Michael Barrett (17), from Raheny, was an apprentice plumber and aspiring DJ. Known for his sense of humour and penchant for practical jokes, he was also a caring son, loyal friend, and ambitious dreamer.
My name is Gertrude Barrett, mother of the late Michael Barrett. Michael was age 17 and an apprentice plumber. He was in the Stardust in a working capacity on the night of the fire. He was an assistant DJ with his friend, Colm O'Brien.
Michael was a son, a brother, a grandson, a nephew, and a cousin, a friend and a neighbour. He was the eldest of four children; he had one sister and two brothers. He was a great brother, who looked out for and protected his younger siblings. He was a fun brother too.
He was a great son, a kind son. We had a very close mother son relationship. Michael had wisdom beyond his years. If he said everything would be alright, then the chances are it would be alright. For him, nothing was ever too much, and nowhere was ever too far. He was keen to make life and the future easier, better, and brighter for himself and his family. He had an aura and a presence that brought belief, calm, and confidence.
For such a short life, Michael left an impression on people he met, be it for the minute, a day, or a week. We have come to know this down the years from the many stories people have shared with us about the times they met Michael.
Michael was always smiling, had an infectious laugh. Another thing people would say about him is "I still remember his smile and his laugh". Michael was quite popular and well liked. He knew lots of people, and lots of people knew him. However, he was most comfortable with and among his small, tight knit, close circle of friends. He was a very loyal friend, too. Michael's friends are still in our lives.
Michael wasn't in a relationship when he died, but his friends have told me, apparently, he had no shortage of female interest. Michael was a sociable, outgoing individual with a quiet and confident nature. He was a caring, pleasant, and a kind person. A principled individual with a philosophical approach to life. He was willing to lend a hand, help someone out, or do what he could to help people in general. Michael was an absolute 'pet' of a person, who was happy go lucky, good humoured, and he loved a great natter, no matter what the topic. He was good to go to for advice. He was fair and balanced with his opinions and his views.
Michael had a wicked sense of humour, and he loved cracking jokes and playing pranks. Two of his favourites were during dinner he would tell his sister there was a knock on the door and she would go and answer it. And when she came back, he would have eaten her meat or the chicken but never the vegetables. He would place a toy rat on my magazines and when I lifted them the rat would roll off and put the hard crossways in me. He was always close by waiting for my terrifying reaction and would fall about the place laughing.
He was very optimistic and positive about his life going forward. He was ambitious and had very clear plans, dreams, hopes and wishes for his future, (even) hoping that one day himself and his brothers would have their own business.
He was going to ‘make it’. And ‘get rich’ too, but then again, what 17 year old isn't? As his mother, I have no doubt he would have made it and got rich too. Because he knew what it took, and that was to work hard, and save hard, until you reach your goal. This is exactly what he did to buy his first record player and his racing bike.
Another big dream of his (when he finished his apprenticeship) was to go to Australia with his friend Jerry, who survived the fire, who had a brother there. Thankfully, Jerry got to go for a couple of years.
Michael had several hobbies and interests, football and DJing were his main ones. He loved anything to do with DJing, listening to the Top 40 every week, watching Top of the Pops, buying records and albums, busy building his collection for DJing. Michael had a number of opportunities to go to Big D Radio to shadow the DJ Tony Dixon, R. I. P. and to learn all he could about radio DJing and presenting. I will forever wonder would Michael have had a part time job as a DJ and a full time job as a plumber or a full time job as a DJ and a part time job as a plumber? That I will never know.
Michael was an avid supporter of Liverpool Football Club and the Dubs. He looked forward to the day he could take a trip to Anfield and see the Reds play a home game. It never happened, but thankfully he got to see the Dubs play in Croke Park. His brother takes his Liverpool scarf to Anfield when he goes to matches.
He played football too. He loved watching The Big Match, Match of the Day, buying the Shoot comic, all things football, and keeping up to date with all the weekly soccer news.
Stardust Fire
Up to and including the 13th of February 1981, we were a happy family unit, with four children, doing regular things, living a regular life, doing what you do with a family of four aged 17 and under. Life was good and all was well. But little did I know that Friday the 13th of February 1981, would be the last day of life as we knew it, and the following day our lives would change catastrophically forever.
On February the 14th we woke up to trauma and were catapulted into unimaginable grief and sorrow. Upon hearing the news of the fire, I went to Coolock Garda Station. There we were told to go down to the Malahide Road and get the bus into Store Street, Store Street Garda Station, also the morgue. I didn't know if my child was dead or alive and I am told to get the bus. Unbelievable. We were one of the first families, if not the first family, to arrive in Store Street that morning. As the morning unfolded, other families started to arrive too, looking for their children.
All of us in the throes of unimaginable grief, shock, and utter disbelief, and not making much sense of anything. As the morning and the day went on, the scale of the fire was becoming obvious from the sheer volume of grief, the tears, the crying, the unknown, the confusion, the mayhem, the chaos, just everything about it, it was horrendous, utter horror, a living nightmare. The experience will stay with me for life, and my daughter too, who was with me. No one, as in Garda, explained to us what we were about to face - From the enormity of the situation, the ferocity of the fire, the number of deaths, the identification of bodies, the outcomes, or what to expect, and more. No one to help you comprehend, understand, or grasp what lay ahead. Considering what we were about to face, there wasn't a garda, a nurse, a doctor to comfort, console, or support families. Families had to rely heavily on each other for comfort, reassurance, and for snippets of information from relatives and newspapers.
