Sixteen year old Jamie
Sixteen-year-old Jamie travelled to Hillsborough with a group of friends – eagerly anticipating a great day’s football and victory for Liverpool. But he became caught in the Leppings Lane crush and only narrowly escaped serious injury or death.
“We waited outside for half an hour for the queue to go, but it didn’t so we joined it. It was becoming congested, but no more than you used to experience at any big game. A police officer, on a white horse inside the main gate, was obviously concerned at the growing push to get into the stadium and I think he gave the signal to open the gates.
This relieved the congestion outside, but now we didn’t know where to go or which turnstile to enter. I approached a police officer and showed him my ticket and he ushered me towards the central turnstile. The crowd was growing behind us. Once through the open turnstile we entered a tunnel passing under the upper tier of the Leppings Lane stand, which was packed full of excited fans.
I got half-way and the crowd stopped. It began to become uncomfortable and after about two minutes I was lifted from my feet and carried with the tide of people on to an already overcrowded terrace.
I believed all “scousers” to be hard as nails and tough as old boots. But when tough looking 30-year-olds began to scream like I have never heard before I realised this was serious. People began turning blue – I could feel people pulling at my ankles under the crowd, and could hear the metal crash barriers snapping. I have no recollection of how long I was in the crush for. I felt tremendous pressure on my head from other peoples’ bodies. I could not take a breath – if I exhaled I physically could not breath in again because of the crush. I can only compare the sensation to that of drowning. I wanted to close my eyes and rest – but I’m sure if I did I would not have opened them. My shoes had also come off.
Then the crush paused for a moment – I was now standing on the terrace again, there was a gap and I could see the fence and I began to stumble towards it. I looked down to see horrific scenes of bodies contorted at bizarre angles – all with the look of excruciating pain in their still open eyes. I could see 10 or more, some young, some old, but all dead. I had to clamber over them to reach the fence and I could only manage to climb the fence because my shoes had come off, (my toes fitted into the gaps). I collapsed on top of the fence and a police lady with blonde hair pulled me off the fence and onto the ground, where I recuperated for a while. We then set about helping the injured, ripping down advertising hoardings and using them as make-shift stretches.
I left the stadium on my own without knowing where my friends or cousin were. I was stopped outside a house on the streets of Sheffield by a middle-aged woman and she asked if I wanted to use her phone. I phoned my Mum and told her that I loved her and eventually found all my friends safe and well at the car.
I couldn’t go to see my beloved LFC for another two years and football for me will never be the same.”
A Nottingham Forrest Fan
From a cold, misty start in Nottingham, it turned quickly into a beautiful day. A gorgeous, sunny, warm, blue sky day. After last season’s disappointment, I looked forward to a positive result today. Pretty much first into the Spion Kop when they opened the gates at 12. Noticed that when the 5 of us arrived we outnumbered the stewards by 4.
Gets to 2 o’clock, and it’s getting busy in our end. 100 yards away, it appeared that most Liverpool fans hadn’t arrived yet, since there was plenty of concrete visible in the left and right sections of the “away” end.
“International Rescue” by Fuzzbox played on the Tannoy. It got busier and tighter in our end. Liverpool fans were still to arrive by the looks of things.
I remember our fans – me and friends included – chanting “What’s it like to have no fans” and similar…it was clear that few of the dedicated Scousers had arrived, such was the empty space visible either side of the goal at the other end. But there comes a point when having stood in, and looked at terraces for many years before this day, you realise that the middle section opposite you is rather densely packed.
Meanwhile where you are, you’re having trouble getting the Polo mints out of your pocket, owing to the press of people round you. Stood in FRONT of a crush barrier (thank you, Dad, for teaching me THAT one early in my terrace life), you’re uncomfortably squashed.
The players emerge, the teams are announced over the tannoy, and you’re ready. I can barely move, such is the weight of people round me. At the other end, it’s apparent that a large number of Liverpool fans are going to miss at least the start of the game cos there’s still acres of terrace concrete visible from our end.
The game kicks off. Early chances cause the usual swaying on the terraces. The crush barriers divide the flowing waves of humanity into horizontal blocks. ‘Twas ever thus.
Forest force two corners in the opening couple of minutes and the expectation grows, only for a Liverpool break to dampen the spirit. A shot from Liverpool’s Peter Beardsley goes narrowly over the crossbar, and the usual surge behind the Scouse goal. Only this one doesn’t end horizontally. For a moment the people stop flowing forward, then the horizontal line breaks forward in a curve.
