Stardust Inquests – Day 12 – Pen Portraits

McDonnell, Julie – Pamela McDonnell

Good morning Doctor Cullinane, good morning everybody.

My name is Pamela McDonnell, the niece of Julie McDonnell. I am 41 years old and I have never  met my aunty Julie but 14 months after her untimely demise, I was born into a  grieving ‘Stardust family’.

I am here today to represent Julie on behalf of her late mother Trish, late sister Lorraine, brothers Paddy and Martin and sister Paula.

Everything had changed by the time I arrived, so I only know how people were  post-Stardust.

I grew up around sadness and loss on my dad’s side of the family. I  can’t put into words the effect it had on Julie’s mother Trish, my beautiful nanny and  her sisters and brothers.

It feels strange to me to be writing this, but I have heard so many stories and  memories from our family that I feel like I do know Julie and the type of person she  was.

I know that when my sister and myself slag my dad off, that she would have loved  it.

I know when new babies were born into the family, she would have loved them  all. I picture her smiling always and I often think of the life she could have had and  what she missed out on.

Julie was a special kind of person. Everyone has the same opinion of her: fun, loving,  happy, smiling, helpful, caring and thoughtful.

She was a hard worker and provided  for the house as a breadwinner along with my nanny as my granddad was  estranged.

Julie and my nanny were more like friends than mother and daughter.

Julie did  everything to please her mam and if her sisters or brothers needed anything or had  no money, she would always look after them. She was always there to help. She always kept the pressure off my nanny when it came to bills and shopping. As long as her family was happy,  Julie was happy too. That was the sort of person she was.

Julie and her sister Lorraine were like 2 peas in a pod. They did everything together and went everywhere together. She was a great sister. The girls shared a bedroom and it was filled with records, posters and books.

She worked hard in Portion Foods and had many friends.

She was football mad and  very competitive. She was a coach for the local football team.

Julie loved music, she was Elvis mad. When I was younger, I was convinced Elvis Presley was my uncle as I assumed if  you loved someone, you were married.

My mam and dad attended the Stardust the night of the fire. They both have their  memories of the night and how they escaped.

They often retell their individual  stories. Sometimes I see them drift back to that night and I see the sheer terror on  their faces and a look in their eyes, that breaks my heart. They both heard and saw  things that are etched in their minds and will forever be a part of who they are now.

From the stories shared, on the day of the 13^th February 1981, there was a great buzz  in my nanny’s house as Paula the youngest sister was dancing in the K-tel disco dancing  competition that night and everyone was going.

Julie was more into cabaret and  not into dancing, but she went along to support her little sister. Along with Paddy (my dad), Lorraine and lots of friends, work colleagues and  neighbours.

I picture my nanny waving them all off, wishing them all the best and giving the usual  “look after each other” and “don’t come home without each other” speech as they all  headed off in great form.

I imagine my nanny sitting by the fire waiting with  anticipation to hear the results of the competition, hoping for the best.

The kids  didn’t realise they would never see that version of their mam again as she waved  them off that night.

The night was going great and a ball was being had by all, they had their chips and  sausages and the competition began.

Paula was crowned the winner along with  Errol Buckley from Donneycarney.

My dad said when Paula won, that Julie and  Lorraine went mad screaming their heads off with delight for her. He said they were  all made up and loving life.

Paula remembers leaving the stage and joining the girls  for a celebration dance. Everybody was so happy.

What happened next changed the path of so many, 48 lives came to an abrupt end,  people were injured and traumatised forever from that moment on.

It was chaos outside as the neighbours and parents had started arriving on the scene. 

Everyone was looking for the friends and family they had went out with at the beginning of the night. My dad saw Paula leave and he met Julie outside, they were both looking for Lorraine. He said you go that way and ill go this way.

Little did he know, Julie went back in to try to find her sister.

Eventually Paddy was told Lorraine was ok so he assumed they were all safe.

They left and headed home to make sure everyone was safe.

