Latest news with #nuns
Sky News
3 days ago
- Politics
- Sky News
Israel-Iran live: Tehran under attack after Iran claims hit on Mossad centre; Trump denies working on ceasefire deal
These images show foreigners leaving Israel during the escalating fighting. In Tel Aviv, nuns were among the crowds boarding buses to leave Israel via Egypt. We reported at 10.05 on the various efforts of countries to get their citizens away from the conflict zone.
News.com.au
4 days ago
- News.com.au
796 dead babies hidden in septic tank at home run by nuns: ‘Dirty little secrets'
A quiet, walled patch of grass in the middle of an Irish housing estate is set to reveal the latest disturbing chapter in Ireland's 'mother and baby' home scandal. Beneath the ground at this peaceful spot in the town of Tuam, 220km west of Dublin, significant quantities of human remains have been identified. The land, attached to a home run by nuns between 1925 and 1961, was left largely untouched after the institution was knocked down in 1972. But on Monday, excavation crews will seal off the site before beginning the search for remains next month. 'There are so many babies, children just discarded here,' local historian Catherine Corless told AFP at the site. It was her discovery of the unmarked mass burial site that led to an Irish Commission of Investigation into the so-called mother and baby homes. In 2014, the now 71-year-old produced evidence that 796 children, from newborns to a nine-year-old, died at Tuam's mother and baby home. Her research pointed to the children's likely final resting place: a disused septic tank discovered in 1975. 'There are no burial records for the children, no cemetery, no statue, no cross, absolutely nothing,' said Corless. It was only in 2022 that legislation was passed in parliament enabling the excavation work to start at Tuam. 'It's been a fierce battle, when I started this nobody wanted to listen, at last we are righting the wrongs,' said Corless. 'I was just begging: take the babies out of this sewage system and give them the decent Christian burial that they were denied,' she added. In findings published in 2021, the Commission of Investigation found 'disquieting' levels of infant mortality at the institutions. Women pregnant outside of wedlock were siloed in the so-called mother and baby homes by society, the state and the Catholic Church, which has historically held an iron grip on Irish attitudes. After giving birth at the homes, mothers were then separated from their children, often through adoption. The state-backed inquiries sparked by the discoveries in Tuam found that 56,000 unmarried women and 57,000 children passed through 18 such homes over 76 years. The commission report concluded that 9000 children had died in the homes across Ireland. Often church and state worked in tandem to run the institutions, which still operated in Ireland as recently as 1998. Homes were run in various ways - some funded and managed by local health authorities and others by Catholic religious orders like the Bon Secours nuns who managed the Tuam home. 'All these babies and children were baptised but still the church turned a blind eye. It just didn't matter, they were illegitimate, that's the stance that they took,' Corless said. Analysis at the Tuam site in 2016 and 2017 identified human remains in underground cavities. A commission of investigation later concluded that they were in a disused sewage tank. But it was only in 2022 that legislation was passed in parliament enabling the works to start there. For Anna Corrigan, 70, who was in her mid-50s when she learned that her late mother gave birth in secret to two boys, John and William, in Tuam, the slow process has been 'justice, Irish-style'. As no death certificate was ever issued for William, and John's death was not medically certified, the few official documents Corrigan has been able to access have left her with more questions than answers. In her kitchen she showed AFP a copy of a 1947 inspection report of the Tuam home. It described John as 'a miserable emaciated child', even though he was born healthy a year earlier. Both could be buried in Tuam according to Corrigan while William may also have been illegally adopted out of the country. 'They prevaricate, they obfuscate, they make it difficult for people to get to the truth,' she said. 'There are dirty little secrets in Ireland that have to be kept hidden, Ireland has a wholesome reputation around the world but there's also a dark, sinister side,' she said. A team was finally appointed in 2023 to lead the Tuam site excavation, tasked with recovering, memorialising and reburying remains recovered at the site once the work starts. Sample DNA will be taken from people who have reasonable grounds to believe they are a close relative. 'I never thought I'd see the day that we'd get over so many hurdles - push them to finally excavate what I call the 'pit', not a grave,' said Corrigan. 'I'm glad it's starting, but if we can even find and identify a certain amount it's not going to give us all closure,' she said.
