THE FINAL PEN portraits were heard at the Stardust inquests this afternoon.
Over 15 days, the jury heard descriptions of all 48 people who died in the 1981 nightclub fire, read out by friends and family.
The testimony contained a significant amount of details on the lives of the deceased, the events of the night, and the impact of the fire on families.
Speaking at the conclusion of today’s sitting of the Dublin District Coroner’s Court, Coroner Dr Myra Cullinane said:
“There was extreme sadness, of course, but occasional humour, which was equally moving given the loss that has been experienced.
“The presentations brought home to all of us [...] the impact of this disaster on so many lives.
“I sincerely thank the families for allowing us to participate in their most private and treasured memories.”
The court will sit again on Tuesday morning, when the jury will be instructed on how the court will proceed over the coming weeks.
Murtagh (Murty) Kavanagh’s (27) pen portrait was delivered by his sister Terry Jones, who told the jury about the 25-year wait for her brother’s remains to be identified.
“There was no private family funeral or burial for Murty,” she said.
We did not know which coffin was his when we attended the mass and burials for the unidentified people, which was held in Donnycarney Church on 23 February 1981.
“My father’s heart, soul and spirit were broken.”
Terry recalled the “sheer panic” of the days following the fire.
Once they learned that he was missing, some of his family went straight to the morgue to give his details and fill in identification forms.
“They made several trips to the morgue over the next few days to find Murty, until Tuesday evening when the identification process was stopped at 6pm,” Terry said.
“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. This added to the distress.”
She said that their father knew that Murty had a dental plate from a previous sporting accident, and stressed this to the detectives.
“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,” Terry said.
Terry added that she was living in Canada at the time, and spoke of the difficulty she had in returning home:
There was no support or help from the Irish Consulate or Government for siblings of those who died [and] who lived abroad.
Their father was widowed, and Murty had lived at home, acting as what would be considered today as his father’s carer.
Terry said he was caring and kind, ready to help out no matter what was needed.
He had a range of hobbies and interests: he enjoyed, cooking, fishing and music, and was a big fan of Bob Dylan, Neil Young, the Dubs and Manchester United.
“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 also died in the fire],” Terry said.
Murty had arranged for someone else to care for his father when he went out that night, and it was common for him to stay at a friend’s house. Because of this, it didn’t become clear that he was missing until Sunday morning.
“We were all left devastated by the traumatic loss of Murty, the absence of a private funeral, him being unidentified,” she said.
“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.”
The jury also heard a pen portrait of Brendan O’Meara (23), read on behalf of his brother Jimmy.
Jimmy recalled being asleep on the sofa the night of the fire when he was awoken by a knock at the door.
Two of Brendan’s friends were waiting at the door. They were “all black”, covered in cuts. There had been a fire at the Stardust, they told him, and had a taxi waiting outside to take him there to help look for his brother.
When they arrived, he saw covered bodies being brought out of the club on stretchers.
People who had made it out were still there, sitting with blankets draped around them, “in shock after seeing it first hand”.
They couldn’t find Brendan, and went into the city centre to search the hospitals.
Jimmy described his brother as a “good, honest, and decent fella”.
“Brendan wasn’t quiet and he wasn’t loud either,” the jury was told. “He would help anybody out in any way he could.”
Nobody had a bad word to say about him.
He said Brendan “never had a hair out of place”, was always “spotlessly groomed and wore the best clobber”. He had won best dressed when he was in the army.
Jimmy was 21 when Brendan died. They were on the same darts and football teams and had the same group of friends, some of whom died in the fire.
The inquest heard that their father went to England to work when their mother was pregnant, and never came back. Their mother worked hard, and they stuck together as a family.
Brendan invited Jimmy to the Stardust the night of the fire, but he was too tired after work.
The family’s search for him in the hospitals was fruitless, Jimmy recalled. They went to the city morgue, where a guard told them that there was someone in Jervis Street Hospital who matched Brendan’s description.
When they went to see him, he was lying on his front in a coma with black streaks down his back from burns:
I still feel so helpless thinking of him lying in hospital on his front. The thought of him lying there, so heavily sedated. It’s like it’s tattooed onto my brain. It’s so plain to see and it’s so vivid. It’s a vision that will never leave me.
Brendan died on 25 February after his leg, which was possibly injured during the fire by a falling object, was amputated.
