By Canon Thomas Killeen (Deceased)
WEDNESDAY. May 18, 1921. The Black and Tan war was in progress. This day there were Easter Confessions in the Parish (wind-up station) and the priests of the district were hearing in the two churches. Fahy and Myna. Here are the priests who were there:
The Parish Priest Michael Conroy and his curate Michael Walsh; Canon MacDonald, Newport and his two curates Michael Owens. Newport and Thomas Killeen. Mulranny; Rev. Martin Colleran. P.P. Achill and his curates Pat Joyce, Batty Canavan and Andy Moran; Rev. Patrick Patterson. Adm., Westport and John A. Burke and John Gibbons: Tom Healy P.P.. Louisburgh. Paul McLoughlin. P.P.. Islandeadv and his curate John Hyland: Pat McHugh, curate, Aughagower.
There was a dinner in Fr. Conroy's house around 2.30. We were nearly ready when suddenly the guns began. At first we thought we were directly facing the bullets so everyone went to the shelter of the walls keeping back from the windows. Fr. Colleran went out on the stairs and in spite of our fears all of us burst out laughing. After a while it was clear that no bullet was coming our way, that the police were on the road and the volunteers on top of the little hills firing at the police. When the fight stalled the police jumped out of the three lorries outside the priest's house. They didn't know where the bullet were coining from. Al first they thought the enemy was firing from the south of the road and they ran to the wall on that side. Michael Kilroy told how he saw three or four of them beside the house without any shelter. He said that if he had had his own gun he'd have shot them dead but he had someone else's gun and he couldn't handle it properly. When he looked again they were under the protection o! the fence on the north side of the road.
F or more than two hours there was nothing but gunfire. The police had machine guns and they were using them non-stop. Alter two hours the noise decreased though the firing didn't stop. We noticed a person coming to the house. Who was it but Inspector Donnellan of the R.I.C. and he was frightened, his face the colour of death. He began to say that someone was firing at the police from the house. Fr. Colleran rose and attacked him saying lie lied and that no one but an amadan would say such a thing. Donnellan had to pull in his horns and admit that Fr. Colleran was right. A young policeman came in then saving that men were dying and that the priests would have to attend them. Who would be willing to go? The battle was still going on. Michael Walsh and myself said we were willing. We went out across the road and up on the hills. A sergeant of the police was with us and we had to bend down every so often as the bullets were still coming. We went over fences and found two volunteers dying. We were in time to anoint them and then they died before our eyes, may God have mercy on them. The two were Tommy O'Donnell of Rossinrubble and John Staunton of Kilmeena. It was a big mistake to leave the boreen at the foot of the hill without a guard. One of the police cars succeeded in going in and using the machine guns across the volunteers. That is how they killed three of the volunteers. The third man who was lying there was Paddy O'Malley of Rossinrubble. A bullet hit him in the leg and he could not stir. He was frightened that the Black and Tans would torture him. They did nothing but bring him away in a car. He recovered though he was lame. I was told then that there was another man lying on the north side of the fence. I was going over the fence when a Black and Tan put his gun to my chest threatening me with death. He was shaking with fear, and what stopped him from shooting me? I was very close to death on that occasion. When the sergeant saw him he began to curse him and ordered him to pull back his gun. The Black and Tan was an Englishman. A thousand thanks to the Father and to the Glorious Virgin that I came safe.
But the poor man McEvilly who was lying at the foot of the fence he didn't came safe. I would say he was already dead but I anointed him. The grace of God to his soul. I was surprised that they were all so black in the face—the gun powder I suppose was the reason for it. We left him there and up we went to the top of the hill. There were two there, one of them Jordan of Islandeady badly injured, a deep track of a bullet across his head and a lot of blood. He died six weeks after that. may his soul be at God's right (hand). The other man was named Pearse: there was nothing the matter with him. He was walking all around like a person without sense. I asked him why he hadn't gone with the other volunteers. I think he said he was afraid. I heard from Michael Kilroy that they doubted he might have been a spy. The police look him with them and from that day there's no tale or tidings of him. The result of this ambush was that four of the volunteers were killed and only one of the policemen was injured. He was an Englishman and his injury wasn't serious. We had to leave them all there then and return to the house. No one had any desire to stay in the place so we all went home.
About twelve o'clock that night someone knocked loudly on the door of the curate's house. Fr. Walshe's. It wasn't a Black and Tan but a parishioner saying there was a man wounded beside the Parish Priest's house where the fighting had taken place. Fr. Michael went to the place, thinking every minute that the Black and Tans would be down on him. The enemy didn't come and the priest found the man and gave him the sacraments. What happened this man? What happened was that he was moulding potatoes when the shooting began. The police saw him, fired at him and hit him in the behind. He was lying there until he was found in the evening and the priest was sent for. The police didn't interfere with the priests after that except that they took Fr. Conroy to Galway prison where he spent a fortnight. When he was let out, he wouldn't tell one word about the prison. It could be said that he didn't like it at all. They brought him there in an open lorry and everyone looking at him on his journey. A ride to Galway—and permission to walk home! That's the way it was for the poor priest. He was a hearty, kindly, independent man every day of his life. The blessing of God on his soul.
Mayo News, March 02, 1994