Stardust Inquests – Day 6 – Pen Portraits

Bennett, Richard – Christy Moore

Richard (17) was the eldest of four children Elaine (15), Michael (10) and Mark (8) at the time of the Stardust tragedy. His Mum Helen was 5 months pregnant with her 5th child Treacy. Richards Mum suffered another great loss in 2017 when her son Michael died suddenly at the age (47) it was like the loss of Richard all over again.

My husband and Richard’s stepfather Bill passed away in 2019 after a short battle with cancer. Losing a son is the worst thing imaginable especially under such tragic and public circumstances. The loss of Michael years later just doubled on that pain and it never leaves you. Bill was the only person in my life who was there through it all and understood what it was like and how it left me because I was never myself after that night. Losing Bill was the last straw I lost my husband and the person who witnessed my darkest days and felt the losses himself as he was very close to both Richard and Michael.

Richard was very mature for his 17 years, looked older, and he acted older than he was probably because he had to grow up fast. I went through a bad breakup with my first husband. He was an extremely violent man and unfortunately Richard would have witnessed this on many the occasion. He never put food in the fridge to feed the children and I would often go without to ensure my children had a meal. Richard left school at 15 of his own accord to go out to work and provide for me and his siblings. Richard was the main breadwinner in the household after that. He stepped into the role and became the father figure to his younger brothers and sister. One of Richard’s jobs was to install fire extinguishers, ironically. After that, he got a job with a haulage company along with my husband Bill. Richard and Bill became very close during this time and Richard was happy I found someone to look after me the way Bill did. Richard was extremely protective of his family and was a great support to me in every way possible. It’s just so hard to believe he was so young with all he had witness and accomplished in his short life. Richard loved music and out of his first wage pack bought himself a Walkman and liked listening to tapes like Donna Summer, Status Quo and Led Zeppelin. He used to record his favourite songs off the radio so he could listen back to them. He’d play with his brothers Michael and Mark, and often taught them to defend themselves. He would always make time then for a game of rounders with his sister Elaine. He really was the father figure they should have had, they adored him and hung off his every word. Richard loved horses, he would bring his siblings to mass on a Sunday morning and when he returned them safely he would head off to Oscar Traynor road to the horses. Richard was so excited to go to the Stardust that night. He wasn’t a big drinker, so I knew I didn’t have to worry about him getting drunk and falling coming home. Richard had no tie on, so they wouldn’t let him in. I heard after, one of the lads was handing ties back out the door and he got one and that got him through. That night there was a dance competition at the Stardust, which Richard was so excited for. He was late going because he was waiting on his wages. My husband Bill was coming home from work and saw the smoke at the Stardust. He came in and told Elaine so as not to alarm me. He went back up to the site of the Stardust and met a fireman he knew. He gave him a helmet and he got into the Stardust as they were putting the fire out. What Bill saw that night never left him. Bill searched the hospitals and Dublin city morgue for weeks. I went into complete shock and refused admittance to hospital. I couldn’t leave my other children. Eventually, weeks later I found out there was a body that was presumed to be Richard’s. It was then that he became one of the unidentified. For years that’s how those children were spoke of in the media and in all correspondence, they lost their identity that night.

I had to take a step back because Richard’s death was so devastating and cruel. The nation grieved for all lost that night, but I have lost my eldest son, my confidant and my friend with the fear of losing my unborn child. I went to the church but could not bring myself to attend the burial. In my grief, I didn’t go out to the cemetery for two years after Richard’s death. Part of me still hoped that he would walk through the door someday. The unidentified title became a hope that he may be still out there. I found it very hard to see other families experience such a huge loss; multiple members from their families gone as a result of the Stardust fire.

