Columban Priests Martyred in South Korea

[Fr. Thomas Koller]

I MET THEM IN JAIL
By Lieutenant Alexander Makarounis (The Irish Far East: May 1951)

I imagine it would have been a satisfying experience to meet the Columban Fathers at work in Korea during the time of peace; we met them during a war — in jail — and still we will never forget them.

I was with an Infantry group that landed in Korea, shipped from Okinawa in July of last year — in the early days of "police action” there. Almost immediately after our arrival, we contacted the enemy. Outnumbered, pinned-down in a rice-paddy by mortar and machine-gun fire, our battalion suffered serious reverses. Many were killed; many were wounded many survivors were made prisoners.

In that action, I was wounded by machine-gun fire and taken prisoner. However, some time after our capture, three of us, Corporal Wilson from Detroit, Pfc. Shaffron from Pennsylvania and myself managed to escape during an air raid. We wandered aimlessly for days and then, on the verge of collapse, we again fell into tho hands of the enemy. It was early in August, 1950.

After about three harrowing weeks during which I seesawed between here and the hereafter, we were held in the city of Kwangyang where the soldiers with me were badly treated and deprived of their shoes, Our food during those days nothing more than a hard ball of rice early in the morning and another after sunset. Then the three of us were taken south to the town of Kwangju.

This is a good-sized city by Korean standards, but only the main streets were paved; the houses are small, and there are no stores such as we know them. We were taken to the jail — a large sprawling low building, set back from the road, with a large courtyard in front. It was dark when we arrived. We were marched in and brought to a cell.

There were heavy iron doors on the row of cells which we saw dimly in the gloom. One of these doors was opened and we were motioned to go in. We could tell by the movement inside that someone was there already, but this cell didn't seem as crowded

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as the others. Then the iron door creaked shut behind us. The lock snapped tight.

We stumbled around in the darkness. Then a friendly, you might even say fatherly voice said, "Everything is okay Mac; we’ll talk about it in the morning.” Within the next few minutes, our eyes got accustomed to the darkness a little, and we saw that there were four others in the cell, the man who spoke was Monsignor Patrick Brennan, a Columban Missionary. With him were two other Columbans, Fathers Thomas Cusack and John O'Brien. The fourth was a South Korean police official.

It was a cold night, for August, and there were no blankets for us in the cell. There were only three blankets in all, but these were immediately shared with us by the missionaries. It was the first of many acts of kindness and consideration the priests were to show us during the dreadful days we were to go through. The following morning, at sun-up, we introduced ourselves properly to our follow prisoners. We learned that Monsignor Brennan was from Chicago, where, he told us with a smile, looking around the narrow, bleak walls of the cell, he had spent eight years in some of the swankiest parishes. Fathers Cusack and O'Brien were from Ireland.

Monsignor Brennan told us that he was used to being a Jailbird — this was his second "trip." He and Father Cusack had been held prisoners by the Japanese during world War II. The Monsignor had been interned for six mouths before he was repatriated to the States on the SS. Gripsholm. He immediately became an Army chaplain and served in Europe. Father Cusack wasn't so lucky. He spent three-and-a-half years in jail! He passed the time learning to read and speak Korean and could now do both with ease.

Father John O’Brien was a new-comer to Korea, so this was his first “offense.”

After we had finished telling the priests how we had been captured, they told us their own adventures. They were taken prisoners in the city of Mokpo, a harbor-city on the southwest coast of Korea. This is where Monsignor Brennan made his headquarters and where Father Cusack was pastor.

In the early days of the Invasion of southern Korea by the communist armies, the American Consul gave the missionaries the opportunity to be evacuated either by land or by water, but they declined his offer with thanks, preferring to remain with their

parishioners.

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When the Reds entered Mokpo, they didn't take the missionaries into custody immediately. When they did so, the priests thought they would be killed on the spot. However, they were placed under guard and removed to the jail here in Kwangju.

On their arrival here, they were separated for a time and questioned individually, being accused of everything you can think of, including being spies for the enemies of the communists. They told us we would go through the same thing, and we did, being forced to sign phony confessions.

When we first met the priests, they had been prisoners for about five weeks. As the meals consisted of only a small bowl of barley with a small slice of pickled turnip, the priests had all lost a great deal of weight.

