Introduction

Tony Muggivan

Today, the first day of November 2002, I visited the Clonrush graveyard in Whitegate. For Catholics, 1 November, the day after Halloween, is a day for visiting the graves to pray for their dead relatives. The day is called ‘All Souls’ Day’. I went to the graveyard particularly to remember Brendan O’Donnell and his mother, Margaret. As I was driving there, I remembered accounts of Brendan's visits after his mother died and of his urgent requests to his sister to visit her grave when he was in prison and couldn't make the trip himself. I wondered if Brendan had ever been able to believe or imagine his mother at rest.

‘My own family graveyard is on an island in Lough Derg, an island about two miles by boat from the village of Mountshannon. This island is commonly called ‘Holy Island’ or Iniscealtra. It has ruins of seven old churches dating back to before the time of the Vikings. It has an unfinished round tower, built as a place of safety for the monks during Viking raids on the island’s monastery.

We usually don't visit this graveyard on All Souls’ Day. At this time of the year, the weather can be cold and wet, and nearly all of the boats used on the lake are open boats.

Clonrush graveyard is on the mainland. It is located a couple of hundred yards from the western shore of Lough Derg and faces across the lake towards County Tipperary.

Only the mother was buried. Brendan's ashes — actually only half of his ashes — were scattered on top of his mother’s grave. After he had been cremated, his ashes were divided between his father, Michael Pat, and his sister, Ann Marie. His father scattered his half of the ashes on Brendan's mother’s grave.

Thaven’t been able to let go of my memories of Brendan O'Donnell and the memories of his time in my home. They are deeply embedded in my mind. I can never forget the killings and those awful days at the end of April and beginning of May in 1994.

As I walked up to the grave, I saw an elderly man standing there. When I got closer, I saw that the headstone had been smashed into pieces, obviously smashed with a sledgehammer. The man standing at the grave looked upset at the sight in front of him. I recognised him as Brendan's uncle.

I cursed and said to him, ‘Who would do something like this? They must be very sick.’ He said that the family would have the headstone repaired.

I walked away and thought to myself that cursing wasn’t much good. I spoke to a few people at a grave nearby and asked them what they thought had happened. One person said, lamely, that it must have been the wind. It was the only broken headstone in the graveyard.

I thought of another grave in the churchyard in Mountshannon where the bodies of parish priests are buried. There are four priests buried there —three former parish priests and one priest who was never a priest in our parish. He was a native of Mountshannon village who had worked for years in England.

One Sunday as I was going into Mass, past the priests’ graves, I saw that the top half of one of the headstones was missing. The headstone, like the other three headstones, had been a cross about three feet tall. The top of the cross had been cut off, about halfway up the upright beam, by someone using a masonry saw. There was nothing left but the base and a short, ugly stump sticking up out of it.

The base had the priest’s name on it and a brief legend about his life. The priest and Brendan were acquainted with each other.

Brendan, in his short life, suffered much pain and he inflicted much pain. I don’t know if the priest suffered pain but I do know that he left his Church harmed and he left many of his parishioners angry and disillusioned. I recall confronting another parish priest, a very kindly man, about the priest’s reputation with children. He cried and tearfully said, ‘I thought he had overcome his problems years ago’

As I drove home from my All Souls’ Day visit to Clonrush graveyard, I couldn't stop thinking about all that has happened in my life over the past

thirteen years. I recalled again how many people have suffered so much when it all might have been avoided.

Tony Muggivan