In Creeslough, the longest week continues. The small town, with a population of fewer than 400 people, looms large in hearts and minds throughout Donegal and far beyond and will remain there through the winter. The indiscriminate tragedy which has stilled the place has made a lasting impression on anyone who has heard about it. How could it not?
On Tuesday morning, the first of ten funerals of those lost in Friday afternoon’s terrible explosion in the local shop and fuel station will take place in St Michael’s Church. Once again, the community will come together to mourn as the extraordinary local response to the weekend’s tragedy turns to the awful finality of saying goodbye to those who have been lost.
Driving into Creeslough on Sunday morning, 11am Mass from the same church could be heard on Highland Radio. Traffic diversions outside the town were in place and the rain was falling across Donegal. Just before the service, the morning radio show played a series of songs and the host, noting that this would have been John Lennon’s 82nd birthday, closed with the song, Love.
Because the necklace of roads leading into Creeslough are based on local knowledge, people in hi-vis jackets stood — by themselves — for hours in the rain, at various points keeping the stray cars right. It just so happens Creeslough is located smack in the heart of one of the most beautiful places anyone could hope to lay eyes on. Everything seems sculpted on a bigger, more imaginative scale and the narrow, winding roads hold endless splendours while the light, crystal at this time of year, turns the sea turquoise.
This may seem neither here nor there, but in a week when Creeslough and, by extension all of Donegal, struggles to make sense of the unfathomable violence and destruction of Friday afternoon’s explosion at the town’s main shop and petrol station, it does matter. Even through the intense fog of sadness and heartbreak, the beauty of Creeslough and its surrounds is overwhelming and begs the question: How could something like this happen here?
“The one word that stands out for me is something that somebody said: ‘It is so random’,” the Bishop of Raphoe, Alan McGuckian, told the congregation at the Sunday morning service. By now, the rescue efforts had finished and the shell of the shop was cordoned off.
“And what she was referring to was: anybody could have been caught up in that. There is something deeply shocking and upsetting about what life can throw up. We ask: Why did it have to happen? Here, to this person. That person. Why did they have to be there at that awful moment? The bereaved and the injured must carry the awful insecurity of that question. Others of us could easily carry a certain sense of guilt. Why was it them and not me who was hit by the randomness of this tragedy? There’s fundamentally a terrible realisation that we are not masters of our own destiny. We are very fragile, all of us. Fragile and vulnerable.”
The vulnerability will remain. But as the fragmented accounts of the surreal explosion, the stunned aftermath and the instinctive responses were pieced together, it became clear that alongside it runs an extraordinarily vital source of spirit. Donegal is geographically remote and independent in character. While the local response was instantaneous and defined by selfless courage, it took a while for the full scale of the tragedy to register at a national level. But by Saturday, all the political figures had arrived.
One of my daughter’s classmates was lost. And I know of two other people in our club who have lost cousins. So, the interconnectedness of the Donegal community is hard to believe
People spoke of Taoiseach Micheál Martin sitting in the Coffee Pod restaurant, close to the site of the explosion, and clearly moved by what had taken place. There was something about the Creeslough tragedy that made politics and borders dissolve, for a few hours. Vigils were quickly arranged across the county on Sunday. In Milford at 4pm people stood at the top of the town for a short service and some music.
“There is a real deep sense of shock across the county,” said Declan Meehan, who runs the local resource centre and who organised the gathering.
“And in these small communities, I think there is a real feeling of helplessness. People don’t know how to channel that or what to do. So this was just to provide an opportunity for people to come together in solidarity with everyone who has been affected.”
Milford is a half-hour drive from Creeslough. By Sunday, the names of those who had died were released. On the edge of town, the staff and students of Mulroy College had gathered at the school to remember two of its students, Leona Harper (14) and James Monaghan (13). Two parents of students at the school, James’s mother Catherine O’Donnell (39), and Martina Martin (49), had also died. At the vigil, local musician Cormac Friel played a song he had written late on Saturday night. It is titled Creeslough. Friel is originally from Fanad; romance brought him to Milford. Like everyone in the area on Saturday, he and his wife were waiting to learn who might have been caught up in the tragedy.
