Stardust Inquests – Day 1 – Pen Portraits

Today we heard the Pen Portraits of Michael Barrett & Carol Bissett.

Michael Barrett – (Read by Gertrude Barrett – Mother)

My name is Gertrude Barrett, mother of Michael Barrett; Michael was aged 17,

and an apprentice plumber; he was in the Stardust in a working capacity on

the night of the fire, he was an assistant DJ, with his friend Colm O Brien.

Michael was a son, a brother, a grandson, a nephew, a cousin, a friend and a

neighbour. He was the eldest of four children; he had one sister and two

brothers. He was a great brother, who looked out for and protected his younger

siblings; he was a fun brother too.

He was a great son, a kind son; we had a very close mother/son relationship.

Michael had wisdom beyond his years, if he said everything would be alright,

then the chances are that it would be alright. For him, nothing was ever too

much and nowhere was ever too far. He was keen to make life and the future

easier, better and brighter for himself and his family. He had an aura and a

presence that brought belief, calm and confidence.

For such a short life, Michael left an impression on people he met, be it for a

minute, a day or a week. We have come to know this down through the years,

from the many stories people have shared with us about the time(s) they met

Michael. Michael was always smiling and had an infectious laugh; another

thing people would say about him is ’I still remember his smile and his laugh’.

Michael was quite popular and well liked, he knew lots of people and lots of

people knew him. However, he was most comfortable with and among his

small, tightknit, close circle of friends, he was a very loyal friend too. (His friends

are still in our lives). Michael wasn’t in a relationship when he died; but his friends

have told me, apparently, that he had no shortage of female interest.

Michael was a sociable outgoing individual with a quiet and confident nature,

he was a caring, pleasant and kind person. A principled individual with a

philosophical approach to life. He was willing to lend a hand, help someone

out and or do what he could to help people in general. Michael was an absolute

‘pet’ of a person who was happy go lucky, good humoured and he loved a great

natter, no matter the topic. He was good to go to for advice, he was fair and

balanced with his opinions and his views.

Michael had a wicked sense of humour and he loved cracking jokes and playing

pranks; two of his favourites were; during dinner he would tell his sister there

was a knock on the door and she would go and answer it, when she came back,

he would have eaten her meat/chicken, but never the vegetables. He would

place a toy rat on my magazines, when I lifted them, the rat would roll off and

put the heart crossways in me, he was always close by waiting for my terrifying

reaction and would fall about the place laughing.

He was very optimistic and positive about his life going forward; he was

ambitious and had very clear plans, dreams, hopes and wishes for his future,

(even) hoping that maybe one day himself and his brothers would have their

own business. He was going ‘to make it’ and ‘get rich’ too, but then again, what

seventeen-year-old isn’t. As his mother, I have no doubt that he would ‘have

made it’ and got ‘rich too’. (Because) he knew what it took; and that was to

work hard and save hard until you reach your goal, and this is exactly what he

did to buy his first record player and racing bike. Another big dream of his

(when he finished his apprenticeship) was to go to Australia, with his friend

Gerry (who survived the fire), who had a brother there; thankfully Gerry got to

go for a few years.

Michael had several hobbies and interests, football and ‘D.J-ing’ were his main

ones. He loved anything to do with ‘D.J-ing’, listening to the top 40 every week,

watching top of the pops, buying records and albums, busy building his

collection for DJ-ing. Michael had a number of opportunities to go to Big D

radio to shadow the DJ Tony Dixon (RIP) and to learn all he could about

radio/DJ-ing and presenting. I will forever wonder would Michael have had a

part-time job as a DJ and a full-time job as plumber, or a full-time job as a DJ

and a part time job as a plumber – that I will never know!

Michael was an avid supporter of Liverpool Football Club and the ‘Dubs’. He

looked forward to the day he could take a trip to Anfield and see the ‘reds’ play

a home game. It never happened, but thankfully he got to see the Dubs play in

Croke Park. (his brother takes his Liverpool scarf to Anfield when he goes to matches). He played

football too; he loved watching The Big Match, Match of the Day, buying the

Shoot comic; all things football; and keeping up to date with all the weekly

soccer news.

 

Up to and including 13th February 1981, we were a happy family unit, with four

children, doing regular things, living a regular life, doing what you do with a

family of four aged 17 years and under. Life was good and all was well. But

 

little did I know that Friday the 13th February 1981 would be the last day of life

as we knew it and that the following day our lives would change

catastrophically forever.