Throughout the day, we went between Store Street Garda Station and the morgue to fill in identification forms, and Store Street to wait for news of Michael. Several times during the day,
a list of names would be called out by a garda. The lists never had a name. It reminded me of a school roll call.
I never knew if it was a good or a bad thing that Michael wasn't on any of these list roll calls of names, and neither was it explained to me. It was late in the afternoon when the final list of names would be called out, this list had a name - ‘The missing list’. Michael was on this list. Later that night, I was informed that there were 40 names and 40 bodies, and I took from this that Michael was deceased. I spent four days in total in the city morgue and Store street, waiting, waiting and waiting for Michael to be identified. It was an horrendous four days. There are no words to adequately describe what we experienced during those four days. I won't ever forget the callousness of it all.
I would like to mention, too, that the leader of the country at the time, Charlie Haughey, never crossed the door of the morgue or Store Street during those four days.
On the fourth day, Tuesday, on the 11th hour, Michael would be the last identified victim of the Stardust Fire, and I was informed that his body would be released to the undertakers on Thursday. I asked if I could see him (Michael) and if I could have his clothes. I was told to ‘remember him the way he was,’ and’ as sure as you are you and I am me, this is Michael’, pointing to a file under his arm. And ‘you can come in any time in the next six weeks to get his clothes’, I was informed by a Garda. The Garda had viewed his body and knew the condition it was in and knew there was nothing left of not only his clothes, but his body too. And they speak to you like you are a fool. I am not a fool. I was a grieving mother who had lost a son in the most awful, traumatic way possible.
They, the Gardaí, would have been better off helping to comprehend what I was living through with some level of honesty instead of treating me like a fool.
Michael was buried on Friday, the 20th of February, seven days from the night he went out. Seven days that are etched into our hearts and minds forever. I thank God I got Michael, to bury him. What remained of him. Five other victims had to wait another 25 years.
Due to no fault of our own his funeral was impersonal and rushed. There was no funeral discussion or adequate or appropriate planning on our behalf, and no opportunity to place personal items in his coffin, because we were told what was happening. Told! The body would be released to Jennings. Told the funeral time and date. Just like I was told to get the bus to Store Street. Told everything and asked nothing. Let's not forget all of this being added to the distress of not seeing his body, only a coffin. No personal touch for his final journey and resting place.
Looking back, I shudder every time I think of the adverse treatment and behaviour towards us from the minute I stood in Coolock Garda Station until the minute he was identified. Right through to his funeral arrangements, little did I know that the treatment and behaviour would continue for another 40 years.
I will never get over losing Michael in such an appalling way. Never. I am forever haunted by the thoughts of his final moment. What were his last words? Did he call for help? How frightened was he? Did he know he was going to die? Michael should have never had to leave this world the way he did. And at such a young age, too.
If I stood here for a month, it wouldn't be long enough to describe or share the true impact of the Stardust Fire; The experience of the four days in Store Street, the morgue, the funeral
arrangements, the aftermath, the trauma, the void in our lives. Not to mention the 40-year fight for justice. If I had been allowed to follow the procedures of a democracy 40 years ago, I would not have to be here today.
Like a tornado, the stardust fire ripped through the core of our beings, wreaking havoc and utter devastation in its wake, leaving nothing untouched, be it our home, our lives, our relationships, our education, our future, our outlook on life, in fact, our everything. Nothing was ever the same again, never the same, and changed forever as we knew it.
I only had 17 years of normality, regular family life. My youngest son had 10 years. My middle son had 14 years and my daughter had 16 years. So, no matter how long my children live, their lives as they knew it ended at 10, 14 and 16. The rest of their rearing years were done through a sea of tears, unimaginable grief, sadness, sorrow. an untold amount of emotional pain. It was heartbreaking to watch them struggling, to deal with and try to understand and come to terms with their loss, and adjust to and face their new lifelong reality, and to watch what it was doing to their young lives - their minds, their education, their teenage years, and their future.
Heartbreaking to have to steer them from negative thoughts, comments, such as, ‘what's the point in this?’ And’ what's the point in that?’ ‘Because you could die tomorrow - Michael did’. This was very difficult and extremely worrying. Equally, my children not only watched my struggle, but also had to live with a mother's grief too; And ‘a mother's grief is as timeless as her love’. Whilst I lost my eldest son to the Stardust Fire, my children not only lost their brother, but their mother as they knew her too.
As a family, we will never recover from the trauma of the Stardust Fire and its effects. It has been absolutely crippling at times. It leaves you feeling helpless, unable to cope, numb and disconnected. It has caused an untold amount of stress and anxiety and it takes its toll on your health, your well-being, and your life. Although we have learned to live with it, and it to live with us, this is how it will be till we take our last breath.
And all of this has been compounded by a 40-year fight for justice (which is another story all of its own). I should never have had to fight for justice for Michael, never!
In his death, Michael was denied every experience possible that his siblings went on to have. For example, travelling, holidays, living abroad, trips to Anfield, marriage, children, becoming a parent, Father's Day, christenings, communions, confirmations, Christmases, Easters, birthdays, nieces, nephews, extended family, and all of the other life experiences, celebrations, and events that occur throughout the lifespan of every family. And all of our life's experiences, celebrations, and events, were and are marred and scarred, tainted and tarnished by his absence.
We, his family, have and will continue to wonder what life might have been like had there been no Stardust (fire).
As we wrote this pen portrait for Michael, remembering the person he was, it saddens us to our core that he never got the chance to fulfil his potential in life and throughout life. And, that he never got the chance to achieve his goals, plans, dreams, hopes and wishes. A life ended before it even had a chance to begin.
Rest in peace, Michael. We miss you and everything about you, every day.