“We were waiting to hear if we knew anyone. But the randomness of this act hit everybody hard, and people were grieving and mourning to a point anyway,” he said after the vigil ended and people stood in the street, drinking tea, talking quietly.
“And then yesterday I suppose, some names started filtering through and it was confirmed that there were teenagers from Mulroy. My wife is an art teacher and she teaches a lot of students. And we knew there would be some connection. And then when she heard it was Leona she was quite upset. She mentioned that Leona was a fantastic art student with a real passion for art and she immediately started remembering some of the pieces that she helped Leona create and the passion she had in the classroom.
“And last night, just late at night, I sat with the guitar and started putting some of the words I was feeling down. Without much intent around the structure or anything like that. And this morning I woke up and thought that it was a song that maybe some people could find some solace in.”
Down in Letterkenny, the local rugby club was also preparing to open its doors for members and friends. Leona Harper was a player on the U-14 team.
“Just like the whole Donegal community we will rally around and give Hugh [Leona’s Dad] and his family the best support we can,” says Jeremy Worth, the club membership secretary and a coach.
“And we also want to look after the girls that are on Leona’s team. Because it is going to be very hard for those young girls. They are a rugby family. Hugh played for the club. He also coached in the club and his wife Donna was a volunteer. All the kids played rugby.”
By then, there was an international awareness of the tragedy that had been visited on the small Donegal town. Notices of condolences came from sources as diverse as Liverpool Football Club and the British prime minister. Expressions of sympathy and love were dispatched from Ukraine. Journalists arriving to report, struggling to get their bearings, were taken aback and humbled by the generosity of local people. Shattered as the town was, distraught as the local people were, an essential kindness and generosity remained. And so it filtered across the county.
“I would say that the strength of the community here in Donegal — it is hard for me to compare it, but I can’t think of anywhere that it would be stronger,” says Worth, an Englishman who has been living and working in Donegal for 27 years.
“In good times, that’s a great thing. But in challenging times, they really do come together. It is part of the way this place works. It is — I know I’m an Englishman, to speak about Donegal like this — it is Ulster, but then it’s not Ulster. And it’s the Republic but it’s not the Republic. And I think that character and that streak of independence shows through. As a blow-in, I really love that. I think it is an amazing part of the way this place works.
“There are people in this club who have connections to other people who died in Creeslough. It is only 20 minutes away. And a lot of the kids there come to Letterkenny to school. One of my daughter’s classmates was lost. And I know of two other people in our club who have lost cousins. So, the interconnectedness of the Donegal community is hard to believe.”
A tragedy in Donegal
Ten lives have been lost and many more irrevocably changed by the tragic events that took place last Friday in the small village of Creeslough, County Donegal. Kitty Holland is there, meeting the people of the area. She talks to producer Aideen Finnegan.
On Sunday evening, a vast crowd came to a vigil in St Eunan’s cathedral. About 1,000 people attended the gathering at the GAA club in Downings and as darkness fell, other gatherings took place in towns across the county. When Monday came, people did their best to go through the motions of ordinary living. The national school opened in Creeslough. Driving through in the morning, Joe McHugh, TD for Donegal North-East, saw people gathering and talking; people hugging.
“The people in Creeslough will respond in their own way,” he says.
“They will grieve together and hurt together. And on the one hand they need space to do that. But at the same time, they need support.
“I think that people knew from early on things were going to be bad. I don’t know if people were preparing themselves but, because of the shock and suddenness I don’t think people, including myself, were fully appreciating what happened. It didn’t hit me until yesterday. As a parent of three kids who we were able to put out to school today, I was feeling grateful on one hand and hugging them. But also feeling guilty that there’s people who won’t be doing that.”
McHugh was born and bred in nearby Carrigart; this is his terrain. He explains the role Creeslough plays in the local dynamic: how the Lackagh bridge was the constituency dividing line until 2016; of old Gaelic football and boxing rivalries; how the creamery, across from the petrol station, has always been a stopping point for farmers from all over.
“And if you go to the creamery then you’ll get a call to go in and get a lotto ticket or milk in the [Applegreen] shop. It was where people met. You were guaranteed to meet someone there on a Friday afternoon.”