The court heard about the impact the fire had on Jimmy in the following years. He felt survivor’s guilt and blamed himself, thinking they could have escaped together if they had been there that night.
“You’d have to experience that to know how it makes you feel. It stayed with me for years and years and I still have that burden to this day,” he said, adding that he took it hard and started drinking.
Concluding the pen portrait, he said:
I have been dreading the start of these inquests because we have been hurt and disappointed repeatedly. It’s painful to do this. You think to yourself, ‘what’s the point in putting yourself through it? Are we going to be let down yet again?’. We need answers.
The inquests heard how John Stout’s (18) family was forever changed by the fire.
On a basic level, there was a constant fear of fire, his niece Allison said in a pen portrait read on behalf of the family. They stopped using candles, for example.
“In deeper ways that are harder to explain, there was a permanent change in the atmosphere,” she said.
The family was broken-hearted. A sense of peace had been lost, leaving the family permanently unsettled.
John was the third child in a family of 11 surviving children. Allison said he was quiet, sensitive, and disliked conflict. He was very family-oriented and conscious of the need to contribute to the household. His interests ranged from Elvis to watching show-jumping competitions.
He planned to follow a career in painting and decorating.
He went to the Stardust on the night of the fire with his girlfriend Helena Mangan, who Allison said was “the love of his life”. She also died in the fire.
“The first that the family became aware that anything was wrong that night was the sound of banging on the front door, as friends of the boys, with blood on their shirts, told of Stardust fire,” Allison said.
John was with his brother Larry on the night of the fire. He was badly burnt and was a “changed young man” in the aftermath.
“He had survivor’s guilt and trauma. He was self-conscious of his injuries,” Allison told the inquest.
As a family, we always said that John’s mother lost more than one son in the fire.
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.
Allison added that John is always talked about, his birthday never passes unremarked, and people often comment on when something reminds them of him.
“As a family, we want the inquest to help with closure,” she said. “After all these years, justice would help bring us peace so we don’t remain unsettled.”
Trips to Dollymount
The final pen portrait delivered at the sitting was for Margaret Thornton (19).
The inquest heard that when she was just two years old, her father died in a hit-and-run.
Her mother, just 38 years old at the time, was left to rear four children alone, working three jobs.
Patricia Greene, one of Margaret’s sisters, said this loss made them even closer as a family.
She painted a vibrant picture of their upbringing. She spoke of regular visits to the North Strand cinema, getting chips after a trip to Dollymount beach, and doing chores at their grandmother’s house surrounded by family.
She said Margaret was the baby of the family who everyone doted on (and who, on occasion, was an “awful whinger”, especially when her grandmother tried to her ready for school).
At the time of the fire, the jury heard she was working in a sewing factory, and was known for her own sense of style.
“She loved her music and concerts, going out with her family and friends and doting on her nieces and nephew,” Patricia said.
She was enjoying her newfound independence becoming a young woman, making plans and having dreams.
Her friend, Valerie Boyd, also delivered a pen portrait.
“Margaret was a very quiet and easy-going gentle person,” she said, “but she could stand up for herself if she needed to. She wouldn’t anyone try to walk on her. They’d get the full lash of her tongue.”
Valerie spoke about their shared love of going to discos (“The Celebrity Club and Bubbles were our favourites”) and would spend time practising their dance moves.
The last time Valerie saw Margaret, she was popping by her house after work before the Stardust:
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 went to the nightclub with her boyfriend, Murty Kavanagh, who also died that night.
The following day, Patricia – who lived in Tallaght – wasn’t aware that Margaret was missing after the fire. She turned on the television for her children, and saw the news about Stardust.
“All day it was on, and all day I had a horrible sick feeling,” she said.
Her brother John had found out earlier that there had been a fire. After searching the hospitals, he went to the morgue and told a priest what Patricia had been wearing.
“He came back out with a Superintendent from Store St who was carrying a necklace. It was a chain with a miraculous medal. They didn’t let John go in to identify her. John went home with the medal.”
Later, they would discover that her gold earrings survived the fire too – they were her grandmother’s, lent to Margaret by her sister Madeline.
“I spent years just waiting for her to come through the door,” Patricia said. “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… it destroyed her.”
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 always been loved and never will be forgotten.
The inquest resumes on Tuesday.
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