The inquests into the deaths of the 48 young people who died in the Stardust fire in Artane, Dublin, in 1981 feature pen portraits of each of the deceased by bereaved family members. Find all of the portraits and more coverage here.
Liz wrote this pen portrait two years ago. Liz died on 23rd April 2022 and was predeceased by her husband, my brother Sean, who passed away 17th December 2021. Those close to Liz and Sean, and to Liz’s parents, knew only too well the adverse impact the Stardust had on their lives. It has been like a dark shadow hanging over them for over 40 years. They were very private people and didn’t talk much about the Stardust and the consequences for them. It was just too much.
This [inquest] will hopefully deliver justice for Gerard and the other victims ... and go some way to ensuring they are remembered. So this was penned by Liz two years ago. Herself and Sean were really pleased to know this tribunal was taking place.
Gerard was an independent young boy who, after declaring to his mother as a three year old that he was a “big boy now” and throwing his bottle in the bin, spent his time in classic childhood pursuits of the time and was only seen home when he had to eat or sleep.
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My brother was talented with his hands and was repairing things in the house for my mam as a teenager, before going on to become an apprentice cabinet maker, a trade he was learning diligently.
A dapper young man, Gerard was particular about clothes and would often spend Saturday afternoons with an iron in hand pressing shirts and jeans listening to his record collection ... Mud, Sweet, Gilbert O’Sullivan, Bay City Rollers and [a] selection of Irish ballads. I cherish that collection to this day.
Friday February 13th 1981 was the last day I saw my brother. Running late for a bus that morning, I rang Gerard for a lift which, characteristically, he was only too happy to oblige. En route he explained he and his girlfriend had placed a deposit on a holiday in Spain which would mean that socialising would have to be curtailed for the next few months.
“What about tonight?” I asked somewhat facetiously – Friday nights out were set in stone for Gerard. “Of course I’m going out tonight ... After that I’ll be saving hard.” The last words he spoke to me.
At around 3am [the] following morning, our doorbell rang. My parents were standing there, holding each other, in tears. The image of how frail they were at that moment has never left me. Gerard’s car was still in the Stardust car park and some of his friends had called to mam and dad’s house to see had he gotten home.
I spent days sitting in the coroner’s court awaiting identification of his body. One-third of the seats in the court [were] given over to black plastic bags containing the belongings – jewellery, watches, keys – of the victims. Even by the standards of the time, the insensitivity of that is horrifying.
[He] was one of the last victims to be identified. He was only capable of being identified by his dental records ... Only 10 weeks after he had celebrated at my wedding, I had to choose a coffin for my young brother.
I don’t believe my mother ever recovered from Gerard’s death. The pain took its toll every day and she passed away in December 1996. Dad died in July 2002. When my parents died, I did not have a brother with whom to share my grief.
I am angry my parents had their son’s life ripped so cruelly from them. I’m furious that it has taken 42 years for this inquest, mindful that many have passed away in the interim ... The delay has allowed my anger to grow with my grief, and that of my family’s, which I carry with me.
Finally, I would like to thank the coroner for giving me and my husband the opportunity to put on record a brief description of my wonderful brother’s life.