I remember being told that Richard was face-down when he died, with one arm behind his back. He didn’t have any bloods taken in Temple St when he was young so he was difficult to identify. He had hidden a Mars bar from the boys on top of the wardrobe which was half eaten. I showed that to the guards who said that it wouldn’t have worked as a dental trace. Richard was unidentified for 25 years. I had to write and write to Bertie Ahern to try and get the bodies properly identified. I stood at the grave of Michael Ffrench and vice versa, after being told by the authorities who assured me that I was standing at

Richard’s grave. On cemetery Sunday in St Fintan’s cemetery, there are always new faces who still come to mourn the Stardust victims and people leave flowers and other tokens of remembrance on each of the victims’ graves. I noticed that there was cardboard on the foot of a tree next to the graves. I asked someone why it was there and was told it was put there for friends of the Stardust victims to sleep on at night. My son Michael died suddenly 4 years ago and he is buried with Richard. It’s very hard to see two sons gone far too early from this life is such tragic and sudden circumstances. I will never get off the loss of both of them. When people talk of Richard, they light up. He had a wonderful personality and he was a great strength to me at a terrible time in my life. He really was an angel in disguise. There has always been a really strong presence of Richard in our house from the great memories shared and we wonder where would life have taken him; marriage, kids and what career he would have gone for. But it always turns back to the great sadness and heartbreak that everybody feels. I will grieve for Richard and will until the day I close my eyes.

Everybody suffers loss in their lifetime, but that doesn’t mean you’re ever ready for it. None of the families expected their children to never come home that night, especially from such a public venue. We lost a son, brother and friend. Richard losthis life and his identity. For years he lay in an unmarked grave and was known as one of the unidentified.

This is a tragedy that struck a chord with people all over the country. My other children grew up in the shadow of this atrocity. I didn’t let them out of my sight in fear that tragedy would strike again. To this day, I worry about my 3 remaining children in case disaster strikes again.

These families should have all been offered strict emergency counselling to help with their unimaginable loss. It’s one thing to lose a loved one but to not know how or why? How are you supposed to get your head around that?

It’s heart-breaking to think in 40 years we are all still searching for answers. It’s heart-breaking to think of family members who have passed and never got the answers so desperately campaigned for. This needs to stop now. We need to know what happened to our loved ones. We need justice for our children so they can finally rest.

Hobbs, Brian – Pat Dunne

Brian was born the youngest member of the family of Thomas and Marie Hobbs. The

last of seven children.

When my brother was born my Mam had not picked a name for him so when she brought him home and placed him in my arms, I was 14 years old, and she asked me what shall we call him? I just said Brian out of the blue for no reason. That day was the beginning of my role as Mammy Pat: that was what was to come further down the line. When Brian was a few months old he developed a strawberry naevus mark on his forehead which was quite swollen and large. Over the next year he was seen by a specialist about removing it, so he had a fringe to hide it. Subsequently he had it removed and so he was allowed to step out of the “wrapped in cotton wool” time.

About 18 months later, my mother was diagnosed with TB and was hospitalised for a year. I was pulled from school for that year to mind all the younger ones: Brian, Gerard, Ann, Peter, and John. Brian had forgotten Mam by the time she came home from hospital, as none of us could see her for that year. Hence me being called “Mammy Pat”.

Brian continued into school like his brothers and sisters before him. Gardiner street Junior school and St Canice’s Boys, and O Connell’s Secondary School for a year. My family had moved in 1971 to Yellow Road, Whitehall, and Brian attended St Aidan Secondary school on Collins Ave. He went through school fine. He wasn’t very sporty: he leant more towards the academic side of things. He loved music and clothes. Around the time of his Inter Cert exams, he started getting restless, wanting to leave school. Mam and Dad insisted on him doing the Leaving Certificate or a course. Brian chose a course on catering with ANCO and he was accepted. He was accepted in Rockwell Hotel and Catering college in Co Tipperary. Brian took to this like a duck to water.

Brian spent two years there and excelled. He went on to win a Gold Medal for Ireland when he represented Ireland in his catering section on ‘Wine Waiting’. During his time in Rockwell, the college placed students in catering places during their term breaks. Brian worked in the Barge restaurant on the river Barrow and the Great Southern Hotel in Galway to name just two. It was all experience for the students.

When he finished his two years, and having received the medal, he was sought after to join a catering team going to Zurich in Switzerland. At that time, the old Jurys hotel was sold, and moved to Dublin 4, but the contents of the James Joyce Bar were shipped to Zurich. And so, Brian began his career journey. Life was good for him. Brian loved his work and made many friends and did some travelling to places like Paris, etc. He celebrated his 21st birthday in Zurich on 11th November 1980, with friends and parties. One of the gifts he received was a handmade leather belt with the letter ‘B’ as the buckle.

