Christopher Owens ðŸ”– on reading a book about the Stardust Tragedy.


Linda Bishop and her friend, Sandra Hutton, were dancing to a record called ‘Lorraine' when they noticed a fire in the west alcove of the Stardust nightclub in Artane on Valentine's night, 1981.This was just minutes after they had noticed a sudden increase in temperature in the factory-turned-nightclub. She said to Sandra that someone must have put the central heating on. As she got up to dance she checked her digital watch. It was 1.33am, just a few minutes before they saw the flames. The two women were among the lucky ones. There were 840 patrons, mainly between the ages of 18 and 30, in the Stardust that night. Forty-eight never came home. A fire engulfed the 1,400-capacity premises, killing 44 people; four other victims died from burns and respiratory complications over the next agonising 25 days. The fire left 214 people with injuries and 11 others permanently disabled or disfigured from burns. Many of those who escaped the inferno suffered psychiatric problems, including guilt associated with their survival after so many suffered death or serious injury.

This excerpt from a 2006 Magill article on the Stardust fire succinctly describes the horrific events and aftermath of the 14th February 1981. A night that continues to haunt the collective Irish psyche.

I was first made aware of this black mark in Irish history around 2010. Like a good chunk of my knowledge, it came from punk rock: Dublin punks Paranoid Visions' single Strobelight and Torture dealt with the case and called for a new investigation. Upon learning the basics, I was horrified at the seemingly blatant disregard for life and seeing the journey from then until last year, when it was declared that the 48 were unlawfully killed, was proof that people have the power and a beautiful moment.

And now this book, written and compiled by journalists who covered the 23-24 inquest, tells the whole story. One that is illuminating, deeply poignant and a little frustrating.

While it is tempting to focus on the locked fire exits, it’s important to understand and recognise the culture that resulted in such a decision. That stems from owner Patrick Butterly’s ‘self-made man’ role where a vision and business acumen meant much more than learning the rules. That leads to a confidence/arrogance that they can turn their hand to anything. Such was the case with Butterly, who started off selling fruit and veg in Smithfield market before running a hotel and, eventually, a converted factory that would become home to the Stardust.

An impressive CV that, as the authors point out, would have been celebrated had the circumstances been very different. But shortcuts were taken during the conversion.

Firstly, the architects who worked on the designs were not qualified architects but were working with Dublin Corporation on this very subject. Secondly, Patrick would hire his son Eamon as the contractor despite having very little experience in such a role. Scarily, it is pointed out that an inspector from Dublin Corporation visited the place 30 times in 18 months (July 1979 to January 1981) and kept reporting issues with fire doors either being blocked, locked or partially opening. Yet, due to staff shortages, there was no official inspection from either the fire brigade or the fire prevention department, just strongly worded letters. Finally, through paranoia about locals sneaking in for free and low morale on the door, a decision was made to lock fire exits and toilet windows to ensure no one can sneak in.

A tinderbox waiting for a match

If you want an example of just how bad the fire was and how lethal it was for the patrons, watch this recreation in an English warehouse using the same material as was found in the club. Note how quickly the fire spreads and how thick the smoke is. Now imagine being in a room with 1,400 other people all trying to get out, some of the exits are locked and so the only safe passage is the main entrance (where everyone else is running to).

Terrifying, sobering thinking

When describing the night in question, the authors do a magnificent job of blending the mundane (ordinary observations of life among the survivors/families of victims), the aspirational (there was a disco dancing competition on that night) and the horror of what occurred.

Some of what you read makes you want to punch the wall with tears welling in your eyes, such as this example:

The fire engine struggled to get through the crowd. People thumped on the windscreen…to say that their friends were inside. The next obstacle was a metal barrier, installed without planning permission to prevent cars from parking at the back of the building, blocking their way. The crowd…physically forced the barrier open…A blaze of this scale was going to require an immense amount to quench…and the tank…was empty after seven minutes – not unusual, as that time would be used to find a hydrant, but the firemen searched and couldn’t see any. They had no idea there were three close to the Stardust, as two were missing the distinctive plate labelled ‘H’ above them and one was mislabelled…As they made their way…they were accosted. People couldn’t understand why they appeared to be leaving the scene…

Complete and utter breakdown in communications

Going on to discuss the aftermath, the mourning, the recriminations and the decades long battle for justice, the reader is shown the physical and psychological toll that the fire and the incorrect label of ‘arson’ took on the survivors and relatives of those who died. Little details like having to identify loved ones with burnt watches and melted combs really do accentuate the horror of this event.

In moments like this, The Last Disco reminds us about how precious human life is and how disaster can easily occur when warning signs are ignored in favour of cold profit. However, there are moments which must be called into question.

