Stardust Inquests – Pen Portraits – Day 15

Stout, John – Allison Forrester

John was the third child in a large family which had 11 surviving children. John was a particularly quiet 18-year-old. He was very sensitive and gentle. He really disliked conflict. He was very cautious. He was good at school – a quick learner and he was known to be a very pleasant child.

John liked snooker and loved Elvis. He also loved watching horses in show-jumping competitions. Above all, John loved his family. He was very family-orientated. The family was a very close one and John was very conscious of the need to get a job to contribute to the household, to help his parents. He had plans to do a painting and decorating course to launch himself into a career.

John went out with his friends about once a week. He went to the Stardust with his girlfriend, Helena Mangan, who was also killed in the fire. They sat with a group which included John’s brother Lawrence, known as Larry. The first that the family became aware that anything was wrong that night was the sound of banging on their front door, as friends of the boys, with blood on their shirts, told of fire at the Stardust.

The visit to the morgue was traumatic. As a family, we always said that John’s mother lost even more than one son in the fire. After getting burnt, Larry was changed as a young man. He carried a lot of survivor’s guilt and trauma. He was self-conscious of his injuries.

The behaviour of the whole family abruptly changed. In practical ways, there was a constant fear of fire (stopping candles being used, for example). In deeper ways that are harder to explain, there was a permanent change of atmosphere. The family was broken-hearted. A sense of peace had been lost, leaving the family permanently unsettled.

We don’t know how John’s mother managed to shoulder the burden of this. She was an incredibly strong woman who we lost five years ago.

John has always been talked about by our family. His birthday and anniversary never pass unmarked. In fact, we remember him all the time because it’s often said about some little thing that happens or some remark that’s made – “that reminds me of John”. Children in the extended family are named after him. He missed out on having his own family and his own children. He would have been a painter-decorator with a career and a life of his own, but John never got to see and experience his adulthood.

As a family, we want the inquest to help us find closure. After all these years, justice would help bring us peace so we don’t remain unsettled.

Thornton, Margaret – Patricia Greene (and siblings)

My name is Patricia. I am one of Margaret’s sisters. Margaret comes from a family of six: our mother, father, one older brother John who is the eldest and two sisters Madeline and myself.

Margaret was born in Summerhill in Dublin. She had sandy hair and blue eyes. She was the baby of the family. When she was just two years of age, our father was killed by a hit and run driver. Our mother was only 38 years old when this happened and she had to rear four children alone. Our mam worked three jobs to rear the familyand we had great family support. Our granny, Annie, worked in the Four Courts. The loss of our father made us even closer as a family.

Our mother worked very hard for us, she kept us all close to her and was very protective of her children. We all doted on Margaret as the baby of the house. Soon after our father died, we moved to the North Strand, close to our grandmother and other family members. We were surrounded by aunts, uncles and cousins. At four years of age, Margaret started in Saint Vincent’s girls’ school in North Williams St. Because, to support us, our mother had to go to work in the mornings, our Grandmother would come over to get us out to school. And every morning Margaret would go out the door crying. She really did not like our Grandmother brushing her hair, so she would whinge on the way to school. Each day after school we would all go to my grandmother’s house. The house was always full of family. Generally, the younger ones would end up doing the chores for the older ones. We’d get sent for the turf, bringing clothes to the laundry, going to the shops. But there were also the visits to the cinema, Mountjoy Square, and Dollymount beach. There were many arguments and many laughs. Going to the cinema on the North Strand was a regular occurrence. In Mountjoy Square, in the wonderful little park there, Margaret and her young cousins were supposed to stay on one side of the park, separated from the older kids. Most days, Margaret and her cousins would try to slip into the older kids’ side of the park, but they were always caught and sent back. This would be followed by Margaret saying, “I’m going home!”. If Margaret and the young cousins were going home, we were all going home, so we were following her lead.

When she was brought to Dollymount Strand and we got chips, our Grandmother, for some reason, used to tell us that vinegar would make us go brown. We would all be embarrassed when people on the bus made comments about the lovely smell of chips. Margaret’s eyes would glance around at the rest of us, as we all tried to keep a straight face She also had to become a good runner. Our Grandmother had a back entrance that the grandchildren had to use. The entrance was down a lane which on most days was occupied by the neighbour’s dogs, some not very friendly. You had to make it to the back door, before them. If you did not think you were going to make it, you had to climb over walls. Margaret would’ve been an athlete. After primary school, Margaret went to Parnell Institute of Tailoring and Textiles. She learned the skills of dressmaking and tailoring. Margaret loved her fashion and had her own style. She went to work in various sewing factories after school. Margaret loved our sister Madeline’s little boy. She never got to see Madeline’s second child because she was pregnant when Margaret died. Madeline remembers Margaret bought her son a bike for his birthday, which was a great gift. When she got older, she would go home in the evenings and help around the house before our mother got home from work. Most days she had her friend Valerie with her.

She loved her music and concerts, going out with her family and friends and doting on her nieces and nephew. She was enjoying her newfound independence becoming a young woman and making plans and having dreams. She was planning to travel with her best friend Valerie to Amsterdam. They were planning when they would go and what they would do.