On February 14th 1981 we woke up to trauma and were catapulted into

unimaginable grief and sorrow! Upon hearing the news of the fire, I went to

Coolock Garda Station, there, we were told to go down to the Malahide Road

and get the bus into Store St (Store St Garda Station/Morgue).

We were one of the first families, if not the first family, to arrive in Store St that

morning. As the morning unfolded, other families started to arrive too, looking

for their children. All of us, in the throes of unimaginable grief, shock and

utter disbelief and not making much sense of anything. As the morning and

the day went on, the scale of the fire was becoming obvious, from the sheer

volume of grief, the tears, the crying, the unknown, the confusion, the mayhem,

the chaos, just everything about it, it was horrendous, utter horror, a living

nightmare; the experience will stay with me for life and my daughter too, who

was with me.

 

No one explained to us what we were about to face, from the enormity of the

situation, the ferocity of the fire, the number of deaths, identification of bodies,

outcomes and or what to expect and more, no one to help you comprehend,

understand or grasp what lay ahead. Families had to rely heavily on each other

for comfort, reassurance and for snippets of information from relatives and the

newspapers.

Throughout the day we went between Store St Garda Station and the morgue,

the morgue to fill in forms and Store St to wait for news of Michael. Several

times during the day a list of names would be called out by a Garda; the lists

never had a ‘name’, it reminded me of a school ‘roll-call’. I never knew if it was

a good or a bad thing that Michael wasn’t on any of these lists/‘roll call of

names’, and neither was it explained to me. It was late in the afternoon when

the final list of names would be called out, this list had a name … ‘the missing

list’, Michael was on this list. Later that night I was informed that there were

forty names and forty bodies, and I took from this that Michael was deceased.

I spent four days in total in the city morgue and Store St, waiting…waiting…and

waiting…for Michael to be identified. It was an horrendous four days, there are

no words to adequately describe what we experienced during the four days. I

won’t ever forget the callousness of it all.

 

On the fourth day, Tuesday, on the eleventh-hour Michael would be the last

identified victim of the Stardust fire (and I was informed that his body will be

released to Jennings (undertakers) on Thursday). I asked if I could I see him

(Michael) and if I could have his clothes; I was told ‘remember him the way he

was’ and ‘you can come in anytime in the next six weeks to get his clothes’.

Michael was buried on Friday, 20Th February, seven days from the night he

went out. Seven days that are etched in our hearts and minds forever. I thank

God I got Michael to bury him (what remained of him), five other victims had

to wait another twenty-five years.

Due to no fault of our own, his funeral was impersonal and rushed; there was

no funeral discussion or adequate and appropriate planning on our behalf and

no opportunity to place personal items in his coffin. Because, we were ‘told’

what was happening, ‘told’ the body would be released to Jennings – (I might have

wanted to use another undertaker) ‘told’ the funeral time and date; just like I was ‘told’

to get the bus into Store St. ‘told’ everything and ‘asked nothing’. Let’s not

forget all of this being added to the distress of not seeing his body, only a coffin.

No personal touch for his final journey and resting place.

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I will never get over losing Michael in such an appalling way, never! I am forever

haunted by the thoughts of his final moments; what were his last words, did he

call out for help, how frightened was he, did he know he was going to die?

Michael should have never had to leave this world the way he did and at such

a young age too.

If I stood here for a month, it still wouldn’t be long enough to describe or share

the true impact of the Stardust fire, the experience of the four days in Store

St/Morgue, the funeral arrangements, the aftermath, the trauma, the void in

our home and our lives, not to mention the forty-year fight for justice too. I

should not have to be standing here today.

(Since then)

Like a tornado, the Stardust fire ripped through the core of our beings,

wreaking havoc and utter devastation in its wake, leaving nothing untouched;

be it our home, our lives, our relationships, our education, our future, our

outlook on life, (in fact) our everything, nothing was ever the same again,

NEVER THE SAME and changed forever as we knew it.

