Introduction
To be asked to encapsulate my wonderful brother's 21 years, the potential 40 years of life he had stolen from him, and the effects it had on our small family is an almost impossible task for me.
However, only by reminiscing on a handful of the vivid, personal memories of growing up together can I convey the devastating and enduring impact of his loss.
Background
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 days in classic childhood pursuits of the time and was only seen at home when he had to eat or sleep. Yet, unusually, he developed a unique passion for wildlife and had an encyclopaedic knowledge of garden birds.
Three years his elder, I was entrusted to bring him to the old Dublin bird market or to George’s Pet Shop on Marlborough St to listen in wonderment to ‘Jacko’, the talking myna bird. He visited the ‘Dead Zoo’, the Natural History Museum, repeatedly where he remained fascinated by the exhibits.
He adopted our first dog, convincing our mother that ‘Scamper’ had followed him home – several dogs followed, Gerard ensuring their central part in the life of our family.
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 at the time of his death. He always had ways of earning money, whether it was repairing bicycles or rearing and selling budgies from an aviary he built in our back garden.
The independent streak strengthened as he grew; as soon as he was old enough, he bought a Honda 50 followed shortly by his first car, both with his own earnings – he cherished them zealously.
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 selection of Irish ballads. I cherish that collection to this day.
I am continually reminded by Gerard’s friends of his ‘party piece’, the great ballad Nancy Spain, which he would deliver in style and distinction at social gatherings.
Friday February 13, 1981 was the last day I saw my brother. I had married the previous November and had just moved into a new house around the corner from our family home. 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 that 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, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day – after that I’ll be saving hard." The last words he spoke to me. I stepped out of the car.
Stardust Fire
At around 3am following morning our doorbell rang. My parents were standing there, holding each other, in tears; the image of just 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. That was the start of the nightmare.
My mam had a heart condition, so Dad stayed with her as she was inconsolable. I spent days sitting in the Coroner's Court awaiting identification of his body. One third of the seats in the court was 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 scenario is horrifying. Gerard was one of the last victims to be identified and he was only capable of being identified by his dental records.
Only 10 weeks after he had celebrated at my wedding, I now had to choose a coffin for my young brother.
Since then
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.
My loving memories of Gerard and my parents endure. But so too does the crippling anger for the life never lived, the potential never realised, the opportunity for a family to enjoy and nurture all his passions.
I am angry my parents had their son’s life ripped so cruelly from them.
Conclusion
I'm furious that it has taken 40 years for this inquest, mindful that many have passed away in the interim, my own mother and father included. The delay has allowed my anger to grow with my grief, and that of my family’s which I carry with me.
I ask this question to conclude. Is this going to be another story in the annals of Irish history which will be swept under the carpet? Because in sweeping it under the carpet, it sweeps the memory and life of my brother under the carpet with it.
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.