Brian finished his year in Zurich in December 1980 and returned home to continue his career. In a very short time, he had secured a job in Sachs hotel in Donnybrook. He looked on that as a step up his ladder. Lots of testimonies from his Rockwell colleagues suggest that Brian was ambitious and was going places in the catering world.

With being back home, Brian caught up with all his friends and enjoyed life in the locality. He loved dancing and socialising. Brian had grown into a fine young man, good looking, full of charm, the chat, very confident and he loved clothes and to look well – in other words, he fancied himself.

While Brian settled very well into work and his social life, he found settling into home life with my parents harder. At this stage Dad was 73 years of age and Mam was 66 years of age. Brian had been away with= college and Zurich for three years now. Bedtime and rising times were very different from Brian’s, especially with work and socialising hours. Brian decided that if he was having a late night, he would stay with my brother Gerard who was just above Brian in age and they were also very close. Gerard was married and living on the South Circular Road.

On the night of the Stardust dance competition, Brian had friends taking part. His boss would not give him the time off, with it being St Valentine’s night in the hotel industry. His boss relented at the last minute and Brian took a taxi to the event. None of us knew he was going. My Mum and Dad were in the Stardust complex that night in the Lantern Rooms. My dad was receiving a Trade Union medal for longterm service to the union and work with senior folk.

At the union dinner in The Lantern Rooms, the smell of smoke was mentioned and the lady who had collected my mam and dad said to them she would drop them home. The Lantern Rooms were cleared very quickly when it was discovered there was a fire in the adjoining “Stardust”. Mam and Dad took the lift not knowing Brian was there. Mam remembered the smell and sight of smoke as they came out. It was a habit of mine to ring my Mam every morning and ring my brother Peter – who lived at home – every evening. Next morning, I rang Mam as usual and we talked about the fire and how happy they were to be home safely and how they had enjoyed themselves in the earlier part of the evening. Mam mentioned that Brian had not come home but we both thought he had worked late and had an all-nighter as he sometimes did. We talked in general and she said my brother Peter was working that day. He never worked on a Saturday, as Davys was normally closed on Saturday, but he was catching up on work. As the morning went on, I was listening to the radio and TV. I got an uneasy feeling for some reason, intuition maybe. But it was a sense of doom. I rang Mam again on the pretence of something or other and asked had Brian come home yet? She said no again. I felt uneasy. So, I rang Gerard and his wife Bernie said that Brian was not there, so I rang Peter in work with my concerns. Peter rang around some friends and rang Brian’s work which said that Brian had gone to the Stardust. And so, started the day that was to change our lives forever.

By late morning Peter, with my sister Ann and her husband Victor started the rounds of visiting all the hospitals. I stayed put at home close to the phone and awaited news as they continued their search. Having covered the hospitals to no avail it was suggested that they go to the morgue, so Peter, Ann and Victor joined the long queue outside the morgue. This account is what my late brother Peter related to me word for word on the night after the fire when we called over to my parent’s home.

There was a lot of Garda in the morgue and a nun inside the building. Each body, or what was left of each person, was laid out row by row on black bags with numbers on each. Brian was number 23 or 36, I can’t remember which. They spent a long time going up and down each row trying so hard to find Brian. Ann and Peter had stopped at what was left of someone with a piece of a leather belt with a buckle with the initial B, also a piece of a jacket. The Garda came over to them and asked did they recognise any items? They were looking for a body so were not sure. How could you be sure of anything in such a horrific scene. The Garda suggested to them to look around at what was there and maybe decide this was Brian. I can’t even imagine how Peter, Ann and Victor felt in such circumstances, but they got the courage and said, yes, this is Brian. They had to sign some forms and then they came out into the daylight to allow the next family or person to go in and look for their son, daughter, brother, or sister. Peter rang me from the phone box outside to confirm that he had found Brian and arranged for me to contact all the other family members. Anthony was in London, John in Belfast, Gerard at home in Dublin. Peter, Ann and Victor went home to Whitehall but decided not to tell Mam and Dad just yet. I think they had to digest it all themselves. It was one of the hardest things to ring my other brothers and tell them what had happened to Brian: he was the youngest, the kid, the baby.