Around this time, we can see Liverpool fans in the upper tier seats reaching down and pulling fans up from the terrace below – presumably, we think, to afford them a better view.
“What a bunch of w*****s!!” cry 20,000 standing Forest fans.
A few Liverpool fans start climbing over the front fence of the terrace and jump on to the area behind the goal. “What a bunch on w*****s!!”
More fans lifted up, more fans over the fence.
A policeman runs onto the pitch and says a few words to the referee, who leads the players off the pitch.
It is six minutes past three o’clock, on Saturday the 15th of April, 1989.
In my pocket is a small transistor radio. I manage to get it out and turn it on to Peter Jones who’s doing the commentary from this game on Radio 2 (is now Radio 5 Live).
They are as bewildered as we are. Overcrowding. Fighting. Pitch Invasion. They don’t know. Ten or fifteen minutes later, with seemingly hundreds or possibly thousands of people straining to listen to my radio’s little speaker, comes the awful report that…”we have unconfirmed rumours that three people have been seriously hurt in a crush behind the Liverpool goal”.
The chanting from the Forest end dies down, an ambulance appears from our right, and as the number of Liverpool supporters on the pitch grows, a line of policemen is deployed to separate ‘them’ from ‘us’. We watch helplessly as injured people are brought towards our end of the pitch by fans and police, and laid down in the penalty area in front of us to recover. We can barely move in our end. My friend next to me was a qualified First Aider – his parents both Doctors. Even if he’d been able to get to the front of our end, it was clear that no-one was being allowed out of our end for any reason.
On my radio, the awful news breaks that…”…perhaps one person may have been killed and several others injured in a crush…but these are unconfirmed reports”. We stand and watch as more and more injured fans are laid out to recover in the penalty area before us.
To my dying day I will remember a Liverpool fan in a white shirt being carried by 6 people, on a ripped-down yellow advertising hoarding. His black jacket was draped over him. As the carriers crossed the half-way line, the jacket slipped off and fell to the floor.
His bearers stopped, and carefully placed the “stretcher” on the ground. They picked up the coat, and with great dignity placed it carefully over the poor bugger’s head. He was then carefully and respectfully picked up and carried to the area in front of us, and carefully placed on the ground, his coat moved to cover his head. I think it was at that point that the full enormity of the situation dawned on all of us.
That guy was dead.
Dead… and he had been placed with the 40-50-60-or-so of the other “injured”, “recovering” people.
They were dead too.
All of them.
Dead…… And there we were chanting abuse over their heads for the last half hour.
All of them.
Meanwhile the radio kept on with the doom-laden reports of “perhaps three people have been killed….” For once in my life, I knew better than the radio.
Come 4.15 or so, finally, FINALLY the PA cracks into life. “This is Kenny Dalglish.”
Fifty-five thousand people in the stadium. Apart from some distant cries from the other end, you could have heard a pin drop.
“This is Kenny Dalglish. Clearly a major disaster is happening here…. ” The rest of the speech is immaterial. It was met with warm applause from all remaining fans. He asked us to be patient for a while as the emergency services dealt with the injured, and that shortly the exit gates would be opened, and would we all please make our way calmly out of the ground and go home.
The radio is still telling me that perhaps 3 people have been killed, but this isn’t confirmed.
Half-past four, the exit gates are opened, and 20,000 shocked, stunned, quiet Forest fans make their sad, disbelieving way to their cars, buses, vans.
On the radio, I think Peter Jones had realised what had happened. Barely able to restrain his own tears, he told a stunned nation that…”a young lad, about 9 years old has just come up to our commentary position, and asked if he can use our phone to call his mum, because he has lost his Dad. ..Of course he can phone.”
“BBC Radio Sheffield, the news at Five O’Clock. South Yorkshire Ambulance Service has confirmed that seventy-two football fans have been killed at this afternoon’s……………………………..”
We were at the traffic lights, in front of probably ten thousand Forest fans, all going home. I think most of us had that radio station on.
I got out of the car, and tried desperately to breathe in fresh air.
As I looked down the road, I wasn’t the only person throwing up.
Not quite sure how we got home that night, but I remain grateful to my friend Sunil for getting us home.
