Tiny Sparks of Joy

Fresh bedlinen and a clear bedside table.

New books waiting to be collected at the library.

Only a couple of weeks to go before a full week off work.

A reorganised attic with a place for everything.

The local swimming pool reopening and resuming our weekly hour in the water.

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Tiny Sparks of Joy

James

It’s 25 years since the murder of two year old James Bulger in Merseyside. I remember this like it was yesterday. I was about the same age as the boys who murdered him. I remember the disbelief that children like me could kill a child. I remember the trial and the references to Boy A and Boy B – one line in particular stands out when I saw in on an ITV news report, “The other boy did it”. The Mothercare CCTV footage is still shockingly, gut wrenchingly awful. I can’t read all the details of the case, and what details I do know still make me cry.

I admire Denise Fergus more than I can possibly express. I don’t know how she has kept going, but she has a depth and strength of character I can only dream of. To campaign and show more restraint than the adults who banged on the sides of the van bringing the boys who murdered her son to court, baying for their lives, is awe inspiring. Even this week, she’s working on a petition instead of posting on forums, calling for the retrospective death penalty to be applied.

To be pushed into that sort of life is just so bloody unfair. If I, a grown woman who was a child when this happened, can be more upset now than I was when the dawning horror of what happened started being reported, how does she cope? I hope she can get some sort of satisfaction from knowing that people like me, in another country who she has to give no thought to, admire her still, and think of her and her boy, and we cry for her loss and her heartbreak.

James