Amid all the talk at the week-end of the time being changed, and constant references to the clocks going back, I saw a video clip that took us back far more than an hour.

It was Belfast at Christmas 1977, as people considered it quite normal to open up their handbags for people to poke through their possessions to get into shops, or be body searched at security gates. I lived briefly in Belfast in the mid-70s and remember it as a grim, dark and violent place.

But here we saw happy people enjoying the normal festive activity of shopping for gifts, so maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. But I think not; the Belfast of today is a million miles from the 70s. That’s the problem with looking back, with selective memories, even for people like me who lived through it. So it’s hard to capture the mood in explaining what things were really like.

I do, however, vividly remember 30 years ago, on the day of the Enniskillen Remembrance Sunday bombing. I was there on the 8th of November, 1987 and was immersed in events in the days and weeks following it. It was a day many, many people will never forget.

And nor should we.

Next Wednesday, a formal act of remembrance will be held at the site of the bombing to mark the anniversary of the event three decades ago. I think it is entirely appropriate that we as a town remember that time, but I have a question.

What exactly are we remembering?

Ostensibly, the physical new memorial structure is to remember the 12 people who died, and who would argue that they should be at the centre of our thinking?
But I hope that, while keeping the dead, the bereaved and injured foremost in our thoughts, we also consider and remember much more.

I remember the circumstances of 1987, how our differences meant that thousands of people died and we sank further in the abyss that resulted in the evil of Enniskillen. And that violence and brutality was not visited on just one community.
I remember the tension and atmosphere of 1987 as the world’s media encamped in our town.

I remember the anger of some who were demanding answers as to why the building, called the Reading Rooms, wasn’t searched.

I remember the series of funerals in a town numbed by grief. I remember the look on the faces on relatives.
I remember the leadership of people who kept the lid on emotional reactions.
I remember that, incredibly, hope came out of the horror. The good community relations that had existed in Enniskillen, in part, saw Protestants and Catholics come together in a tremendously dignified way.

I remember the powerful interview given by Gordon Wilson, in which he didn’t actually use the word “forgive” but said he prayed for the bombers who killed his beloved daughter, Marie.

Mr. Wilson’s interview was credited with keeping the lid on the pressure cooker of reaction, with even loyalist paramilitaries admitting later that they pulled back from retaliation.

I also remember that, while I personally felt inspired by Mr. Wilson’s words, support for his view wasn’t universal and other victims’ families who were far from forgiving were frustrated that other voices weren’t being heard.

I also remember that over time, Enniskillen as a wider community moved on positively and the now-vibrant town became a byword for reconciliation.

We are good in Ireland at what someone recently called “memorialisation”. The country is peppered with memorials representing different sides in our bloody history, from statues and elaborate structures to simple roadside markers.

Only the people who put them up will know their true purpose, whether only a heartfelt honouring of a loved one cruelly taken or making a wider point in a gesture of defiance to an enemy.

Indeed, we should remind ourselves that our graveyards here in Fermanagh are full of memorials, granite headstones to hundreds of people who lost their lives needlessly in a callous, brutal conflict.
Enniskillen was just one such atrocity, but I believe it was a significant turning point in our troubles which lead to the political process turning society in a different direction.

So, there is much to remember next Wednesday, and as an Enniskillener I would like us to remember with dignity as well as raw honesty.

Next Wednesday will be an uncomfortable reminder of an awful time, particularly of course for the victims’ families and for those still bearing the physical and mental scars. We sometimes don’t remember that while time and society moves on, many people hurt and bereaved in violence still live day and daily with that legacy and pain.

Many of those most directly affected have been on different journeys, and even now some want different things. Some want to lead quiet lives away from the spotlight or to build a better future for their own future generations. Remember and change is a phrase that comes to mind. Some want to let their anger at the injustice of what happened be more public, while some want some a tangible form of justice, however unlikely that may seem.

Some want different things at different times, some perhaps are unable to articulate what they actually want. Sadly, over the years the plight of the victims has not always been recognised. Some politicians were quick enough to use Enniskillen’s name to make a partisan political point, but I didn’t see them rushing to help people out with financial support, or counselling or whatever practical help was needed.

That was left to dedicated people on the ground at times.

I believe, especially at this time, that all victims should be appreciated and respected. I had the honour when writing a book of interviewing many people most directly affected; I say honour because many of them brought me into their homes and trusted me enough to open their hearts. I found wonderful and warm human beings, and largely speaking found an amazing lack of bitterness.

I remember Noreen Hill bringing me down to a room in her house to see her husband, Ronnie, lying in a coma; and as I left I wondered out loud if she ever became bitter. “The Lord wouldn’t let me, He knew bitterness would only be a burden,” she told me.

Noreen has passed on, as have many of the people I interviewed, and the next generation of families carry on the baton of remembering those who were lost.

Largely speaking, Enniskillen has maintained a dignified response in the face of evil, and I hope my home town continues to be a beacon of how to look such evil in the eye and avoid hate.

And it’s important for me to give expression to the many people affected by the bombing who want this anniversary to be dignified and not veer into point scoring.

It’s interesting that in the early years following Enniskillen, there was some frustration in some quarters that only Gordon Wilson’s voice was being heard; but now only certain other voices are being heard in a media which looks lazy at times.

It’s always worrying, too, when politicians take a particular victim line, and when organisations purport to represent “the victims” when actually there is a wide range of views and feelings within the groups of families.

It is always hard to get the tone of remembrance right, and while I and my generation look back at our experiences of events through different prism, it is not easy for people who have grown up since then to understand how low we were and how we responded. That is why the recent utterances of the chairman of Fermanagh and Omagh Council, Mr. McCann were so disappointing and insensitive.

While there was so much hope coming out of Enniskillen, we cannot ignore that there is also division in our community which threatens our fragile peace.

But God forbid that Enniskillen becomes a focus for anger, controversy and political point scoring.

I don’t remember it as that.

We need to remember everyone next week, victims, their families, the injured, and the whole community. We need to remember everything and make sure that this horrible bloodshed and hurt can’t happen again.