Timeline: Grim history of Ireland's mother and baby homes
1800s 1846–The Tuam workhouse opens on six acres to house 800 inmates who were destitute. 1900s 1921–County Galway opens a mother and baby home in a former workhouse in Glenamaddy that is run by Bon Secours Sisters, a Catholic religious order. 1922-23–The home is occupied by British troops during the Irish Civil War. Six members of an Irish Republican Army faction that opposed the treaty ending the war were executed there in 1923. 1925–The Children's Home in Glenamaddy closes and reopens in the converted Tuam workhouse as a home for. 1961–The Tuam home closes. 1970s–Two boys discover bones in an underground chamber on the grounds of the derelict home. Locals believe the grave includes victims of the Irish famine and create a memorial garden. 2000s 2012–Local historian Catherine Corless publishes an article in the Journal of the Old Tuam Society that reveals many children died in the home. She later finds records of 796 deaths with no burial records. She reveals that the bones found in the 1970s were in the location of a defunct septic tank. May 2014–The Irish Mail publishes a story about nearly 800 unaccounted dead babies at the home and the possibility some are buried in the sewage tank. International news coverage leads to a public outcry. June 2014–The Irish government announces it will investigate mother and baby homes across Ireland, including Tuam. February 2015–The Commission of Investigation into Mother and Baby Homes is formally established. March 2017–A test excavation by the commission confirms significant quantities of human remains of infants in underground chambers at the Tuam site. Tests show they ranged from 35 weeks to three years old. 2018–The Irish government pledges to carry out a full forensic excavation and enact legislation to allow for the recovery and potential identification of remains. October 2018–Government officially approves a full forensic excavation of the Tuam site. The cost is estimated at 6–13 million (7-15 million) euros. January 2021–The Commission's final report finds that about 9000 children died in 18 institutions including Tuam from 1922 to 1998. Prime Minister Micheál Martin issues a state apology. 2022–Ireland passes the Institutional Burials Act giving legal authority to excavate, recover, and identify remains from sites such as Tuam. 2023–The Director of Authorised Intervention is established to oversee the Tuam excavation. June 11 2025–The site is secured and pre-excavation work begins. July 14 2025–The excavation team begins its dig to recover remains.
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Al Arabiya
31-07-2025
- Al Arabiya
Timeline: Grim history of Ireland's mother and baby homes
Exhumation of a mass grave has begun in Tuam, Ireland, at the site of a former mother and baby home–one of several that once operated across the country. The burial site, which could hold the remains of nearly 800 infants and young children, has forced the country and the Catholic Church to contend with its decades-long legacy of shunning unmarried mothers and separating them from their children, left at the mercy of a cruel system. Extensive maltreatment that contributed to the deaths of thousands of children has been gradually revealed over time. Here is a timeline of developments related to Ireland's network of mother and baby homes. 1800s 1846–The Tuam workhouse opens on six acres to house 800 inmates who were destitute. 1900s 1921–County Galway opens a mother and baby home in a former workhouse in Glenamaddy that is run by Bon Secours Sisters, a Catholic religious order. 1922-23–The home is occupied by British troops during the Irish Civil War. Six members of an Irish Republican Army faction that opposed the treaty ending the war were executed there in 1923. 1925–The Children's Home in Glenamaddy closes and reopens in the converted Tuam workhouse as a home for. 1961–The Tuam home closes. 1970s–Two boys discover bones in an underground chamber on the grounds of the derelict home. Locals believe the grave includes victims of the Irish famine and create a memorial garden. 2000s 2012–Local historian Catherine Corless publishes an article in the Journal of the Old Tuam Society that reveals many children died in the home. She later finds records of 796 deaths with no burial records. She reveals that the bones found in the 1970s were in the location of a defunct septic tank. May 2014–The Irish Mail publishes a story about nearly 800 unaccounted dead babies at the home and the possibility some are buried in the sewage tank. International news coverage leads to a public outcry. June 2014–The Irish government announces it will investigate mother and baby homes across Ireland, including Tuam. February 2015–The Commission of Investigation into Mother and Baby Homes is formally established. March 2017–A test excavation by the commission confirms significant quantities of human remains of infants in underground chambers at the Tuam site. Tests show they ranged from 35 weeks to three years old. 2018–The Irish government pledges to carry out a full forensic excavation and enact legislation to allow for the recovery and potential identification of remains. October 2018–Government officially approves a full forensic excavation of the Tuam site. The cost is estimated at 6–13 million (7-15 million) euros. January 2021–The Commission's final report finds that about 9000 children died in 18 institutions including Tuam from 1922 to 1998. Prime Minister Micheál Martin issues a state apology. 2022–Ireland passes the Institutional Burials Act giving legal authority to excavate, recover, and identify remains from sites such as Tuam. 2023–The Director of Authorised Intervention is established to oversee the Tuam excavation. June 11 2025–The site is secured and pre-excavation work begins. July 14 2025–The excavation team begins its dig to recover remains.