One aspect that did annoy me was that it never offered any reason, be it educated guess or speculation, as to why the Keane report chose to conclude arson (thus creating an innuendo that someone within the community did it deliberately as revenge for not getting in). Although the decision exonerated the Butterlys, my suspicion is that it was ultimately a way of allowing Dublin Corporation off the hook as the Butterlys could have argued that the two architects who lodged the technical drawings with them worked for and with the Corporation on a daily basis, thus giving the impression that their work designing the complex came with the implicit approval of the authorities. Who knows but it’s an angle worth exploring.

Another facet that didn’t sit right with me, and this will be controversial to some, was that some of the language and conclusions reeked of therapy culture, described by Frank Furedi as inflating the problem of emotional vulnerability and minimising the ability of the person to cope with distressful episodes. I doubt this is intentional on the part of the authors or the families, but such moments cast actions in a sinister light when it’s more likely that there was little to no alternative. Take this segment as an example:

In many cases, families weren’t permitted to see their loved ones. It was a closed casket. The constant refrain was ‘Remember them as they were’. Families would later describe being told what funeral home their son or daughter was brought to and when the funeral would take place. At this time of the tragedy, some had little agency in how they’d mourn their dead.

While undoubtedly painful, surely such advice was better in the grand scheme of things: did anyone want their shock and grief compounded by seeing their child’s charred corpse? Likewise, being handed a list of funeral arrangements and directed to your child’s burial does come across as impersonal and rushed. However, it’s worth reiterating that 48 people died and over 200 were injured. Such a tragedy overwhelmed Dublin hospitals and so wasn’t it better to not only bury the dead quickly in order to free up spaces in the hospitals but it also took the pressure off families still numb over what had happened?

Obviously, in the context of the state claiming the fire was started deliberately, some people undoubtedly saw such actions as being part of a state cover up. Others probably felt taken advantage of. However I’m reminded of a story I was told about a Belfast parent whose uninvolved son was blown up in a bomb. Despite the undertakers advising on a closed casket, she invited photographers to see what had happened. When the coffin was opened, the mother fainted and was haunted by that sight for the rest of her days. Unsurprisingly, the photographers declined to shoot anything.

In spite of all that, this book is a testimony to the power of a working-class community who were patronised, vilified, ignored and then vindicated in their fight against the state and a local family of cowboys.

Sean Murray, Christine Bohan, Nicky Ryan 2024, The Last Disco: The Story of the Stardust Tragedy. Bonnier Books ISBN-13: 978-1804184813

⏩ Christopher Owens was a reviewer for Metal Ireland and finds time to study the history and inherent contradictions of Ireland. He is currently the TPQ Friday columnist and is the author of A Vortex of Securocrats and “dethrone god”.

The Last Disco 📚 The Story Of The Stardust Tragedy

Christopher Owens ðŸ”– on reading a book about the Stardust Tragedy.


Linda Bishop and her friend, Sandra Hutton, were dancing to a record called ‘Lorraine' when they noticed a fire in the west alcove of the Stardust nightclub in Artane on Valentine's night, 1981.This was just minutes after they had noticed a sudden increase in temperature in the factory-turned-nightclub. She said to Sandra that someone must have put the central heating on. As she got up to dance she checked her digital watch. It was 1.33am, just a few minutes before they saw the flames. The two women were among the lucky ones. There were 840 patrons, mainly between the ages of 18 and 30, in the Stardust that night. Forty-eight never came home. A fire engulfed the 1,400-capacity premises, killing 44 people; four other victims died from burns and respiratory complications over the next agonising 25 days. The fire left 214 people with injuries and 11 others permanently disabled or disfigured from burns. Many of those who escaped the inferno suffered psychiatric problems, including guilt associated with their survival after so many suffered death or serious injury.

This excerpt from a 2006 Magill article on the Stardust fire succinctly describes the horrific events and aftermath of the 14th February 1981. A night that continues to haunt the collective Irish psyche.

I was first made aware of this black mark in Irish history around 2010. Like a good chunk of my knowledge, it came from punk rock: Dublin punks Paranoid Visions' single Strobelight and Torture dealt with the case and called for a new investigation. Upon learning the basics, I was horrified at the seemingly blatant disregard for life and seeing the journey from then until last year, when it was declared that the 48 were unlawfully killed, was proof that people have the power and a beautiful moment.

And now this book, written and compiled by journalists who covered the 23-24 inquest, tells the whole story. One that is illuminating, deeply poignant and a little frustrating.

While it is tempting to focus on the locked fire exits, it’s important to understand and recognise the culture that resulted in such a decision. That stems from owner Patrick Butterly’s ‘self-made man’ role where a vision and business acumen meant much more than learning the rules. That leads to a confidence/arrogance that they can turn their hand to anything. Such was the case with Butterly, who started off selling fruit and veg in Smithfield market before running a hotel and, eventually, a converted factory that would become home to the Stardust.

An impressive CV that, as the authors point out, would have been celebrated had the circumstances been very different. But shortcuts were taken during the conversion.