As they walked up the  Kilmore Road, there was talk of people dying and they couldn’t believe that  someone they had been dancing with might be dead.

They never realised how bad it  was and how many people were missing.

My dad arrived home and  Julie was not there.

Lorraine had gone to  hospital with burns and Paula and my nanny stood by the window awaiting news of  Julie.

My nanny had convinced herself that Julie was okay and that she had gone to help  someone else.

As the count of the missing and dead got higher, panic started to sink in and my dad and his brother Martin went to search for Julie in the main hospitals.

There were lots of moments of relief for friends who were finding loved ones, and also lots of false hope for us too.

My dad said there would be lots of “they found  such and such” and their hearts would jump thinking it was their loved one, and  then the scary reality kicking in.

They gave descriptions of Julie and were told no, try the next hospital and the same happened again there.

They met a guard who told them to go to the morgue.

They gave Julies description and  went home to see if there had been any contact made and had Julie arrived home in  the meantime.

They continued to search the following day but it would be the  Monday morning before Julie was identified by her aunt and uncle by her belongings.

That was the start of the whole new life in the McDonnell household filled with pain, anger and hurt.

Julie’s 21^st birthday was planned for the following weekend. She had  it all organised and paid for.

The family was faced with canceling her party and her funeral was organised instead. The family had no involvement in the planning of the funeral, no special songs, prayers. Told where to go and when to show up.  

She was buried in sutton graveyard  2 days before her 21^st birthday.

My dad was the eldest and Julie was a year younger, so he lost his best friend that  night too. They had a great friendship and I wish I could have seen them grow old  together.

It was tough living in the house afterwards as the word ‘Stardust’ was not to be  muttered. Everyone was grieving and everything had changed.

Paula was only 15 on the night of the fire and had to live with the fact the lots of friends and family had gone to support her that night. I speak to Paula today and I can still see the anguish and guilt that she lives with.

In 1985, the families attended the original inquest of the victims.

They stood in court to be told Julie died by fire.

This itself was a whole new level of grief.

The years went by slowly. Julie’s death took a big toll on Lorraine, she had lost her  sidekick. Her mental health was suffering and she went back to school to occupy her  mind.

She tried to find work here but was not having any luck. She began applying for jobs  in New York and Canada as an au pair. My nanny, as devastated as she would be to  say goodbye to another daughter, knew it was in her best interest to go as the future  of the country looked bleak.

In 1986, the government was paying out compensation to the victims of the fire.

This  did not sit well with Lorraine and she told my dad she felt as though they were  buying her grief.

She was offered £33,000 for her burns and was due to collect her

cheque on the Tuesday.

That was not to be, as Lorraine killed herself on the Monday night. Another child gone.  

I remember Lorraine. I was told I brought her some joy in those dreadful years after. 

I have some lovely memories of her that I cherish. I can still see her smiling face and  hear her laugh. She had a wicked sense of humour and always played tricks on me.  She spoiled me rotten and brought me everywhere.

I feel her near me often and I miss her. I wish I had the chance to grow up with my 2 aunties and be part of their lives today but sadly, it was not to be.

This goes so deep  inside families; I feel like I missed out too and I wasn’t even born that night.

It’s been 42 years now and sadly, we said goodbye to my beautiful heartbroken  nanny in December 2020.

There was no justice nor any resolve for her. Our only  consolation is that she is with the girls now.

I wear Julie’s watch today, carry Lorraine’s letters and wear my nanny’s bracelet. I know they are all with me in spirit today encouraging the good fight.

Please bring  peace to our families and finally allow them to rest.

Julie and Lorraine left their mark and they will never be forgotten.

Thank you for listening.

 

Teresa McDonnell – by Richard McDonnell (brother) & family

There is a focal point around which everything revolves – the centre that holds everything together. When that focal point is broken, everything falls apart and is scattered to the wind. For the McDonnell family, that focal point was our sister Teresa. 