A bit of tea, and news and Match Of The Day on TV. No music, no fanfare. Just a dark screen, and a few still images of fans sitting, shell-shocked. Ambulances. People hugging. People crying. Metal fencing.
A crush barrier, broken, bent forward in a curve.
Ninety-five fans died that afternoon.
Fans like me.
In the ground early, in order to get a good place to stand.
Killed by the unrelenting weight of humanity crushing the life and breath out of them.
The ninety-sixth victim, Tony Bland, died about three years later when his life support machine was turned off.
My Nightmare at Hillsborough
Daniel J MacArthur [May 2011]
Writing down my memories of what happened to me at Hillsborough has been a very difficult decision because of it being so personal and distressing …apart from my statement to police and the brief amount I was allowed to say at the inquests I have never wrote my “story”. I have told the whole truth as best as I can recall of my account and events during the tragedy at Hillsborough on Saturday the 15th April 1989.
It was the week leading up to the 15th April 1989…the semi-final between my beloved Liverpool FC against Nottingham Forrest at The Hillsborough Stadium, the home ground of Sheffield Wednesday FC, and my uncle Frank Molloy who was a regular season ticket holder at Anfield got himself a ticket [which I think was for the “north stand” – one of the sides of the ground] and he got me one as well for “The Stand” situated above the Leppings Lane end terraces [pens] of the ground.
I was absolutely over the moon!
I was buzzing with my “Golden Ticket”.
I knew my good mate Joe Glover had a ticket for the Leppings Lane Terraces and he asked if he could go with me in my uncles car, so with Joe being practically like family to me I’d said of course he could, “no problem”. His younger brother Ian Glover didn’t have a ticket, Ian was my best mate, we’d all grown up together …all Walton Liverpool 4 lads … we were gutted that he wouldn’t be able to go with us.
Anyway, the Saturday came around and me and my uncle Frank had a big hearty cooked breakfast ready for the off up to Sheffield when suddenly Joe knocked at the door with Ian in tow … you can imagine my surprise to find Ian had just got a ticket, right on the big day – on the morning of the FA Cup Semi-Final off his big brother John Mac. I was really, really made up, we all were …now both Ian and Joe were coming, this was going to be a boss day.
At around about eleven/half eleven that morning we got off to head to Sheffield, up the snake-pass and the banter was brilliant, loads of laughter as the jokes were flying between us. We never drank any alcohol, just soft drinks and sarnies , that’s all we had and we were buzzing. We were convinced that our beloved Liverpool would win again just like we had done in the previous semi-final the year before in 1988 at the same venue. We chatted about the other teams Everton v Norwich City playing their semi-final at Villa Park and, “god willing”, we hoped for an all Merseyside FA Cup Final – the second one in 3 years.
So after leaving Liverpool and my uncle Frank being a slow but careful driver, we arrived and parked up around 2.15pm in the afternoon. Before we all left the car our Frank said something along the lines of “this is where we’ll meet after the match”, after this quick discussion on the arrangements my uncle Frank, me, Joe and Ian got out of the car which was parked in one of the surrounding streets of the Hillsborough Stadium. After saying our goodbyes to uncle Frank, myself, Joe and Ian set off towards the “Liverpool end”, The Leppings Lane end, and as we were walking down one of the streets a fella came and asked could he buy my Stand ticket plus a ticket for the Leppings Lane end of the ground. Instantly …and very unlike Ian, before I could say anything Ian told him “No, its ok mate, he’s not selling it”.
We continued on towards the ground… the Liverpool fans were buzzing and the atmosphere was brilliant with everyone singing Liverpool songs, I didn’t see anyone with cans of alcohol or anyone looking like they were drunk. Me, Ian and Joe were chatting away and made our way towards a little sweet shop at the end of one of the roads, we all went in and we all bought some sweets. I can remember exactly what I bought – a quarter of midget gems – my favourite and I rolled the bag shut and put them in my shirt pocket. Outside the shop we were all saying how hot it was, the weather was lovely and it added to the atmosphere which was electric with thousands of our fans singing. We were commenting to each other about how packed and overcrowded it was and how weird it was that there were hardly any police or stewards around for such a major game as a semi-final.
