Ireland's Dirty Laundry
Wounds Still Fresh For Thousands of
Women Enslaved by the Catholic

By Hilary Brown and Matt McGarry


                                            C O R K, Ireland, Jan. 26 — A sudden
                                            spate of TV exposés, docudramas and a
                                            major motion picture have brought to light
                                            one of the most shocking episodes in the
                                            history of the Catholic Church in Ireland —
                                            the existence of the now-notorious
                                            "Magdalene laundries," a sanctified form of


                                     Operated by the Sisters of the Magdalene Order, the
                                     laundries were virtual slave labor camps for generations
                                     of young girls thought to be unfit to live in Irish society. 

                                     Girls who had become pregnant, even from rape, girls
                                     who were illegitimate, or orphaned, or just plain
                                     simple-minded, girls who were too pretty and therefore
                                     in "moral danger" all ran the risk of being locked up and
                                     put to work, without pay, in profit-making, convent
                                     laundries, to "wash away their sins." 

                                     They were completely cut off from their families, and
                                     many lost touch with them forever. 

                                     Stripped of their identities, the girls were given numbers
                                     instead of names. They were forbidden to speak, except
                                     to pray. If they broke any rule or tried to escape, the nuns
                                     beat them over the head with heavy iron keys, put them
                 into solitary confinement or shipped them off to a mental hospital.

                 Over a period of 150 years, an estimated 30,000 women were forced into this brutal
                 penance, carried out in secret, behind high convent walls. 

                 Towards the end of the 20th century, the laundries began to close, as the power of the
                 Church in Ireland diminished and as social attitudes became less puritanical.
                 Incredibly, the last Magdalene laundry to shut down was in 1996. 

                 'We Were the Living Dead'

                 Mary Norris, 69, was committed to a convent laundry in Cork for two years. An
                 articulate, intelligent woman, she was transferred from an orphanage at age 15
                 because she was "disobedient." Her number was 30. 

                 On one occasion, she said, the nuns actually ordered the girls to pray for those held
                 in Soviet prison camps, a bitter irony, as she considers the convent laundries "an Irish

                 Though it was clearly very painful for her, she took us around the convent — now
                 abandoned — where she had suffered so much.

                 "In the winter, it was freezing cold, and in the summer, it was like the desert, it was so
                 hot with the steam," she said. "We were the living dead. We weren't treated as human
                 beings, as individuals. We were just part of the workforce. Nothing more, nothing

                 Guilt by Illegitimacy

                 Sadie Williams, 64, spent a total of four years in two different convent laundries. She
                 was 14 when she was virtually kidnapped by two women who had determined that
                 she was "in moral danger." Williams liked to take a walk in the evenings, after working
                 all day at a bed and breakfast in Dublin. She said the women considered her much
                 too attractive to stay out of trouble. 

                 She was only 14 when she ended up in a convent laundry outside town as "Number
                 100," and locked into a cell each night. She says she almost never saw daylight.

                 "Oh, it was dreadful," she said. "I cried and cried all the time, and kept asking why,
                 why wasn't I getting out. And I would write begging letters to my mother. When I finally
                 got out, she was already dead and buried three years. But I was never told, even
                 though I was writing, still writing letters to her." 

                 She has since learned that the nuns stopped all her mail. Her mother wasn't married,
                 so Sadie was considered to be guilty of the sin of illegitimacy.

                 No Apology 

                 There have been no direct reparations from the Irish Catholic Church to the tens of
                 thousands of women it used as slave labor. Nor has there been a formal apology. It's
                 not even known how many victims of the Magdalene laundries are still alive: they are
                 not organized, and many don't want to talk about this terrible part of their past.

                 Very few Churchmen in Ireland will comment on the scandal. An exception is Willie
                 Walsh, the Bishop of Killaloe. Over a cup of tea in his residence, he said that it is "a
                 source of pain and shame." 

                 "These girls were rejected by society, and the Church in some way thought it was
                 giving refuge to these girls," he says. "I suppose … the Magdalene laundries was in
                 some instances a form of slavery."

                 The Rev. Patrick O'Donovan is more outspoken.

                 "It's an appalling scandal," he says. "You could compare them to concentration
                 camps. … The nuns thought they were doing good. … They didn't realize the damage
                 they were doing." 

                 Mary Norris has campaigned to have a simple memorial built in the convent where
                 she was held. Thirty names are engraved on a simple headstone; dating from 1876
                 to 1973. Some women spent their entire lives in these institutions. Having been cut off
                 from their families, they had nowhere to go.

                 Norris says she no longer hates the nuns who oppressed her. "If I hated them," she
                 says, "they'd still be winning. They'd still have control over me."