Teresa held everything together with love, fun and happiness, and when she was killed, on Valentine’s night over forty years ago, our whole family was scattered to the wind. 

To the world, she was a name which was read aloud on the news – one of 48 names of young people who were killed in a fire on the north side of Dublin, but we lost everything that night. 

Teresa loved life and tried to live and enjoy every moment. It was that love for life and living that brought her to the Stardust that night. 

She looked forward to the music and meeting her family and friends whom she always had time for. Teresa was a fun-loving, friendly, beautiful, young girl who was killed at the age of 16 and a half years. 

Teresa loved all animals, whether they were tame or feral, and they always seemed to warm to her. 

She was also brave. She was a young girl that always stood up for what she believed in, no matter what the consequences, even if it resulted in raised voices from our parents. 

She attended Saint Mary’s Secondary School in Killester, which she hated with a passion. Although she was very bright, she had no time for academics. School was about the social aspect for her. Teresa loved hair, makeup and beauty and she spoke about getting a career as a beautician or hairdresser. 

Teresa had a huge circle of friends who to this day talk about the fun, full-of-life, personality that was our sister. 

Stardust Fire 

After an eternity of waiting, I remember the Guards coming to the house and asking, “Do these things belong to your daughter?”. My Ma was screaming through the house, in panic. 

The howling screams of my Ma ripped through our whole family fracturing body and spirit, sending us into an absence of being that I don’t think we ever came out of. 

When the news that Teresa’s body was found Father Crossen, the local priest, called to the house and  began saying the Rosary, just a pleading prayer that begged with all of our hearts, “Please God, don’t let this be true!”. 

Our sister is gone.

Her name, too painful to recall. Memories of her death and how she was killed scarred our family.

Nothing was done to help us move on, and we had nobody to talk to about the aching pain and frustration in our hearts. 

We had to force a false bravado to help our mother and try to stop her from crying. we would say things like “I’m all right Ma, don’t worry. Please, please, stop crying.”. 

Within 12 months our father was wrecked with cancer – not from life habits but from seeing his daughter lying on a slab and being identified by her eternity ring she got from my mother, a miraculous medal, and brown scapulars. 

We as a family, drifted away from each other, each person looking for comfort, but the sister that brought that comfort was dead, our pain was unending, and the centre that held us together was gone. Our mother’s pain was visible on her face, her heart-breaking never-ending sobs filled our home. A soul had been ripped out of existence in our family, not faded away, our sister’s death threw a sickness over our family that seemed to be terminal.

Our sister was dead in mind, memory and thought. To recall her was painful. To speak about her meant tears. So, for many years after we kept the pain and the memories locked away and compressed into a ball of frustrating anger, simmering under the surface, with no vent for release. 

We spent a great part of our lives not being able to say what was troubling us– not being able to say what was on our minds or to express ourselves fully. 

We had lost more than a sister. 

Our family lost a soul mate the night of the stardust fire; Teresa was our best friend. A confidante to us all. A person who always had time to talk; always had kind words and wisdom of knowing how to use those words for all of us in the family.

Words cannot describe the sorrow our family has endured. The hearts of our mother and father were shattered that night, their souls stripped bare, and their bodies reduced to an unending ache they carried to their graves. We lost more than a sister that night, we lost the centre of our family that kept everyone close with her love, laughter and courage. Our sister Teresa lost the opportunity to meet her nieces and nephews who would have loved their fun-loving aunty. 

Our home, which was once a place of laughter and music and sometimes arguing and shouting, that was always reconciled by a sister who loved peace and knew the ways to instill it. Our home was now a home of sorrow filled with objects and photos that brought back painful memories of our sister Teresa.

An absence filled our home and our hearts. We were all left alone in the darkness of bereavement, wandering through life in pain, after a daughter and sister had been ripped away without ever getting a full answer as to what happened or why it happened. 

The wait for all our unanswered questions has been over 42 years. I hope now we find the justice and peace we have been looking for.