By around 2:45 pm I said my farewells to Joe and Ian – little did I know, they were to be my last words to my best mate Ian Glover – and off the two of them went to queue up to get in the Leppings Lane terraces and I left a couple of minutes later. I found myself within a really tightly packed group of fans and kept thinking to myself “this is crazy, there’s no organisation” and we didn’t seem to be going anywhere, just this mass of people becoming more and more tightly packed … I could only see one policeman on horseback who seemed to be struggling to try to move through the crowds trying to organise but there was nowhere for people to move to. Loads of the Liverpool fans, including myself, were shouting at the policeman on horseback to do something, we were all getting so crushed together and people were shouting that there was going to be serious injuries. There were fans being really badly crushed against the walls and others getting crushed up against a big steel gate. I felt scared and uneasy and people were getting frustrated. Our frustration was directed at this one policeman on his horse, it was almost kick off time and fans were shouting things about having the game delayed. I’d never known anything like it with such a lack of police and stewards, I’d attended many games before this both home and away and there had never been a problem what so ever.
All of a sudden we all started moving, your feet just moved with the direction of the crowd, walking a bit faster than usual …straight ahead of us I could see a tunnel and we all just headed towards it.
[I didn’t see any police or steward guiding us fans away from the tunnel that we were all headed towards, no guidance to go to the sides]
The next thing I knew I was inside the tunnel and I could hear the singing of fans which was getting very, very loud … I got through the tunnel and was surprised to find I was in a section right behind the Liverpool goal, which I now know was “Pen 3” … I remember saying to myself as I turned my head to look upwards behind me “I should be up there in them stands?”
I even still had my full ticket intact, nobody had asked to see it … it was ridiculous, in all the years of following Liverpool either paying to get into the ground or with a pre-purchased ticket I had always kept my match day ticket-stub.
So there I was behind the goal and the players had kicked off. It was really uncomfortable and getting tighter and tighter in the pen I was in and I could see people trying to climb over into the pens at the side and there were fans being pulled up by other Liverpool fans into the Stand above where I should have been. I kept thinking I don’t like this and before long I joined in shouting for help for something to be done. People were beginning to scream and shouting with fear in their voices towards the police and even to our Liverpool goalkeeper Bruce Grobbelaar. You couldn’t even see the players playing on the pitch … all I could just about see were their heads and shoulders. It was very, very frightening and still getting more tightly packed, I couldn’t turn around or barely move my head due to the sheer numbers of us and the fans which I guessed must have still been entering through the tunnel. People were shouting to “move back – get back!” and there was a complete sense of panic all around. I could see many starting to climb over the steel fencing to try to get out to the pitch side but unbelievably the police started to beat them back with their truncheons and swearing at them. We were screaming at them for help to do something and yes a lot of us were swearing as well but in the situation we were in we badly needed help, I could hear others literally begging “please, please” … even Bruce Grobbelaar kept looking back at us, we shouted out to him as well as the police, then all of sudden there was a massive surge forwards of the crowd [I think this will have been when Peter Beardsley hit the bar almost scoring for Liverpool] and then the crushing became unbearable. I passed out – I don’t know how long for but it seemed weird, like it was ages, I came around and saw dozens of fans scrambling out over the top of the steel fencing and could see other fans and police now helping people over. I could also see dozens of police rushing up from the opposite end of the pitch and thinking finally they’re all going to help but sadly for us these policemen just blocked the halfway line across the pitch so that both sets of fans would not be able to clash. By this time the game had been stopped and all the players had been ordered off the pitch, Bruce Grobbelaar was mouthing something and pointing back towards us behind the goal as he obviously knew something major was happening as though he was saying “do something, help those people”
I was feeling so scared and frantic all I could think of was I had to get out and find my mates Ian and Joe …[ little did I know, as I later found out, they were both only a few feet away from me]. I was starting to panic and actually become fearful for my life. More and more police were now beginning to help to pull fans out over the steel fencing and onto the pitch, the same officers who just a short time earlier had been knocking Liverpool supporters back with their truncheons were now trying to save fans lives. But what I saw will live with me forever… as soon as those Liverpool fans were pulled out to safety they were up trying to help other trapped fans and some risking injury or even their own lives by hanging in over the top of the steel fencing while others held on to them by their legs. They were all heroes in my eyes doing anything they could to help fellow Liverpool supporters.