I think I went into shock and started to arrange what we needed to do, without really processing what happened. I seemed to repeat the story so many times to family and friends. Anthony had to arrange flights and John had to come down from Belfast. Peter rang me at home later in the afternoon for myself and Denis to come over to Mam and Dad’s because all the names of those identified were coming up on the screen during the Nine o’clock RTÉ News. When we arrived in my family home that evening, Peter, Ann, Victor Gerard, and his wife Bernie were there with Mam and Dad. I think she realised that something had happened. Peter said he had just spoken to the two of them but that it had not sunk in until the news started, and Brian’s name came up on the screen. What happened next, stays with me.

My dad just started to wail and scream, “NO! NO! NO!”. Mam just stayed in stunned silence staring at the screen as the names scrolled down. I think for the rest of us, it was just shock and so real and very hard to comprehend. I can’t remember much about the rest of the evening, but we went on home at some stage to collect our boys from a friend with a promise to come back again tomorrow. We lived on the southside of Dublin.

The next day was Sunday, I went over to Mam and Dad’s to start makingarrangements with Peter for Brian’s funeral for as soon as my other brothers and families could come home. I remember so clearly sitting on Brian’s bed in the room he shared with Peter and Peter looking at me fairly distraught asking, “Did I do the right thing?”. I was stunned and asked what he meant, and what he said next was heart-breaking. “Maybe it wasn’t Brian I identified, maybe he’s out there somewhere, maybe he is too scared to come home, maybe he has done a flit, is sleeping it off somewhere?”.

Such was the pressure Peter felt and such were the harrowing circumstances he had found himself in. I tried to reassure him he did the right thing, while feeling within me the same doubt that Peter felt but couldn’t voice it or even think about it. We talked with Mam about the funeral as Dad was just too distraught to even talk about Brian. It was decided that Peter and I would go to the undertakers on Sunday afternoon and arrange for the funeral. We decided on a removal on Monday and funeral mass on Tuesday to allow for everyone to come home.

We went down to the funeral home in Ballybough to make arrangements. It was our first time to ever do this. As the funeral director went through the details, we had decided on St Fintan’s in Sutton. One of the questions was would Brian be wearing a habit. In those days that was the norm. Peter answered very sharply, “No, we have nothing to put in it,” but I said yes, as I knew my mother would ask that question when we got home. Sure enough, when we got home mam asked what colour habit, when she looked at the receipt. When I said blue, she was pleased as she said it would match his eyes. Mam and Dad wanted to see Brian at the removal, but I had to tell them that the coffin was closed as Brian’s face was very badly bruised. Mam accepted this as much as she could – she was quite a practical woman. My Dad did not accept it. He really wanted to see Brian. Such lies I told at that time to both my parents, while keeping it together for everyone else. Most of the next few days are a blur as so many people called and phoned, and we were all exhausted. We also had the press and TV crews outside our door. At times it felt like it was someone else’s funeral. On Monday morning, I answered the door to Mr Haughey who called to see us. As I opened the door to him, he turned around and waved at all the press and TV crews: it was like a photo-shoot for him. My father was pleased to see him, but I had to get all my brothers out into the back garden, as there was plenty of muttering starting about him being in our home. He promised he would do everything he could for us, and that he would find out how all this happened, and said if we needed him to just call.

We did not need him at all. Ours was the first funeral of all the Stardust victims, as far as I know. Outside the church and inside there were hundreds of people: family, relatives, friends, some of Brian’s work colleagues flew in from Zurich, and also friends and staff from Rockwell College attended. On the morning of the funeral, my Dad would not leave the house and refused to go to the funeral until he saw Brian. It took some time and some cajoling him, but we got there in the end. In the church there was lots of Government people – for what reason I don’t know – but press and TV ensured they were seen there. The ceremony passed in a blur as so many people came up to us all. The cemetery was the hardest part for us all. My Dad was inconsolable. Mam was just very stunned and shocked by the magnitude of it all, as were all the rest of us. I said earlier it seemed like someone else’s funeral not ours. At times, I would have loved the funeral done again for the family. Over the next few days everyone went back to their lives in as much as we could for the time.

Within the next few weeks, a tribunal was organised to look into what happened that night. In the meantime, my brother Peter, sister Ann and brother-in-law Victor, John Keegan, Vincent Hogan, Jimmy Kiernan, and some other family members formed the “Stardust Relatives Committee” to represent the families and to get to the bottom of what happened and why, and how our loved ones had died.