I also have a further pen portrait to read, from my sister, Lorraine, who is sitting down there. Lorraine would find it too harrowing to read at this hearing. 

Pen Portrait – Teresa McDonnell – Lorraine Sorohan (née McDonnell)

On the 14^{th of} February 1981, little did we know that our family and so many other families would have an earthquake going through our homes and our lives. As a survivor of the Stardust fire, I found it difficult to put into words what I want to say. My sister, Teresa McDonnell, died in the Stardust. I have struggled with the great loss of my sister Teresa all my life.

Teresa was my soul mate and my confidante. She was a selfless person who always put other people before herself. We would chat when I came in from work. We shared a bedroom and on long, sleepless nights, we would share all our troubles, dreams, and plans for our future. She always had the time to listen to me. 

On the night of the fire, I had gone to The Stardust with my friends and Teresa had gone with her group of friends. Teresa had come over several times to chat. She was sitting near the main door, as I was at the back. We were having a good time.

When the fire started, my sister Teresa forgot about her own safety and sought me out to tell me that there was a fire and that I was to get out.

My sister’s last words have haunted me for the rest of my life. 

I got out, went around the front of the Stardust, and saw Teresa’s friends. The first thing they said was “Where’s Teresa?”. When we couldn’t find her through the crowds, there was pandemonium and chaos. 

I remember seeing a person in a body bag. I went to open it, but a fireman pulled me back. I eventually went home to tell my parents about the fire. 

I remember when our parents couldn’t find Teresa in any of the hospitals, my Dad came home and went upstairs to his bedroom and broke down crying. I went up to him and said “Da, we’ll find her”. He apologised for crying. I think he was a man from a generation who wanted to stay strong for his family. I remember the realisation that the only place for our Dad to go looking next was the morgue.

My Dad was dead within two years. The shock of the Stardust and identifying his daughter’s dead body killed him.

A week after the Stardust fire, I gave a statement to the Guards in my parents’ home.  This was the most harrowing experience for me.

At the original inquest, my parents were called first so, naturally, they were in all the papers. We remember how they had got our name wrong and called them Mr & Mrs McDonagh not Mc Donnell. To my parents this was so hard but, to the press, we were just another family not even worth getting our name right.

After the death of Teresa, I spent sleepless nights in our shared bedroom, where we had all those late-night chats about our future. I was realising that, for Teresa, there would be no future, and, for me, my life had changed forever. I would never see life the same again. I had no sister to turn to, I had no sister to talk about new romances, new heartbreaks, and plans for the future. A future that had now changed forever.

The lonely nights were endless. The sound of her last words, telling me to get out, haunted my sleep for years.

My parents eventually moved me into the smaller room and my two brothers moved into the room I’d shared with Teresa. Mam had to get a new bed and bedroom furniture for me, as it was just too difficult to look at Teresa’s empty bed and her clothes.

Simple things such as shopping had to change: Mam couldn’t buy foods like cauliflower or the brand, Campbell’s soup, as they were Teresa’s favourite food.

There was so much I missed about Teresa. She should have been chief bridesmaid at my wedding and Godmother to one of my children. At all family get-togethers, she is always missed. It is so sad that my children never got to see their beautiful Aunty Teresa. They never got to know her, but I keep her memory alive, and she is always mentioned at parties, weddings, and especially at Christmas; that was the time she loved the most, because it brought out that inner child in Teresa, that inner child that loved to see everyone happy.

My children say they feel that they know Teresa because I have never let her memory die.

Her last words to me are engraved onto my mind “Lorraine. Get out, there’s a fire.”  The last memory I have of my little sister is her putting me before her own safety.  Her death has left a huge hole in my heart. To this day I still miss my sister, Teresa McDonnell.

McGrath, Gerard – Liz McKeon

To be asked to encapsulate my wonderful brother’s 21 years, the potential 40 years of life he had stolen from him and the effects it had on our small family is an almost impossible task for me.

