“A stain on conscience”: identification of 796 remains buried in an orphanage began in Ireland

On a warm summer day, the mass grave of children in Tuam seems deceptively bucolic, writes The Observer. There are no crosses or tombstones on the walled patch of grass.

“They are about two feet from where we are,” says Catherine Corless. – The bones were mixed with each other, water got inside and scattered them. But they are there.”

Catherine Corless is a local historian who told Ireland and the world a decade ago the shocking truth about this town in County Galway: for decades, an institution for unmarried mothers placed the remains of dead babies in an abandoned underground cesspool.

Corless found that between 1925 and 1961, 796 children died in the home of the mother and child of St. Mary, run by nuns from the order of Bon Secur, but there were no records of burials. It is believed that many of them ended up in a former sewage treatment plant. “It has become a convenient way to get rid of them,” Corless told The Observer. “They didn’t have to account for those deaths. They didn’t want anyone to know. All the while, those poor little remains were falling apart.”

The bones and their secrets must be unearthed, writes The Observer. A team of forensic experts led by Daniel McSweeney, a former envoy of the International Committee of the Red Cross, is tasked with exhuming, analyzing and identifying the remains.

“There has never been anything like this in Ireland before,” Children’s Minister Roderick O’Gorman said in an interview. “It will be one of the most complex operations of its kind in the world.”

The age of the remains, the fact that they belong to children and have been exposed to water, will complicate analysis and identification. The excavation team will be independent but required by law to use advanced techniques to match DNA samples with living relatives, O’Gorman said.

According to him, the goal is to respectfully bury all the remains. “I have always considered Tuam a stain on our national conscience. The fact that the remains of infants were treated so callously even after their death is deeply disturbing.”

The Tuam Orphanage was part of a network of institutions for unmarried mothers and their children that served as orphanages and adoption agencies for much of the 20th century. They were run by religious orders with the sanction of a state that ignored deprivation, misogyny, stigmatization, and high infant mortality rates. The government issued a formal state apology in 2021 following a report by a judicial commission.

Tuam, whose name comes from the Latin term for a burial mound, causes particular shame, writes The Observer.

Corless, 68, recalls dating children from the orphanage as a child. They were considered the embodiment of sin and were looked down upon. As a joke, Corless, then about seven years old, gave one of them a rock wrapped in candy paper. The girl grabbed it, waiting for a treat. This memory haunts Corless: “These kids had absolutely nothing. I remember the real pain on her face.”

The orphanage closed in 1961, was demolished and replaced with an apartment complex. In 1975, two boys picking apples stumbled upon human bones in an abandoned septic tank. The authorities took no action. Some have suggested that these are remnants of the famine of the 1840s.

Katherine Corless, a former textile factory secretary with an interest in local history, began to explore the site. The Bon Secur and local authorities suspended her from work, but she collected death certificates and information about the septic tank. National and international media seized on her research in 2014, prompting an official investigation. DNA samples taken in 2016 confirmed that the remains dated from the period of stay at this shelter site.

According to Corless, the children suffered from hunger and neglect: “Children were treated like commodities. Prettier babies were given up for adoption – it was a money-making racket. Those who were sicker were taken away and left to die.”

Corless, a mother of four adult children, resisted attempts to leave the remains in place and commemorate the site with a plaque. “Let them rest in peace? It was a sewer facility – get them out of there. Let’s uncover the whole truth about what happened. You must excavate this entire place to repair the damage. The people of Ireland need to know what happened.”

The Catholic Church’s attempt to deny and downplay what happened left her unmoved: “It turned me completely against the church. They turned their backs on me and lied.”

She hopes the excavations will shed light on how many corpses were placed in the septic tank and the cause of death, as well as lead to DNA matches with relatives and former residents of the house, paving the way for proper burials.

Mac Sweeney, who was appointed in May, recently met with Corless at the dig site but did not say when the excavation would begin. Relatives hope that this will happen in the coming months.

Jeff Knupfer, a former Manchester detective who led a commission to search for the bodies of people who “disappeared” during the riots, said archaeologists, anthropologists, investigators and excavation leaders would likely be involved in the dig.

Not all remains will necessarily result in a positive DNA match, which requires careful management to avoid disputes over the ownership and fate of some remains, he warned. “I’m afraid it might turn out to be something like a minefield. This process will be followed by coroner’s inquests and the transfer of the remains to families – another potentially difficult area.”

Corless has received numerous awards and has appeared in documentaries. Actor Liam Neeson visited her and is set to make a dramatized film about her investigation.

Instead of tombstones at this site, locals put the number 796. PJ Haverty, a former resident of the orphanage, also published a note: “This is what Catholic Ireland did. Babies were taken from their mothers, and when they died, their little bodies were thrown into a dirty bin. My God.”