Stardust Inquests – Pen Portraits – Day 5

 Glen, Josephine – Sheena Thomas & Alison Glen

Our sister Josephine Glen was 16 years old when she died as a result of inhaling toxic smoke from the fire at the Stardust nightclub in Artane in February 1981. 

Jo was a happy, kind, loving and sociable person with lots of friends, some of whom she was out with that night. Jo loved children, she loved spending time with our neighbours’ little girl and babysat for other families in the neighbourhood. 

My brother, William, remembers Jo as our mam’s right hand, always preparing the dinner if she was home first and being a second mam to us all, always smiling and happy. Jo went to work at 14 years old, as soon as she left school and contributed the majority of her wages to the household, to help my mam, who was a single mother of four children. 

Alison Glen –

I was only a year younger than Jo and we grew up very closely together, more like twins than sisters, although very different in personality. I remember Jo as a beautiful girl, who was kind, loving and thoughtful and fun to be with. Always ready and willing to help with whatever needed doing. 

As children, we always had the same Christmas presents and were out at the crack of dawn together playing with our new roller skates or whatever we had that year. When we got a bit older, we went dancing together to the local teen disco and were best friends as well as sisters. 

Jo always looked out for me in different ways, paying for me to go different places before I was working myself. 

Jo was quiet and gentle, she hated any sort of confrontation and so I always stood up for her and looked out for her. 

I wasn’t there on the night of the Stardust and still live with the guilt of not being there for her that night. Love you and miss you Jo.  

Sheena –

I was 10 years old at the time, so I didn’t have long with my sister in my life but my memories of her are all good. I remember her asking me if she looked okay on the night she went out to the Stardust. That was the last time I saw her alive. 

She looked beautiful. 

When my family woke up the morning of 14th February 1981, Jo wasn’t home. Our neighbour called to ask if all of us were home, as there had been a fire at the 

Stardust. That whole day was spent going from hospital to hospital, looking for Jo. My brother William was 17 years old at the time and had to go through each hospital, seeing all the survivors, some of whom were very badly burnt and lying in baths of gel. 

When Jo couldn’t be found, my 17-year-old brother had to go to the morgue to identify jewellery or pieces of clothing to see if Jo was one of the victims who were so badly burnt that their bodies couldn’t be identified. Our mother couldn’t face this task. 

Jo had been admitted to hospital under a different name and it was late that evening when a family friend who worked at Jervis Street told my brother there was a girl there matching Jo’s description. My brother went to identify Jo and when we saw her with very few burns on her body, we were elated. We thought that she was going to be okay. However, Jo was on a life support machine for five days and never regained consciousness. 

We sat with Jo every day, talking to her and praying that she would come back to us. My aunt remembers lying in the bed beside my mam each night while my mam cried and prayed and pleaded with God not to take her from us. Sadly, this was not to be and the life support machine was turned off on 19th February 1981, when they told our mother that there was nothing else they could do for Jo. We believe this was due to the amount of toxic smoke she had inhaled which shut down all of her vital organs after starving them of oxygen. 

All of our lives changed that day. Our mother understandably fell apart and struggled to go on with her life without all her children. Things at home were never the same again. All of the laughter and happiness in our lives were replaced with tears and sadness. 

It makes us extremely sad that Jo never got to meet any of her eight nephews or her niece or to have any children of her own. Jo was only 16 and had so much more to live for. 

A memorial at Beaumont Hospital for the victims was subsequently erected and despite our many attempts to inform them of the correct spelling of our surname, it was engraved incorrectly on the remembrance plaque, adding further to our pain and suffering. 

Sadly, our mother passed away 6 years ago. She had problems with her heart for quite some time after Jo died and we believe it was because her heart was broken after losing Jo. Our mother died without ever knowing what really happened to her beloved daughter, as have many of the other relatives of the victims of the Stardust fire. 

