Three airmen remembered on the broad Galtee mountain slopes

They say that photographs are a reminder of everything which is beyond the power of words.

Last Saturday and Sunday I watched as family and friends of the three men who died when a small plane crashed on the Galtee mountains fifty years ago, took thousands of photos over two days. I hope that in years to come these photos will be taken out and shown on some computer to bring back happy and some sad memories to people who were there.

We came together to remember but also to renew old friendships and make new ones. Handshakes and smiles, warm greetings, friendly hugs that you know brought a tear to eyes; we didn’t want to let go.

Saturday morning early, I met my friends Tom, Marie, Liz, Claire, Dylan, Neville Murphy from Rescue 117, Ray, John from Carlow, and Mark. As a former member of a Mountain Rescue team, I have lots of friends I can call on if I need assistance (never I hope), or to just go for a walk with. These were the men and women who were going to look after the family and friends walking into the crash site. For many, it was their very first time being on the Galtees.

Up the Black Road at 10am, 37 people in in total, heading into the heart of the Galtees. Slow and steady, step by step we climbed until we reached the bog above Lough Boreen. The sky was a beautiful shade of blue with clouds like pillows scattered around it, a perfect day to be up high. Phones out from every bag and pocket. Some were so taken by the beauty of this place, it was hard to move them on. But onwards and up we climbed slowly over the shoulder, then down to the crash site. Like John Fox, whose sheep were grazing the mountain side all around us, I had been here on many occasions over the last forty or so years. John and his late father Ned before him had been so helpfull in the days previous, he took a day off and joined us on the walk (to make sure we didn’t get lost, and to count a few sheep).

We sat and listened to the wind coming over the top of the ridge, talking quietly about what had happened. This was more than a walk into the crash site. For some it was a journey back to pain-filled days and nights, memories of what should have been and never was. We stood in silence broken only by a plane in the distant blue sky, a reminder of the men for whom flying was their passion. Jimmy Byrne, Dick O’Reilly and Tom Gannon have made this spot their own, a little part of the midlands in Tipperary.

After an hour it was time to head back down, but we promised we would return. Back down the same way but now a little quieter. We had been to a very special place and we knew it. Two more hours and we were back at the cars and on our way to Burncourt Community Centre for well earned cup’s of Barry’s Tea and beautiful sandwiches, buns cake and a wonderful welcome for everyone. Thanks to Margaret Fox for arranging.

Sunday morning was bright and still with that blue sky over the Galtees, not a cloud to block the Sun. At 11am, people started to walk up to the memorial stone that had been erected twenty years before in 2006. Two mountain rescue Land Rovers were there to help ferry people that couldn’t walk. Local man John Kearney and his son Kealan had their 4x4 to help as well. John Fox was back along with locals including Jer O’Brien, Sean Crotty, John Maher, and Patsy King. At 12pm I welcomed everyone. As I looked at the faces many from the day before, I retold the history from 20 years ago when the memorial was erected by Jimmy Mitchel, Ted McGeoey, Seamus Delaney, Christopher Barry (my 13 year old son) and myself, Jimmy Barry. I told of how it had been driven from Longford in a Station Wagon and then with a lot of care, taken up the Black Road in the back of a Mountain Rescue Land Rover.

James Byrne then addressed the large crowd. I could never do his speech justice, but he had all of us hanging on his every word. He spoke about growing up without his dad, how they had taken that awful decision to sell of their dairy cows and start again. How life had change for them and all the families. But also about the good had come from tragedy when a Mountain Rescue team was formed the year after the crash, and all the people they had helped over the years. He thanked everyone that had helped in any way organising this weekend, and spoke with his own sons and wife by his side, who in time will climb these Galtee slopes and remember this day and their grandad, and again take lots of photos.

Mary Byrne recited the poem High Flight. Fr Tomas O’Connell said a prayer and gave a blessing, and a wreath was placed by Tom Casey from the local walking club. That same wreath was placed on the grave of James Byrne in Abbeyshrule later that day.

It was then I got a surprise, as at the back of the large crowd I spotted my son Christopher. It had been 20 years since we had both stood on this spot. With him was his daughter Ciara, his wife Joanne, and my own wife Helen, another family photo opportunity. Tears and hugs were the order of the day, it was as if the place and the occasion was holding on to us.

Old friends from Abbeyshrule chatted and told stories about starting up the Aeroclub. Pat Gibbons and Ray Jordan (now in his 90s) held court with everyone wanting to shake hands or get a photo with them. At some stage, Ray was even seen taking a test drive in a Mountain Rescue Land Rover, and he behind the wheel.

After an hour or so people had all the photos taken, and Land rovers turned and were ready to load up with their precious cargo. We lingered but as we dragged ourselves away a silent promise was made: “we will be back’.

Forty minutes down to the carpark, and then one of the highlights of the day for me. Irene McGeoey stopped me as i drove down and handed me her phone: “my mum Betty wants a word with you”.

Stuck for words I was, but not Betty. She wished she could have been there, but she had “sent her daughters” instead. She asked how did the weekend go and was everyone down safe. We spoke of Teddy and how happy he was twenty years ago bringing the stone down from Longford. and all the work before and on the Saturday we had erected it. I could have sat in my car and spoken to Betty or listened to her for hours, but the people in the other cars stuck behind wanted tea. We said our goodbyes, a wonderful memory I will treasure for ever.

Back to the Community Centre in Burncourt the large crowd headed. Like clockwork everything was ready. This well-oiled crew had gallons of tea and coffee at the ready. Apple tart and cream was a little extra today, every kind of sandwich, and plenty of buns again: a welcome fit for a king.

This day deserved a song, and here there is only one song to sing. Sean Crotty gave a beautiful rendition of The Galtee Mountain Boy. More photos, and then time to say “farewell to Tipperary” for the people who had travelled from far and wide to be here.

This weekend will live long in the memory of the people that were there. Over the next few years the photos will be looked at, smiled at and even a tear shed. A line from another song came to mind.: “Now I understand why old men cry”