The Barry Martin Foundation, Edinburgh (2026)

18/06/2026

A message to our grieving friends:

Most people cannot accompany us as far into grief as we hoped they would.

Not because they don’t care.

But because they have limits.

Some people are frightened of grief.
Some don’t know what to say.
Some convince themselves you’re strong enough not to need them.
Some become entangled in other loyalties or narratives.

And some simply drift away.

None of that means you are unworthy of their support. It means people are often far less brave and far less emotionally capable than we hope.

Widowhood changes your perspective in ways that are hard to explain to someone who hasn’t lived it.

You begin to understand that grief is not a moment, a funeral, or a year. It is carrying love and loss together for the rest of your life.

I have relationships with people who greet me and ask,

“How are you?”

“How is the case going?”

And I answer honestly, with appreciation at the normality of the question.

I’m okay.

I’m busy.

I’m stressed.

I’m worried.

I’m trying to prepare.

Because what happened to Barry is not a separate chapter of my life that I can close when it makes someone else uncomfortable.

It is woven into every single day.

His death is not simply something that happened to us.

The investigation is not simply something we endure.

They are part of our history, part of our present, and part of who we are now.

We still laugh.

We still make plans.

We still have hopes for the future.

But grief walks beside us in all of those things.

Not always loudly.
Not always painfully.

But always faithfully.

And slowly, painfully, you learn that the people who remain are not always the people you expected.

But those who stay, who sit beside you without trying to fix you, become priceless.

If people fall away, do not let their leaving diminish your worth. It is simply a reminder that grief changes every relationship it touches.

And whilst many cannot walk beside us for the whole journey, we continue anyway.

Because love does not end.

And neither do we.

All we need are those who are not afraid to put on their shoes and walk with us.

They do not need answers.
They do not need to fill the silences.
They do not need to attempt to fix us.

They just need to walk with us.

Thinking of all who are grieving. ❤️

08/06/2026

BARRY MARTIN DAY 2026

Since it began, Barry Martin Day has been about giving back to the community, honouring Barry’s memory, and giving Oliver and Daniel the opportunity to simply be children. To play, laugh, make memories, and find moments of joy despite the challenges they have faced and continue to navigate.

This year marks a significant new chapter.

After years of work, Oliver and Daniel will formally launch new bereavement resources designed to support children and families navigating grief. Created from their own experiences and shaped by the journey they have travelled since losing their dad, these resources represent a major milestone for the boys, The Barry Martin Foundation, and bereaved children across the country.

As a family, we continue to navigate an ongoing high-profile investigation and await a decision from the Crown Office. As we prepare for that decision and its implications, we have made a number of important decisions to protect ourselves and create the space needed to focus on healing, growth and the future.

For these reasons, Barry Martin Day 2026 will be held in a more intimate and private format, with attendance by invitation only.

Invitations are now being issued, and we hope those invited will be able to join us as we celebrate the launch of these important bereavement resources and share this special moment with two remarkable boys who have come so far with courage, love and determination.

Together, we remember Barry.

Together, we continue building something meaningful in his name.

What better way to honour Barry’s legacy than through his children, for children like them.

We thank you for your support, your understanding, and your compassion, as always.

29/05/2026

Before there was a charity, there was a family.

This Foundation was created in memory of Barry Martin, a father, firefighter, and friend, who lost his life while serving his community in Edinburgh, Scotland in 2023. Barry was 38 years old.

Barry’s death should never have happened. Three and a half years later, we are still waiting for answers and an outcome. Two young children were left to navigate the loss of their father at just eight years old, a reality that continues to shape our family’s journey today.

Throughout that time, we have fought consistently for truth, accountability, and justice, not only for Barry, but for every family who deserves to know what happened to their loved one and why.

We have frequently pressed for assurance that the investigation meets the human rights standards Scotland has committed to, including the right to life and the right to an effective and timely investigation.

Those experiences shaped the vision for The Barry Martin Foundation and continue to guide the work we do today.

At the heart of everything we do is a simple belief: no family should have to face grief, loss, or injustice alone.

- Supporting Bereaved Children

We are developing resources to help children navigate grief, including our bereavement books and bears, designed to provide comfort, understanding, and support during some of life’s most difficult moments.

- Community & Remembrance

Through initiatives such as Barry Martin Day and future community projects, we aim to bring people together, celebrate kindness, and create lasting legacies that make a difference.

- Human Rights, Justice & Accountability

We are committed to raising awareness of workplace fatalities, advocating for meaningful reform, and supporting conversations around accountability, safety, dignity, and the right of every worker to return home to their loved ones.

We believe that knowledge is empowering. Through education, awareness, and advocacy, we hope to help individuals and families better understand their rights, workplace safety, accountability processes, and the challenges that can follow a serious incident or fatality.

Everything we do is inspired by Barry’s values: courage, compassion, service, and community.

Thank you for being here and for supporting our journey. Together, we hope to make a difference for children, families, and communities across Scotland and beyond.

26/05/2026

One day I hope to sit at the intersection where families meet systems.

So I can help them understand what is coming.

People know me through grief and bereavement support. Through loss. Through fighting.

