John Colgan (21), from Swords, more affectionately known as Johnny, was a charismatic and kind-hearted guy with a contagious positivity. He loved the craic - a pint with the lads and a dance, with the "Huckle Buck" being his party piece of choice.
Introduction
My name is Susan Behan, I'm reading this pen portrait of my dear brother John Colgan, we called him Johnny, on behalf of my mother and father who have both recently passed away and my sister Patricia who unfortunately cannot be here today.
Johnny was my mother’s pride and joy the apple of her eye, she adored him. Johnny was my father’s right hand, his only son, and best friend. They worked together in the family business. My Mam and Dad cherished him.
Johnny was my sister’s hero. He did everything for her, nothing was too much trouble. She had him wrapped around her little finger.
Background
My brother Johnny was so handsome and a truly special person. Johnny’s essence was pure, he was a natural charmer. People were drawn to him like metal is drawn to a magnet.
Johnny’s favourite song was "Lovely Day" by Bill Withers, and it summed up his outlook on life exactly! He was always upbeat, always looking forward to each day. He was so positive. Johnny’s sense of humour was second to none, he always made us smile and laugh and giggle. Johnny’s party piece was the "Huckle Buck". We all had one when we were children. Mine was "Big Spender" for my sins. I can see him standing on the fireplace in Nanny Colgan’s singing away earnestly and tapping his foot to the beat. It still makes me giggle when I think of it.
My dad had his own business at the time, painting and decorating. Johnny loved it and was a natural. He was only 21 but he was the best, all the lads that worked for Dad wanted Johnny to be in charge. If there were any expensive fabrics, hessians, or silk wall coverings to hang; Johnny did them all. He loved the variety of work, Dad had contracts all over Dublin. They were extremely exciting times for them both. They had great plans for the future.
While working for a time in John of Gods, some of the patients would watch him working. Johnny always had time for them, he would smile and wave. Sometimes at lunchtime Johnny would sing and play his guitar for them. He could only play one song. "Diana". It had three chords, I think. So, he would just play that over and over and they loved it. They loved him.
Johnny was full of life, he loved playing football, he loved a pint with the lads, he loved a dance and was always up for the craic. Johnny had lots of friends.
There was another side to Johnny, a kindness, a gentleness, when he walked into room it lit up, he instantly filled the room with love, it radiated from him.
Johnny did so much in his spare time, helping out at the weekend in a Convent, even the Nun’s loved him.
Johnny’s girlfriend at the time was Maggie Moo, we fondly referred to her. Margaret’s family to this day, and every year since 1981, place a fond memorial for Johnny in the Evening Herald. Johnny left such a positive, lasting memory on everyone he met, in his short 21 years of life.
My dad’s last memory was Johnny standing on Exchequer Street. It was Friday (payday, the best day of the week) and dad warned him not to be too late because he had football training in the morning. Johnny was laughing at him and rubbing his hands together with his pay packet in hand, contemplating the night out with the lads. Johnny stood there waving at my dad with a big smile on his face. That was the last time my dad saw Johnny.
My poor mother’s last memory was of them having their tea together on Friday evening and Johnny saying, "You know I am your favourite son, would you like to iron my new white shirt for tonight?". She responded saying, "You know I hate ironing, but if you run to the shops, I will do it for you.". "Done deal," he said, "And would you leave my shorts out for training tomorrow?". It was just an ordinary Friday; little did we know the horror that awaited us.
I was close to the birth of my first baby, due the 4th of March. There was great excitement. We were making all sorts of plans, but the Stardust fire took Johnny away from us and everything changed forever. The last time I saw Johnny was Thursday, the day before the Stardust fire. He patted my bump and said, "I am going to be an uncle soon". He was so excited. He then asked if I liked his new look and he said, "I shaved off my moustache". I replied that it wouldn’t take long to grow back and we both erupted laughing. That was the last time I saw Johnny. He went to the Stardust, February 13th, 1981, and he never came home to us.
I remember as if it was yesterday that evening, for no reason at all, we were reminiscing about a childhood memory of ours. It was an incident where I broke the glass in the 'good cabinet’. All because he was playing marbles and annoying me, I jumped up in anger and the chair flew back and ‘crash’ – the glass was gone. We knew we were in big trouble, so we decided to pray for a miracle. We went into the kitchen and we prayed. We kept popping the sitting room door open and looking in, but it was still broken. We gave up eventually. We hadn’t spoken about that in years. We were laughing about how innocent we were; we had such a great night together. I treasure those last few moments, but it still hurts as if it was yesterday when I think about it.
