Today, An Post celebrates the centenary of Hugh O’Flaherty’s ordination by launching a commemorative stamp in his honour. Fittingly, given the motto of the Kerry priest and anti- Nazi activist – “God has no country” - the stamp is for worldwide post.
Born in 1898, Hugh was raised in Killarney. After ordination, he moved at the age of 28 to the Vatican where he acquired three doctorates. September 1943 to June 1944 saw the Nazi occupation of Rome.
With friends including Irish folk singer Delia Murphy and British ambassador D’Arcy Osborne, he assembled a network of activists that hid thousands of fugitives, including many escaped Allied prisoners of war. He died in 1963 and is buried in Cahersiveen. His amazing story of solidarity lives on.
A keen letter writer, Hugh would be tickled, I think, by the fact that the image of his face has ended up on a stamp. As a modest, scholarly man who spoke rarely about his wartime heroism, he might also have blushed a little.
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I was fortunate to read his own surviving letters when researching my novels about him, My Father’s House and The Ghosts of Rome. His writing reveals a likable, witty, sometimes tetchy, watchful person with a remarkable gift for friendship.
Kerry is close to his heart; he relishes news from home. On other occasions, he displays sharp insights into the labyrinth of Vatican politics. His letters reveal a strong liking for the classic films of his era, as well as for his beloved sports.
Letters played a part in leading him into activism. Appointed a Vatican visitor to the Fascist prison camps around Italy, he gave writing materials to prisoners, defying the guards. Stories of Black and Tan atrocities were part of his Kerry inheritance, but he assisted British soldiers among Allied prisoners of war from many nations.
[ Msgr Hugh O’Flaherty, the most remarkable Irish cleric you’ve never heard ofOpens in new window ]
Soon he was smuggling out letters from POWs to loved ones back at home. The neutral Dublin government was unhappy. A Department of External Affairs memo refers to Hugh behaving “like a postman”. But these letters were hugely important in a world without reliable communications. Often, they were the only indication that the sender was alive.
Researching my Escape Line novels in London’s Imperial War Museum I read a letter written by a British soldier, one of the thousands who liberated Rome, describing the Sistine Chapel ceremony for the armies of freedom. “We awaited the pope’s arrival, but subtly the Yank Press photographers edged near the door. `Hold that, your Holiness, till I gotcha in focus.’ Pius shot from the scene.”
Often, wartime letters brought darker tidings.
The memoir of Hugh’s friend and Escape Line comrade Sam Derry includes a devastating letter from “a Scottish boy”, addressed to the boy’s parents.
“Dear Mother, Father and Family. This is the last letter I will be able to write as I get shot today. I hope this war will be over soon so that you will all have peace forever. Goodbye. Your ever loving soldier, son and brother, Willie.”
Another heartbreaking letter was written by Leslie Butler, from Rathmines, who joined the RAF. In May 1941 he wrote to his parents. Seventeen days later, his plane was shot down over Malta and Leslie was killed. He was 25.
Even the briefest extract from his previously unpublished letter is heartbreaking. “ ‘My dearest Mammy & Daddy, If and when you read these lines, it will mean that I’ve passed on, and I feel at this time that I cannot leave this world without expressing my thoughts to you. There is no doubt that when I think of this war rationally, I give up hope for the world. But always at the back of my mind, there is a blind faith in God’s power to put things right when the time is right, and it is this feeling that has helped me to carry on.
“Before the war started, I was as much a pacifist as anyone can be. I had no use for war, as it is a filthy and wrong thing, but once it started, pacifism had lost its point for the time being, and until freedom could be restored to the world again, war had to be waged in its worst form.
“I have been one of the extremely lucky sons in this world, as I have had a wonderful Mother and Father whose love and generosity has always, and ever will be, treasured by me. Your loving son, Leslie.”
This year, when I post a letter or a Christmas card with the Hugh O’Flaherty stamp, I’ll remember not only the brave man whose portrait appears on it but Leslie Butler’s family too and those who gave everything.
And the frightened, hungry fugitives who were saved by Hugh’s courage, aided by thousands of unknown Roman women and men who risked their lives to help. His life is a reminder that, in a troubled, divided era, we can all do something. Often, more than we think.
Joseph O’Connor’s novels My Father’s House and The Ghosts of Rome, featuring Hugh O’Flaherty are published by Harvill.
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