Bones of Anonymous Children

It was 2014 when I first read about the bodies of almost 800 children who were buried in an old sewage tank in Tuam between 1925 and 1961 at a mother and baby home run by the Bon Secours nuns. The motto of the Congretation of the Sisters of Bon Secours is “Good help to those in need”. I had just come home from wandering around the ruins of the Great Pyramid of Cholula, which is still regarded as the largest (in volume) pyramid in the world. The monument was built in various stages between the 3rd century BC and the 9th century AD and was dedicated to Quetzalcoatl. However, after the arrival of the Toltecs, the pyramid was abandoned in favour of a new Quetzalcoatl temple-complex at what is now the Ex-Convento de San Gabriel. By the time the Spaniards arrived the great pyramid was overgrown and was referred to by the locals as the Tlachihualtepetl, the constructed hill or man-made mountain. This is what saved it from destruction. The massive and, crucially, still-functioning Quetzalcoatl temple was destroyed by the Spaniards and replaced with the San Gabriel structures. As the Tlachihualtepetl looked like a hill, it was spared demolition in favour of a church, dedicated to Our Lady of the Remedies, that was built on top. Of course, the festivities dedicated to Our Lady lined up perfectly with the Quetzalcoatl venerations that the locals used to perform (and, some still do) at the top of the pyramid/hill at the end of August. While wandering around the ruins I noticed a small plaque with information about a shrine dedicated to Tláloc, the rain god. Evidence suggests that small children were sacrificed at this shrine, presumably to appease the rain god. Reading about Tuam almost as soon as I got home from the monument led me to write a poem I called ‘Bones of Anonymous Children’. The poem contains a quote from a Fr. Fintan Monaghan, then-secretary for the Tuam archdiocese. I couldn’t get his words out of my head. While I agree that we need to be wary about judging different cultures and time periods using the standards and morals of our own, these children died in the 20th century and were flung into a communal grave. He chose not to condemn this. Monaghan’s words are marked in italics. I suppose he co-wrote the poem.

This week, in 2025, the excavation of the children at Tuam is finally beginning. It is important to remember that we have one person to thank for her courageous and diligent research, local historian Catherine Corless. You can read more about her work here.

The poem was included in Blood Oranges, a book that is virtually impossible to find anywhere these days. If you would like a pdf of Blood Oranges just send me a photo of your copy of Let the Dead and I’ll email you. You can hear me discussing the poem and reading it alongside other work from Blood Oranges here on the RTÉ Poetry Programme with Rick O’Shea. In this episode Philip Coleman reviewed both Blood Oranges and Jessica Traynor’s debut collection Liffey Swim. Though I didn’t know Jess at the time, she went on to work as editor on my next book, Let the Dead. Both a brilliant poet and editor, she has a new book coming out soon. Keep an eye out for New Arcana, more info here.

BONES OF ANONYMOUS CHILDREN

At the southwest corner of Tlachihualtepetl

the skeletal remains of two sacrificed children

were unearthed. There was evidence of cranial

irregularities— deformed babies skull-smashed

for ritual. Everyone knew the stainless

souls of the very young were the messengers

that Tláloc could never refuse. When rains

fell hard upon Cholulan farms it was clear the murder

of youngsters was a necessary horror. It made sense.

It had purpose. I suppose we can't really judge the past

from our point of view, from our lens. All we can do is mark

it appropriately and make sure there is a suitable place

here where people can come and remember the babies that died.

And so it is marked at the foot of arguably the largest

pyramid on the planet (church plonked atop)

and tourists can know the ancient evils of sacrifice.

A child asks a guide why the pyramid — with its trees

and grass and squirrels— looks still like a hillock.

He is told (and the adults listen too) how a proper

excavation would untangle the muscular roots

of millennial trees, upsetting the soils of gods

and men. An unholy mess. The spiritual and physical

constructs of all those years would come crashing

down around us. We’d never clean that up.

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