Over the next few weeks my mother was convinced Brian would walk through the door. My Mam and Dad went to Galway for the weekend the following Easter for a break. While there, she was looking for Brian because that was where he had worked in the Great Southern Hotel. While there, she told me, she tapped two boys on the shoulder, thinking they were Brian, until they turned around.

My father had the beginning of dementia. Just after Brian’s death he was assessed by Dr Ivor Browne who diagnosed the fast onset due to unresolved grief for not having seen Brian’s body and not being able to grieve properly. For all of the rest of the family, life went on but had changed forever. The dynamics of our lives and family would never been the same again. My mam and dad lost their child and we lost our youngest brother, the kid, the baby in such awful circumstances. There was a sadness about us all that was to stay with us and cause a huge chasm in most of my family members. This manifested itself in alcohol abuse, mental health issues and, finally, early death for some.

I am the last left of seven children, and it is very hard. Brian had a great future ahead of him. Having done so well in Rockwell and Zurich. He was ambitious and going places in his chosen career, and all that was taken from him and my family. Brian became just a number. In the following years we discovered he had become a Dad. His girlfriend in the Summer of 1979 had become pregnant and his son was born in 1980. With Brian’s tragic death, and the circumstances around it, we did not know about this until many years had passed and, by then, it was too late for my parents to welcome a grandchild. Brian would never live to be a Dad to his son and a Grandad to his son’s two sons – so a whole generation was lost. Also, for us, a brother, an uncle to our children, a cousin to nephews and nieces.

It is important for me to find a certain closure for all of my family. Some answers and, finally, justice. Remembering today the Hobbs Family members who are not with us anymore: Thomas, Marie, Anthony, John, Peter, Ann, Gerard and of course Brian. R.I.P.

Hogan, Eugene “Hughie” – Written by the Hogan Family

Eugene (Hughie) Hogan was 24 years of age when his life was cut short in the early hours of February 14th, 1981.

Eugene ‘Hughie’ Hogan was a son, a brother, a husband, and a father. He was born on June 2nd, 1956 in Finglas, Dublin, the fifth son to Eileen and Ted. The Hogan family would grow to nine children, six boys and 3 girls. When Eugene was 12 the family moved to a new home in Woodville estate on Kilmore drive. Ted was a pioneer employee of Aer Lingus and it was an easy drive to work. Like all big Irish families, you learn to share, and develop a good sense of humor growing up with so many siblings. Of course, there was always lots of slagging between the siblings, and maybe that’s why Eugene hated his name and changed his name to Hughie. The nine Hogan kids were very close and fiercely loyal to one another. He was closest to his brother Declan who was 11 months older. Both would pick fruit in the summers for spending money or play soccer with friends in the field at the bottom of the road. The two shared the love of working with their hands and both became skilled carpenters as adults. Hughie built fine Mahogany cabinets for his parents. He also loved songbirds and tried to make extra money breeding canaries in the depressed economy of 1970’s Dublin.

Hughie had a beautiful voice and loved to sing everything from Bowie to Bob Marley. He could even hit the high notes of The Stylistics love songs. He loved to Dance and would go to all the local dance halls in Artane and Coolock as a teenager moving on to the downtown nightclubs as a young man. He was slim and good looking; he loved to dress sharp in the latest styles. Hughie was very social; he had many friends in the neighborhood. Like all teens they loved to pull pranks. The night before Mother’s day one year on the way home from the pub he and his friends thought it would be “Funny “to borrow all the neighbor’s garden furniture, gnomes, toadstools and pink Flamingos and place them in our garden. It was a gorgeous sunny Sunday and the garden looked spectacular! Of course the Mother went mental, what would the neighbors think? A few red faces and some explaining, and everything was returned Hughie fell in love with Marie who lived just up the street. They married on March 18th, 1977. They had two beautiful daughters Andrea born September 1977, and Sonia May 1979. With the depression in Ireland at the beginning of the 80’s Hughie found himself out of work. He got an offer of a job and a new life, but he would have to move his wife and family to Kerry. They were to move to Kerry on February 15th, 1981. On February 13th, while his younger sisters would babysit his little girls, Hughie and Marie would celebrate with his brother Declan and wife Geraldine. Saying goodbye to Dublin and toasting their future. Later that evening Hughie and Marie would join his younger brother Bernard at the Stardust. The rest is the horrible nightmare we have all been living for the last 40 years.