I myself by this time was getting very desperate and feeling very, very scared… I felt I was staring death in the face and there was not a dam thing I could do except try to stay alive. I had to fight for my life but I couldn’t move, I was now getting crushed sideways towards the small gate in the fencing (which had actually been opened earlier ) and I was right at the front getting near the fence itself. Loads were yelling to the police to be pulled out, there was just hands and arms it was all I could now see, as well as my own hands reaching out in desperation to be helped … I was starting to lose my strength and couldn’t think straight then with the will of Our Lord a police woman just suddenly grabbed hold of me and yanked me out. I was upset and shocked as I saw an elderly man between the gate, he was lying across it and tragically I could tell he was already dead. The police woman after she had dragged me out then shoved me clear completely away towards the back of where the Liverpool goalie would have been, I was almost nearly in the back of the net – I felt like I had escaped death at the final moment, it really was frightening.
As soon as I was on the football pitch I saw there were hundreds more people like myself and loads of the Liverpool fans were helping the injured and dying. The weather was really hot, even when we had left Liverpool in the morning it was scorching all the way up to Sheffield and it had become even hotter. I was in complete shock at what I was seeing around me and my ribs and chest was so sore, I felt like time had stood still for me while all around me was chaos. It seemed like hours but was obviously only minutes… I began to search for Ian and Joe and bit by bit felt more and more panic setting in as I was trying to run up and down behind the goal shouting out towards the pen 3. I felt helpless and desperately with all my strength that I had in my lungs I was screaming out for my mate Ian and his brother Joe, but it was all in vain. I could hardly walk with the pain in my ribs and went back on the pitch … I will never forget the horrible, tragic and unbelievable scenes I witnessed.
One in particular which will stay with me for the rest of my life was seeing this man lying on the ground, he had no shirt or top on –just his trackies and trainers on and I assume they were his mates they were singing Liverpool songs to him as he was being resuscitated. Although I didn’t know at the time I knew the man, his name was Stephen Harrison [my sons uncles, Stephen and his brother Gary Harrison both tragically passed away that day] I wish I had gone over to Stephen maybe I would have recognised him.
From there I was in a totally different world- it was like being in a nightmare of a bubble but this bubble wouldn’t burst. I was sweating and shaking like mad. It was carnage – the faces of loads of Liverpool fans in shock, some were crying and at the same time trying to resuscitate people and there were fans running past me with advertising boards with injured people on, I just couldn’t take in what I was seeing. I managed to get as far as the half way line and I simply collapsed to the ground. I was only there for a couple of seconds when out of nowhere someone threw cold water over me … I was shaking very badly and sweating as well. This fantastic person [who I have never found since] then began checking me over to see if I had any broken bones etc and then he told me he was putting me in the recovery position. It was still a very hot afternoon yet the shaking I was doing while on the floor was uncontrollable – I kept on closing my eyes and drifting off a couple of times. The man, who in my eyes was a true hero, said to me “Listen, you are in complete shock and you have a small cut over your right eye” .
The next thing I was on an advertising board lying down and still shaking, I felt all panicky and as I was being carried I was being asked what my name was and told not to close my eyes. I realise now the fans were talking to me and trying to stop me from drifting in and out of consciousness. All I kept thinking and saying was that my mate Ian Glover and his brother Joe were in the pens and please find them for me… that’s all that was on my mind. So then I was stretchered off on this billboard the pitch resembled a scene from a war movie with bodies all over the ground and others desperately trying to save these peoples lives and carrying them away from this unbelievable carnage.
I can’t remember which side I was carried out onto but all I know is that everything for me was going in slow motion. I was now outside the ground waiting to be put into the back of a police van [which I assume they were using as an ambulance] the police were stripping everything out of the back of the police vans and as I waited I noticed Ian and Joes older brother, John Mac, he was crying against the wall but I thought to myself no that’s not John Mac but then I recognised Johns mate who was also really upset, he was only a couple of feet away when I shouted and asked him what was wrong with John. He came over to me asking if I was alright and then he told me something which would change my life forever – that my mate Ian Glover was dead. It was like my life suddenly ran past me as quickly as it could… my world had just fell apart.
I couldn’t think straight, and kept saying to myself we only went to a bloody football game! ..Dead? what’s he on about?
I was in denial over Ian and wouldn’t believe it, he had to be wrong and even when I was then placed into the back of the police van with a few more injured fans all I kept asking was where my mates were. ..where was Ian? The van I was put in and several others put on the blue flashing lights and sirens then raced us off up to Sheffield’s Northern General Hospital where we were met by teams of doctors and nurses. The next thing I knew I was being stretchered off onto a hospital bed and told there would be doctors waiting to assess me. All I could think of was this isn’t happening and kept saying “where is my mate Ian?”