Arab News
31-07-2025
- Arab News
‘Chamber of horrors' being exhumed at Ireland mass baby grave
TUAM: Only one stone wall remains of the old mother and baby home in this town, but it has cast a shadow over all of Ireland. A mass grave that could hold up to nearly 800 infants and young children — some of it in a defunct septic tank — is being excavated on the grounds of the former home run by the Bon Secours Sisters, an order of nuns. The burial site has forced Ireland and the Catholic Church — long central to its identity — to reckon with a legacy of having shunned unmarried mothers and separated them from their children left at the mercy of a cruel system. The grave was accidentally discovered by two boys a half century ago. But the true horror of the place was not known until a local historian began digging into the home's history. Catherine Corless revealed that the site was atop a septic tank and that 796 deceased infants were unaccounted for. Her findings caused a scandal when the international news media wrote about her work in 2014. When test excavations later confirmed an untold number of tiny skeletons were in the sewage pit, then-Prime Minister Enda Kenny called it a 'chamber of horrors.' Pope Francis later apologized for the church's 'crimes' that included forced separations of unwed mothers and children. The nuns apologized for not living up to their Christianity. A cold, cramped and deadly place The homes were not unique to Ireland and followed a Victorian-era practice of institutionalizing the poor, troubled and neglected children, and unmarried mothers. The Tuam home was cold, crowded and deadly. Mothers worked there for up to a year before being cast out — almost always without their children. Corless' report led to a government investigation that found 9,000 children, or 15 percent, died in mother and baby homes in the 20th century. The Tuam home — open from 1925 to 1961 — had the highest death rate. Corless said she was driven to expose the story 'the more I realized how those poor, unfortunate, vulnerable kids, through no fault of their own, had to go through this life.' Discovering deeply held secrets Corless' work brought together survivors of the homes and children who discovered their own mothers had given birth to long-lost relatives who died there. Annette McKay said there's still a level of denial about the abuse, rape and incest that led some women to the homes while fathers were not held accountable. 'They say things like the women were incarcerated and enslaved for being pregnant,' McKay said. 'Well, how did they get pregnant? Was it like an immaculate conception?' Her mother ended up in the home after being raped as a teenager by the caretaker of the industrial school where she had been sentenced for 'delinquency' after her mother died and father, a British soldier, abdicated responsibility. Her mother, Margaret 'Maggie' O'Connor, only revealed her secret when she was in her 70s, sobbing hysterically when the story finally came out. Six months after giving birth in Tuam in 1942, O'Connor was hanging laundry at another home where she had been transferred when a nun told her, 'the child of your sin is dead.' She never spoke of it again. Some 20 years later, a Sunday newspaper headline about a 'shock discovery' in Tuam caught McKay's attention. Among the names was her long-lost sister, Mary Margaret O'Connor, who died in 1943. Shame's long shadow Barbara Buckley was born in the Tuam home in 1957 and was 19 months old when she was adopted by a family in Cork. She was an adult when a cousin told her she'd been adopted and was later able to find her birth mother through an agency. Her mother came to visit from London for two days in 2000 and happened to be there on her 43rd birthday, though she didn't realize it. 'I found it very hard to understand, how did she not know it was my birthday?' Buckley said. 'Delving deep into the thoughts of the mothers, you know, they put it so far back. They weren't dealing with it anymore.' She said her mother had worked in the laundry and was sent away after a year, despite asking to stay longer. Her lasting memory of the place was only being able to see the sky above the high walls. At the end of their visit, her mother told her it had been lovely to meet her and her family, but said she'd never see her again. Buckley was devastated at the rejection and asked why. 'She said, 'I don't want anyone finding out about this,'' Buckley said. 'Going back to 1957 — and it was still a dark secret.' Luck of the Irish Pete Cochran considers himself one of the lucky ones. He was 16 months old when he got out of the home and was adopted by a family in the US, where he avoided the stigma that would have dogged him as a so-called illegitimate child in his homeland. During his visit to Tuam before the dig began, a man from town told him at a bar: 'I respect you now, but growing up, I used to spit on you because that's what I was taught.' Cochran hopes the dig turns up few remains. 'I hope they don't find 796 bodies,' he said. 'That all these children were adopted and had a good life like I did.' McKay has had the same hope for her sister. But even if they found a thimble full of her remains, she'd like to reunite her with her mom, who died in 2016. 'The headstone hasn't got my mother's name on it because I fought everybody to say I refuse to put my mom's name on until she can have her child with her,' McKay said.
