Kirkintilloch disaster rocked Mayo island community
PART FIVE
By Tom Gillespie
EIGHTY-FIVE years ago this month, 10 Achill youths lost their lives in a bothy fire in Kirkintilloch, Scotland. It happened on Wednesday night, September 15, 1937.
Ten days later The Connaught Telegraph gave extensive coverage to the tragedy.
The report continued:
While the train was still a few miles away, the people knelt by the catafalques on the platform at Achill Sound and recited the Rosary in Irish. There was a long wait, and then a puff of smoke announced the arrival of the train. As it pulled up, relatives who had travelled with the remains rushed out to meet their kinsfolk who had been waiting for them.
At Achill Sound there were indescribable scenes of anguish as the 19 girl survivors of the dreadful holocaust emerged from the train, and guided by the caring hands of stewards, were led to their waiting relatives. Many of the girls obviously were over-wrought and almost demented, and when clasped in the hungry, loving arms of their mothers completely collapsed.
But the bitterest hour came and the sorrow cup overflowed when from the luggage vans were taken with reverent hands and borne to the waiting catafalque the coffins containing the remains of the boys who, a few short months ago, had left this station.
The ten dark-brown coffins were covered with flowers. As they carried them from the train, the peak of Achill’s sorrow was reached and women cried out loudly in their agony of grief.
Only relatives and stewards were allowed to enter the station. As the time of the arrival of the train drew near, they were accommodated in the waiting room, and a long double line of 100 stewards was drawn up along the platform, in charge of Fr. T. McEllin, Fr. Campbell and Fr. Burke, who comforted the distracted people.
Supt. R Heydon, Castlebar, and Supt. W. O’Brien, Westport, had charge of other gardaí on duty.
It was surely fate’s most cruel jest that, though the remains were home, the coffins, with one solitary exception, were maneless, and grief-stricken parents had not even the consolation of a last glimpse of their dead. Not even could they, with the one exception, place hands on the casket and say: "Here lies my son."
The anguish, past-enduring, found relief in the harrowing notes of the caoine, broken only by the short, pained ejaculations: "Oh, my son, my son."
STRENGTH OF CHARACTER
With a patience that in such dreadful circumstances was truly admirable and that brought out the strength of character which is the proud asset of the Achill islander, they obeyed the behest of the priests and stalwarts to remain outside the restraining barrier while the coffins were being arranged in place.
Then, with the last shell placed on its bier, they were lifted on the shoulders of the carriers – companions and friends of the dead youths – and the sad procession started on its quarter-mile trek to the little village church.
There was hardly a dry eye in the big crowd that followed in the wake of the dead. The elements themselves seemed to share in the grief. Heavy clouds veiled the hills and a soft rain fell, commingling with the tears of the mourners, as the heavy leaden coffins moved steadily forward.
Tramp, tramp went the footfall over the bridge across the Sound – forward in doleful order through the long street, in which every door was closed and every window blind drawn or barricaded, and so up the easy-rising hill to the little church, where on catafalques before the alter rails the coffins were laid to rest. The unfortunate victims of the Kirkintilloch holocaust had come home.
The Very Rev. J. Campbell, P.P., with Rev. T. McEllin, C.C., received the remains and led the procession.
The cottage consisted of nearly 1,000 people, and amongst them, pale-faced and weary, a bandage around his neck, walked young Tommy Dougan, son of the gaffer, the boy who discovered the fire and gave the alarm; also Anthony Mangan, who lost three sons; and Owen Kilbane, who was working in England and came back from Scotland with the remains.
A pathetic figure was 71-year-old John McLaughlin, who lost his two sons. He was almost bent double and walked with the aid of a stick.
The coffins were placed on catafalques five on either side of the alter, and only a little group of relatives entered the church. Candles lighted the tragic scene and the wan faces of the broken-hearted people as they walked around the coffins and then knelt before the alter in prayer.
The little church of Achill was filled to overflowing when the Solemn Requiem Mass was offered for the souls of the dead.
His Grace the Archbishop of Tuam, Most Rev. Dr. Gilmartin, came especially to preside at the ceremony, whilst among the congregation were clergy, the special representative of President de Valera, Ministers of State and representatives of all the professions and callings.
The congregation followed with deep reverence the service, the celebrant of which was Rev. T. McEllin, C.C., Achill, with Rev. J. Godfrey, C.C., Keel, deacon, and the Rev. M. Burke, subdeacon.
Acting as master of ceremonies was the Rev. A.T. Kilcoyne; Canon McDonald, Newport, was the attendant at the throne; and the chanters were Mons. Walsh, Tuam, and the Rev. H. Curley, C.C., Turloughmore.