Frank Canavan was born in 1915 in Headford, Co Galway, the eighth child in a family of nine. His older brother Liam was a priest in Sydney Archdiocese until his death in 1968.
Frank joined the Columbans in 1934 and his parish priest Fr Andy Moran in a letter of recommendation noted that Frank was “not of the robust kind or very strong… is quiet and conducts himself well, steadfast I should say, very tenacious and persevering.” He ended the letter with the rather prophetic words “his piety and character will pull him through where strong men would fail.”
Ordained in 1940 but unable to go overseas due to the War, he worked at Kinvara parish in the diocese of Galway until July 1948 when he was appointed to Jungrim Dong parish in Chuncheon city, Korea. His immediate task was to learn the language, get to know the culture and parish life.
In letters home he described visiting families and taking off one’s shoes, sitting on the floor etc.
In one letter to his mother in June 1949 he made reference to the danger of a Russian invasion, writing, “It has been decided that the priests in Korea will remain in their posts if anything happens and that is the only course to adopt.” In that same letter he jokes with his mother about becoming a martyr and suggests that she could profit by cutting up his old coat and selling the strips as relics!
On the forenoon of Sunday 25th June 1950 in Chuncheon the sound of gunfire was heard. There were regular skirmishes in the border area between the two parts of Korea but this time it seemed to be more serious. That afternoon Columban Philip Crosbie arrived from his parish at Hongchon to discuss the situation. That same evening the American adviser to the South Korean forces in the province of Kangwondo came to advise the priests to flee. Tom Quinlan, the superior, stated he was staying but suggested to Frank that he leave, pointing out that Frank was still a language student with no official pastoral responsibility. Frank said, “I want to stay”.
Phil Crosbie later wrote how Frank Canavan called him aside to talk. He had decided to stay – his reason for consulting Phil had been to confirm his decision. Phil wrote “And so he stayed. As I trudged back to Hongchon that day the image that had flickered in and out of my mind of a small man, with a smile in his eyes and peace in his heart, turning his face to a gathering storm.”
Over the next week, as their church was destroyed by shells, Tom Quinlan and Frank Canavan spent their time trying to put out fires.
On 2nd July both were arrested by North Korean soldiers, transferred to Seoul and then to an internment camp in the north of the country. On the 31st of October , 700 prisoners were ordered to march out and so began the infamous “Death March” over mountains in freezing weather where prisoners had to sleep in the open with no adequate dress or food.
They marched 100 miles in nine days during which some 98 people died. Frank contracted pneumonia during the march and on December 4th he told Tom Quinlan, “I will be having Christmas dinner in Heaven.”
He died on the 6th December 1950, the feast of St Nicholas, patron saint of Galway Diocese, to whom he had a great devotion. He was buried where he died.
Monsignor Quinlan later wrote, “Frank Canavan could not be called a robust man, but in Chuncheon, under fire, he displayed heroic courage and on the long march helped the sick and the old who could not keep up with others. No words of mine could sufficiently extol his priestly virtues.” (Far East August 1953)
Today a granite Celtic cross with his name stands over an empty grave in the burial plot behind the cathedral in Chuncheon.
Revered as a martyr because he choose to stay with the people and lost his life, that empty grave lies beside the graves of his three Columban martyr confreres Tony Collier, Paddy Reilly and Jim Maginn.
Every Sunday throughout the Diocese at the beginning of Mass the people offer a prayer for the beatification of the Columban Martyrs.
FAR EAST Nov. 2017 by DONAL O’KEEFFE
ARREST IN KOREA
By the Right Rev. Monsignor Quinlan (Far East June 1953)
The invasion of South Korea by the North Korean army began at 4 a.m. on Sunday, June 25, 1950. Our mission headquarters in Kangwondo was only twelve miles from the border. During the 6 o’clock Mass we could hear the sound of guns; before the last Mass and Benediction were over at 11 o’clock the sounds had grown considerably louder. We thought at the time that it was just another of the Northern raids, and the radio had not yet given news of the general attack over the whole line.
Fathers Hayward and Burke
Father Hayward and Father Patrick Burke had business in Seoul. I told them to go ahead and tend to it. They were to return on Tuesday and little they or we thought that on Monday the road back would be cut off by a strong, well equipped Red army. Father Frank Canavan and I wished them a good journey and jokingly told them not to let the Reds get them. Then we settled down to catechism classes, examination and instruction of catechumens, and other routine Sunday classes.
