They wear Scream masks in my Clutha nightmares
On eve of third anniversary of tragedy, survivor speaks publicly for f irst time about her trauma
LOOMING out of the darkness, disembodied figures wearing ‘Scream’ masks suddenly turn towards her in unison, reaching out for her as she finds herself rooted to the spot.
It could be a scene from a horror movie but for Mary Kavanagh it’s a nightmare she has had most nights for the past three years.
She is one of the survivors of the Clutha tragedy, when a police helicopter crashed through a Glasgow pub roof, killing ten people.
One of those who died was her partner, Robert Jenkins, 61.
For many who were lucky enough to walk out of the debris physically unscathed on November 29, 2013, their lives have barely moved on as they continue to deal with the psychological scars left behind.
Some, like Mrs Kavanagh, have still to receive compensation and have been unable to return to work because of trauma suffered. Despite promises of a Fatal Accident Inquiry (FAI), a complicated and prolonged investigation has meant there is still no date for a hearing.
The delay is cold comfort for those such as Mrs Kavanagh, who was so grief-stricken by her loss and shocked by what she witnessed in the Clutha that even her hair fell out, and she had to receive counselling for post-traumatic stress.
The mother of four, who has never before spoken publicly of the events of that night, says: ‘Even now, I can’t really make sense of what happened. I’m not the only one who has struggled to get something of my life back, while others never will.
‘Every single person who was in the Clutha that night has some sort of trauma, many of them still living with survivor’s guilt or the loss of a loved one.
‘I understand the reasons for the delay in an FAI but it’s frustrating for those who have to live like this, in limbo. I’m not looking for someone to blame, I just want to try to live my life.’
For Mrs Kavanagh, from Newton Mearns, Renfrewshire, it took one year and five months to begin to grieve properly for her partner, she says. She can recall the moment because Bob Dylan’s Make You Feel My Love was playing on the radio.
It would act as a catalyst for her grieving process to finally begin.
She recalls: ‘For the longest time, I couldn’t even bear to look at a photograph of Robert. That Dylan song changed everything.
‘It was one we’d both really loved and that’s when I realised Robert wasn’t coming back. The emptiness felt terrible. I began to cry and once I’d started, I couldn’t stop. My hair started to fall out in the days that followed and I lost a lot of weight.’
She adds: ‘My psychologist said I was suffering from post-traumatic stress because I was there that night at the Clutha, I’d lost Robert and I was standing there waiting for him to come out. I wasn’t able to cry and instead I suffered terrible nightmares. The dreams were my brain’s way of trying to make sense of what happened.’
Inside the Clutha that night, Mr Jenkins went to the bar, working his way through a large crowd gathered to hear live band Esperanza.
She says: ‘I’d offered to go but Robert insisted. That’s the last time we spoke to each other. I remember wondering what was taking him so long, when I heard the sudden thud above. There was a crash and then a sound like a “whoosh” as something came through the roof.
‘I remember the sea of people in front of me all turning as one towards me as the place filled with dust and pushing to get out.’
Safely outside, she recalls looking up to see the helicopter tail sticking out of the roof. Shaking and covered in dust, she waited for Robert to emerge – but he never would.
She adds: ‘People were coming out with blood on their clothes. I remember hearing that people were trapped inside and thinking one of them could be Robert. I never for a minute thought he was dead.’
Thirty-six hours would pass before police delivered the devastating news that Mr Jenkins had been killed, in all likelihood on impact.
Mrs Kavanagh says: ‘This floored me. Yet much as I loved Robert, I couldn’t grieve for the first year or more. Even when we were scattering Robert’s ashes, I couldn’t cry. I felt detached and numb.
She adds: ‘I couldn’t bear to sleep in our bedroom, I slept on the sofa downstairs. The nightmares were horrendous and terrifying at times.
‘In one, I was standing in the Clutha. The place goes dark, just like it did that night. All these faces suddenly turn towards me but they are all wearing “Scream” masks, like in the movie.
‘They are disembodied and coming towards me. Terrified, I manage to grab someone’s hand but I always wake up before I can get out.’
Last month, cognitive behaviour therapy to help deal with her nightmares and a phobia of helicopters finally ended.
Yesterday, a Crown Office spokesman said: ‘An FAI will be held as soon as is possible to allow a full public airing of the evidence.’
For Mrs Kavanagh the public airing cannot come soon enough.
She says: ‘The true facts need to come out. For me personally, it’s not about blame, it’s about finding out what really happened and being able to move on.
‘I won’t allow myself to go through years of saying “You’re to blame” or “You’re to blame”. I’ve lost someone very, very precious to me. I just want to live with his memory. I don’t want to live with anything else.’
‘The nightmares were horrendous’ ‘I never for a minute thought he was dead’