
Patrick Ryan, ‘Terror Priest' Who Aided the I.R.A., Is Dead at 94
But that didn't concern him. He had known since the age of 10 that he wanted to become a Roman Catholic priest.
In those days, he once said, nothing confirmed the social status of a family in rural Ireland more than 'a bull in the field, a pump in the yard and a priest in the family.'
When he was 14, he entered a junior seminary run by the Pallottine order, also known as the Society of the Catholic Apostolate, which preaches comity and mercy. But even then, there were hints that he might someday find a calling more aligned with his natural proclivities.
Every night, he thrilled to stories his mother would tell about fending off the Black and Tans, the loathed British paramilitary forces (named for the uniform they wore), during the Irish War of Independence. An accomplished poacher even as a child, he was skilled at shooting and skinning wild rabbits. Later, in East Africa, he would shoot elephants for sport.
Posted there by the Pallottine order in the 1950s, Father Ryan built housing and hospitals and distributed pharmaceuticals. He learned how to excavate freshwater wells and pilot a plane, which he flew on daring medical missions.
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Associated Press
2 days ago
- Associated Press
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TUAM, Ireland (AP) — 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. 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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. 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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. ___ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.