Not a day goes by that we don’t think about Jo and wonder what life would have been like if she hadn’t been taken from our family over 40 years ago. We still miss her every day and will continue to miss her for the rest of our lives. 

Jo’s life was cruelly cut short as a direct result of the Stardust fire and forty years on, we still have no answers as to how or why the fire broke out that night. For forty years, the families of the 48 victims have been fobbed off with no explanations or answers. Instead, we have been made to suffer for all this time, never knowing the truth about what happened the night that 48 children never came home. 

Jo was robbed of her life on the 14th February 1981. Why has nobody ever had to answer for this? 

We hope and pray that this inquest will give us those long overdue answers that should have been a priority for the Irish government 40 years ago so our sister and our mother can finally rest in peace. 

Thelma Frazer by Barbra and Maurice Frazer

Our sister Thelma Frazer was born on 29th June 1960 and died aged 20 on 14th February 1981. Thelma was the third eldest of 7 boys and 2 girls.

Thelma had a beautiful wide radiant smile, with stunning red short hair, she was covered in freckles and of slim build. Thelma was so gentle and kind and would do anything for anyone.

Barbara

I remember my mum dropping Robert off to school and taking myself and Eric in his pushchair up to wave at Thelma in her job. She had an office on the third floor looking out onto the main road. When she would see us coming, she would come out for a quick hug and a kiss.

I was the second youngest, so Thelma was 14 years older than me. My older brother Robert who was 2 years older than me and was born premature and as a result suffered with a lot of complications in his early years, because of this my mum had to care a lot for him. Thelma was more like a mother to me, she would wash and dry my hair, help to dress and take general care of me so mum would have time for Robert.

I loved my big sister, especially being in a house full of boys. Our family home was always bustling, always something going on. Three bedrooms, between 11 of us, it was tight, but we made it work. I shared the box bedroom with Thelma, were we shared a single bed, in which we slept tops to tails…. I remember her skin on her feet always scratched me because it was so rough, I would give out to her, but she would just end up tickling me.

What I really remember is the fun in the house, I’m sure the neighbours hated the noise. It wasn’t bad noise; it was always laughter and singing. Thelma loved her music and used to buy records to play for us. Boney M, Abba etc. She would try to teach me some disco moves. A few months before Thelma was killed, she won some money and she went straight out and bought presents for us younger children. Myself and Eric still have those presents today which we cherish. Mine was a little fisher price record player. Thelma was always thinking of other people before herself. She loved life. Friday nights were Thelma’s nights for going out. She would come home from work and have dinner. Then get washed, I would race up to bed to help her get ready before her boyfriend Michael would pick her up. He was such a lovely guy, he was just like one of my brothers, I loved to see him come to the house. He was so much fun, he would sit on the floor and play with us, or if we went out for walks, he would pick me up and put me on his shoulders.

On Friday the 13th February 1981, I was just 6 years old, the night that changed our lives forever. Thelma came into the bedroom as I watched with admiration while she got her makeup and hair ready and picked out her clothes me dreaming of the day I could do the same and go dancing with her. She then hugged me, gave me a kiss and tucked me into bed before heading off with Michael for the St Valentine’s night disco.

That was the last time saw my big sister.

The next morning, I will remember for the rest of my life… My dad (a gentle giant) woke me up shouting ‘Where is Thelma, where is Thelma’, he had me by the shoulders shaking me, I didn’t know what was going on, as he ran off down the stairs. I followed him with tears in my eyes, shocked that he woken me so abruptly. I entered the sitting room only to find my mum collapsed on the floor in front of the television. I couldn’t understand it, what had happened????

That was the night that stole my sister, that was the night that stole my happy family, that was the night that stole my childhood…..

A mother afraid to hug, a mother afraid to love, in fear of losing another child…..

Primary school for me was, ‘Oh, your sister was killed in the fire, what does that feel like?’ I’d shrug my shoulders and walk away. Teachers would tell me how lovely Thelma was.