On the 13th of February 1981, Margaret was 19 years of age. She showered, put her make-up on, put her jewellery on, and put on her best clothes. She was going to the Stardust with her boyfriend. Our brother John called into the house at 7.30pm. Margaret was coming down all dressed up. She said, “Are you coming out?. He said “no” because he was going out on Saturday. John knew Margaret would be going with Murty and called in from the hall asking who she was going with and whether he knew him, to keep her going. She went up the stairs then, and John had his dinner. As she was leaving andpassing by the room, she called out to John to say “see youse later!”. She never came home.

John was playing dominos in Humphrey’s when he saw on the TV that there had been a fire at the Stardust. He got up and went straight to Jervis St hospital. He couldn’t find Margaret. He knew that she would never have let our mother have to wait on her like that, worrying about her, so he went to the dead house with the Farrells. Father Lavelle was there, and John asked him to go into check if Margaret was there. He asked what she was wearing, and John told him she was wearing purple. He came back out with a Superintendent from Store St who was carrying a necklace. It was a chain with a miraculous medal. They wouldn’t let John go in to identify her. John went home with the miraculous medal.

The next morning, Saturday the 14th of February 1981, I was living in Tallaght. With two small children, I was up from early. I put the TV on for them, but all it was saying was about the Stardust. All day it was on, and all day I had a horrible feeling and I felt sick. It never dawned on me that Margaret was there. Later that day, after the kids had gone to bed, there was a knock at the door. It was my cousin and her husband. They had come to ask if Margaret was with me. Sometimes, Margaret came and stayed with me for the weekend. I knew straight away that this was about the bad feeling I had all day. We went to see my mother. Just walking in and looking at her and seeing how distraught she was is something I’ll never forget but it was nothing compared to a few days later, when it was confirmed that Margaret was in the Stardust. For me, most of those early days are a blur. It felt like we never got any kind of closure, just a few scraps of clothing material and jewellery. We had to wait before it was confirmed that she was dead. It was a closed coffin.

Our sister Madeline couldn’t go out that night because she couldn’t get a babysitter. She lent Margaret her earrings. They were our granny’s earrings, and they were gold. They never burned in the fire, and they were still gold. I spent years just waiting for her to come through the door. To say I miss her would be an understatement. I think a part of all of us died that day but – for our mother – I think the best part of her died with her youngest daughter, Margaret. I don’t think she was ever happy again. She had lost her husband at a young age and now, her baby girl was killed at only 19 years of age. It destroyed her.

Margaret would have turned 60 in November 2021. A small group of family and friends met to celebrate her birthday. There was no music. There was no birthday cake. Just the sharing of some photos and memories both good and sad. The flowers and balloons went to her graveside. She never got the chance to become a wife, a mother, a grandmother. She never got to live her dreams or carry out her plans. We wonder now if she would have had her own kids. We would like to read a short letter from Margaret’s friend Valerie Boyd. This is what she wrote.

Valerie Boyd

I’m writing about my friend Margaret Thornton who lost her life in the Stardust disaster on the 14th of February 1981. Myself and Margaret were friends from a very early age. We lived next door to each other. We went to junior infants together. We made our first Holy Communion together. We had our Confirmation together. Then, later, we went to Parnell Technical College together. We went to Parnell Tech. specifically to learn tailoring and dress making. We loved that school.

Margaret was a very quiet and easy-going gentle person, but she could stand up for herself if she needed to. She wouldn’t let anyone try to walk on her. They’d get the full lash of her tongue. We always got on great together and looked out for each other. We were more like sisters than friends. We moved on from Parnell Tech. to working together in a sewing factory, in Greene Street for a while. We then separated to work different jobs, but we still palled around together after work. There were always other people in the crowd we hung around with, but I was always closest to Margaret. Margaret loved going to the pictures, concerts and especially the discos. The Celebrity Club and Bubbles were our favourites. We loved going to the Dandelion market. We would buy the latest 45s and LPs and would listen to them in Margaret’s house. We would practise all the dance moves for the disco that week. I remember one time, when Margaret’s mother walked in on us practising our dancing: you could see that she was trying to hold in the laughing. We both went bright red. We were always going babysitting together and we used to stay over in each other’s houses. When we were 17, we went to the Isle of Man for a week’s holiday. We were amazed that we were allowed to go. We felt so grown-up! It was a brilliant holiday.

We ended up working together again, as sewing machinists, in a clothes factory. It was a great job, and the wages were good. We used to buy cloth from them and make our own stuff.

We made plans to save up for six months and go to Holland for a while, but we didn’t know whether we would be allowed to go. It was one thing to be allowed to go to the Isle of Man for a holiday, but Holland would have been a definite no-no, as we were only 18.

That summer, July 1980, we went to see Bob Marley in Dollymount. Everyone said we were mad to pay so much for a concert ticket, no matter who was playing, but Margaret loved Bob Marley and she had all his music, and I have no doubt that she would have gone to that concert by herself if she had to. That is one of my favourite memories of her. Margaret’s 19th birthday was on the 19th of November 1980. My 19th birthday was just 10 weeks later, in February 1981. I bought Margaret a Christopher Cross album for her birthday. Margaret bought me a wishbone ring which I still have to this day.

