"A face of hope from carnage " She's the face of the future. That's exactly how proud Bobby Baird would like the world to see his beautiful young grand-daughter. At just 12 weeks old, little Lauren was orphaned, when IRA bombers delivered death to Belfast's Shankill Road. The tiny tot was robbed of devoted parents, Evelyn Baird and Michael Morrison, both aged 27, and her adoring big sister, Michelle, 7. Her brother Darren, then a lad of nine, was ill on the day of the bomb, and had stayed at home. Now a young man, he still finds it difficult to come to terms with his heartbreaking loss, and has never spoken of the time when his world fell apart. The victims of the Shankill bomb didn't stand a chance in the no-warning blast, which claimed nine innocent men, women and children, alongside one of their Provo killers. But, life had to go on, for the grieving, the injured and bereaved, who were left behind to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives. Bobby and his wife, Evelyn, who had already reared their own family, were faced with only one choice, to bring up the orphaned kids as their own. Ten years on, the couple - now both pensioners and married for 46 years - are fiercely proud of their two grand-children. "We always imagined that wee Lauren should be the face of the future, a symbol of hope and goodness that came out of that terrible bomb," said Bobby. "She's a wonderful child, full of life and, as we say, a 'ringer' for the sister she lost, Michelle. "We never ever want to return to bombings and bullets, and if the world can see Lauren's story as inspirational, then all the better. "Her granny and I love both those children - we'd die for them." Tears are never far, as Bobby talks of the beloved daughter, who was taken so tragically, alongside her partner of 10 years, and little Michelle. He and his wife spend hour upon hour, talking of the family they loved and lost. And, sleep doesn't come easily for Bobby. "I often sit up the whole night, thinking that if I had been there, I could had distracted the three of them for even five minutes, and they would still be alive," he said. "'It' is a small word, but I turn it over in my head, time after time, after time. "I made a vow, when the three coffins came into my house, that I would do my best to look after the children. "My prayer is always to ask God to give me the strength to live until I'm 74, when Lauren will be 18-years-old. "As a confident young woman, I could then watch her go out into the world, happy and confident. "That's when Evelyn and I will know we have done our best." Haunted by the images
And, among them was adorable little Michelle Baird, his niece, Evelyn's seven-year-old daughter. Charlie, a taxi driver, was at the scene, within seconds of the explosion. "It was a lovely crisp, sunny autumn day," he recalled. "I was driving down Berlin Street, at around 10 past one on that Saturday afternoon, when I heard an unmerciful bang. "It came over on the radio that a bomb had gone off at Frizzell's. "I jumped out of the car, and had just got down the road about 10 yards, when I saw a woman lying in the street. "I went over to see if there was anything I could do, but it was too late - Wilma McKee was dead. "When I reached Frizzell's, it had been reduced to a gaping hole, with tons of rubble blown onto the street. "Like others who were already there, I started to dig and dig." Charlie was aware that something devastating had happened, but his only concern was to rescue the injured. However, as more bodies were being recovered, the enormity of the appalling tragedy started to hit home. "I was helping to bring the body of a wee girl on a stretcher to an ambulance, when I noticed there were two others inside. "It was obvious they were dead." Charlie said he will never forget the calm, which befell the Shankill, as rescue work was underway. The only noise which broke the eerie silence was the sound of a bulldozer's engine, as it cleared away rubble from the scene of the murderous deed. "I think we were all hoping to hear the cries of help from survivors, trapped in the debris," he recalled."Sadly, that never happened." Covered in an inch thick layer of dust, and with blood streaming from his hands, Charlie stayed at Frizzell's, until the last stick of debris had been taken away. Later at home, he reflected on the impact of the atrocity - and was dealt a cruel blow. He had earlier assured his nephew Joe Baird, that he had seen no sign of his sister, Evelyn, her partner Michael Morrison and their daughter Michelle, 7. He was convinced they hadn't been caught in the blast. But, in a split second of absolute horror, it came back to him. "I was devastated," remembered Charlie. "I just asked Joe what Michelle was wearing, and he said a wee cerise pink coat. "In a flash I knew - 'they're dead,' I told him. "I had a fleeting vision of a child in a similar coat, along with a woman, being pulled from the wreckage." It's an image that haunts him to this day. Commemoration service
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