Death at the National Stadium

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The Wembley Stadium construction site emptied on Workers' Memorial Day (28 April) as hundreds of workers marched in memory of Patrick O'Sullivan, crushed to death there by a falling scaffold in January.

Wembley is yet another prestige national building project where the suffering of building workers goes unheard. Serious incidents have included severe back and leg injuries to two workers who were dropped onto a working platform from height. When torrential rain turned the site into a bog, workers had to take their safety into their own hands and walk off the job.

We print his daughter Margaret O'Sullivan's speech in full as a reminder of why it is still necessary in 2004 to remember the dead, but fight for the living.

Meanwhile, we still wait for the corporate killing law promised by the government since its election in 1997.

I find it difficult to believe that I am standing here today talking to you with the utmost sadness about my father, Patrick O'Sullivan.

He was a man of great talent, wit and dedicated to his family.

On the 15th January, our lives changed beyond recognition when my father was killed here, at Wembley.

My mother became a widow at the age of 54 and John and I lost our father.

How does it feel to lose someone so precious in such a horrific and unjust way?

It seems almost impossible for me to convey the trauma and sense of loss my family has been enduring for the past 3 months.

My father arrived at work early on that Thursday morning, and before most people had even started their working day, my father had been killed.

I will never forget identifying his body...

Such a warm, vibrant, wonderful man reduced to a corpse.

Gone was everything we recognised, all the familiarities of our dad. Where we were so used to seeing a smile and hearing him laugh, we saw only a broken body that had been smashed; and the silence and stillness in the mortuary chapel emphasised we would never hear his voice again, never speak to him, never hold him.

I remember how cold he felt and the blood and dirt in his hair.

I remember when he was lying in his coffin - he still had that dirt of the building site engrained in his fingers. They just couldn't scrub it out.

His last rites were given whilst he lay in the mud at Wembley. The last words my father heard were 'Run, Patsy, run...!!!

What kind of terror & fear must he have felt?

No one should have to die like that - to be treated like fodder, just another payroll number to be struck from the list. Surely a man's life is worth more than that? It has to be.

People try to be kind and say, 'At least he didn't suffer, it was quick...' and that's supposed to be some sort of consolation to Mum, John and me. But the fact is, he was denied an old age, the chance to enjoy his retirement after working so hard all his life. But more so, he was denied a dignified and peaceful death surrounded by his family who loved him.

It was my mum and dad's birthday last month. They were the same age, born only a day apart. On dad's birthday we went to his grave. That day should have been a celebration of a man's life, not the marking of his death.

I had no real comprehension of the dangers he faced at work. He was a carpenter all his life, so too was his father and his father before that. It was a trade that was passed from father to son and he was proud of this tradition. You can see the buildings he helped build homes where families are now living, landmarks like Canary Wharf , Wimbledon...so many... and now Wembley. Yet all these landmarks were built on the sweat and blood of carpenters, scaffolders, labourers, and the hundreds and hundreds of men who work and suffer within this industry.

How many men have to die? How many fathers, sons, brothers must be maimed or killed before governments say enough is enough?

The level of complacency that exists within construction would never be tolerated in any other industry. And in this, the twenty-first century, men are injured and killed everyday on building sites around the country - most going unreported by the press. It takes a high profile site like Wembley to highlight the appalling safety record that these men are forced to endure.

It's too late for my dad.

His blood was spilt at Wembley and his blood is on the hands of those responsible for his death.

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