Malay Mail
6 days ago
- General
- Malay Mail
‘Dirty little secrets': Ireland to begin long-awaited excavation of mother and baby home ‘mass grave' site
TUAM (Ireland), June 15 — A quiet, walled patch of grass in the middle of an Irish housing estate is set to reveal the latest disturbing chapter in Ireland's 'mother and baby' home scandal. Beneath the ground at this peaceful spot in the town of Tuam, 135 miles (220 kilometres) west of Dublin, significant quantities of human remains have been identified. The land, attached to a home run by nuns between 1925 and 1961, was left largely untouched after the institution was knocked down in 1972. But on Monday, excavation crews will seal off the site before beginning the search for remains next month. 'There are so many babies, children just discarded here,' local historian Catherine Corless told AFP at the site. It was her discovery of the unmarked mass burial site that led to an Irish Commission of Investigation into the so-called mother and baby homes. In 2014, the now 71-year-old produced evidence that 796 children, from newborns to a nine-year-old, died at Tuam's mother and baby home. Her research pointed to the children's likely final resting place: a disused septic tank discovered in 1975. 'There are no burial records for the children, no cemetery, no statue, no cross, absolutely nothing,' said Corless. It was only in 2022 that legislation was passed in parliament enabling the excavation work to start at Tuam. Dark shadow 'It's been a fierce battle, when I started this nobody wanted to listen, at last we are righting the wrongs,' said Corless. 'I was just begging: take the babies out of this sewage system and give them the decent Christian burial that they were denied,' she added. In findings published in 2021, the Commission of Investigation found 'disquieting' levels of infant mortality at the institutions Women pregnant outside of wedlock were siloed in the so-called mother and baby homes by society, the state and the Catholic church, which has historically held an iron grip on Irish attitudes. After giving birth at the homes, mothers were then separated from their children, often through adoption. The state-backed enquiries sparked by the discoveries in Tuam found that 56,000 unmarried women and 57,000 children passed through 18 such homes over 76 years. The commission report concluded that 9,000 children had died in the homes across Ireland. Often church and state worked in tandem to run the institutions, which still operated in Ireland as recently as 1998. Homes were run in various ways—some funded and managed by local health authorities and others by Catholic religious orders like the Bon Secours nuns who managed the Tuam home. 'All these babies and children were baptised but still the church turned a blind eye. It just didn't matter, they were illegitimate, that's the stance that they took,' Corless said. Analysis at the Tuam site in 2016 and 2017 identified human remains in underground cavities. A commission of investigation later concluded that they were in a disused sewage tank. But it was only in 2022 that legislation was passed in parliament enabling the works to start there. For Anna Corrigan, 70, who was in her mid-50s when she learned that her late mother gave birth in secret to two boys, John and William, in Tuam, the slow process has been 'justice, Irish-style'. As no death certificate was ever issued for William, and John's death was not medically certified, the few official documents Corrigan has been able to access have left her with more questions than answers. 'Dirty little secrets' In her kitchen she showed AFP a copy of a 1947 inspection report of the Tuam home. It described John as 'a miserable emaciated child', even though he was born healthy a year earlier. Both could be buried in Tuam according to Corrigan while William may also have been illegally adopted out of the country. 'They prevaricate, they obfuscate, they make it difficult for people to get to the truth,' she said. 'There are dirty little secrets in Ireland that have to be kept hidden, Ireland has a wholesome reputation around the world but there's also a dark, sinister side,' she said. A team was finally appointed in 2023 to lead the Tuam site excavation, tasked with recovering, memorialising and re-burying remains recovered at the site once the work starts. Sample DNA will be taken from people who have reasonable grounds to believe they are a close relative. 'I never thought I'd see the day that we'd get over so many hurdles — push them to finally excavating what I call the 'pit', not a grave,' said Corrigan. 'I'm glad it's starting, but if we can even find and identify a certain amount it's not going to give us all closure,' she said. — AFP
Irish Times
31-05-2025
- Health
- Irish Times
