Stardust Inquests – Pen Portraits – Day 3

Johnny Colgan – Susan Behan

Johnny was my brother. Johnny was my father’s right hand – they worked together.

Johnny was my mother’s pride and joy – one of three children, the only boy. Johnny

was my sister’s hero.

Johnny was so handsome and a truly special person. Johnny’s essence was pure, he was a natural charmer. People were drawn to him like metal is drawn to a magnet. Johnny’s favourite song was “Lovely Day” by Bill Withers, and it summed up his outlook on life exactly! He was always upbeat, always looking forward to each day.

Johnny’s sense of humour was second to none, he always made us smile and laugh. Johnny’s party piece was the “Huckle Buck”. We all had one when we were children. Mine was “Big Spender” for my sins. I can see him standing on the fireplace in Nanny Colgan’s singing away earnestly and tapping his foot to the beat.

My dad had his own business at the time, painting and decorating. Johnny loved it and was a natural. He was only 21 but he was the best. Everyone wanted Johnny to be in charge. If there were any expensive fabrics, hessians or silk wall coverings to hang; Johnny did them all. He loved the variety of work, dad had contracts all over Dublin. They were extremely exciting times for them.

While working for a time in John of Gods, some of the patients would watch him working. He was always so patient with them. Sometimes at lunchtime Johnny would sing and play his guitar for them. He could only play one song. “Diana”. It had three chords, I think. So he would just play that over and over and they loved it. They loved him.

Johnny was full of life, he loved playing football, he loved a pint with the lads, he loved a dance and was always up for the craic. But he had a side that very few people saw, a kindness, a gentleness, when he walked into room it lit up, he instantly filled the room with love, it radiated from him.

Johnny did so much in his spare time, working part time in a Convent, even the Nun’s loved him.

My dad’s last memory was Johnny standing on Exchequer Street. It was Friday (payday, the best day of the week) and dad warned him not to be too late because he had football training in the morning. Johnny was laughing at him and rubbing his hands together with his pay packet in hand, contemplating the night out with the lads. Johnny stood there waving at my dad with a big smile on his face. That was the last time my dad saw Johnny.

My poor mother’s last memory was of them having their tea together and Johnny saying, “You know I am your favourite son, would you like to iron my new white shirt for tonight?”. She responded saying, “You know I hate ironing, but if you run to the shops I will do it for you.”. “Done deal,” he said, “And would you leave my shorts out for training tomorrow?”. It was just an ordinary Friday.

I was 8 and half months pregnant when the Stardust fire took Johnny. The last time I saw Johnny was Thursday. He patted my bump and said “I am going to be an uncle soon”. He then asked if I liked his new look and said “I shaved off my moustache”. I replied that it wouldn’t take long to grow back and we both erupted laughing.

I remember as if it was yesterday, that evening for no reason at all, we were reminiscing about a childhood memory of ours. It was an incident where I broke the glass in the ‘good cabinet’. All because he was playing marbles and annoying me, I jumped up in anger and the chair flew back and ‘crash’ – the glass was gone. We decided to pray for a miracle.

We went into the kitchen and we prayed. We kept popping the sitting room door open and looking in, but it was still broken. We gave up eventually. We hadn’t spoken about that in years. I treasure those last few moments but it still hurts as if it was yesterday when I think about it.

We were told that on the night of the Stardust fire, my brother helped his best friend Kenny to safety. 3 times he fell and Johnny was there. Kenny said Johnny got out, but he went back in because he could hear girls crying in the toilets. I am not sure if this account of the girls is true, but it sounds exactly like something he would do and I vaguely remember a call to my parents saying so. Losing Johnny in the Stardust was indescribable. The effect of losing him continues to this day. It dictates how I think, how I view certain things and how I worry about my own dear children.

The hardest part of losing my brother Johnny has always been his absence at family gatherings. There is always something missing from these occasions – something not quite right. It feels like a huge hole or void in our celebrations. With each passing year and each family occasion, I couldn’t hep but wonder if Johnny were here, would he have a wife now and maybe some children? Would mam and dad have more grandchildren to love and spoil? I picture Johnny’s children calling me aunty Sue and me spoiling them. I remember thinking that they would look like my children and that our children would be best buddies.