One of the nurses said to me “I’ll try to find out what’s happened to your best friend”.
So there I found myself on a ward with four other people and I’ll always remember watching the TV that was on the ward and it showing scenes of Hillsborough, all over the TV channels that’s what was showing. I was so upset and hurt by what I was hearing and what I and hundreds more learned that Liverpool fans had apparently kicked a gate down… I was thinking to myself why did our own fans do this ?
It was only later that the truth started to emerge that it was a decision made by the senior officers like Duckenfield and Murray …they had ordered the gate to be opened, they were the ones to blame- not the Liverpool fans.
While I was in my hospital bed a nurse brought a phone to me and a family member told me that Ian was dead. I was absolutely gutted; I couldn’t talk or take it in. I didn’t want to take it in. All of my family were devastated by the news too, me and Ian were so close we were more like brothers, they were relieved that I was alive and told me they would get to the hospital as soon as possible. I told the nurses about Ian and that it had been confirmed by my family. The doctors then came to speak with me about my injuries telling me I was suffering from shock and had bruising to my chest as well as the cut over my eye… they said I was lucky to be alive and would need to stay in for a few days. I just felt so numb.
I remember my uncle Frank Molloy coming into the hospital, he’d been waiting back at the car just as we had all arranged to meet earlier. When we didn’t show up he had been panicking like mad and gone back looking for us eventually tracking me to the hospital. We were allowed into a small room where we could talk and I told him about Ian… we both got really upset and he asked if I had any ciggies … he hadn’t smoked for almost 25 years, as I gave him one I put my hand to my shirt pocket and there stuck inside to my pocket was the midget gems , all squashed and stuck together.
Uncle Frank lit the ciggie and he coughed as he smoked it, we were too dumbstruck to talk and managed only a few words, it was the first time I had ever seen him cry.
When my Mum and sisters came into the hospital I broke down and burst into tears as soon as I saw them and told them I just wanted to go home back to Liverpool. Against the advice of the doctors I signed myself out of the hospital in the early hours of the Sunday [16th April 89] and as we left there were so many people in the entrance area from the media. I was asked how I was and if I was ok, there were bereavement counsellors and all I remembered thinking about was how we had started the day off which had been really sunny and being with my best mate and Joe and my uncle and just going to watch our beloved Liverpool FC – now here I was heading back to Liverpool with my Mother and sisters and Ian wasn’t with me. I cried all the way home and kept thinking of Ian and Joes’ poor family.
I know now that on that tragic sad day a part of me died with “our Ernie” ..Ian’s nickname, and even now 23 years on, I still suffer from survivors’ guilt and PTSD [post traumatic stress disorder]. I’ve seen countless doctors, psychiatrists and bereavement counselors and they all diagnose the same. I have terrible panic attacks even in my sleep and suffer with depression, mood swings, nervous anxiety and blackouts, but worst of all is the survivors’ guilt which just slowly eats away at you.
Ashamedly I have twice tried to end my own life.
As the weeks and months passed it was getting too much to bare especially with the unforgivable lies that were printed in that scumbag of a “newspaper” [The S*n], the headline lies and hurt against us Liverpool fans was disgraceful when they and many Nottingham Forrest fans were actually the heroes of that awful tragic day and most certainly helped to save lives.
Now , 23 years after Hillsborough, I cannot believe that there has been no-one to blame for what happened, even though the “Taylor Report” said that police breakdown of control was the main cause still nobody has ever been prosecuted or even faced a disciplinary action. So many agencies involved and at fault yet none brought to task.
The Hillsborough Tragedy has got to be the biggest cover-up and the biggest miscarriage of justice ever and I still hope and pray that Justice will soon happen as god knows we all fully deserve it.
**Dedicated to my mates Ian and Joe Glover, Rest in Peace Always, YNWA**
Joe survived the crush that day and had tried in vain to save his younger brother Ian. He suffered terribly after Ians’ death and was often found sleeping on his grave in the cemetary… 10 Years later Joe was finally trying to move forward with his life and had got himself a job, on that first day of work and in a cruel twist of fate Joe was tragically killed while he saved the life of a fellow worker… as a massive weight of marble came falling down Joe pushed another man to safety taking the full impact himself.