‘End of an era’ at Kilnacrott Abbey

The impending demolition of the former Holy Trinity Priory at Kilnacrott marks the “end of an era” for a community that has lived in its shadow, for good or for ill.

For almost a century its hallowed halls stood as a beacon of spiritual guidance, education, and refuge.

Generations recall fond memories of community gatherings, communions, and the pageantry of Holy Days, and mourn the loss of a landmark that, despite its flaws, provided comfort and a sense of identity to the local area. Yet others still can’t look beyond its complex past, and the fact it was once used to harbour Brendan Smyth, one of the most prolific child abusers the Church and State has ever seen.

Smyth died, aged 70 years, in the Curragh prison in 1997. His heinous crimes shattered lives and damaged trust. Prior to his conviction and incarceration, he had been moved around Ireland, to Scotland and Wales, and to the US.

In each place Smyth left a trail of human wreckage in his wake. Today, he remains buried on site at Kilnacrott, interred under several tonnes of concrete following a clandestine pre-dawn ceremony attended by just a handful of priests, a few locals, and almost as many gardaí.

So for some attending last Sunday’s sod turning (June 22) the abbey’s demolition represents a painful but necessary metaphorical move forward.

The last public Mass by a Norbertine priest there occurred in September 2016. By then the abbey, once used to house 34 seminarians and priests, had no heating and no money left to repair it. That final Mass also marked the date that all public ministry by the Norbertines, who first came to Ireland in 1924 and founded their priory and opened St Norbert’s College, came to an end.

Now Direction for Our Times (DFOT) own the site, having snapped the property up in 2012 for a fraction of the €3M price-tag it was originally listed (€610,000).

They plan to build a new €8.2 million faith formation centre, future home to the Church-recognised association ‘Apostolate of the Returning King’, and have been given 10 years in which to deliver this grand vision.

Margaret McGahan of Direction For Our Times (DFOT) openly acknowledged to those in attendance last Sunday, and to the others tuning in online from around the world, the “complex history” associated with the site.

Mere metres from where the gathering takes place is Smyth’s grave, and beyond that, a fleet of Connaught Contractor diggers line up, their mechanical booms angled down towards the dirt.

“When we take the most vulnerable people in society and put them in the care of people who are indemnified, bad things do happen,” she surmised.

Now called Tearmann Anima or ‘The Soul Sanctuary’, DFOT’s hope is that the faith formation centre will provide hope to the many. It also wishes to offer healing to survivors of abuse, while serving as a stark reminder of the historical mishandlings that went with it.

DFOT is led by lay apostolate ‘Anne’, real name Kathryn Ann Clarke, an American author best known for her young adult fiction, and whose writings were given an imprimatur by retired Bishop of Kilmore, Leo O’Reilly, in 2018.

“Our primary goal is to help people pray contemplatively,” says Kathryn, speaking to the Celt.

The mum of six has always considered herself “spiritual”. Raised a Catholic, she had an early divorce. “That pushes on your Catholicism,” she admits of her own life in contrast with the ideals of the Church.

But, much like the legacy of the site she now stands within, Kathryn believes things can change.

She accepts there are those who view the “supernatural” nature of her spiritual writings with “scepticism”.

“I’ve had to be comfortable with that, and accept there are a lot of people who will view me with scepticism, or even suspicion. It’s not nice to have that, but being close to Christ is a wonderful experience, and I wouldn’t trade one for the other.”

‘Living waters’

Jim Towey of the Papal Foundation based in Philadelphia, which provided DFOT with a €5.5m grant, believes the new faith centre can provide “living waters” that will run through and replenish the Church in which numbers have dwindled in recent years.

Last year the Papal Foundation shared out a quarter of a billion dollars, funding 150 individual Catholic church run projects across the world.

Jim’s father was an Irish immigrant, hailing from Ballaghaderreen in Roscommon. Jim speaks of the influence Irish priests sent abroad to spread the word of God had in his own home growing up.

He believes America has a “debt” to repay Ireland and its missionaries for that dedication, one he considers perhaps “impossible to repay”.

The centre’s architect, Sean Dockry from Galway, considers its design, sheltered at times and in other places more open to the elements, akin to a “journey to enlightenment”.

Memories of the abbey

Eilish Cunniffe (nee Foley) is at the ceremony with her husband Tom and sister Freda Maguire and her family. The sisters grew up in the nearby gate lodge. Their father Pat worked as Kilnacrott’s farm manager and after he passed away their mother Rosena, a native of Castlerahan, worked in the abbey herself. It was a path well worn, with the five Foley children also later taking up part-time jobs there.

“It was a hive of activity. Our memories are of the kitchens downstairs, gathering the eggs, the different jobs or whatever,” remembers Eilish, who has mixed feelings about the building being torn down. “I’m a little bit sad. I think they’ll make good use of the site.”

She’s says of Smyth that the “rumours were there”.

“[Smyth] had a disease, he was a sick man, and really and truly you can’t tar all the priests with the one brush. There were a lot of really good priests here,” she says. “Unfortunately it was different times. People didn’t know what to do, how to react.”

Meanwhile, Eilish is not the last to single out the likes of Fr Bernard Marshall for his notable good works. “A saint,” she says of him. “There were wonderful, wonderful priests, and they moved on to other places. But they always came home to Kilnacrott.”

Freda describes what the abbey represents presently is “more like a mausoleum”.

She too accepts the legacy of the site has having been “tainted” by Smyth and his unspeakably terrible acts.

“It’s the end of an era. For us growing up this was our playground. It’s where we came for Mass. It was a huge part of the community.”

Anita Maguire agrees. After the abbey closed, she recalls how, for years, older generations would lament not having a place to congregate. “They’d say for years after ‘we don’t have Kilnacrott any more’.”

Martina Plunkett is another near neighbour, from the townland of Lismacanigan.

Like the others she has fond memories of attending events at Kilnacrott.

Her late sister Eithne got her first job there, and what she recalls most is the Children’s Mass that took place on Saturday mornings.

But she believes knocking the building “is the right thing” to happen.

She remembers Smyth and his “peculiar” ways, and how her own mother wouldn’t let him inside the door of their family home.

“She didn’t like his quirkiness. You just kept your distance. He only preyed on the more vulnerable.”

Marie Crossan and Philomena McCabe are sisters of the late Fr Gerard Cusack, who became leader of the Norbertine Order in the wake of revelations about paedophile Smyth. He returned to takeover as Abbot at the fast dilapidating Kilnacrott.

A teacher in Perth in Australia, Fr Cusack, died in 2013 after being given a vaccine in advance of a trip to central Africa.

What his sisters remember most from their brother’s time there was the unprecedented level of media intrusion.

“He said they were coming out of the woodwork,” says Marie. “They hounded him. It was very difficult for Fr Gerard, very difficult. He went through a lot because of it.”

She too says that Fr Marshall “was a saint”. There are many others too who deserve due recognition. It therefore hurts the sisters knowing “the good priests” who emerged from Kilnacrott to see their legacy tarnished by the actions one man and other Church superiors who helped cover them up.

“They’re the people who made Kilnacrott what it was. Not him,” says Philomena when the nefarious Smyth’s name is mentioned. “But it’s hard to fix something once the damage is done.”