On the evening of September 5th., 1926, the small community of Dromcollogher, County Limerick, was filled with excitement. A temporary cinema had been set up in an upstairs loft above a timber yard. Dozens of locals, mostly children and young adults, crowded into the room, eager to watch The Decoy.
The atmosphere was festive, but the setup was dangerously fragile. A single candle illuminated the room, placed too close to a reel of nitrate film stock—a material as volatile as gunpowder. In a split second, a stray spark caught the film. A flash of white light ripped through the room as the celluloid exploded into an unstoppable inferno.
By the next morning, the village was changed forever. The fire had claimed 48 lives, wiping out roughly one-tenth of Dromcollogher’s entire population. The grief was so vast that 46 of the victims had to be buried together in a massive trench in the local churchyard.
For decades, a heavy, suffocating silence hung over Dromcollogher. If you walked through the village streets in the mid-20th century, you would rarely hear anyone mention the night the sky turned red. The tragedy of “The Burning” became a ghost that everyone knew was there, but no one dared to speak of.
This wall of silence was built from the raw bricks of unbearable trauma. The people of Dromcollogher were already emotionally exhausted. The country had just survived years of bloodshed from World War I, the War of Independence, and a bitter Civil War. The fire was a cruel, final blow to a community that had nothing left to give. For many, burying the memory was the only way to keep moving forward.
There was also the agonizing reality of living side-by-side with the tragedy. The fire had happened in a loft owned by Patrick Brennan, a well-known local man. Neighbours saw the grieving mothers every day when they passed Brennan’s shop. To speak the names of the dead out loud risked tearing open wounds that everyone was desperately trying to keep bound. Silence became a shield to protect one another.
So, Dromcollogher did what it knew how to do: it endured in silence. The site of the fire was boarded up, left as a dark, derelict scar in the centre of town for over twenty years, while a generation of survivors carried a grief too heavy for words.
When the Dromcollogher Memorial Library opened in 1953, the silence was broken forever. The building itself was a masterclass in architectural healing, designed to actively undo the terrors of that September night.
Instead of the cramped, suffocating rectangular loft that had become a trap, the architect built a striking, circular structure. Most powerfully, the building was wrapped in tall, narrow vertical windows
As the 100th anniversary of the disaster drew near, a heavy realization settled over Dromcollogher. The generation that had lived through the horror was gone, and outside the boundary walls of West Limerick, the tragedy of “The Burning” was quietly fading from national memory. To a group of passionate local volunteers, letting that happen was unthinkable. They banded together to form the Dromcollogher 26 committee, determined to pull the story of the 48 victims back into the light.
Led by chairman Gerry Keyes, the committee began their work, not in grand government offices, but at kitchen tables and in local halls. They launched a massive grassroots effort to commemorate the event. And the success of their efforts culminated on Saturday.
Exactly 100 years later, the quiet streets of Dromcollogher filled once again—this time in solemn remembrance. On September 5th, 2026, the community gathered at St Bartholomew’s Church for a State commemoration to immortalise the victims.
With the Taoiseach and local leaders in attendance, the air was thick with emotion as the names of all 48 victims were read aloud into the quiet afternoon. A community choir sang in tribute, ensuring that a century after the smoke cleared, the lives cut short in the loft cinema are still deeply remembered by the town they left behind.
Over nine hundred people from the locality, across the country and overseas sat as Bryan Dobson, acting as MC, formally introduced each of the State speakers, Local Minister for Tourism, Culture, Arts, Gaeltacht, Sport and Media of Ireland, Patrick O’Donovan, Limerick City and County Lord Mayor, John Moran, and an Taoiseach Micheál Martin.
When Minister Patrick O’Donovan stepped up to the podium, he wasn’t just speaking as a government representative—he was a local Limerick man standing before a community that had carried a century-old weight. “I am very proud to host this special commemoration to mark the centenary of one of the most tragic events in the history of Limerick but also the State. I extend my sincere thanks to all those who made this event possible.” He added “The loss from the events of 5th September 1926, has resonated for decades beyond 1926. It is not a thing of history, forgotten and resigned to irrelevance and dust. No, it is a thing of today, it lives among us still.”
Mayor John Moran spoke of the success of the commemoration “The community choir and ‘Finding our Voice’, part of the Dromcollogher Centenary Comme-morative Programme, have given local people a way to express that loss—something their grand-parents and great-grand-parents could scarcely face. That act of remem-brance takes courage: to sing about it, to write about it, to speak of it aloud after a century of silence; and to mark not just the lives lost, but the contributions each made during their time on earth.” He expressed his thanks to all involved, locally and at government level.
Taoiseach Micheál Martin concluded his speech by saying “There is an important lesson to take from the disaster, I believe, and that is on the fragility and preciousness of life. The fire was a terrible accident, with a candle knocked over in the worst possible place. It could have happened at any similar gathering at that time.
“A century on, I am honoured to join this community as it remembers those who lost their lives on one of the darkest days in the history of the State.”
When the focus shifted to the towering Celtic cross, the limestone giant that stood over the mass grave of the forty-six souls buried together, Taoiseach Micheál Martin and Minister O’Donovan stepped forward in unison. Together, they laid a large, formal State wreath at the base of the monument, stepping back into a profound, heavy one-minute silence that seemed to stretch back through the entire century.