I only had seventeen and a half years of ‘normality’ /regular family life, my

youngest son had ten years, my middle son had fourteen and my daughter had

sixteen years; no matter how long my children live, their lives as they knew it

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ended at ages, 10, 14 and 16. The rest of their rearing years were done through

a sea of tears, unimaginable grief, sadness, sorrow and untold amount of

emotional pain. It was heart breaking to watch them struggling, to deal with

and trying to understand and come to terms with their loss and adjust to and

face their new life long reality; and to watch what it was doing to their young

lives, their minds, their education, their teenage years and their future. Heart

breaking to have to steer them from negative thoughts and comments such as

‘what’s the point in this’ ‘what’s the point in that’ ‘because you could die

tomorrow – Michael did’; this was very difficult and extremely worrying.

Equally, my children not only watched my struggle but also had to live with a

mother’s grief too; and ‘a mother’s grief is as timeless as her love’. Whilst I lost

my eldest son to the Stardust fire, my children not only lost their brother but

their mother as they knew her too.

As a family we will never recover from the trauma of the Stardust fire and its

affects; it has been absolutely crippling at times. It leaves you feeling helpless,

unable to cope, numb and disconnected. It has caused untold amount of stress

and anxiety that takes its toll on your health, your wellbeing and your life.

Although we have learned to live with it and it live with us, this is how it will be

until we take our last breath. And all of this has been compounded by a forty-

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year fight for justice (which is another story all of its own). I should have never

had to fight for justice for Michael, never!

In his death, Michael was denied every life experience possible that his siblings

went on to have. For example, travelling, holidays, living abroad, trips to

Anfield; marriage, children, becoming a parent/Father’s Day, christenings,

communions, confirmations, Christmases, easters, birthdays, nieces, nephews,

extended family and all of the other life experiences, celebrations and events

that occur throughout the lifespan of every family. And, all of our life

experiences, celebrations and events were and are, marred and scarred, tainted

and tarnished by his absence. We, his family, have and will continue to wonder

what life might have been like had there been no Stardust (fire).

As we wrote this pen portrait for Michael; remembering the person he was, it

saddens us to our core that he never got the chance to fulfil his potential in life

and throughout life. And, that he never got the chance to achieve his goals,

plans, dreams, hopes and wishes. A life ended before it even had a chance to

begin.

Rest in peace Michael.

We miss you and everything about you, every day.

 

 

Bisset, Carol – Elizabeth Bissett

February 14th, 1981. A day margined in my mind, body and soul. The day the

Stardust fire took my beautiful daughter Carol.

We were blessed with five lovely children, Carol being the second eldest. Until that

fatal night, life was relatively good for our lovely family. Carol was quiet, in her

ways, however, she would participate well in school. Academically: she was in the

school band, the choir and the girl guides. She had good friends and later a good job.

Myself and her dad came from large families, a close community. Carol was a

daughter, sister, cousin and god mother to my sister’s twins whom she loved dearly.

There was so much taken from her that night. Devastating our family, friends and

community. When the terrible news came, we couldn’t take it in. A bad dream,

someone else’s nightmare. She was in the hospital and died three days later. She was

alone, I wasn’t there to hold her hand or tell her I love her.

I was put on very strong medication. I had a son 19 years old, daughter 14 and 7

years old. I wasn’t capable of taking care of them and my family stepped in. My

children missed their sister and their mum and dad. In later years, my two eldest

suffered addiction problems. They have all been to counselling. I lost my child and

couldn’t be there for the rest. I meet school friends often or they visit with their

children and I never stop wondering where would she be in her life, would she have

had children?

Poem by her sister Liz

Carol

The day that’s etched within my mind is the day after you said goodbye,

it’s the day the joy of my first 7 years slowly, slowly disappeared.

I didn’t understand what was wrong, but I felt the pain

so very strong. I sat with all the people there and wished

they’d all just disappear,

if they were gone then you’d come home, and everything would be as it was before.

I didn’t get to say goodnight, I couldn’t even hold you tight.

I wish I could recall the times, we spent together you and I

But I had to lock them all away for fear that I would cause

more pain.

My grief with my memories I buried deep, they only surfaced

in my sleep.

I didn’t get to say goodnight, I couldn’t even hold you tight.

My memories then are filled with Mam and minding her as best I can,

To stop her crying over the child she lost, I had to help her bear her cross

I couldn’t even speak your name, the mention caused just so much pain.

I feel you with me every day, I see you in my children’s play. I know you guide us

wherever we go,

And I love more than words will show.

I wish I’d got to say goodnight, I wish I got to hold you tight.