dead service personnel were murdered in the Army's longest campaign, which few in Britain fully understood, being carried out in Ulster that, over the past four decades, became synonymous with, hatred and bloodshed.

Last week, with little pomp or circumstance - no drums, no flags, no tunes of glory - the British Army announced its withdrawal. Now, only a peacetime garrison of about 5,000 soldiers will remain. It is vastly reduced from the 25,7000 present at the height of the Troubles in 1972.

For the bereaved, however, the toll has been considerable. ''I can't help feeling that Jim died in vain, that his death was just a terrible, terrible waste,'' says Mrs Bradwell.

When WO Bradwell was blown up, in October 1996, he was on his final tour of duty of the North, where he had served on and off since 1976. Two years earlier, the IRA had announced a ceasefire: soldiers like WO Bradwell might have been forgiven if they had become slightly less cautious, though it is unlikely that anything could have saved him.

''Jim only had one more year to go and he wanted a promotion before he retired,'' says Mrs Bradwell. ''That meant returning to Northern Ireland. And Jim was far too professional to refuse a posting.''

The day before he died, WO Bradwell had been at the family home in Sunderland for the weekend. ''It's strange, but I had this feeling of dread when he left that day,'' says his widow. ''I remember saying: 'Keep your head down, Jim.' ''

A knock at the door a day later brought the bad news. It was an officer to tell Mrs Bradwell that the man she had met at the Fusion nightclub in Sunderland, when both were just 21, had been murdered. Her husband's body had been so badly mutilated that identifying him had taken 24 hours.

The gap left in the family will never be filled. ''Every event that should be a joyous family occasion is bittersweet,'' Mrs Bradwell says. ''Because he is not here to enjoy it. I have four grandchildren now, but of course Jim never got to see them.

I look at my little grandson George who loves soccer. And I know Jim would be out in the garden, kicking a ball with him.

Sunday Telegraph
[Olga Craig]
05/08/2007

To remember those who lost their lives during the recent conflict...is to ensure that we all move on......

[Cael]

Why are you posting articles from the Sunday Telegraph describing IRA actions against foreign occupation forces as "murder?" James Bradwell made his own choice when he came to a foreign country as part of an occupation force. He knew the risk he was taking and the suffering he was likely to cause his family is things went badly for him.

The only way we can "move on" is for the British occupation of our country to end. Any other idea is pure fantasy.