For us younger siblings – Eric, Robert and Des – it was all the hushed conversations that we where not party to…. Answers to our questions still unanswered….

Growing up, with neighbours and family calling me Thelma by mistake, which happens still to this day, I know Thelma is still watching over me, but what I would give for her not to have gone that night, to have stayed at home with me, scratchy feet and all.

She should have been there for:

When I made my first holy communion 1 year later, my big sister was not there.

When our Dad had a heart attack, and we tried to resuscitate him in 1988, if Thelma had of

been there, maybe he would have survived with her first aid training.

When Mum was fighting cancer for 3 years, and died in 1991, Thelma should have been there.

In my teens for advice, my big sister should have been there.

When, 17 year later our brother Robert took his final breathes from his short 9-month battle with cancer, my sister should have been there.

In my preparations for my wedding, my sister should have been there.

When I had my daughter, my sister should have been there to be an auntie.

When my daughter was making her confirmation, and chose the name Thelma, my sister should have been there.

Thelma missed out on so much that life had to offer……

Maurice

Thelma and I were very close, there were only 9 months between us (“Irish Twins”). We played together; we got sick together.

Thelma went to St Brigid’s Primary School, where she spent her early days and where not one teacher would have a bad word to say about her. She was an excellent student.

She also joined The Order of Malta at Clyde Road with her two younger brothers Mark and Paul and her best friend, where they learned the skills of First Aid and would be on duty at several events around Dublin over the years.

She went on to study Business and Communications at Ballsbridge Business College, where she excelled and was noticed by the Head Teacher, who recommended her to the Irish Productivity Centre just across the road.

Here she would engage with Irish Trade Unions and Employers and other agencies. She loved her job, and I am sure she would have made a career out of Labour relations.

She made many friends inside and outside of school, college, and work.

She loved her sports, whether it be a 10km run with her brothers, or playing football with her work colleagues or going to away trips to see Shelbourne FC play.

With all three older siblings now working and earning decent wages, our home was now a joyous place to be, we were finally able to clear the mortgage.

Thelma was introduced to the love of her life Michael by her Aunt and Uncle, . All the family had such good times with these two-doting redheads. From fun holidays in the sun, to the family gatherings, and the occasional Cabaret at that place in Artane.

I can recall one night at that place in Artane, as we were leaving a Cabaret there, Thelma noticed a young lad getting being badly beaten by a thug. Without hesitation my petite Sister stepped in, pushing the attacker away, the young lad was unconscious.

I am convinced my Sister saved his life that night with her life saving skills.

Then a few months later the unimageable happened: there was a fire at that place in Artane.

We were woken by our Dad shouting “there is a fire at the Stardust”.

My poor Dad cycled around all the major Dublin hospitals in the hope that his daughter would be found, he despatched my brother and I to family in Donnycarney, in the hope that she and her boyfriend were alive and made it there.

Our Dad was photographed outside the Mater hospital while the photographer was focusing on the Taoiseach Charlie Hughey and a Garda in deep conversation. There to the side of them there was our Dad with a two-thousand-yard stare.

I just wonder what was going through his mind at that snapshot in time?

As we searched frantically for hours, our hopes slowly dwindled, and we came to the realization that we might never see our beloved sister Thelma again.

But we lived in hope, that she maybe in shock somewhere as there were so many reports that some walking wounded had been taken care of by local people as all hospitals were at full capacity. Added to that not many people had phones back then.

Our home went from a happy home full of life to just a house.

The little ones in the house had been taken to friends and family for a few days, as we tried to comprehend the enormous event that had hit our family.

Our Mam was heavily sedated, our Dad went missing for a few hours and we became concerned. He was brought to the house by a passing Garda who had found Dad sitting on a bench at Sandymount strand crying his eyes out.

Two days later we got the call to go to Store Street, for identification.