In the early hours of February 14th 1981 there was a loud knocking on the front door. Someone had brought our sister-in-law Marie back to our house. She said “there is a fire at the Stardust” and Hughie and Bernard were missing. The days following the fire were a blur of disbelief, shock and sorrow. Our parents drove to the hospitals trying to find the boys. After many hours they located Bernard at the Mather Hospital, he had burns to his head, face and hands. We all were living in hope that Hughie would be found. The older brothers helped in the search for their brother. It was three days later when his older brother Edmund would identify Hughie’s body. Identity was confirmed by his belt and

tattoo.

It was hard to grieve in such a public arena, trying to keep the politicians, the journalists and photographers at bay. The church was filled with family, friends and neighbors. Hughie was buried like many other victims in Sutton cemetery. One victim laid to rest, followed by another and another. Politicians promised that they would investigate, but the Tribunal ultimately blamed the victims for starting the fire. The 48 families have waited 40 years for Justice.

Hughie was robbed of his life, his wife suffered the loss of her husband. Andrea and Sonia were deprived of their loving, caring father. Hughie missed out on his wonderful daughters and their children. The circumstances of Hughie’s death are unspeakable – indescribable to be trapped and burnt alive. Ted and Eileen never came to terms with the Stardust Atrocity, it was with them everyday of their lives.

Griffiths, Michael – Paul Griffiths

My name is Paul. I am the third sibling in a family of seven consisting of my father, mother, Michael, Jacqueline, myself, Mark and June.

Michael was the eldest of five siblings. He was a very happy outgoing person with a great love for family. He was someone you could rely on and look up to. He loved family occasions like birthdays, and when younger would always be first to drag us out of bed on Christmas morning to get the day started.

We never had to ask If Michael was home because you could hear him either laughing or playing music, singing at the top of his voice with Elvis being one of his favourites. Michael also loved sport and was an avid Spurs fan. Michael had a great work ethic and a generous nature. I can remember when he was about sixteen on the occasion of receiving his first pay cheque, instead of going out and spending it on himself, he took us all to the cinema.

Michael had a great relationship with our father and Mother, brothers, sisters and an endless number of friends, both male and female, consisting of school pals, neighbours and work colleagues. They would meet like any teenagers of the day to talk, play music, play sport, plan nights out and look forward. Michael was probably too young to know exactly what he wanted but I have no doubt whether it was family or work life he had a great future to look forward to.

My last memory of Michael was after just celebrating our father’s forty-third birthday. Michael went upstairs and came back down a little while later full of life ready for a night out in the Stardust night club for Valentine’s. He said goodbye and walked out the door.

The next thing I remember is being woken up in the early hours of the morning to the sound of the front door being banged and my sister Jackie who was also in the Stardust, her face blackened by smoke, screaming that there had been a fire at the club and she couldn’t find Michael.

My father and mother, then panicking, jumped into the car with my sister and drove to the Stardust to find out more. They said what they found was utter carnage, but they were kept away by the fire service. They couldn’t find Michael and were told to check the list of hospitals. After spending the day driving around all the hospitals on the list to no avail, they were told to check the city morgue.

With great reluctance, that is what they did and it was then they discovered Michael had died. They had to identify him by a ring he was wearing.

They then had to come home and break the news to us. By this time, friends and family had gathered in the house waiting and when my father and mother told us the bad news there was total devastation. By the outpouring of grief, you could tell we had lost someone very special.

After the funeral, family life was never the same. It became for us a time of firsts.

The first of our family to die. The first time I saw my mother truly grief stricken. The first time I saw my father cry. Michael’s first Birthday since his death. First Christmas without him. The first family photographs without him. The first anniversary of Michaels death.

We don’t know exactly what Michael’s future held but we will never know his wife, or his children. Our families will never know their nieces, nephews or cousins and my father and mother will never know their grandchildren.

After another inquest, let’s hope the engraving on his headstone can truly mean Rest In Peace.