But there is another truth.

A painful one.

I did not choose law in a season of peace.

I chose it when life forced me to grow.

I chose it because when Barry died, law stopped being abstract.

It became personal, urgent, and something I needed to understand deeply.

Systems, investigations, process, language, and rooms full of people discussing the most devastating chapter of your life.

Something and someone has to change it.

Challenge it.

I knew I needed to sit in those rooms informed.
Not just with presence. But with understanding.

I needed to think deeper. To challenge more.
To question more. To ensure I never felt intimidated by process, language, power, or closed rooms.

I began to understand something bigger.

That law is not only process, policy, and power.

At its core, it is also about human rights, dignity, accountability, and the lives affected when systems fail.

Law became more than a degree.

It became growth. It became discipline.

It became part of rebuilding who I was.

I have now completed and passed my second year of my law degree. After summer, I move into third year.

This degree is studied through grief. Through parenting. Through pressure. Through exhaustion.
Through pain. Through continuing to show up when life demanded more than I thought I had.

But I will keep going.

I entered rooms with purpose and presence long before law.

Now, I enter them with learning, and lived experience.

And this is only one part of where I am going.

Deeper into law. Deeper into human rights.
Deeper into understanding the systems that shape lives.

I do not study law to be saved by it.

I study it to understand it, to respect it, and to apply it where it matters most.

For Barry.

For his children.

For myself.

For all families who have yet to walk this path.

And for all workers who should come home.

12/05/2026

People often think grief is sadness.

That it is crying.
Missing someone.
Feeling low.

But the deepest part of grief is not sadness.

It is disorientation.

It is waking up into a world that no longer makes sense to you.

A world that continues to move while part of your mind is still waiting for the person you love to come home.

People speak about “moving on” because they do not understand what sudden loss does to the human mind and body.

Your routines disappear.
Your sense of safety changes.
Your identity shifts.
Time stops behaving properly.

You can walk into a supermarket and suddenly forget why you are there.

You can hear a song and be physically thrown backwards in time.

You can laugh one moment and feel overwhelming pain the next.

Because grief is not neat.

And it is not linear.

The truth is that when someone dies suddenly, especially someone woven into the fabric of your everyday life, part of you continues expecting them to exist.

To walk through the door.
To answer the phone.
To say your name.
To take their place in the world again.

That is the disorientation of grief.

Not simply missing someone.

But learning how to survive in a world that has been permanently altered by their absence.

Thinking of all who are grieving.

08/05/2026

David Attenborough is 100 years old today.

A man who has spent a century watching the world.

Watching species disappear.

Watching landscapes change.

Watching generations come and go.

And also, watching grief become part of his own life after the death of his wife, Jane.

There is something profound about people who continue living with gentleness after loss.

Not hardened by it. Not emptied by it.

But altered by it.

Grief does not only belong to the moment someone dies.

It travels through decades. Through birthdays.
Through ordinary mornings. Through grandchildren.
Through silence.

Sometimes society only notices grief in the immediate aftermath. But the truth is that love leaves a lifelong imprint.

When Barry was alive, we loved watching David Attenborough programmes together as a family. And the boys and I still do now.

Barry was our anchor. Our home. And somehow, for generations of families, David Attenborough’s voice has become part of the fabric of home.

That is why bereavement support matters so much.
Especially for children. Because loss grows with them.

And because the people we love never truly stop shaping the world around us.

Happy 100th birthday to a man who has taught generations to look more carefully at life.

Sir David Attenborough

06/05/2026

One of the hardest parts of grief is realising the world keeps moving while your child’s world has completely changed.

Children grieve differently.

Sometimes quietly.

Sometimes through anger.

Sometimes through questions they cannot even find the words for.

That is one of the reasons we created The Barry Martin Foundation.

Not simply to remember Barry, but to help children feel seen, safe and supported after loss.

From therapy bears, to children’s books, to Barry’s Benches, every part of the Foundation is being built with one thought in mind:

“What helps our children?”

Grief can feel incredibly lonely for children.

We want them to know they are not alone.

Sometimes it doesn’t show up until they are older.

When it hits them that their father isn’t there for the moments he should be.

When they have children of their own.

Barry’s greatest love was his children. He was a man who would have done anything to protect not only his own children, but any child, from harm.

That is why this work matters.

It carries his name.

And through it, his kindness, love and protection will continue to reach others long after his death.

28/04/2026

“Three years ago, my husband should have lived.
For Jenners does not breathe. But Barry Martin should.”

International Workers Memorial Day 2026 - The human cost

People speak of Jenners, as if it breathes.

Their words are filled with such admiration and elegance as they indulge in history and the beauty of architecture. For many, it is a building steeped in legacy. It will grandly reopen bringing with it an influx of pride and astonishment to all who will gather at that lucrative reopening event. It will adorn the headlines, its photographs, videos and drone footage will be lovingly shared and perhaps, perhaps.... Barry Martin will be mentioned.

But Barry, will be long from the minds of those who stand there and applaud such magnificence that has been restored to the people and to the City of Edinburgh.