The Stardust fire affected me deeply and irreparably. The loss of my brother, the hurt and loss to my parents and sister. But it also left me vulnerable, afraid of letting my children go out as they grew up and, when they did go out, not being able to sleep until they came home. Most parents have this fear but mine was like a physical sickness in my stomach. It was a dread. Time has not assuaged my anguish or my fear. I still to this day worry terribly about everyone near and dear to me. I know all too well that things can change in an instant. The security that comes from family life was rocked to the core and has never returned for me. I can’t speak for my dad, but I can say is the effect on dad was devastating. I honestly believed he has never recovered from the loss and although he carried on, in truth, he never did and hasn’t to this day. My mam passed away recently, and I worried that she hadn’t lived to see a resolution to the Stardust debacle but, now I am happy that in her eternal rest she now knows the full truth – it is my only solace. Over the years it is not as raw as it was in the early days, weeks, and months after the Stardust, but it is still as painful and as visceral, none of this has been helped by 40 years of wondering, searching, and seeking the truth.

There are 48 victims who cannot speak, with 200 young people injured and maimed and 96 parents who want answers with hundreds of brothers and sisters who need closure and thousands of extended family and friends who have been worn down and millions of Irish People who deserve nothing less than the best efforts in seeking an explanation for the Stardust tragedy. Johnny’s funeral was the very first of the 48. We lived in Swords and the church in Brackenstown was packed to the rafters. There was a Gardai escort and Swords came to a standstill. RTÉ were there with their cameras. But in reality, it was all a blur, a completely surreal time. We couldn’t believe it. We simply didn’t want to believe it.

I am hopeful now that with the new Inquest and with the help of our solicitor Darragh Mackin of Phoenix Law, the Coroner Dr Myra Cullinane and her team of experts will find justice for all the families and hopefully that will finally bring the peace, healing, and closure we so urgently need.

Croker, Jacqueline – Alison Keane

Jacqueline was born two years after my mam and dad got married. Two years after Jacqueline was born, my parents lost a child called Christopher who died one hour after being born. Three years after this. My parents lost another child called Denise six months after she was born who died from pneumonia. I was born two years after Denise, and our brother Alan was born five years later.

I was 12 when Jackie died. Jackie was seven years older than me and we shared a bedroom. We would put records on while she was getting dressed and ready to go out. Jackie loved listening to records by Dolly Parton, Johnny Logan, John Lennon and Diana Ross on her portable red record player. Every Friday Jackie would buy the Top of the Pops LP from Golden Discs with her wage as a treat for us.

Our bedroom was to the left of the landing, and our brother Alan’s bedroom was to the right. We would have the record player playing from the landing and would go to bed listening to the music. I remember we loved a Disney Christmas album and would play that most nights. Jackie never took a serious photograph. Jackie had a heart of gold and would have done anything for anyone. I remember Jackie would tell mam “Don’t be so hard on Alison!”.

Jacqueline was working in Roches stores for a time. Jackie worked from when she was 15 years old to contribute to the house. Dad always got his wages on a Thursday and kept a separate wallet for my mam’s house money so stop this would cover the shopping for the family on Friday at Northside shopping centre and at Moore street on Saturday for our vegetables. From this separate wallet came bus money for school and Alan and my “subs” money for Scouts. If my brother and I wanted to do any other activity, we would have to cycle or walk to school and save our bus money. Times were very hard financially for working class families and Jackie’s help was of immense importance to our family.

She’d been eyeing up a pair of knee-high platform boots which were really expensive. With the little money that she kept for herself from her wage packet, she saved up 3-4 months to buy herself these boots. By the time she had got the money together, she went into the shop to buy them, but they were no longer available in her size.

Instead, she took the money and dressed myself and my brother Alan from head to toe for our holiday in Bettystown where we would spend a week in a caravan.

We have good memories from Bettystown from when Jackie was still here. I remember mam once forgot her keys to the suitcase in the car, but Alan wanted to go swimming as soon as we arrived. So, Jackie took him in his red shorts, Mickey Mouse t-shirt and brown leather sandals to the beach. Mam came up over the sand dunes with his togs once she found a way to open the suitcase, only to see him in his clothes already in the water with Jackie chasing after him.

Jackie bought my brother Alan’s communion suit, which was to take place on the 26th of May that year, and my confirmation dress which was to take place on April 4th, so our mam didn’t have to worry. I remember what it was like being dressed in the confirmation dress my sister had bought me after she had died.

My dad idolised Jacqueline. Dad and Jackie used to spend lots of time together because they would work together and even go drinking together. When my dad fell painting a boat in the drydocks one January of 1981, he had to have 186 stitches in his leg after the 35-foot fall. Jacqueline worked in the office of the place where dad worked, so was able to take off to go with him to all of his medical appointments. She was a great support to him during that time of vulnerability.

Jackie was engaged to John at Christmas and John drove the ghost bus. Jackie was on the darts team for Chivers jam factory. John’s mam worked in the factory. morning. Jackie got a lift to the Stardust with Pat to see the dancing competition.