Monsignor Brennan and Father Cusack were wearing black trousers and black shoes. The Monsignor had on a black shirt; Father Cusack had a blue one. They also had their collars and cassocks. Father 0'Brien was all in white; he had white trousers, a white T-shirt and a white cassock. They kept their cassocks rolled up and out of the way most of the time — I guess they didn't want to lose them.

It would be hard to tell you just what these men did for our morale — they boosted it by at least 500 per cent! Monsignor, for instance, would stand at the cell window and listen to the birds chirping merrily outside, then he'd turn and cheer us up by telling us a singing bird was a messenger of hope.

At other times, he’d encourage Father O’Brien to sing us a song and do one of his Irish jigs. Father O'Brien had a good voice and the way he sang "Far Away Places," sort of made you forget you were cooped up in a prison cell and sent your thoughts flying back home.

Each day, U.K. planes flow over Kwangju, strafing and bombing this North Korean stronghold. At the times of those raids, I could see the lips of the missionaries moving in prayer and, although we could hear the crashing of bombs all around, we came through without a scratch.

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On the second day we were there, the South Korean police official was taken out of our cell. We don't know what happened to him. This gave us a little more room in the cell which was about 11 feet long and 10 feet wide. In one corner of tho cell was a water faucet that we could use twice a day.

One day, we three soldiers ware taken out and brought to n little church which the Reds were using as a headquarters. After questioning us, they told us they were sending us to a prisoner-of-war camp in Seoul. They put us on a broken-down truck, and us were happy to find that the priests were going with us — along with other prisoners who made thirty-two altogether.

Among those were two more G.I.’s, Privates Steger and Miller.

In preparation for the journey, the priests' hands were tied with ropes. The hands of the military people were fastened with hand-irons and ropes. We traveled only at night to escape allied bombers, and spent the days in jails along the way. On the second and following nights, the Fathers' hands were untied.

We were on this truck three nights straight and then, when we ware approaching the city of Taejon, the truck broke down for good. We were told to get off and walk. Father Cusack, who knew this part of the country well, told us we were about seven miles outside the city.

What a seven miles! Privates Stager and Miller did not have shoes, and their feet were soon badly cut by the sharp stones on the road. The guards set a fast pace, too fast for men who were exhausted from wounds and malnutrition. However, the guns pointing at us told us we must keep up with the pack.

Monsignor Brennan and myself found it most difficult of all. He was the oldest, and his strength was gone. My wounds made walking a torture. They asked the guards to slacken off the pace a little, but they refused. The Monsignor, thinking more of me than himself, he was puffing with over-exertion, told me to take it easy — to fall down and rest. Father Cusack overheard him; he told me to do no such thing because he had heard the guards saying in Korean that they would shoot anyone who did. Then Father O'Brien helped me along, and Father Cusack lent a hand to Monsignor Brennan. It was a sad procession!

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As we approached a river and could see the city of Taejon about a mile away. We had to cross a bridge. It was now daylight — about 8 a.m. Suddenly a flight of U.N. light bombers appeared overhead, and we all scattered for cover under the bridge where piled rocks led down to the water. I was so exhausted that I guess I blacked-out for a moment when I hit the ground. Monsignor Brennan must have done the same because he began to slide down the rocks into the water. Father O'Brien reached out just in time and pulled him back. We lay there panting for breath for about ten minutes; it was a welcome relief.

Then the planes were gone, and we were reassembled on the road. The guards saw that Monsignor Brennan and myself were in bad shape and would never be able to make it into Taejon at the pace set. They told us to fall out; I thought then was the end. I could see the Monsignor's lips moving as he prayed. But they didn't shoot us; instead, the guard motioned with his gun that we could walk slower — the others continued on ahead.

We were reunited in the city of Taejon where we were put in a small building, but not before we were made to sit out in the open for about 30 minutes while a Korean with a small camera took pictures of us. We were then put on display for about two hours while hundreds of North Koreans, army people and others, came in to look at us.

When we could keep our eyes open no longer, we all fell fast asleep from sheer exhaustion. About noon, a Korean came in, woke up us five soldiers and took us out to another building where we met close to a hundred other U.N. prisoners. We never did get a chance to say goodbye to the missionaries. They were sitting down on the floor when we were taken out. Eventually we soldiers were moved north towards the Red capital of Pyongyang.

For us, the story of the missionaries ends in tho prison of Taejon. We do not know what happened after we were taken from the cell. But wherever they are, I shall always remember them for the comfort, cheerfulness, kindness and courage they somehow communicated to us when they were no better off themselves.