To the public, Jenners means something. Especially to the people of Edinburgh. But to us, it is a blinding symbol of death, shock, uncertainty and trauma. When we hear or read of the building being spoken about with awe, we grit our teeth and swallow the pain because Barry went in, and that version of Barry never came out.

Over three years ago, my husband should have lived. For Jenners does not breathe. But Barry Martin should.

People seem to love to talk about Jenners don’t you think? Photographers love to share images of it. The media love to report on it and in particular, the restoration project. Councillors and Provosts enjoy visiting the refurbishment works. The tone is always the same. Iconic. Majestic. Beloved. Filled with such pride.

Here is our message to them...

Come to us.
Come and sit with us in our agony.

Let us tell you, exactly, what Jenners means to us.
Let us tell you, what honour means to us.

How we carry something so heavily yet so beautifully and delicately. How we are able to both hold nurture parallel to the will and capacity to fight. How we are able to apply integration, professionalism, and integrity, to an abhorrent circumstance. How we carry the rawness of loss and injustice with responsibility.

Honour Barry, not a building. Care about, wonder, and question, what happened to him. For that is something that Barry, his children, the public, and firefighters truly deserve. They deserve answers. And accountability.

So whilst the City of Edinburgh looks forward to Jenners reopening its doors, we live with the silence of the one it closed. There is no comfort for us. There is no grandeur. There is grief, and there is the weight of what should never have happened.

But here is what we will do. We will continue to work in the silence of our own screams, against the force, against any force, and we will continue to pay the price. We will do this whilst the City celebrates with starry eyes fixed upon oak panelling, cast iron stair cases, and at an atrium that so many swoon over, saying: 'Thank God it wasn't damaged in that fire.'

I understand, friends, that this isn't just the reopening and the regeneration of a former well known department store. This is a rebirth. I am grieving, but I am also a realist and I like to think, pragmatic.

This historical icon that is dripping in nostalgia will finally, re open it's doors to the people that have long awaited this moment. Jenners is Edinburgh's jewel box, a place described as 'magical.' It is gilded bannisters, polished stone and scents of expensive perfume. It is that 40ft Christmas Tree that presided through the levels as a symbol of magic and tradition, a seasonal attraction and symbol of community festive spirit.

For many of you, it is simply about your memories, your moments, and your mementos, as if the very walls hold them so preciously and tenderly for you.

Through the floors of elegance and the fresh new paintwork, you will never see the scorch marks of the fire that killed my husband.

Oliver and Daniel, who are now 12 years old and are truely a joy to behold, continue to overcome mountains. They will never be able to make new memories with their father. That was taken from them when they were 8 and innocent, excitedly living life. It was also taken from Barry, a most devoted, present and loving father to them.

Barry was single handedly, an inspiration and a legend. This man, defied all odds, throughout his whole life, to become the man he wanted to be. He was disciplined in his conduct, passionate and absolutely free with his generosity. He was a man who became a leader, an asset to society, and the head of our family, before my very eyes. But Barry is not just the firefighter in this story. He is the man who made the boys laugh at breakfast, who checked homework, who kissed scraped knees and tucked them in at night. He was our normal. He was our home.

Until there is nothing left of me to give, I would stand on Princes Street, march up and down Rose Street, listen to tourists marvel at the infamous Jenners building, and scream...

'But do you know what it cost?!'

For no matter how it is rebuilt, no matter how it will rise like a phoenix from the ashes, it cannot rebuild what was taken from us.

On International Workers Memorial Day, and on every day, we do not use the language of sacrifice.

Because this was not a life freely given.

This was a life that should have been protected.

What happened to Barry was not inevitable.

And we will continue to advocate for the rights of workers so that they come home.

Because Barry’s life was worth more than a building.

21/04/2026

Behind every charity name is a real person.

Barry was a dad. A husband. A friend. A gentleman. And loved beyond words.

He should still be here.

For those of you who never had the joy of meeting him, our goal every day is to bring his name, his story, and his presence in this world to life, so that, in a different and unexpected way, you know him too.

Our Barry was something special.

And that is why we will give nothing less than exceptional.

27/03/2026

Critical Report Still Outstanding.

“On 26 March 2026, I was pleased to meet with the Lord Advocate in Glasgow to discuss the ongoing investigation into the death of my husband, Barry.

The meeting was constructive and informative, with a commitment to ongoing engagement.

My immediate concern remains the continued reliance on a critical fire service report which, more than three years on, has still not been submitted to the Crown. This delay continues to prolong an already deeply traumatic process.

Until this report is received, our family cannot reach clarity on what happened to Barry, how and why it happened, or the decision-making and risk assessment processes in place at the time of the Jenners incident.

We will continue to ask questions, challenge unreasonable delay, and seek answers, not only for Barry and his children, but to ensure that firefighters’ lives are properly valued and protected, and that other families are not left to navigate this process in the same way.

Thank you for your continued support.”

- Shelley Martin

The Barry Martin Foundation

18/06/2026

08/06/2026

29/05/2026

26/05/2026

12/05/2026

08/05/2026

06/05/2026

28/04/2026

21/04/2026

27/03/2026

Address

Website

Alerts

Contact The Organisation

Shortcuts

Share

Category