My dad had to get up early for work, so he heard the World News at 0505am which reported that there had been a fire at the Stardust. He went next door to see John and Bella, but Tracy wasn’t home from the Stardust yet (though she had thankfully survived the fire). There were 16 houses on one side of our road alone from which young people had been at the Stardust that night.

The night of the Stardust, my mam and dad knew that she had worn her white coat to go out but they did not know what she was wearing underneath her coat. I was woken up at 0700 o`clock by Mr McGregor asking me what other clothes Jackie had been wearing to try and identify her at the morgue. I remember when he woke me up, he told me that there was a fire but I felt disoriented in shock, in horror, and in disbelief.

I remember that we had no phone so we had to go next door to Shirley, Tracy and Paul McGregor to use their phone. They were also in the Stardust that night.

I remember there being one photo in the newspapers of John telling my dad not to go into the morgue. My dad did go into the morgue with Tommy fuller and Vincent O’Shea. I remember also there was news footage taken of me in the neighbours’ garden playing hopscotch at the time, not realising the severity of what was happening around me because of my age. My dad came home from the morgue and I was called into the neighbours kitchen and told that Jackie had died. I had to sleep at our neighbours, the O’Sheas, for the next two days. I think they were trying to shield me from what was happening until Monday evening when I was allowed to come home.

I remember I was sat in the neighbours’ garden when I saw Charlie Haughey come into the house with his staff because he’d known my dad, who was a peace commissioner. My dad was a 6’4” 23-stone docker who picked Charlie up and put him out of the house. We were lucky that she was the second identified on the Saturday.

Jimmy and Kay Dunn were Jackie’s godparents. They rung to speak to my mother, who was too upset to talk on the phone and asked that I take a message. They were persistent in asking to speak to my mother but then had to give me the message, that Liam was dead after having been in intensive care.

I remember Valerie Fallon suffered very serious burns which resulted her having to stay on in the ICU. I remember how badly Tina Doyle was affected by the fire and Carmel McKernan, who still can’t talk about it. Lorraine McDonnell missed 2 counselling sessions and took her own life two years later.

It’s not as simple as just one person being lost to our family. Everyone knew everyone in our community and each loss was felt by the community as well as the families.

Living at home after the Stardust fire, you wouldn’t be able to get onto a bus without seeing someone either with visible scarring from a burn sustained that night at the Stardust or someone known to you who had lost someone in the fire. Nobody ever spoke about it with each other in the community because you would have no idea how the other person would react to something so emotional and affecting. It felt like everybody was left on their own and so had to deal with the grief by putting it under the rug and just forcing yourself to carry on with life.

On Tuesday, there were four coffins laid out in the church. One was that of Julie, who was my football coach. One was of Caroline, whom I knew from Irish dancing. One was Jimmy, whom I knew from Superquinn. One was our Jackie.

I had to be taken out of the church and brought home to be sedated. I didn’t get to go to the funeral because of my horrendous state of upset at the sight of those coffins.

The family was very affected by Jacqueline’s death. My father is a gentle giant who loves his children so much that he was wounded by losing her after two other babies. I think that because he loved us so much, he was terrified of being hurt again if anything were to happen to myself or my brother and I think this is why he pushed us away after this happened. He relied on alcohol to help him cope with the loss he’d faced, which would cause clashes between myself and my dad.

My dad was diagnosed with cancer 16 years ago. He died in a July and I got married within 18 months of that date. I had refused to get married while my dad was alive because I thought we would have clashed on the day, but now that he is gone I feel very guilty that I denied him the experience of walking his only living daughter down the aisle on her wedding day.

My brother Alan never showed any emotion over Jackie’s death because he was only seven when it happened. We all had to go through it with him two years later to enable him to grieve properly over her death. My brother Alan says that he remembers the after effects of losing Jackie better than he remembers Jackie herself.

At the time of the Stardust, there was a Lord Mayor’s Trust Fund from the people of Ireland set up for the families of the Stardust. They gave £18,000 to my mother only and made myself and my brother sign a non-disclosure agreement and all sorts of other forms at 14, Alan was 9. We weren’t allowed to go to Court.

Mam built the extension on the back of the house, which is what Jacqueline always wanted.

Mam tried to run a normal life for us all. Dad was a bit too afraid of getting too close to the memory of Jackie and losing her to allow himself to return properly to the way he was. He would wake up at 0620 to get the bus at 0720 for work and have pints on the way home before arriving at 2100 when he would fall asleep in the chair.

