Pat Smyth, a civil servant with the National Assistance Board in West Tyrone from the 1930's to the 1950's, recalls his memories, experiences and the larger than life personalities he encountered on the way.

Most days were uneventful in Omagh, which may have been the reason why the arrivals and departures of the mail trains to and from Derry and Belfast caused so much of a stir.

The platforms were usually bustling. The railway link was so essential to Omagh that it is difficult to understand how the Stormont Cabinet got away with closing it, not so long after the war ended.

Granted, there was little or no industry west of the Bann, as a consequence of the Government policy of industrial development, but the state of the roads made a journey from Omagh to anywhere tedious, and in winter conditions a nightmare.
       
Since I was for some year's part of the sizeable contingent of 'imports' that commuted by train each weekend I had a kind of sentimental attachment to the G.N.R. It was nice to step aboard the mail train on a Saturday and leave it all behind, in the halcyon days of the developing Welfare State.

Everyone knew everyone on the train and the relatively slow journey to Portadown and beyond was a pleasant social occasion. Coming back on Sunday, which was unavoidable at times, was distasteful as far as I was concerned, since my main attractions lay in South Antrim.
       
Sadly it is a tragedy, which remains uppermost in my memories of the G.N.R. One miserable cold foggy afternoon in November 1950 five railway men were cut to pieces when they stepped out of the way of a train entering Omagh station. With the noise, the stream and the poor visibility they failed to get out of the way of a second train coming from the opposite direction.
           
Two men named McCrory died, one from River Row and the other from Killclogher. The third was called Flannagan, the fourth was Mr. Cassidy from the Dromore Road, and the fifth was John Cleery from Drumshanley.

As their coffins were carried into the Sacred Heart Church, it seemed as if all West Tyrone had assembled to mourn them. The vast multitude standing bareheaded and silent outside the packed church was an unforgettable sight.
       
It was a Sunday and a deputation of local parliamentarians and other public representatives approached me to see what could be done to relieve any immediate distress suffered by the widows. I was asked if I would visit all of them personally and I agreed.
       
Next day I set out on the melancholy round of visits, with trepidation. However, the kind reception which I got, and the appreciation shown by the bereaved, made the task less daunting then I had anticipated. I was able to offer immediate cash aid or for National Assistance to be put in payment without delay while the formalities for awarding widows' benefit were sorted out.
       
Mrs. McCrory of Killclogher had suffered a double tragedy within six months, her 16-year-old daughter having died in a road accident near home earlier in 1950. Hers was the saddest case that I ever dealt with. The poor woman was prostrate with grief and I had no answer to her burning question - 'Why?' Why indeed?
       
Nevertheless that round of visits left me with a lasting sense of job satisfaction. For once, the worth of the State assistance scheme was obvious.

With Williamson out visiting at Liggins.

Pat Smyth, 2001