As we went in, the cigarette smoke was choking and there was another smell. The sobbing from families was interrupted by cries of anguish and anger.

We were given a brown envelope with a few pieces of melted jewellery and the remains of a digital watch which my older brother Arthur identified as Thelma’s.

I was not convinced. I was in denial. The Garda Sargent was quite abrupt with me but, on reflection, I was grieving already. I can remember the Garda shaking our hands after, God knows what that poor man witnessed over those few days.

A few days later we were told that it was indeed Thelma’s jewellery as dental records confirmed it was Thelma.

Our family lost its soul that night, as we were consumed by heart-wrenching sobs and a sense of numbness that lingered in our minds forever.

Impossible to erase even today.

Our Mam and Dad were truly heartbroken: it literally did break their hearts as both passed away within ten years of the Stardust, both at the young of age of 56, leaving a young family behind. Mam and Dad were also victims of that place in Artane.

The horrors of those days had a huge effect on her remaining siblings. We were never giving counselling, the only counselling we got, was from our family, friends, and neighbours to which we are forever thankful.

I was studying Civil Engineering in Bolton Street at the time, one of the lecturers would reference the Stardust many times, each time it was mentioned my heart would sink and I question myself if I could continue to study. But I did.

Even today there is a fire alarm test every Friday at 10 AM at St Vincent’s Hospital where I now work. My heart skips a beat every time I hear it, but I like to think that this testing maybe as a result of my sister and 47 other young people losing their lives that night and it may focus people into the importance of fire safety.

When I see the Stardust memorial in Coolock, with the young man and the young woman dancing, I picture them as being Thelma and Michael.

My late dad Arthur Senior had taken many notes during the first Stardust Tribunal in which he had a number of questions that he had hoped would be answered then.

I hope that our late father’s concerns, through this inquest, can be laid to rest with him, and we can finally have truth and justice for our own and all of the families.

If I was to sum up Thelma’s spirt , it would be from a few words from a song of that time which she used to hum around the house.

“I’d like to Teach the world sing in perfect harmony “

Eric

My Memory of You dear Thelma By Eric Frazer

Time has passed and lives moved on,

Yet darkness lingers in our memories.

The night you went to the Stardust,

Lives of hundreds changed forever.

You, my fire haired sister with a smile so broad and a laugh filled with spring,

lost your life in the most tragic way and with that we lost everything.

Our folks grew old overnight, my brother went grey.

My question of your return never went away I miss my “row row row your boat” big sister, every single day.

I wish you could be with us all now and be part of our united happy clan,

I wish I could snuggle you one more time and hold your sweet-scented soft hands.

All the lives you touched with happiness and love, you will never be forgotten.

Until we are linked together in heaven, my heart will remain broken.

My son asks of his Auntie Thelma regularly.

I can’t answer his questions, as I was five when you were stolen from me.

I have but two memories of you my sister that I hold so very dear, and I will treasure them in my heart & soul for many a long year.

We can never move on, as we’ve never had answers.

We can never shed light on what happened to all the midnight Stardust dancers.

Morgan, Susan – Yvonne Blackwell

My name is Yvonne Graham. Susan Morgan was my friend. Susie was raised by her

Granny, and they doted on each other. Susie and myself were part of a group of girls

who moved from Derry to Dublin. We were pals, going to work together in

Nazareth House care home on the Malahide Road. We lived in the care home,

sharing accommodation there.

Susie was a tom boy. She loved football. In Derry, Shantallow football club had two women’s teams: an A-team and a B-team. Susie was on the A-team. Susie was so full of life. She was so bubbly. She really loved life. She was so funny. The nuns in Nazareth House were always smiling and laughing at Susie being funny. She liked practical jokes. She promised to bring me a radio and when I got it, it turned out to be a soap-on-a-rope. Another time, she woke me up, going “We’re late for work! We slept in!” and, as I was throwing water on my face and getting dressed, she was falling about, laughing, because it was still the middle of the night. I was raging with her.