By 6 p.m. the radio carried the news of the invasion over the 38th line at all points. The townspeople grew uneasy and many began to flee by train and truck to Seoul.
Father Tony Collier was stationed in a new mission in another part of the town. He visited us on Sunday evening and told us that a few Koreans near his mission had been wounded by stray bullets and that he had given them first-aid treatment. His mission was overlooking the bridge which spanned the river between the city and the oncoming Red army. I thought severe fighting would occur around the bridge and I asked Father Tony if it would not be better to abandon his mission and come to ours, which was a good distance away from the bridge. I shall never forget his answer. “I would prefer to stay with my own Christians. Short of a direct hit by a shell I shall be safe in the residence and I may be able to help my people if the Reds capture the city. I’ll be seeing you,” he replied, and returned to his mission.
That was the last time I saw dear Father Tony, and not until I returned to Ireland was I to learn the story of his death.
In this, the first of three articles on his war-time experience in Korea, Monsignor Quinlan tells of the battle for Chuncheon and his own and Father Quinlan’s arrest. An incident leads him to believe that Father Collier had been shot, though he had to wait until his return to Ireland last April for confirmation of the fact.
“We Shot an American”.
But an incident on Thursday, June 29, made me uneasy for him. An officer was looking at the new church building as I came up for Mass. He covered me with his rifle and asked my nationality. I told him, and my Chinese contractor assured him, that I was Irish. “We shot an American in town the day we arrived here,” he said. “But there were no Americans here,” I told him, “where was the man you shot?” “Up there,” he replied, pointing in the direction of Father Tony’s church. For us priests to go on the street would have meant certain death and I had to be content with asking some Catholic women to try to get to Father Collier’s church. They made the attempt but were turned back.
Later another Korean officer called. I told him of my fears for Father Tony and asked him to take me to his mission. He refused, but promised to go and see and come back to let me know. He went away but never returned. Next evening (July 1) I got in touch with a local communist who had a pass from the Red army and could go about the town as he liked. He promised to return next morning, but when the morning came we had been arrested.
Citizens Flee from Chuncheon
I return now to the events of that first Sunday evening.
By 10 p.m. the sound of the guns was very near and the occasional shell was reaching the outskirts of the town. On Monday morning the exodus of the townspeople was in full swing; people with bundles on their heads, in their hands, people leading or carrying children, old people, young people – they went by the main road to the south, over by-roads, over the hills and away from us. By noon most of the 60,000 inhabitants had fled. I think not more than 500 people were in the town on Monday evening.
To Go, or Stay?
On Monday afternoon Major Hogge, The U.S. military adviser to the South Korean forces in the town, called to see us. He told us he was leaving and going south to Wonju, and offered to take us with him. I asked if he knew what was the United States policy towards the invasion. (If the United States was going to take a hand, I thought, the invasion would be rolled back soon; and in that case we would have gone with Major Hogge.) He told me that he did not know. Then I replied, “We shall stay. Our place is here with our Christians.”
I turned to Father Canavan and said to him, “Father Frank, what do you want to do? You have no charge of souls here, no district for which you are responsible. You are free to go, and if you want to go I shall give you my blessing and think as much of you as if you stayed.” He thought for a minute or so, and then he replied, “If you will allow me, I should like to stay here with you to help. I can hear confessions.” “ Father,” I replied,” this may be final for all of us. We shall not have an easy time with the Reds and may even lose our lives. If you want to go, this is your last chance.” “ I want to stay,” was his reply. Major Hogge said goodbye to us and left.
On Monday night I told Father Frank to consume the Blessed Sacrament, and a little later we went to shelter in the new church, which was strongly built. Shells had been falling around the mission compound and on the road below it, which leads to the south; bullets were pinging all over the place. We settled down to spend the night in the new church. Father Frank and I and some of our Catholics who had not gone away, lay around against the granite wall. On the stroke of midnight the real battle for Chuncheon began. Both sides gave all they had; artillery, machine-guns and rifles were blazing away. We could not hear each other’s’ voices. After about half an hour it ceased and for the rest of the night no firing occurred.
