‘It makes you lose faith in the system’
side by side, unconscious. Trevor had tried to revive them and had shouted for help from other supporters. He’d gone with Vicki in an ambulance, making the tortuous decision to leave Sarah behind, believing she would follow in another, but we had no idea where she was. Later, we would learn that, tragically, no more ambulances made it through to help the fans. Vicki was the only one out of the seven females who died that day who made it to hospital.
I was desperate to see her, but we were told we couldn’t, and that Vicki had been taken back to the football ground, where all the victims were.
Intense pain
We returned to the stadium at around 9pm, where a makeshift mortuary had been set up in the gymnasium and when officers asked Trevor and me to look at a board of photos of the victims, it took me a few moments to register Sarah’s picture.
I’ve never experienced pain like I did in that moment because both the girls were gone. It felt as though I was suffocating, I was crying so hard
I could barely draw breath.
Trevor and I asked to see the girls together. When they were brought to us, I knelt on the floor between them both, hugging Vicki first, then Sarah, whose body was still warm. I cherished that final moment with my girls, telling them over and over how much I loved them and how proud they’d made me. A week later, we held their funeral in our local church and the next day, they made their final journey to Liverpool, where they were buried. I knew it’s what they’d have wanted, and it just felt right.
Within days of the disaster, fingers had been pointed at the Liverpool fans, accusing them of being drunk, ticketless and arriving late. But I’d seen with my own eyes that hadn’t been the case. I’d seen the middle pens fill up quickly and the fans doing everything they could to stop it, and get out.
As an inquiry began into the events of that day, the Hillsborough Families Support Group (HFSG) was formed in July, with Trevor as chair. As we fought for answers, I struggled without my girls. For weeks and months, I slept in their beds and sat on the floor of their wardrobes, just to be surrounded by their scent.
In August 1990, an interim report by Lord Justice Taylor concluded that the opening of one of the gates without closing off the tunnel failure was ‘a blunder of the first magnitude’ and criticised senior officers for refusing to take responsibility, and we were hopeful we’d get justice.
Meanwhile, Trevor and I parted ways and I moved to Liverpool, but we continued to see each other at HFSG meetings and every year, we visited the cemetery together on Sarah and Vicki’s birthdays and at Christmas.
But in 1991, an inquest reached a verdict of accidental death and there was outrage in court. It affected me deeply, as I just wanted answers and justice for my girls. I struggled with panic attacks and nightmares, undergoing counselling and treatment for PTSD.
But we never gave up, despite all the setbacks over the years. In 2016, a second inquest finally found the 97 victims had been unlawfully killed, but still, no one was ever held responsible. Although officers were charged with unlawful killing and faced trial, no one was ever found guilty.
I decided to write a book during lockdown, which is a legacy to my girls. Their deaths could have been prevented and not a day goes by when I don’t feel pain at how unbelievably unfair it all is. I’m a mother without her children. I could have been a grandparent now, or watching on proudly as my daughters carve successful careers.
Preventing a repeat
Last year, the government agreed to set up an Independent Public Advocate, to support victims of major disasters. The Hillsborough families, along with those of the postmasters, the Windrush generation and Grenfell United, all suffered and have had to live with the consequences of the lies, cover-ups and failures of the people in power.
For no one to take accountability is very difficult to live with, and it makes you lose faith in the criminal justice system. As far as justice goes, we’ve gone as far as we can, but – in memory of Sarah and Vicki, and the other 95 victims – we have to make sure it never happens again.
✱ One Day in April