nephews. The failure to find her remains has led her sister
Mary to launch a national campaign for the establishment of a specialist Missing Persons Unit and also the establishment of a National Missing Persons Remembrance Day. Whoever killed Jo Jo Dullard
will never be allowed forget their evil deed.
On Thursday 9 November 1995 Jo Jo Dullard had collected her last dole payment in Harold’s Cross, Dublin, and had spent the afternoon looking around the shops and having a
few drinks with friends at the Bruxelles pub off Grafton Street. It was the end of an era in her life. Having spent more than two years living and working in Dublin, she had recently moved home to
Callan, where she had got a flat in the centre of town and now had full-time work at a pub and restaurant there. The collection of her last dole payment was the last of the loose ends to tie up in
Dublin.
Jo Jo woke just as the bus was coming into Naas. She was still almost sixty miles from home. She began to hitch, hoping she might be lucky enough to find someone driving as far as Kilkenny or
even Callan; a more realistic prospect might be finding a motorist heading towards Carlow. Jo Jo had a friend there who would put her up if she could only make it that far. It was already dark as
she began thumbing, standing on the busy road. It was a cold night, and she was wearing a black cotton jacket, a shirt, blue jeans, and boots. One motorist stopped; he was heading for Kilcullen,
five miles down the road. Again it was a step in the right direction, so Jo Jo got in. She had hitched lifts many times before in Co. Kilkenny andwas aware of the dangers of taking lifts from
strangers. However, it is clear that, later that night, she accepted a lift from some person who she did not suspect was a violent man.
It was now after eleven o’clock, and Jo Jo was standing in Kilcullen, twenty miles from Carlow and forty-five miles from Callan. She had only put out her hand to start hitching a lift
again when another car stopped. This driver was also heading in the direction of Jo Jo’s ultimate destination but not going the whole way. He said he could bring her as far as Moone. Jo Jo
got in, knowing that this lift would get her to within ten miles of Carlow and closer to a bed for the night.
It was 11:35 p.m. when this motorist dropped Jo Jo off at Moone, Co. Kildare. The village was quiet but for the distant sound of people having their last drinks in a nearby pub. Jo Jo decided to
phone her friend Mary Cullinane to let her know where she was. The man who left her in Moone had dropped her close to a public phone box. At 11:37 p.m. she stepped into the phone box and made the
call. ‘Hi, Mary. I’m in Moone. I missed the bus,’ she said. They had a general chat for three minutes, while Jo Jo kept an eye out for any cars heading south. Suddenly she said,
‘Hold on.’ She dropped the phone, left the phone box, and returned a few seconds later. ‘I have a lift. See you, Mary.’ She left the phone box and walked towards a nearby
car. She would not be seen again.
Jo Jo Dullard was the youngest of five children. She never knew her father, John Dullard: he died when his wife, Nora, was pregnant with Jo Jo in 1973. Nora died in 1983, when
Jo Jo was nine, leaving just Jo Jo and her sister Kathleen, still living at home at Newtown, near Callan. The responsibility for raising Jo Jo fell on Kathleen, who was only ten years older. Soon
afterwards Kathleen married her sweetheart, Séamus Bergin, and they brought Jo Jo to live with them at Ahenure, on a quiet road just outside Callan. It is here that Jo Jo lived with Kathleen
and Séamus until her mid-teens. As I spoke to Kathleen about her memories of Jo Jo, the constant pain caused by her disappearance was all too evident. Even with happy memories, tears welled
up in her eyes.
I was only nineteen when Mam died, and it was just Jo Jo and me in the cottage in Newtown. I was quite nervous with just the two of us in
Mary to launch a national campaign for the establishment of a specialist Missing Persons Unit and also the establishment of a National Missing Persons Remembrance Day. Whoever killed Jo Jo Dullard
will never be allowed forget their evil deed.
On Thursday 9 November 1995 Jo Jo Dullard had collected her last dole payment in Harold’s Cross, Dublin, and had spent the afternoon looking around the shops and having a
few drinks with friends at the Bruxelles pub off Grafton Street. It was the end of an era in her life. Having spent more than two years living and working in Dublin, she had recently moved home to
Callan, where she had got a flat in the centre of town and now had full-time work at a pub and restaurant there. The collection of her last dole payment was the last of the loose ends to tie up in
Dublin.
Jo Jo woke just as the bus was coming into Naas. She was still almost sixty miles from home. She began to hitch, hoping she might be lucky enough to find someone driving as far as Kilkenny or
even Callan; a more realistic prospect might be finding a motorist heading towards Carlow. Jo Jo had a friend there who would put her up if she could only make it that far. It was already dark as
she began thumbing, standing on the busy road. It was a cold night, and she was wearing a black cotton jacket, a shirt, blue jeans, and boots. One motorist stopped; he was heading for Kilcullen,
five miles down the road. Again it was a step in the right direction, so Jo Jo got in. She had hitched lifts many times before in Co. Kilkenny andwas aware of the dangers of taking lifts from
strangers. However, it is clear that, later that night, she accepted a lift from some person who she did not suspect was a violent man.
It was now after eleven o’clock, and Jo Jo was standing in Kilcullen, twenty miles from Carlow and forty-five miles from Callan. She had only put out her hand to start hitching a lift
again when another car stopped. This driver was also heading in the direction of Jo Jo’s ultimate destination but not going the whole way. He said he could bring her as far as Moone. Jo Jo
got in, knowing that this lift would get her to within ten miles of Carlow and closer to a bed for the night.
It was 11:35 p.m. when this motorist dropped Jo Jo off at Moone, Co. Kildare. The village was quiet but for the distant sound of people having their last drinks in a nearby pub. Jo Jo decided to
phone her friend Mary Cullinane to let her know where she was. The man who left her in Moone had dropped her close to a public phone box. At 11:37 p.m. she stepped into the phone box and made the
call. ‘Hi, Mary. I’m in Moone. I missed the bus,’ she said. They had a general chat for three minutes, while Jo Jo kept an eye out for any cars heading south. Suddenly she said,
‘Hold on.’ She dropped the phone, left the phone box, and returned a few seconds later. ‘I have a lift. See you, Mary.’ She left the phone box and walked towards a nearby
car. She would not be seen again.
Jo Jo Dullard was the youngest of five children. She never knew her father, John Dullard: he died when his wife, Nora, was pregnant with Jo Jo in 1973. Nora died in 1983, when
Jo Jo was nine, leaving just Jo Jo and her sister Kathleen, still living at home at Newtown, near Callan. The responsibility for raising Jo Jo fell on Kathleen, who was only ten years older. Soon
afterwards Kathleen married her sweetheart, Séamus Bergin, and they brought Jo Jo to live with them at Ahenure, on a quiet road just outside Callan. It is here that Jo Jo lived with Kathleen
and Séamus until her mid-teens. As I spoke to Kathleen about her memories of Jo Jo, the constant pain caused by her disappearance was all too evident. Even with happy memories, tears welled
up in her eyes.
I was only nineteen when Mam died, and it was just Jo Jo and me in the cottage in Newtown. I was quite nervous with just the two of us in
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