At dawn the attack was renewed. By 8 o’clock in the morning we could see the South Korean troops evacuating the town. About 9 o’clock a shell made a direct hit on the roof of the new church. It crashed through the roof but did not start a fire. A few minutes later another shell fell on the old church a little below the new building, and fire broke out immediately. Telling Father Frank to remain in the new building until I called for him, I went down to the old church to see if a few buckets of water would extinguish the fire. Just as I got there another shell fell quite near it and I decided that it would be foolish to go on the roof.
Ten minutes later the shelling and rifle fire completely ceased and I called Father Frank and the servants from the new building. We started to haul water in buckets from a sixty-foot well in an effort to extinguish the fire on the roof, but all we succeeded in doing was to keep it from breaking into a great flame and spreading to neighbouring houses. Some of us worked on the roof, others began to clear out the church furnishings; altars, vestments, harmonium, stations of the cross.
First Meeting with Reds
At about 10.30 in the morning we had our first encounter with two soldiers of the North Korean army. They came into the compound with their rifles at the ready. I was hauling water from the well and Father Frank was standing beside me to pass the bucket on to the next person. The soldiers covered us with their rifles and I said to them in Korean: “ How do you do? Can we offer you a drink of water?” They came up to us, their rifles still covering us, and one of them said to me,: “Comrade, who are you? “I am a Catholic priest,” I replied. “Are you American?” he asked. “No, I am Irish and proud of it,” I said. “You speak Korean well. When did you come here?” “I have been here for twenty years,” I said. He grew a little more friendly, though he didn’t lower his rifle. Turning to Father Canavan he asked: “ And who are you?” “I, too, am Irish,” replied Father Frank in Korean. “What are you doing here?” came the next question. “A shell fell on our church and set it on fire, and we are trying to keep the blaze from spreading to the neighbouring houses,” was the reply. “That is good work. Carry on, comrades.” Then they left us.
All day long until 11 0’clock that night Father Frank and I with a few willing Korean helpers doused the burning building with buckets of water. By then the roof had collapsed and the danger of the fire’s spreading to the neighbouring houses was over. At 11 0’clock it began to rain heavily. The fire was now only a smouldering one and we were dead tired, so we left off work and lay down just as we were. Next morning we continued working on the church, sousing the smouldering patches, putting the vestments away in one room of the residence, and clearing up the mess as best we could. So we spent the day – Wednesday June 28.
Communists Again
No Red soldiers bothered us that day or the next. On Friday and Saturday we had visits from some of them, who looted my house of everything but did not touch the one in which Father Frank was living. On Sunday, July 2, Father Frank said his Mass first and I began immediately after him. Up to then all had been quiet, but just as I began the Gloria rifle shots rang out in the yard. A North Korean army officer and about five soldiers rushed into the room next to the one in which I was offering Mass and with their rifle butts they smashed the glass in the windows and bookcase and began to throw everything about. They next entered the room in which I was offering the holy sacrifice. The officer saw a small statue of the Blessed Virgin on a low press. He took it in his hand, raised his hand above his head, then smashed the statue against the floor.
I stopped, and turning to him in my vestments I said: “Why are you doing this? Your headquarters here in town know that we are here. They will not be pleased with what you are doing.” A few Catholics had been kneeling at Mass. Terrified at what they had seen, they rushed out into the yard and tried to escape. A soldier fired at them (fortunately he did not hit them) and they returned very frightened. Then an officer searched Father Canavan. He took away his watch, his fountain pen, everything he had in his pockets, and ordered us into the yard. I took off my vestments and walked into the yard with Father Frank.
Arrest and Interrogation
There we were told to put up our hands and march before the six braves through the town to headquarters. At headquarters we had a long argument with the senior officer about our nationality, the existence of God, the existence of the soul and various other topics until about 11 o’clock in the morning. Then he sent us to the newly-arrived Internal Security forces under guard. They continued to question us until 7 o’clock that evening. At 7 o’clock one of the security officials said: “I know all about the history of the Catholic Church in Korea. Tell me all and leave out nothing.” I replied: “Since you know all about the Catholic Church in Korea, and since neither of us has had even a drop of water since we got up at 6 o’clock this morning, would you mind if I don’t give you the history you asked for just now?” He became a little more friendly at that and promised to get us some water and some food to eat.