Firstly, the architects who worked on the designs were not qualified architects but were working with Dublin Corporation on this very subject. Secondly, Patrick would hire his son Eamon as the contractor despite having very little experience in such a role. Scarily, it is pointed out that an inspector from Dublin Corporation visited the place 30 times in 18 months (July 1979 to January 1981) and kept reporting issues with fire doors either being blocked, locked or partially opening. Yet, due to staff shortages, there was no official inspection from either the fire brigade or the fire prevention department, just strongly worded letters. Finally, through paranoia about locals sneaking in for free and low morale on the door, a decision was made to lock fire exits and toilet windows to ensure no one can sneak in.

A tinderbox waiting for a match

If you want an example of just how bad the fire was and how lethal it was for the patrons, watch this recreation in an English warehouse using the same material as was found in the club. Note how quickly the fire spreads and how thick the smoke is. Now imagine being in a room with 1,400 other people all trying to get out, some of the exits are locked and so the only safe passage is the main entrance (where everyone else is running to).

Terrifying, sobering thinking

When describing the night in question, the authors do a magnificent job of blending the mundane (ordinary observations of life among the survivors/families of victims), the aspirational (there was a disco dancing competition on that night) and the horror of what occurred.

Some of what you read makes you want to punch the wall with tears welling in your eyes, such as this example:

The fire engine struggled to get through the crowd. People thumped on the windscreen…to say that their friends were inside. The next obstacle was a metal barrier, installed without planning permission to prevent cars from parking at the back of the building, blocking their way. The crowd…physically forced the barrier open…A blaze of this scale was going to require an immense amount to quench…and the tank…was empty after seven minutes – not unusual, as that time would be used to find a hydrant, but the firemen searched and couldn’t see any. They had no idea there were three close to the Stardust, as two were missing the distinctive plate labelled ‘H’ above them and one was mislabelled…As they made their way…they were accosted. People couldn’t understand why they appeared to be leaving the scene…

Complete and utter breakdown in communications

Going on to discuss the aftermath, the mourning, the recriminations and the decades long battle for justice, the reader is shown the physical and psychological toll that the fire and the incorrect label of ‘arson’ took on the survivors and relatives of those who died. Little details like having to identify loved ones with burnt watches and melted combs really do accentuate the horror of this event.

In moments like this, The Last Disco reminds us about how precious human life is and how disaster can easily occur when warning signs are ignored in favour of cold profit. However, there are moments which must be called into question.

One aspect that did annoy me was that it never offered any reason, be it educated guess or speculation, as to why the Keane report chose to conclude arson (thus creating an innuendo that someone within the community did it deliberately as revenge for not getting in). Although the decision exonerated the Butterlys, my suspicion is that it was ultimately a way of allowing Dublin Corporation off the hook as the Butterlys could have argued that the two architects who lodged the technical drawings with them worked for and with the Corporation on a daily basis, thus giving the impression that their work designing the complex came with the implicit approval of the authorities. Who knows but it’s an angle worth exploring.

Another facet that didn’t sit right with me, and this will be controversial to some, was that some of the language and conclusions reeked of therapy culture, described by Frank Furedi as inflating the problem of emotional vulnerability and minimising the ability of the person to cope with distressful episodes. I doubt this is intentional on the part of the authors or the families, but such moments cast actions in a sinister light when it’s more likely that there was little to no alternative. Take this segment as an example:

In many cases, families weren’t permitted to see their loved ones. It was a closed casket. The constant refrain was ‘Remember them as they were’. Families would later describe being told what funeral home their son or daughter was brought to and when the funeral would take place. At this time of the tragedy, some had little agency in how they’d mourn their dead.

While undoubtedly painful, surely such advice was better in the grand scheme of things: did anyone want their shock and grief compounded by seeing their child’s charred corpse? Likewise, being handed a list of funeral arrangements and directed to your child’s burial does come across as impersonal and rushed. However, it’s worth reiterating that 48 people died and over 200 were injured. Such a tragedy overwhelmed Dublin hospitals and so wasn’t it better to not only bury the dead quickly in order to free up spaces in the hospitals but it also took the pressure off families still numb over what had happened?

Obviously, in the context of the state claiming the fire was started deliberately, some people undoubtedly saw such actions as being part of a state cover up. Others probably felt taken advantage of. However I’m reminded of a story I was told about a Belfast parent whose uninvolved son was blown up in a bomb. Despite the undertakers advising on a closed casket, she invited photographers to see what had happened. When the coffin was opened, the mother fainted and was haunted by that sight for the rest of her days. Unsurprisingly, the photographers declined to shoot anything.

In spite of all that, this book is a testimony to the power of a working-class community who were patronised, vilified, ignored and then vindicated in their fight against the state and a local family of cowboys.

Sean Murray, Christine Bohan, Nicky Ryan 2024, The Last Disco: The Story of the Stardust Tragedy. Bonnier Books ISBN-13: 978-1804184813

⏩ Christopher Owens was a reviewer for Metal Ireland and finds time to study the history and inherent contradictions of Ireland. He is currently the TPQ Friday columnist and is the author of A Vortex of Securocrats and “dethrone god”.

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