My friends tell me to stop discussing religion on first and second dates
It began, like most of my whims do, with a dream. In this one, I had rented a cottage in east Cork , cooked a three-course meal and invited four Irish nuns over for dinner. We shared red wine and sherry and, by dessert, I was interviewing them about their lives. They told me what had drawn them to a life of devotion and how they saw the future of the church. I woke up disappointed. Not by anything the imaginary nuns had said, but because I was no longer in that quiet cottage in east Cork, sipping sherry with women of faith. Still caught in the glow of the dream, I texted a friend asking if she knew some nuns that could help me recreate my dream dinner party. She once spent a summer beekeeping with nuns in the west of Ireland. 'What a random request,' she replied. 'I do know some nuns, but they're American.' What I longed for was the grounded, unvarnished wisdom of Irish nuns, the kind who understand the subtleties of Irish humour and historical context of a country still reckoning with its faith. READ MORE Over the past two years, I have felt a calling to return to Christianity. I never formally left Christianity but rather lost it along the way. A clear memory I have of defending Christian churches in the past year was on a date with a guy I met on a dating app. I was discussing the importance of the sacred space within the confines of a church. He told me that churches should be repurposed into something more useful. [ Here's a job for the next pope. Deliver us from climate apathy Opens in new window ] The date ended soon after. Friends suggested that I not discuss religion on even a second date. 'Elle, wait until the fifth – at least.' Maybe they're right. I opened my phone and started scrolling and was soon checking every social media app I own. A bad habit, I know. I thought maybe I could kill two birds with one stone. A spiritual retreat and a digital detox. Maybe even throw in some hiking. I googled 'Christian retreat in Glendalough', found their email address and requested a stay there for three nights. A few weeks later I set off from the Dublin-Kildare border to Glendalough. I found myself wondering what I was doing. For years I couldn't stand silence; if it wasn't music, it was a podcast filling the air. But ever since a brief bout of tinnitus last year, brought on by a virus, I've come to understand the old phrase 'silence is golden' on a deeper level. I arrived in Glendalough and admired the stonework of the buildings as well as the beautifully kept gardens. I was shown to the library and prayer room, and told that prayer times were in the morning and the evening. Then I was escorted to my hermitage. There are five hermitages on the grounds that were built in 2000. It was equipped with everything you could need – a livingroom with a single bed and a wood-burning stove, a warm wooded kitchen and a simple bathroom. That evening I walked into the prayer room. One of its windows looked out on to the Wicklow landscape. [ Who was the real Mary of Nazareth and how did Christians come to believe she was a virgin? Opens in new window ] A woman led most of the prayers and, although not a nun, she had a godliness about her that I've only ever encountered from nuns I've met in real life (and in my dreams). She also played music on a CD player. We read a poem and she hit a gong and told us our 25 minutes of meditation would begin. It struck me how similar this space felt to the moments I find while hiking, which, of all the forms of exercise I've tried, is the one that best helps me untangle my thoughts. I hiked a lot during my stay. Though I was alone, I felt an unexpected sense of connection to the landscape, to the silence, even to passing strangers. Between prayers, hiking and the occasional small talk with others, the retreat became a welcome sanctuary from the background hum of 'progress'. My time away rekindled a quiet certainty in me: my return to Christianity is inevitable. But I find myself wondering: what exactly am I returning to? As a teenager, I felt ashamed of my faith. That shame slowly frayed my connection to it, leaving me disillusioned with what was on offer. Now, in my late 20s, there's a comforting steadiness in knowing who I am. Still, the question remains: what does it mean to reconnect with Christianity on my own terms? Maybe I won't know until I have that dream dinner with four Irish nuns, red wine, sherry and a table full of stories in a rented cottage in east Cork. Eleanor O'Dwyer is a 27-year-old Dublin-based writer
CTV News
29-05-2025
- Entertainment
- CTV News
Brazilian nuns become social media stars with dancing and beatboxing
Video Two Brazilian nuns have become online stars after showing off their dancing and beatboxing skills on television.
