My life with Jerome McCormick: I lost my brother in one of Ireland's worst air disasters

Jerome McCormick from Cobh recalling the moment he lost hios brother in the Aer Lingus Flight 712 which fell into the sea of Tuscar Rock in 1968. Picture: Howard Crowdy

I was sitting at home having dinner with my mother when the news came on the radio that my brother’s flight had been delayed.

An announcement like that was not out of the ordinary back then. However, when we heard just a few minutes later that the plane was now missing, our world plunged into darkness. I phoned the airport in the fading hope that maybe he never got on board. Our worst fears were confirmed after learning that my brother Neil was the last person to climb up those steps. We were consumed by numbness. In all that time, I never saw my mother cry. It was only years later after meeting some of the other victims’ families that she finally shed a tear. Her coping strategies were similar to many other Irish mothers of their day.

“It was an act of God,” she told me. To this day, I’m convinced that the Aer Lingus Flight 712 tragedy was anything but.

March 24, 1968 — the date it crashed into the Irish sea near Tuskar Rock lighthouse, Co Wexford — still feels like yesterday. I was 20 and Neil was 33.

Air travel was different then. The public was able to get much closer to planes at Cork Airport as security was not as strict in the sixties. Saying goodbye to friends and family was a social occasion that culminated in a thronged viewing gallery and buzzing atmosphere.

A number of people looking on had remarked that something seemed off that morning.

They spoke about an older lady standing defiantly at the bottom of the steps. She was refusing to get on the plane to the frustration of her family inside.

There was a priest at the time named Fr Hegarty from Ballyphehane who was attempting to reason with her. Whatever he said at that moment jolted her into action and she immediately made her way on to the plane. Little did that priest know that they were both flying to their deaths. Just a half an hour later, all 61 passengers would be killed.

My elder brother went to Rosslare following the tragedy, hoping to come across Neil’s remains. There were people waiting for ships coming in that contained not just the wreckage, but the bodies too.

Out of all the people who died, just 14 bodies were found. Sadly, my brother Neil was not among them. There were some poignant stories from the recovery operation. One man was found in a net by a fishing trawler. A sum of cash was discovered in his pocket which, it turned out, was for his son’s wedding in London. His wife had also been on the flight.

The service for my brother was strange. There was no coffin. I’m sure people found it difficult to know what to say.

My mother continued to tell herself that the crash was an act of God. She said that for years, until one day I piped up and told her that “God doesn’t just go around pulling planes out of the sky.”

Jerome McCormick from Cobh who lost his brother in the 1968 Aer Lingus Tuscar Rock tragedy. Picture: Howard Crowdy

I never did get any answers about the real cause of the crash. There was talk that it might have been a bird strike, but I don’t see how a bird could have killed 61 people.

Over the years, I have tried to stay as upbeat and positive as possible. With that said, I think about my brother Neil all the time and keep a photograph of him on the mantlepiece next to a model of the plane he died in. I remember him as being talented and outgoing. He had an offer to play for Ireland in rugby and he and my eldest brothers all played for Dolphin. His professional role as a textile consultant saw him fly all over the word, visiting different factories and organising things to do with the textile business. Neil also had a partner at the time of his death who I connected with years later.

I’ll never forget seeing her for the first time. She was in the garden when I called to her home and uttered the words “I’m Jerome McCormick.”

“You better come in,” she said, before we proceeded to talk about her recollections of that period.

Neil had said he would phone her from the airport before boarding his flight, but for whatever reason, he didn’t. The day after his death, she went to work as usual in the college where she taught. The students were all talking about the crash, but she never revealed her heartbreak to them.

I’ll always remember my brother for his fun-loving nature. One of the keepsakes I have to remember him by is a photograph he sent us from America of him posing with a well-known jazz singer. He has a drink in his hands with a note scribbled at the back that reads “not bad for 4am in the morning”. I do my best to make the most of life now. Strangely enough, getting on a plane has never worried me, despite what happened to my brother. At the same time, I will never stop searching for answers about my what happened and I’m determined to seek out the truth someday.