Mam never showed much emotion, she relied on me because my dad would be away at work and I was forced to grow up. My mam could not read or write so I would have to read the bills for her as they came through the door. After Jackie’s death, my mam and dad couldn’t afford to keep me in school so I had to work in the “rag trade” from when I was 15 to contribute to the household. I never got to complete my leaving cert. In my first job, I earned £50 a week and 40 pounds of that went to my mam.

My mam was robbed of her best friend when she lost Jackie. Mam didn’t go out drinking and she wouldn’t have played the bingo, so she in a way she lived her life through her children. Mam was so close to Jackie. Myself and mam have such a nice bond and I know that Jackie would have that too if she were still here. Mam has been living with me these past 12 years and held me together when my daughter Heather was diagnosed with cerebral palsy. My mam would help look after my other daughter Shannon while I was going to and from appointments with Heather during this time.

Every year at the anniversary, there will be a few pages in the evening herald paying respects to the Stardust victims. Seven years after it happened. My mam didn’t put Jackie in the paper because she was trying desperately to move on. We felt frowned upon after doing this, but holding onto this nightmare was too damaging for us to handle.

Seven or eight years later I moved to England. This was really hard on my Mam and Dad. I went to live in Blackpool but came home that year for Christmas for two weeks and saw that they missed me so I never went back. After going through so much trauma from losing children in our family, us staying close together felt liken the most important thing to protect.

My kids were robbed of an aunt and my brother’s girls were as well. We wouldn’t have got a look in and I can imagine our kids saying to us “I’m ringing aunt Jackie on you!”. I can tell from watching my kids with their dad’s family but it would have been like to see them with our Jackie. I know that Jackie would have been the first one to call them on the phone on Christmas morning.

My husband Mark has an uncle called Vincent who used to work with Jackie. I was old that when I first met him, he was shocked and told Mark that seeing me was like seeing a ghost. He said it was like seeing Jackie. This was almost 20 years after her death. I can’t ever put what happened to the back of my mind, even if I want to. I still look at fire exits obsessively. I remember once being in a restaurant and walking out when I saw that the table was blocking the fire exit. My kids have to let me know if their plans change and have to ring me from their friends house when they arrive.

My sister Jackie just went out to play darts and then decided to go to the Stardust to see how Paula was doing with the rest of her friends and she died.

Mam sometimes has a bad day. My mam is 88 now and I’d love to be able to bring her some kind of closure.

Dunne, Liam – Siobhan Kearney

Liam was an 18-year-old young man. Liam was the third eldest in our family and was a truly loved son and brother. He was training as a butcher, which he loved. Liam was quite a loving boy and had many friends that he enjoyed being with. We both loved music and would pool money together to by records. The last one we bought together was Rainbow’s ‘Since you Been Gone’.

Liam left the house that evening on the 13th February 1981 to enjoy time with his friends after a week of work.

On Saturday morning after the fire I found Liam in the Mater hospital. Mum and dad were searching the other hospitals. A lot of my friends were there that night so it was horrible walking through the hospital, searching. My friend Bernard Hogan was there and he asked me to look for his brother, Eugene. I told him I was looking for my brother, Liam. Bernard said, “the guy over there’s name is Liam”.

It was Liam’s face all swollen with bandages on his hands and arms. He was spitting up stuff.

I said, “I’m here Liam, it’s Siobhan”. He said, “I was crawling, the seats were melting”. I had to leave as it was terrible.

That evening, Liam was taken for an operation because the blood flow in his hands was bad. He was moved to the ICU that night and was given 24 hours to live. He was beside his good friend Jimmy.

For the next month, we were up in hospital every day. Myself and Jimmy’s mam would spend time in the church in the Mater, praying and hoping.

On the 10th of March I spent hours making tapes so they could listen to them as they lay in pain.

I was on my way up on the 11th March Liam died at 1150 that morning. Liam was the last to die on the 11th March 1981.

I died also. I was 16 and the pain of that sadness has never left me.

I can say the weeks we were in hospital were the most terrible and saddest time in our family. Liam was truly a strong young man and this was proven during this

time in his battle to live. Liam was buried in Sutton graveyard aged 18.

That month ripped our family apart. To watch my lovely mum cry and just stare. No talking, just tears. My older brothers were away serving their country. On their return, our family tried to support each other but like most, trying to understand the grief and pain and sadness left us silent.

My brother’s passing has resulted in changing all of us as people, because living with such a young death at a young age causes a pain you carry with you through life every day.

My brother to this day is missed very much. As most family, he should have been 21. He should have been married. He should have had the opportunity to travel. He should have had the opportunity to drive a car.

I hope from all of this Liam can finally rest in peace and his surviving family can live more peacefully too.