Rosemary Nelson - "The Voice of the People"

By Anton McCabe

I had the privilege of being a friend of Rosemary Nelson. It is 20 or so years since I first met the then Rosemary Magee on Arranmore Island. She was a teenager bursting with personality, energy and determination. At four or five in the morning, as weaker souls dropped like flies, she was ever-willing to keep the night alive with a good argument. It was obvious that she was a person of great promise: unlike many others, she fulfilled every ounce of that.

Professionally and personally, she did it all. And was on the road to doing yet more.

Amid the reporting of the last few days, her personality has been put to one side. Rosemary was a tiny woman. Talking to her as she sat at her desk, feet tucked on the chair underneath her, eating fags and coffee, you were swept along by this huge personality. Then when it had to quieten to answer the phone, you were shocked at how small the frame that carried it was.

At 30, Rosemary set up her own practice. By the age of 40, she was the top criminal solicitor in Northern Ireland. Getting there was not easy. She came from Lurgan's Kilwilkie estate, a part of town that has suffered much more than its share over the past generation.

Rosemary was incredibly brave, and not just in the expected ways. A prominent birth-mark scarred the left-had side of her face. Unpleasant remarks about it were part of the RUC's stock in trade in their dealings with her. When I think of her, I remember the winning way she tilted her head to present the right-hand side of her face in profile to you.

Rosemary chose a profession that thrust her into the public eye. She didn't avoid the cameras, but faced them without flinching.

The success that came in her life wasn't just professional. She fulfilled herself personally, marrying Paul and having three children.

A solicitor married to an accountant could have chosen an easy life. Rosemary was able enough to have made a lucrative career in any branch of the legal profession.

But justice was what Rosemary was about. Peter John Caraher, whose son Micheal is a client, explains, "She was more of a human rights person than a lawyer."

Her legal work didn't stop when the office closed. She served on the executive of the Committee for the Administration of Justice. She bravely protested at the draconian legislation introduced after last year's Omagh bomb, believing it menaced civil liberties. She had great difficulty organizing legal colleagues to protest. Many lacked her courage, and ran for cover.

I know families whom Rosemary has represented. She was a family friend rather than a solicitor. Her services to them have gone way beyond the call of duty.

What she has done to resist the on-going persecution of Lurgan man Colin Duffy is outstanding. Colin is a neighbour from Kilwilkie: he would still be behind bars, for a murder in which he had no act or part, were it not for her.

At the funeral, I was talking to Diane Hamill, sister of the murdered Robert Hamill. Rosemary was the Hamill family solicitor. Diane is a quiet, shy woman: during her nurse training she couldn't speak, even to small groups. She fainted a number of times when asked to address her class.

Now Diane is the Hamill family's voice, as they seek justice. It was Rosemary who encouraged Diane to speak and gave her the confidence. Diane is devastated. "Who can I ring now?" she asked a group of us.

That theme was taken up by several mourners. "The People's Voice" wasn't a nick-name some hack dreamed up to make a good sound-bite. It was how people on the north side of Lurgan -- and further afield -- saw Rosemary.

Rosemary always remembered that she came from Kilwilkie, and was proud of it. She lived just up the road. There were no airs and graces about her: she was a plain, down-to-earth person. She was the wee woman next door rather than Northern Ireland's top lawyer.

She had the ability to evoke fierce loyalty from all who knew her. There is no other lawyer on this island whose murder would have provoked crowds of young people onto the streets to riot in anger.

Thursday's funeral was one of the biggest ever in Lurgan. Businesses closed as a mark of respect. The media coverage stressed the dignitaries who attended.

What was most striking to anyone on the ground were the ordinary people. Every man, woman and child from Kilwilkie must have turned out. As we walked from the house to St. Peter's church behind the coffin, people flocked from side-streets and houses to join the cortege. It wasn't just Lurgan people: there were mourners from every corner of the North. Not just politicos, but ordinary people paying tribute to someone they respected. Many had made a point of never before going to a 'political' funeral before.

Rosemary spoke to me last year about the threats she received from the security forces, mostly via clients who were being interrogated. She was smart enough to know that death might come knocking at her door.

As well as her energy and personality, what I remember is the strain she clearly suffered: she literally ate cigarettes and coffee.

The belief in Catholic areas, not just among Republicans, is that elements in the security forces colluded with her killers. You can feel the mood in those areas hardening, which may bode ill for the future.

The belief in collusion is not unreasonable. Until now, the Red Hand Defenders and Orange Volunteers have only produced amateurish pipe-bombs. The bomb that ended Rosemary's life was of a sophistication that they had given no sign of. RUC Chief Constable Ronnie Flanagan expressed surprise.

For years, there have been widespread allegations of collusion between the security forces and Loyalist elements in the Lurgan-Portadown area. Rosemary named an RUC officer to me as being involved in the murder of Sam Marshall on 7 March 1990.

In the 1980s Pat Finucane fought the sort of cases Rosemary later did. There is increasing evidence of security force involvement in his 1989 murder, via the intelligence agent Brian Nelson. Rosemary's killing will serve the purpose of scaring more lawyers away from high-profile and controversial political cases.

Some will give up. Others who were considering taking up that kind of work will quietly turn to another career path.

I will always owe Rosemary a personal debt. Because I was a friend, she helped me with big stories. She could easily have gone to a big name journalist with more experience and clout. But as a person who never lost touch with her own place, she preferred to work with those whom she knew. Paul, Christopher, Gavin and Sarah have lost someone who was very special. Our loss can never be as great as theirs, but all on this island are poorer without her.

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