Whatever Happened To... Jo Berry who befriended her dad's killer?
Jo Berry with Patrick Magee, the man who planted the bomb that killed her dad, Pick Me Up, Issue 29
Saturday 21st July 2007
Could you make friends with the man who murdered your dad? Could you work with him, go for dinner, share a joke together? Like hell, you're probably thinking. You'd sooner kill him. Right?
And I wouldn't blame you. After all, that's just what I'd have thought before that weird day back in 2000, when I came face to face with the man who killed my dad. But in order to understand how this friendship came about, I need to explain how my dad died.
It was 12 October 1984, and I was 27. My dad, Sir Anthony Berry, the MP for Enfield, was at a Conservative party conference in Brighton. He and my mum, Mary Roche, had divorced 21 years earlier, and I was staying at my sister Antonia's house in West London.
At 6am, Antonia ran into my bedroom.
'There's been a bomb at Dad's hotel!' she screamed.
Terrified, we stayed by the phone for eight hours, until finally, our brother, Edward, 24, called. Dad was dead.
The next few days, I survived on autopilot. The bomb had been a direct attempt to kill Margaret Thatcher. The papers were full of the story. TORY CABINET IN BRIGHTON BOMB BLAST, they screamed. The IRA had issued a statement claiming responsibility. Dad was one of five people who'd been killed.
To everyone else, he was an MP. But to me, he was just Dad, the man who taught me to ride a bike and bought me ice creams. Two weeks after Dad's death, we held his funeral. As the service went on, I felt a new emotion. Anger.
A few weeks later, I found myself walking along in London, unable to remember how to even take a step. What was happening to me? Just put one foot in front of the other, I told myself. Somehow, I managed to reach the bookshop at St James's Church. I vaguely knew the shop owner, Peter Tuffnell, 29.
'I need help,' I pleaded.
Peter listened as I opened my heart about Dad. How I planned to travel to India
and take time to grieve.
'You could stay here instead,' Peter suggested. 'You can help me run the bookshop.'
'OK,' I said.
Working at the bookshop put some routine back in my life, and gradually, things with Peter turned romantic. He was there to support me 18 months on, in September 1986 when Patrick Magee, the man charged with planting and exploding the bomb, appeared at the Old Bailey.
I couldn't bear to go to court. Magee was found guilty of five counts of murder, given eight life sentences, seven of which related to the Brighton bomb, and ordered to serve a minimum of 35 years. The verdict barely dented the surface.
Peter took charge of everything — deciding what we had for dinner, dealing with the bills. When we got married in January 1990, I still wasn't thinking for myself. Even having my daughters, Ava, now 17, Iona, 14, and Helena, 11, didn't take away the pain.
I needed answers, and my search took me to Northern Ireland, where I met people who'd been involved in the IRA. I went to conferences about forgiveness and surviving trauma in an attempt to regain control. But I still suffered flashbacks. Life was one long nightmare.
Until one day in June 1999, when I watched the news. Here I was, 16 years after my father died, seeing his killer walking out of prison. Patrick Magee's face was blank. He'd been released early as part of the Good Friday Agreement, a step in the Northern Ireland Peace Process.
He might be free, but I'd never felt so trapped. I had an overwhelming urge to meet him, to ask him why. I made some enquiries, but kept hitting dead ends. Then, a year on, a friend from the forgiveness workshop, Ann Gallagher, 47, called. I knew she had a friend who knew Magee.
'You can meet him at my house,' she whispered. 'Tonight.'
'No!' I gasped.
It felt so cloak and dagger as I took the ferry from Holyhead to Dublin. I'd insisted I went alone. But as I sat in Ann's living room, I wasn't sure I'd done the right thing. By the time the doorbell went, every nerve in my body was screaming out. What the hell would I say?
Finally Patrick Magee, 48, walked in. He was so… ordinary. His short dark hair was flecked with grey.
'Thanks for coming,' I blurted.
'No,' he said, in his soft Irish accent. 'Thank you.'
We went straight into talking about the bomb and the IRA. Patrick explained he'd had no way of telling the government how unhappy he was.
'Violence was the only way to get noticed,' he said.
Suddenly I realised we had something in common. We both knew what it was like to feel out of control. How could I be sure I wouldn't have done the same thing if I'd been in his position?
After three hours, Patrick got up to go. 'I'm so sorry I killed your dad,' he told me.
I gulped back tears. Me too.
After that, I began to think more clearly. Ann had a friend who wanted to make a documentary about Patrick and me. I agreed, and two weeks later, we met again. This time, we talked about how we both needed to move on. Filming meant we met up eight times that year.
For the first time since Dad's death, I realised I was finally dealing with my grief. But, bizarrely, the more I recovered, the more my marriage suffered. Spending time with Patrick made me see I had to do something about my unhappy marriage. I'd got to know Patrick better, even shortening his name to Pat. Now, I confided in him about my problems with Peter.
'You have to do what makes you happy,' Pat replied.
Don't get me wrong, it wasn't a case of forgive and forget. I'll never forgive Pat. But I understand him. He assured me he'd never become involved in violence again, and we started an organisation called Building Bridges For Peace, to help people find non-violent ways to solve their problems.
Finally, I told Peter it was over. It was scary. He had always taken care of everything. I didn't even know how to pay a bill. But help came from a very unlikely source. Pat.
It sounds crazy, but I looked forward to our monthly meetings. He's helped me to realise the power of understanding and his motivation for killing Dad. I know many of you will struggle to get your head round this, but all I can say is it feels right. And most importantly, I know Dad would approve.
Patrick Magee says: 'I wasn't afraid of meeting Jo, but I was aware of what a big deal it was. I don't know how I'd react if someone I love was killed. That's why I'm so grateful every time she meets me. Whenever I see her, it's in the back of my mind that I killed her father. I'm lucky to have her as a friend.'
Every week, Pick Me Up revisits someone who's made headlines in the past. Check out the other stories in our 'Whatever Happened To...?' section
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