The silence was finally pierced by the sharp, mournful notes of a military bugle playing the Last Post. Rev Fr Paschal Hanrahan, the Head Chaplain of the Irish Defence Forces, standing in the shadow of the church where forty-six of the victims lay, led the collective prayers of remembrance for the gathered crowd.
After the ceremony, people were invited to go to a large marquee for refreshments. The tent was filled with the warm, comforting aroma of steaming kettles and freshly brewed tea. Long tables groaned under the weight of sandwiches, scones, and home-baked cakes, all painstakingly prepared by local volunteers. It was a traditional Irish gathering on a grand scale, hosted entirely by the people of Dromcollogher who opened their arms to neighbours, descendants, and visiting dignitaries alike.
Local Councillor Jerome Scanlon told me of his pride in being part of the event. “I was born here in Dromcollogher. I started school here in the late 1950s, and while the fire wasn’t spoken about, I was very well aware of the loss of life every time I passed the library. But we must remember that on those days, there was no counselling available to people. It was tough. There were households that lost four or more members of the family. So, this is a very appropriate day and thank God for wonderful weather and the hard-working committee who made this happen.”
Mayor John Moran spoke to me as he stood in the parklet of the library. “This is an emotional day for everybody, including me. I always saw this garden as something that keeps bringing people together in a community, in a way that they can’t forget. This was an event that wasn’t even in my consciousness, even though my family are from Athea, because people weren’t talking about it. But now, they do want to talk about it and remember. I just spoke to a family who are here from Wales, looking at the names. The emotion is very real. I can imagine children coming into this library, sitting on these benches and teachers reading stories, bringing joy back which is always part of the healing process”
Minister Patrick O’Dono-van praised the community for its efforts. “I think they’ve really come together in the last year as a community to put these events together with the department” he told me. “I’m delighted for them, they deserve it.” As one of his first projects when taking up the new ministry, he was happy to host the event. “It turned out well” he said, happily.
One hundred years ago, the Seargeant was James Long. Drawing on his experience as a Great War stretcher-bearer, he became a central figure in the frantic rescue efforts. I was honoured to meet his daughter, Anne Healy, (86) who had travelled from Ennis with her son-in-law for the event. “This commemoration honours the memory of all those who lost their lives and were affected by the terrible events of that fateful night 100 years ago. What should have been an evening of excitement and enjoyment ended in utter tragedy. The fire affected all who were there that night in different ways, but for most, their way of coping in the aftermath was to avoid talking about it. That included my own dad, and I’ve only very recently come to learn of the extent of the role he played in trying to save as many lives as he could that night. After generations of trauma buried deep, I sincerely hope that today’s commemoration will be the point at which that silence firmly and finally ends,” she stated. She also admitted to finding the event very emotional, even though she wasn’t born until 1940. She was very aware of her late father’s involvement.
Former TD and local man, John Cregan spoke to me. “Today, we saw a magnificent occasion hosting by the state, and when the state gets involved, there’s no half measures. It’s been incredible. Even the rain stayed off” he said. “Today was a very fitting and poignant remembrance of the massive loss of life that occurred here in this town. I was born and grew up right across the road from the site of the fire and there was never any talk about it, not at home or in school. People kept that grief inside and the community felt that it was time to let all that grief go and remember the people who died in a fitting way. There are many more events that will happen and now the book has been written so people can read for themselves what actually happened. A tree has been planted to the memory of each of the forty-eight victims and a beautiful memorial walk has been developed by the local committee also. This will be central, in particular to the relatives of those who lost their lives.”
Janet O’Flynn from Limerick city told me that her great grandfather, Partick O’Donnell, was part of the rescue effort on the night of the tragedy. “He went back in looking for his daughter, my grandmother, Mary O’Flynn, and his wife. He didn’t know that they had already escaped the fire. He helped a lot of people but unfortunately perished himself” she said. She wore a broach that belon-ged to her grandmother. She also found the occasion very emotional.
Deliliah Shine, part of the Dromcollogher 26 committee, spoke to me about her delight at the success of the event. “We’re honoured by this state event, and grateful for everything they provided. It’s been a very emotional day for all of us”
While the dignitaries and television cameras took their places under the midday sun, the true heroes of the centenary stood quietly in the back-ground—the ordinary men and women of the Dromcollogher 26 com-mittee. Long before the State ever arrived, the committee members, led by chairman Gerry Keyes, were doing the quiet, painstaking work of historical rescue. Because of the committee’s relen-tless work and dedication, the weekend was trans-formed into a profound State commemoration of national significance. They were the architects behind every detail: they secured the official An Post stamp, brought the Taoiseach to the mass grave, and built the massive marquee where families could finally drink tea and heal together. The politicians may have delivered the speeches, but it was the Dromcollogher 26 committee who gave the village its voice back, ensuring the 48 souls of 1926 were finally given their permanent, rightful place in the heart of Ireland.
Congratulations to each and everyone who was involved in this momentous occasion. The events of that fateful night will now be part of our history, never to be forgotten.