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
I had a big brother who was on this Earth for 17 years, 10 months and 12 days. He may be just a “body number” on the inquest list, but to us he was the first born, a grandson, a big brother, a nephew, a cousin and a loyal friend to those who knew him. And his name is George.
George was very much a home boy – quiet, reserved and not one for going out much – just like our Dad.
He was much adored by me, being my best friend and closest in age (2½ years apart), and also by our younger siblings (who were seven, five and three in 1981) who didn’t get the chance to make many memories, if any.
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He was a huge science-fiction fan and was always drawing, trying to replicate the spaceships from the comics and films of Star Wars, Star Trek, War of the Worlds, among others. We still have many of his notebooks of these drawings.
George was only starting out on life’s journey as an adult. He had gone as far as Leaving Cert in St Joseph’s CBS, Fairview. He had no interest in college, so got himself a part-time job out in the St Laurence Hotel in Howth, working in the kitchen, which he loved. As a family, we’d head there an odd Sunday to indulge in the carvery dinner and get extra special “desserts” because we knew “the staff”.
Then he managed to snag himself a job working in Superquinn in Northside Shopping Centre. He loved working there and made some lovely friends, who encouraged him to come out of his shell and start socialising. Sadly, the first dance he ever went to was also to be his last.
My memories of that February 13th is George getting ready for the dance, my Mam ironing his shirt, him drying his “afro” hairstyle, and me critiquing his outfit and telling him no girl would ask him to dance dressed like he was. Then, heading to bed with not a care in the world, only to be woken by utter chaos.
I remember heading off with my Dad and uncles to collect dental records and going into the coroner’s courtroom to identify a clear plastic bag of clothes – the same clothes (what was left of them) I had mocked just a few hours before. Then over to the canteen to wait for the dental records to be compared.
Being a shy, introverted 15-year-old at the time, the trauma I felt caused me to withdraw even further into myself. For a solid 10 years I couldn’t be around people if they started talking about George.
Maybe I blocked my memories as a self-preservation tactic. But that is not to say that I and we do not think about him and miss him every single day.
There is no closure to grief, just a beginning, a middle and the rest of your life. The new “normal” is having tears waiting behind every smile because you realise someone important is missing from all those important events.
I wonder how very different all our lives would be if he were still here. What career path would he have taken, would he have married, had kids, stayed in Ireland or lived abroad.
Two things in life change you as a person and you are never the same. They are love. And grief.