Susie was thoughtful too. I remember her bringing back specific toys that were wanted, from Dublin to Derry, like a wee Spiderman figure. She really loved Dublin. For Susie and the rest of our pals, Dublin represented freedom and possibility.

Our life in Dublin was a massive contrast with Derry. We had left a place which wasin conflict, and we had arrived in a city buzzing with life and freedom. Suzie noticed lots of wee differences in the big city – like the number of people happily cycling around: that’s not something that was common in places where movement was more restricted in the north.

We walked so much in Dublin. Susie loved to walk along the big wide tree-lined avenues on the north-side of the city. She loved to feel the peaceful atmosphere in Fairview Park. She loved to feel the exciting atmosphere and the buzz of the city when we stepped off the bus onto the footpath in O’Connell Street.

I remember Susie being mesmerised by the Dublin history and atmosphere at the Casino in Marino, which was just behind Nazareth House. It was being renovated at the time and the builders showed us the tunnels beneath it and told us about its past.Susie wasn’t just in love with Dublin. She had fallen in love with Paul Wade too. She was mad on him. We were 18 and 19 years old. We were having a ball. I don’t think we stayed in even for one night.

On the night of the Stardust fire, we saw terrible, terrible, things that nobody should ever see. We were only young, and we saw other young people die right in front of us. I was taken to the Mater hospital. The place was rammed. I remember everyone around me with big, black, burnt faces.

I don’t know how I got home to Nazareth House the next day. The nuns gave me whiskey in tea for shock. Then, later that day, the day after the fire, I went with Philip Marsh around the hospitals. We ended up going to the morgue. Susie’s clothes were recognisable. There was one shoe and the shirt she had beenwearing — a shirt she had borrowed for the night from one of us — and her signet ring. I was in bits. At Susie’s wake, there was talk about Susie’s body and – when I heard that – it made

me become hysterically upset.

There was blame. In the grief and loss, us girls were blamed for Susie being killed in the fire. We were blamed for taking her away from her home in Derry, for taking her away into danger.

Our carefree life in Dublin was suddenly, brutally, cut short. Our families wanted us back in Derry. You go from being young, free, and single (well, single on and off!), and then the whole lot has just collapsed down on top of you. We never spoke about the trauma. We blocked it out.

But at night, I had terrible nightmares. In nightmares, I saw burnt bodies coming up the bed at me. I had to take sedatives. I was only 18 and I was just sitting staring into space.

The effects of the fire have carried on through time. Years after Susie was killed in the fire, I was sitting in a pub in Shantallow in Derry. The lights went out in the pub. I panicked and ran out the door. It’s not only the obvious trauma: it’s also the worries that shape the way you go about things every day.

Over the years, I have been obsessive about pulling out the plugs in the house, making sure there can’t be an electrical fire. Even when I know I’ve already gone round the house and already checked that they’re disconnected, I have the compulsion to check them again.

The trauma of the Stardust fire also has a snowball effect, gathering up other lives that weren’t directly involved in it. It has affected the lives of my kids even though they weren’t born at the time. They were never allowed a chip pan in the house. I stocked up on lots of microwaveable chips – anything and everything to make sure there won’t be a fire. Everywhere I go, I’m always checking fire exits. The anxiety never leaves you.

A big weight was put on our shoulders. When St Valentine’s Day comes around, instead of doing what you should be doing, celebrating life, we are plunged into terrible memories. Normality has been taken away. St Valentine’s Day is my youngest Grandchild’s birthday, but it’s also a terrible time too.

I just hope so much that these inquests bring justice for people that have been waiting so long. Susie was so young. She had her whole life in front of her. All of that – all the possibilities in the life ahead of her – were taken away from her in the Stardust fire. We should not have had to wait so long for justice. The families whose loved ones were killed in the Stardust fire need to get justice now.