Stardust Fire
We were told that on the night of the Stardust fire, my brother helped his best friend Kenny to safety. Kenny fell and Johnny was there to help him. Kenny said Johnny got out, but he went back in because he could hear girls crying in the toilets. I am not sure if this account of the girls is true, but it sounds exactly like something he would do and I vaguely remember a phone call to my parents saying so.
Since then
Losing Johnny in the Stardust was indescribable. It shook our family to the core. We were devasted. We simply could not believe it. The effect of losing him continues to this day. It dictates how I think, how I view certain things and how I worry ever day about my own dear children. The hardest part of losing my brother Johnny has always been his absence at family gatherings. There is always something missing from these occasions – something not quite right. It feels like a huge hole or void in our celebrations. With each passing year and each family occasion, I couldn’t help but wonder if Johnny were here, would he have a wife now and maybe some children? Would mam and dad have more grandchildren to love and spoil? I picture Johnny’s children calling me aunty Sue and me spoiling them. I remember thinking that they would look like my children and that our children would be best buddies.
The Stardust fire affected me deeply and irreparably. The loss of my brother, the hurt and loss to my parents and sister. But it also left me vulnerable, afraid of letting my children go out as they grew up and, when they did go out, not being able to sleep until they came home. Most parents have this fear but mine was like a physical sickness in my stomach. It was a dread. Time has not assuaged my anguish or my fear. I know it appears irrational, but it is my reality. I still to this day worry terribly about everyone near and dear to me. I know all too well that things can change in an instant. The security that comes from family life was rocked to the core that day and has never returned. I can now speak for my mam and dad as they have both passed away; I can say the effect on my mam and dad was devastating. I honestly believe they never recovered from the loss and although they carried on, in truth, they never did recover. I have horrible memories of finding my dad on all fours in our bathroom shortly after the Stardust fire, he was crying and pleading for help, to see a way forward in his life. He did manage to move forward with the strength and support of my mother, an ability I cannot put into words, she held our family together, she was the glue.
I am sad that my mam and dad did not live to see a resolution to the Stardust debacle, but I am also happy that my mam and dad and Johnny are now together, resting in peace, no one can harm them anymore, and they know the truth.
Conclusion
My sense of loss has never diminished, but with all the blessings God has sent to me over the years it is not as raw as it was in the early days, weeks, and months after the Stardust fire, but it is still very painful and distressing, none of this has been helped by 42 years of wondering, searching, and seeking the truth.
There are 48 victims who cannot speak, with 200 young people injured and maimed and 96 parents who want answers with hundreds of brothers and sisters who need closure and thousands of extended family and friends who have been worn down and millions of Irish People who deserve nothing less than the best efforts in seeking an explanation for the Stardust tragedy.
Johnny’s funeral was one of the very first. We lived in Swords at the time and the church in Brackenstown was packed to the rafters. There was a Gardai escort and Swords came to a standstill. RTÉ were there with their cameras. But in reality, it was all a blur, a completely surreal time. We couldn’t believe it. We simply didn’t want to believe it.
I am hopeful now that with the new Inquest and with the help of our solicitor Darragh Mackin and his team at Phoenix Law, the Coroner Dr Myra Cullinane and her team of experts we will find justice for Johnny and all the families and hopefully that will finally bring the peace, healing, and closure we so urgently need.
Patricia
Thinking of you on the day you went away. Life has never been the same without you in my life. Today is a difficult day, although it has been 42 years the memory of a wonderful brother, full of love and kindness and gentleness, who could light up a room just by being in there with his big smiling face. And even when he left, you could still feel his presence. We were all so young at the time, not knowing what lay ahead for us as a family. We were a very close family, full of love for each other, even though there were difficult times. Love was the main thing we focused on.
Now, at my age, reflecting on the past, there is so much I wish I’d told you - how much I loved you, that you are my hero, and how grateful I am for the happy times we shared. I miss the little chats, or to give me sound advice, to ask about the things I’d planned, and if my day was nice. So, the day your life was taken from us, the world lost someone wonderful, and I lost my amazing brother John, and my best friend as well. And as it is his birthday in a few days I’d really like to say happy birthday to you from all of us and hope that heaven lets you know how much I am missing you,
Your little sister Trish.