THE LONG CAPTIVITY
By the Right Rev. Monsignor Thomas Quinlan (Far East August 1953)
In last month’s issue of the Far East Monsignor Quinlan described the arrest of himself and Father Frank Canavan and the beginning of their interrogation by Korean Communist Security Police in Chuncheon. This month he describes their transference from Chuncheon to Seoul and eventually to an internment camp near the Yalu River on the Manchurian border. He gives details of the deaths of Bishop Byrne and Father Canavan.
THE COMMUNIST security official gave us a cup of water and some rice and told us to rest on the chairs in the room in which we were. We spent the night in the chairs and next day our interrogations were continued. That night we were both put in the lock-up. We spent one week in the lock-up; then, one night at 11 p.m., we were called out and put on a truck with guards with fixed bayonets on either side of us. We thought our end had come. The truck started down the main street, but to our relief turned a corner and drove into the regular jail yard. After a time each of us was put into a separate cell. I could hear Father Phil Crosbie’s voice in the corridor (he was, as I learned later, captured in his parish 25 miles away) and he, too, was put into a separate cell. There we remained until the night of July 16.
Meeting with Other Captives
Towards midnight on July 16 we were called out, put on a truck and taken to the station, where we were entrained for Seoul under heavy guard. We reached Seoul at dawn and were taken to a large building in the city and ushered into a big room. There we found his Excellency, Bishop Byrne, the Apostolic Delegate in Korea, his secretary, Father Booth; some French Fathers of the Paris Foreign Missions; five Carmelite Sisters; two Sisters of St Paul of Chartres; a few foreign civilians, and about 200 Korean civilians – all of whom had been taken in for interrogation. We were told to join Bishop Byrne and his group and allowed to talk to them in whispers. The bishop told us that they had been brought in the previous day and had spent the night on chairs or lying on the floor.
Next evening Bishop Byrne and the rest of us prisoners (except the Koreans) were put on a bus, taken to a station a little north of the city, and entrained for Pyongyang. The train travelled by night only, and after three nights we arrived at Pyongyang – on the morning of July 21. In Pyongyang we were taken to a court-room, given something to eat, and each of us was asked for his complete life’s history. The same evening, around 9 o’clock, we were taken by truck to a school-house some five miles north of the city. There each of us was given a blanket, we slept on the floor, and a little food was supplied to us three times daily. Two months in these quarters, and then on the evening of September 5 we were suddenly ordered to pack, taken into Pyongyang, and the same night were put on board a train with 700 U.S. prisoners of war, bound for the frontier town of Manpo on the Yalu river.
Kind Camp Commandant
The distance from Pyongyang to Manpo is only about 200 miles, but since we travelled only at night, and very slowly, we reached Manpo only on September 12. There we were separated from the U.S. prisoners and lodged in two rows of houses a little outside the town. Accommodation was fair, the food good, and we were given plenty of it. The North Korean officer in charge was a kind man who treated us well, and allowed us to go to the Yalu river each day for ablutions and laundry. In Manpo, as a result of the good food, those of us who had been suffering from beri-beri were once again restored to health.
Some three weeks later, early in October, we were suddenly moved to a village called Kosan about twenty miles down the Yalu from Manpo. There the accommodation was good, the food good as before, and the same officer was in charge. After about a week in Kosan we were moved again, to a place in the mountains about twelve miles away. I think that move was dictated by military necessity; the U.S. forces were coming up the main road along the Yalu River and were expected to reach Kosan very soon. It was thought that fighting might occur at Kosan and the camp commandant did not wish to endanger us.
At the new camp in the mountains there were rumours among both prisoners and guards that the war was over. On October 25 we were suddenly moved back to Kosan again. The Chinese volunteers had started to pour into Korea across the Yalu from Manchuria. Kosan was a deserted village when we reached it and after only a night in it we continued our march to Manpo. There we could sense a change in the situation. We were put into a burned down house, only the walls of which were standing, though it did not appear to have been bombed. In a field near is we could see 700 U.S. prisoners. They were sleeping under open sky. We at least had the shelter of a wall. In Manpo our kind commandant took leave of us and another commandant, not nearly so kind, took charge.