Al Arabiya
28-06-2025
- Al Arabiya
At 100, This Globetrotting Catholic Priest Still Bakes Pies, Enjoys Opera and Performs Daily Mass
Throughout his remarkable lifetime, the Rev. James Kelly has baptized thousands of people, married thousands more, ministered to the sick in hospitals, and traveled the world extensively. He became friends with an opera superstar and, yes, even with a saint. The longest-serving priest in the Archdiocese of Philadelphia recently celebrated the 75th anniversary of his ordination and his 100th birthday. He's grateful to have reached these milestones but nearly didn't after experiencing a health challenge last year that required life-saving surgery. He feels God gave him some extra time and tries to make each day count. 'The Lord was wonderful to me to give me the health and the strength and the energy to travel to meet beautiful things – God was always giving me surprises,' Kelly says. Born on January 7, 1925, in the Philadelphia neighborhood of Roxborough to a devoutly Catholic family, Kelly's path to the priesthood seems ordained from the start. He loved attending church. Other children dreamt of becoming athletes, doctors, firefighters. He wanted to be a priest. 'When I was 4 or 5 years old, I'd play Mass,' he says, laughing as he recalls that his parents were his first congregants. 'I always had a little altar in my room, and I'd have a glass and some flowers in there, and I'd make a vestment, put a scarf on, and have some candy and give Communion to everybody.' Kelly wakes up at dawn to celebrate Mass at the retirement living community that he now calls home. He listens to opera. He bakes pies. Sitting in his room, Kelly flips through a photo album detailing his journey. He smiles with every page turn, pointing to black-and-white photos of him as a toddler and milestones as a Catholic – his baptism, confirmation, and ordination as a priest. 'I turned down Hollywood!' he says, laughing as he points to the portrait of a dapper young priest, his hair slicked and flashing a wide smile. He also points to the photo published by a Philadelphia newspaper of the time when he climbed, in his Roman collar, to the top of a bridge and dissuaded a man from jumping to his death. 'Nobody would climb there, so I climbed up – it was 400 feet high. It was a bitter cold day,' he says. 'I was able to talk to him and break him down emotionally so he wouldn't jump. I told him 'What's your grandchild going to say one day: Papa, why didn't you take me fishing?'' He points to other photos of the many ceremonies he proudly led during his 19 years as pastor of Saint Pius X Parish in Broomall, Pennsylvania, about 10 miles (16 kilometers) west of Philadelphia. There are images of him during a vacation in Mexico when he made a parachute jump. Or that one time when he visited the majestic Iguazu Falls on the border between Argentina and Brazil, which he recalls as one of the most beautiful sights of his life. 'Everywhere you turned there was a rainbow, there was a mist … the water gushing forth and spray and the colors,' he says. 'It was, as the kids would say, 'awesome.'' Imagination, he says, is one of his favorite words, recalling that he wrote his college thesis on it. 'Jesus used his imagination to teach,' he says, in what became an example when he prepared his own sermons. He treasures other memories such as traveling to more than 100 countries and meeting Saint Teresa of Kolkata, also known as Mother Theresa. Kelly says the two became friends over the years after meeting in Philadelphia and running into each other at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. The centenarian also shared the time when he took a group of blind children to a live performance of his friend, acclaimed soprano Joan Sutherland. 'I've been fortunate to meet some of the most magnificent, good people in this world, and they've been most generous and gracious to me,' Kelly says. These days he enjoys simple pleasures: the taste of cherries, a beautiful song, or his favorite meal – roast chicken with mashed potatoes, fresh string beans, and corn on the cob. He loves learning and often attends lectures on music, art history, and Egyptology at the Normandy Farms Estates retirement community where he resides in Blue Bell, Pennsylvania. His apartment is decorated with a painting of the Virgin Mary that he drew with chalk, a portrait of his mother, and a note signed by the late Pope Francis. On his bedside table, he keeps an image of Carlo Acutis, the Catholic Church's first millennial-era saint. Kelly is inspired by Acutis, who died at 15 in 2006. Especially Acutis' devotion and how he used his computer skills to create an online exhibit about scores of eucharistic miracles recognized by the church over centuries. Every morning he wakes up without the need of an alarm clock and says the same prayer: 'Lord, what surprise do you have for me today? I hope it'll be a nice one that I'll love and enjoy. I never know, but I want to thank you for whatever happens today.' After a cup of coffee, he celebrates Mass in his apartment for a few residents of his community. 'When I moved here, I never thought I was going to have a private chapel!' Kathleen Quigley, a retired nurse, quipped after a recent service. 'I just love my faith, and he's such a stronghold of faith that it's wonderful for me to have. I just come right downstairs, have Mass, we talk, he shares his food.' Kelly once ministered to large congregations, but he feels the daily Mass in his living room is as important. 'It's not in a beautiful chapel or church. But it's here that I can offer my love and efforts to the Heavenly Father,' he says. After the final prayer, he always remembers to be grateful. 'That's all I can say – two words: thank you. It's wonderful that I have another day, and I might be able to eat some delicious cherries today and meet people, new friends,' he says. 'God knows what surprises I'll encounter today.'