We were in work together that Friday the 13th. Margaret didn’t seem to be in the best form. I asked her what was wrong. She was going with her boyfriend (Murty) Kavanagh, who also died in the Stardust that night) to a party in the Black Sheep in Coolock that night. She said she wasn’t sure she wanted to go because she didn’t know most of Murty’s friends and she was worried that she might feel out of place. I told her not to worry and that she’d be fine.

That evening, after work Margaret called in to borrow a mauve suede bag I had because it matched the outfit, she was wearing that night. She was wearing a lovely purple skirt, a mauve and purple jumper, a purple and gold scarf and black stilettos. Margaret was usually in jeans and rarely seen in the skirt. She looked a Million Dollars that night. She had lovely pale, milky, skin and her outfit really stood out on her.

That was the last time I ever saw Margaret. I still visit her grave every now and then for a little chat. I will always miss her, and I will never forget her. May she rest in peace.

Valerie Boyd.

Margaret can never be a case number. To us, she will always be a daughter, a granddaughter, a sister and an aunt, a cousin, and a friend. Margaret has alwaysbeen loved and never will be forgotten.

Murty Kavanagh – Terry Jones

My name is Terry Jones, I am the sister of Murty (Murtagh) Kavanagh. I am here today to represent Murty on behalf of my deceased parents and extended family. Murty was a son, a brother, a grandson, a nephew, a cousin, a friend and a neighbour. We were a family of six and he was aged 27 when he died. Murty lived at home with our widowed father. In today’s terms, Murty would have been considered our father’s carer. Murty was a caring, kind and generous person. He was good natured and ready to help no matter what was needed.

Murty had several hobbies and interests, he enjoyed, cooking, fishing and music; he was a big Bob Dylan and Neil Young fan. He worked as a heating insulator, a job that took him around the country. He was a fan of the Dubs and Man United, he played GAA too but that was cut short when his job as a heating insulator meant he had to travel a lot throughout the country for work. He was a fan of the Dublin football team and also Man United. He loved music, especially Bob Dylan and Neil Young. He had a good sense of humour and an infectious laugh. He had a very good nature and was always ready to assist if help was needed. Murty had lots of dreams and hopes for the future, and planned to get engaged, married and to have children with his partner Margaret Thornton (who perished in the fire also).

Murty was aged 27 and would often stay overnight at friend’s house at the weekends, when prior care would have been arranged for our father. On the day of the fire, my sister called to my father to check if Murty was home. He wasn’t. they discussed the awfulness of the fire, never thinking what they would face in the next twenty-four hours. As I mentioned Murty would often stay overnight at a friend’s house, so this didn’t seem to be a concern, however they waited to hear from him and see if he would be home (no phones or means of communication in those days). On Sunday morning Mrs Thornton arrived at our house to check if Margaret was there, sadly she wasn’t and neither was Murty. What happened next was sheer panic, worry and concern for the two of them. It is hard to recall exactly what happened back then due to the utter shock we experienced. My father and sister went directly to the Morgue in Store St, there they gave details of Murty and filled out identification forms. They made several trips to the morgue over the next few days, until Tuesday evening when the identification process was stopped at six pm. This was no doubt, a very distressing time. During one of the visits, they were asked by detectives to obtain Murty’s recent dental records, yet they were not told why they would have to obtain the dental records. It was difficult to comprehend what was going on and what you were living through, and not having information explained to you added to this distress. Our family thought that this was appalling. We couldn’t locate any dental records for Murty, however, my father informed and absolutely stressed to the detectives that Murty had a partial dental plate (due to football/ hurling incident).

There was no private family funeral or burial for Murty. We did not know which coffin was his when we attended the mass and burials for the five unidentified people which was held in Donnycarney Church on Monday 23rd February 1981. Murty was an unidentified victim and was not formally identified until twenty-five years after the fire. My father’s heart, soul and spirit were broken, he knew that with Murty having a partial dental plate that he should have been the first identified victim. He was never the same again. The Stardust fire ravaged our family, we were never the same again. My father was a broken man. My sister sold her home and she and her family moved in with my father to care for him. This was an arduous task as every one was suffering traumatic grief and still trying to live their lives in the circumstances. Myself and my brother were both living in Canada at the time of the fire. It was difficult and frustrating in both the trauma, the grief and the sadness trying to organise to get home as quickly as possible at the time, and there was no support or help from the Irish Consulate/Government for siblings of those who died who lived abroad.

We were all left devastated by the traumatic loss of Murty, the absence of a private funeral, him being unidentified. But it was my father that was truly broken, every day he would say ‘I would love to know where my son is buried’. He would say this every day until his own passing, he died in 1985. He went to his grave knowing his son was unidentified, yet he believed that his son should never have been unidentified because Murty had a partial dental plate.

 

Rest in Peace Murty – you are missed every day.