Is there no end to these hidden horrors of our past?
IN October 2003, Liveline got a call from a former resident of a Magdalene Laundry who was living in America. She wanted the world to know that one of her friends in the laundry, Margaret Bullen, had recently died and she was angry and upset that Margaret had got a pauper’s funeral. Her friend was buried in a communal grave without an individual headstone – although she had worked for the Sisters Of Our Lady Of Charity for many decades. She had been committed to its care when she was two and left only on her untimely death 49 years later.
While in care, Margaret had given birth to three children, including twins.
Incredibly, by the end of the programme we had been contacted by one of the twins, Samantha Long, who revealed that Margaret was her mother and – shockingly – she was unaware of her passing.
Margaret’s story generated calls from many former residents of the notorious Magdalene Laundries, who movingly told of their incarceration. More than 30,000 women had passed through these institutions in more than a century up to 1996.
The women, who were forced to work without pay in unhealthy conditions for many decades, were the subject of a government apology four years ago, a commission of enquiry and a redress scheme. This week some of them were publicly honoured and received another apology, this time from President Higgins in Áras and Uachtaráin.
When the women arrived for a gala dinner in their honour at Dublin’s Mansion house on Tuesday night they were greeted by many of their fellow citizens, who acknowledged and applauded their courage.
It comes off the back of more revelations of Irish babies being trafficked to America for money during the relatively recent past.
I got another glimpse of the type of society in Ireland that generated such horrors.
Bryan MacMahon was a primary school teacher in Kerry for many decades. The Listowel-based author has an international reputation as a fine writer and folklorist.
Teaching in an overcrowded, unsanitary school in Listowel, he remembers being handed a letter from the school manager – the parish priest, of course – that shocked him for many decades.
It was a letter from America looking for a child to adopt:
‘Would you be so kind as to select a boy from the area within a radius of three miles of the convent school in your town, which our mother attended as a barefooted girl.
‘He should have the same surname as our dear mother when she left your parish in the long ago.
‘We will of course pay all expenses if you arrange to send him to us in the United States. We will also undertake to have him educated in the finest academy in our country. Our bona fides may be checked at the chancery of the diocese.’
Unbelievably, a local child with the correct surname was sourced by the priest and was to be dispatched to America, accompanied by a nurse. Wisely, the family were so distressed at the boy’s imminent departure that they pulled out at the last minute. But it is a remarkable glimpse of a hidden Ireland that only passed recently.
This week we witnessed another milestone as this State tried to steady itself after the many shocks, calumnies and revelations over recent years.
And we all know that there are more to come.