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 by bereaved family members. Find all of the portraits and more coverage here.
Helena was one of six children to Francis and Josephine Mangan and was the second eldest child.
I was only 4½ years old when she was tragically taken away from me. As a small child, I went from living in a home full of happiness, fun and laughter, to living in the saddest and quietest house. My family was left broken and devastated after her death.
She was just starting to get her life together at 22. Helena had become a mother at 17 years old. In 1976, it wasn’t easy to be a single mother. But Helena was brave, and she held her head high as she walked up the street pushing me in my pram. She was proud to be my mammy. I am very proud to be her daughter.
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Helena had great support from her parents. Even though they weren’t happy at the prospect of their daughter being a mother at such a young age, they stood by her and let her stay in the family home to raise her daughter.
Helena loved to dance and loved music. One of her favourite songs was Maggie May by Rod Stewart and Lovin’ You by Minnie Riperton. She would sing it to me every night to put me asleep.
In 1980, Helena landed her first job with Cadbury’s. She was really enjoying it – making new friends, having her own money and being able to provide a better life for us both.
Helena had also found love again in her life with John Stout. Sadly, he too was killed in the Stardust disaster.
On February 13th, 1981, I watched my mam get ready for a night of friendship, fun, dance and romance. Before my mammy left that night, she gave me a big kiss and hug. She told me to be good girl and go to sleep and, in the morning, we would go to town.
On February 14th, 1981, I woke up and I climbed up to the top bunk. That’s where my mam’s bed was. But she was not there. Her bed wasn’t even slept in.
As I made my way down the stairs looking for her, I could sense something was wrong. There were sounds of crying. I sat on the stairs looking at all the people coming in and out of my house for days. But she never came home.
Life has been so hard without my mammy. A part of me is broken and will never be fixed – by never having her to hug me and tell me everything is going to be all right.
As the years went by I still hoped that she’d come back. Every year on my birthday, as I blew out the candles on my cake, I would wish so hard for her to walk through the door. At Christmas, I wished Santy would bring her back, but he never did.
In 2019, I read her coroner’s report for the first time as I needed to know how she died. I thought I was strong, but it broke me to read how badly my mammy’s body was damaged and that she was buried incomplete.
As I stand here, today, you see a 46-year-old woman but, to me, I’m like a child trapped in this old body, never knowing what really happened to Mammy that night. I’m always wondering why the fire started. I just want to know what happened that night and why my mammy never came home.