Francis and Maureen Lawlor (25 & 23), Finglas: ‘I have no memories of my parents, only utter devastation’

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 read by bereaved family members. Find all of the portraits and more coverage here.

I was 17 months old when my father, Francis, who was 25, and my mother, Maureen, who was 23, went out for a few drinks on Valentine’s night. I have no memories whatsoever, only utter devastation. I grew up in the shadow of this disaster... I’m an only child and Stardust left me on my own in this world.

My father lived at home until he joined the Army in 1976 at 21 years of age. A good friend of his from those days called Dennis Farrell remembered him as clever and universally popular, with great leadership skills... My father Francis was a bit of a chancer, though.

Francis wore two false teeth in the front because of some mishap he had suffered as a child. One day the soldiers were training on the beach. It was very hard work, and the weather was cold. Then, Francis called out that he had lost his two front teeth. The officer in charge checked for the teeth and sent him off to the dental hospital to get sorted out, while the rest of the soldiers spent several hours searching the sand for those missing teeth. Francis had put them in his pocket to enjoy some time off at his poor colleagues’ expense.

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My mother, Maureen, grew up in Cabra. She was one of seven children. She was a confident child until, at the age of 15, she was seriously hurt, knocked down by a car on Gardiner Street. Her pelvis was badly damaged. Her self-confidence and her school life took a hit.

They fell in love very quickly and got married when Francis was 19 and she was 17. In their wedding photo, they almost look like kids playing at being grown-ups.

I have always wondered what my parents’ last thoughts might have been and what happened to them in their final few minutes on Earth

Francis, my dad, managed to get out of the inferno and into the cold night air which must have hurt his scorched lungs. He started to run around looking for Maureen in the huddled groups of young people in a state of shock outside. None of them knew who Maureen was and just shook their heads, many crying or unable to speak. Francis realised she was still inside. He filled his lungs with air and ran back into the fire to get her. Neither Francis nor Maureen ever came home again.

Part of me died and I was never normal, whatever normal is. My heart was broken. After my grandparents died, there were times I felt I can’t go on. I have a wound that has never healed. Life was just too hard to cope with. I have sometimes allowed myself to feel angry at my dad for going back into the fire.

Anyone from Dublin knows that if the disco had been in an affluent southside suburb, rather than a working class area of the northside, the victims would not have been blamed for their own deaths.

I have always wondered what my parents’ last thoughts might have been and what happened to them in their final few minutes on Earth. I wonder did they suffer. I wonder whether Francis, my dad, ever found her, my mum, or whether he died without finding her. I wonder whether they realised that their lives were about to end. I wonder whether they tried to comfort one another before it was too late. I wonder if they thought about their baby girl. I am hopeful that, after all these years after they were killed in the Stardust, that we will finally get the justice that they deserve.