14 December 2007

An independant witness supports Mr & Mrs McCann

A witness has finally broken her silence to add more confirmation that Mr & Mrs McCann were in no way involved in any despicable crime in relation to their daughter Madeline.

This person has got to be one of the strongest witnesses supporting their innocence considering her respected background in working as a producer on BBC's crimewatch.

Another coincidence in this case that one of the main witnesses worked reconstructing similar cases within Britain so knows exactly what goes on inside such crimes and was able to personally witness this one unfold and become a star witness for the parents who have been wrongly accused.

Who could have known what was going to happen and orchestrate things this way, or is this just another coincidence to write off.

Why have people stayed silent whilst watching the McCann family forced to endure having the world upon their shoulders?

Article taken from
Joana Morais

My Months with Madeline

Previously on the Mccann's case:"Wilkins was refusing to expand on what he has told police. His girlfriend Bridget O'Donnell —who was in Praia da Luz with the producer and their eight-month-old son—said: "We have decided it's not appropriate to talk about what happened."

Wilkins' pal added: "He came back from the holiday totally shell-shocked. He was part of a British crowd which included the McCanns who became friends as they holidayed in Portugal."

Who is Bridget O'Donnell:
O'Donnell is a BBC TV director and writer. She co-produces,and has worked in both drama and documentary at the BBC (Crimewatch). Lie Back in Anger was her first play – written during maternity leave while her baby slept .

This is her side of the story:

It was a welcome spring break, a chance to relax at a child-friendly resort in Portugal. Soon Bridget O'Donnell and her partner were making friends with another holidaying family while their three-year-old daughters played together. But then Madeleine McCann went missing and everyone was sucked into a nightmare

We lay by the members-only pool staring at the sky. Round and round, the helicopters clacked and roared. Their cameras pointed down at us, mocking the walled and gated enclave. Circles rippled out across the pool. It was the morning after Madeleine went.

Six days earlier we had landed at Faro airport. The coach was full of people like us, parents lugging multiple toddler/baby combinations. All of us had risen at dawn, rushed along motorways and hurtled across the sky in search of the modern solution to our exhaustion - the Mark Warner kiddie club. I travelled with my partner Jes, our three-year-old daughter, and our nine-month-old baby son. Praia da Luz was the nearest Mark Warner beach resort and this was the cheapest week of the year - a bargain bucket trip, for a brief lie-down.

Excitedly, we were shown to our apartments. Ours was on the fourth floor, overlooking a family and toddler pool, opposite a restaurant and bar called the Tapas. I worried about the height of the balcony. Should we ask for one on the ground floor? Was I a paranoid parent? Should I make a fuss, or just enjoy the view?

We could see the beach and a big blue sky. We went outside to explore.

We settled in over the following days. There was a warm camaraderie among the parents, a shared happy weariness and deadpan banter. Our children made friends in the kiddie club and at the drop-off, we would joke about the fact that there were 10 blonde three-year-old girls in the group. They were bound to boss around the two boys.

The children went sailing and swimming, played tennis and learned a dance routine for the end-of-week show. Each morning, our daughter ran ahead of us to get to the kiddie club. She was having a wonderful time. Jes signed up for tennis lessons. I read a book. He made friends. I read another book.

The Mark Warner nannies brought the children to the Tapas restaurant to have tea at the end of each day. It was a friendly gathering. The parents would stand and chat by the pool. We talked about the children, about what we did at home. We were hopeful about a change in the weather. We eyed our children as they played. We didn't see anyone watching.

Some of the parents were in a larger group. Most of them worked for the NHS and had met many years before in Leicestershire. Now they lived in different parts of the UK, and this holiday was their opportunity to catch up, to introduce their children, to reunite. They booked a large table every night in the Tapas. We called them "the Doctors". Sometimes we would sit out on our balcony and their laughter would float up around us. One man was the joker. He had a loud Glaswegian accent. He was Gerry McCann. He played tennis with Jes.

Continue reading:
My months with Madeline

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