Nine-Day March
After two nights in this place, on the evening of October 31, we were told to pack our blankets and get ready to march. The U.S. prisoners led the way and we, the internees, brought up the rear. We had walked three miles when we were told to camp in a corn field. There was no shelter and we slept on the bare ground. Next morning we continued the march and that night we again slept in the open. The following morning there were ten among the U.S. prisoners dead from exposure and a number of others were unable to march. After that each night we had a shelter over our heads, sleeping in schools or houses or any other accommodation that happened to be available. On November 9 we reached the end of our long march and were housed in a number of school buildings in a village called Chungkang. During the nine-day march 98 people had died one way or another.
On that same march Bishop Byrne and Father Canavan had caught colds, and in the schoolhouse of Chungkang an incident occurred which, I think, caused pneumonia to develop in the case of each of them. The camp commandant ordered us to get out each morning for physical drill or warming-up exercises. We had to remove our coats for it, though the weather was very cold: I should think there were bout fifteen degrees of frost. After the first morning of these exercises the bishop’s and Father Frank’s cold were worse; they had a fever and coughed a great deal during the night. But they did not grow any worse during the next few days and I thought they would recover.
On November 16 we were again ordered to move, this time to a place only three miles from Chungkang, called Hachangri. The sick who were unable to march, including the bishop and Father Frank, were brought to the new camp the following day on ox-carts. The house in which we were put up was very good but very small for the purpose: Twelve men were consigned to one room sixteen feet long by nine feet wide. Though it was fairly warm, to rest comfortably in it was impossible.
I knew by the flush on their faces and their fever that Bishop Byrne and Father Canavan had developed pneumonia. The North Korean army doctors came to visit them, but they had very little medicine. Next day they came again and said they had made arrangements to have the sick transferred to another house about a hundred yards from ours. The camp commandant visited us too and I appealed to him to give special rations of milk and chicken broth for the sick men, who could not eat the rough Korean food. I explained to him that Bishop Byrne was the Vatican representative and had done much to help Korea. He replied that they had no supplies of milk and that there was not a hen or a chicken in the village, as all had been taken by the villagers when they were evacuating the houses for us; but he appeared to feel sorry for the sick and promised to order special rations of white rice and sugar for them. This promise he kept.
The four sick men were told to get ready to move across to the other house, and before he left the room Bishop Byrne said: “After the privilege of my priesthood this privilege of suffering with you all for Christ is the greatest of my life.” Then he, Father Frank, a French priest and one civilian set out across the muddy field.
We helped them on their way, carrying their blankets for them, while the wind blew the falling snow in our faces as we moved across to the house. The room in which they were to be accommodated opened on to the yard and its door had been removed. There was only a straw bag to keep the weather out and the floor was cold, but at least it had plenty of straw. We laid them down on it and tried to make them comfortable as best we could.
Bishop Byrne Dies
The bishop grew worse each day and on the morning of November 25 he passed away peacefully. In addition to pneumonia he had been suffering from beri-beri contracted on the long march, yet never once had I heard him murmur or complain, and he frequently exhorted the two priests and the layman to bear their sufferings gladly for Christ. This, indeed, they did. I was in constant attendance on all of them and never once did one of them complain.
When Bishop Byrne was arrested in Seoul he was wearing only a light clerical coat. No coffins were provided for the dead, but I buried him in my soutane, hoping that its hard red buttons would afterwards help us to identify his remains. We collected some stones and placed them on his grave in the shape of a cross, then returned to the camp.
And Father Canavan
Father Frank Canavan and the other two recovered and on December 4 Father Frank was allowed back to our camp. I was with him on his way back and he told me he felt fine and would like something to eat, but that evening he complained of not feeling so well. Next day he was worse and he remarked to someone: “I shall have my Christmas dinner in Heaven.” I stayed with him on the night of December 5, and on the morning of December 6 – the Feast of St Nicholas, as he reminded me – he died quite peacefully. I laid his body out, clothed in his light summer soutane, and that evening we buried him near Bishop Byrne. I shall be able to locate the graves of both if I ever get a chance to return there.
FATHER CANAVAN could not be called a robust man, but in Chuncheon under fire he displayed heroic courage and on the long march helped the sick and the old who could not keep up with the others. No words of mine could sufficiently extol his priestly virtues.
Ireland may be justly proud of her missionary son.
Father Frank was 35. He was the seventh of the seven Columban Priests to die