Ten Years Ago — Patriot Priest's Tragic End — Crozier's Memoirs of Murder of Father Griffin

Paper???? 6th, December, 1930

Ten years ago last month the saintly priest and patriot Father Griffin was taken from his home in Galway and brutally murdered by English thugs and buried in a lonely bog near Barna.

Brigadier General Crozier refers to the murder in his memoirs and Mary F. McWhorter writing in last weeks "Irish World" (New York) makes comment on the terrible deed. She states.

The murder of Father Griffin, R.I.P. mentioned in Crozier's memoirs) brought to mind a visit I made recently to the monument erected to his memory at the lonely crossroads of Barna, Galway. They will tell you in Galway that this young priest was only interested in the fate of the young boys with whom he came in contact. He wanted them to grow up in the pattern of the young heroes of the old — he devoted his life to their wellbeing and encouraged them to love Ireland; and, I suppose, incidentally, he urged them to fight for her. For this he became a marked man and his life eventually paid the penalty.

After describing the shooting of Father Griffin, as the story was told to her, the writer goes on: —

Still later, word came from some boys who were "on the run" up on the hills a short distance from the Barna crossroads that they noticed the lights of a lorry here and had come down next morning to see what it was about. They could discover nothing, but the earth was trampled on quite a bit.

When word came to them that their beloved Father Griffin was missing, they came down the hills again in the dead of the night and dug up the ground that had been trampled on. Digging down they found his hat — later they came to the body. The face was beautiful and fresh looking. The bog land had kept it well preserved. I heard this tragic story while gazing on the monument which his Maynooth class mates erected to his memory. The little old "out house" up on the side of the hill was pointed out to me where his dear body lay the rest of the night, waiting for the dawn, then it was taken to Galway on a little donkey cart.

Oh it was a touching story of the life and death of this devoted young priest that I listened to, made all the more realistic because I was standing on the spot where his body was found, my eyes roving from the little "out house" to the rock covered hills where the boys "on the run" witnessed, all unknowing, his putting away by the butchers who killed him. I could, see too, the little donkey cart with its tragic burden.

It was found that he was shot through the head — a most brutal and wanton murder of one of God's anointed.