He heard a cry and cleared through bricks and rubble to mercifully free a young girl, trapped and injured, who he was able to carry across the ruined forecourt to her mother
McHugh was in the pharmacy in Carrigart when he got word that something had gone badly wrong in Creeslough. Like everyone, he drove there on Friday afternoon clueless as to the confrontational scale and violence of the disaster unfolding. He arrived on to a scene in which the normal, human concept of time had ceased to matter. The civilian response — instinctive, heedless of the perilous attendant dangers — was followed by the swift official emergency response. People worked through the night. Jason Black, an experienced elite mountaineer with emergency training, was one of those. He had been about to walk into the shop to meet his cousin Martina Martin, who worked there, when the explosion happened.
“It was quite normal, not thinking about anything and going about my business,” he says sitting forward in his chair in a hotel foyer on Monday afternoon.
“And then it was the most unimaginable sight. Everyone is just talking about this bang. For me, it was like a pop. It felt like the air was moving. And that is what lifted me off me feet. And then I could see the metal work and the canopy bending and I had this high-pitched ring in my head and ears. And I went from there to standing on my feet and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The debris was everywhere.”
He heard a cry and cleared through bricks and rubble to mercifully free a young girl, trapped and injured, who he was able to carry across the ruined forecourt to her mother. He returned and tried to find his cousin Martina who he knew to be in the collapsed building. He talks of the incredible instinct among the locals and the poise and organisation of the concerted rescue effort. Black was there until 7am on Saturday.
“We are local people; we all know each other. It was all hands on deck, and it was so powerful to watch a local community come together so quickly. There were local contractors running around the back with equipment to hold the rest of the building up. Everyone was so committed. But you are not fully in tune. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time.”
As light broke, it was clear that Martina had not made it out of the building. The owner of the nearby glamping site had made cabins available for families who required them. It was there, early on Saturday morning that he broke the news to his cousin’s family. They headed to his aunt’s house on Ramelton Road. And it was then that he allowed his mind and body to slow down to normal time.
“I didn’t even want to call in because I was distraught with exhaustion. You are doing more for someone you love. You are going over and above. Nancy is my Daddy’s sister. And I broke down myself, then. I said look, I’m sorry, I did everything I could. And I think everyone can hold their head high and say they did everything in their power in that moment in time with that short window we had to work with. It was just a tragic accident.”
As he spoke, his right ear was ringing. He is subdued and tired and like many, many people he knows he hasn’t fully absorbed what happened over the course of last weekend.
Yet, with no choice, people push on to get through this. Now Creeslough is preparing for a series of 10 heartbreaking funerals and goodbyes. The funeral of Jessica Gallagher, the young woman just starting out on a life in fashion design, takes place in St Michael’s on Tuesday at 11am, followed by Martin McGill at 2pm.
Despite the best preparatory efforts of the local and national health services, dealing with the longer consequences of such a profound tragedy will require countless delicate and painful steps over many months. Everybody kept saying there are “no words” to describe what happened. And it is true that words could not seem to measure up the immensity of the emotional and physical destruction caused by that blast.
But still the words came. It was all people had. And somehow, people found the right words, too. In many houses in this part of Donegal, the radio dial is left permanently on Highland. On Monday morning, Donna and Hugh Harper spoke with Greg Hughes on his daily local affairs show. It was one of the most powerful and painful evocations of the importance of local radio imaginable. Somehow, the Harpers managed to convey the absolute horror their family has endured since Friday afternoon while paying the most eloquent tribute to the unquenchable brightness of their girl.
They were full of thanks to all the local people who were at the scene in Creeslough on Friday, through the long unforgettable night. They thanked Leona’s many friends. They were full of sympathy and heartbreak for the other bereaved families. On a morning of intense sadness, their words spread an extraordinary warmth which will be needed now as autumn deepens in Donegal.
“You know, Greg, before you go ... we received so many messages,” Hugh said just as the interview was about to end.
“Prayers and thoughts, the vigils being held. These things in other people’s eyes might seem very small. But to us, it has been a huge support. I can’t thank people enough. I can’t put into words the words I feel or how I want it to come across. So basically, it’s a thank you to everybody. I have seen some firefighters there yesterday, one of them was down at a vigil at Letterkenny rugby club. They did tremendous work. They were there from the very start right to the very end. And again, thank you to everybody. I just can’t put it any other way.”