However, only by reminiscing on a handful of the vivid, personal memories of growing up together can I convey the devastating and enduring impact of his loss.

Gerard was an independent young boy who, after declaring to his mother as a threeyear- old that he was a ‘big boy now’ and throwing his bottle in the bin, spent his days in classic childhood pursuits of the time and was only seen at home when he had to eat or sleep. Yet, unusually, he developed a unique passion for wildlife and had an encyclopaedic knowledge of garden birds.

Three years his elder, I was entrusted to bring him to the old Dublin bird market or to George’s Pet Shop on Marlborough St to listen in wonderment to ‘Jacko’, the talking myna bird. He visited the ‘Dead Zoo’, the Natural History Museum, repeatedly where he remained fascinated by the exhibits. He adopted our first dog, convincing our mother that ‘Scamper’ had followed him home – several dogs followed, Gerard ensuring their central part in the life of our family.

My brother was talented with his hands and was repairing things in the house for my mam as a teenager before going on to become an apprentice cabinet maker, a trade he was learning diligently at the time of his death. He always had ways of earning money, whether it was repairing bicycles or rearing and selling budgies from an aviary he built in our back garden.

The independent streak strengthened as he grew; as soon as he was old enough he bought a Honda 50 followed shortly by his first car, both with his own earnings – he cherished them zealously.

A dapper young man Gerard was particular about clothes and would often spend Saturday afternoons with an iron in hand pressing shirts and jeans listening to his record collection… Mud, Sweet, Gilbert O’Sullivan, Bay City Rollers and selection of Irish ballads. I cherish that collection to this day.

I am continually reminded by Gerard’s friends of his ‘party piece’, the great ballad Nancy Spain, which he would deliver in style and distinction at social gatherings. Friday February 13, 1981 was the last day I saw my brother. I had married theprevious November and had just moved into a new house around the corner from our family home. Running late for a bus that morning, I rang Gerard for a lift which, characteristically, he was only too happy to oblige. En route he explained that he and his girlfriend had placed a deposit on a holiday in Spain which would mean that socialising would have to be curtailed for the next few months. “What about tonight?” I asked somewhat facetiously – Friday nights out were set in stone for Gerard! “Of course I’m going out tonight, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day – after that I’ll be saving hard.” The last words he spoke to me. I stepped out of the car.

At around 3am following morning our doorbell rang. My parents were standing there, holding each other, in tears; the image of just how frail they were at that moment has never left me. Gerard’s car was still in the Stardust car park and some of his friends had called to Mam and Dad’s house to see had he gotten home. That was the start of the nightmare.

My mam had a heart condition so Dad stayed with her as she was inconsolable. Ispent days sitting in the Coroner’s Court awaiting identification of his body. Onethird of the seats in the court was given over to black plastic bags containing the belongings; jewellery, watches, keys of the victims. Even by the standards of the time, the insensitivity of that scenario is horrifying. Gerard was one of the last victims to be identified and he was only capable of being identified by his dental records. Only 10 weeks after he had celebrated at my wedding, I now had to choose a coffin for my young brother.

I don’t believe my mother ever recovered from Gerard’s death. The pain took its toll every day and she passed away in December 1996. Dad died in July 2002. When my parents died, I did not have a brother with whom to share my grief.

My loving memories of Gerard and my parents endure. But so too does the crippling anger for the life never lived, the potential never realised, the opportunity for a family to enjoy and nurture all his passions. I am angry my parents had their son’s life ripped so cruelly from them.

I’m furious that it has taken 40 years for this inquest, mindful that many have passed away in the interim, my own mother and father included. The delay has allowed my anger to grow with my grief, and that of my family’s which I carry with me. I ask this question to conclude. Is this going to be another story in the annals of Irish history which will be swept under the carpet? Because in sweeping it under the carpet, it sweeps the memory and life of my brother under the carpet with it.

Finally, I would like to thank the Coroner for giving me and my husband the opportunity to put on record a brief description of my wonderful brother’s life.