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Welcome back to This Day in Irish History. I'm your host, Raymond Welsh. Before we dive into today's story, if you’d like to explore other significant events that happened on this day in Irish history, visit thisdayirishhistory.com—the link is in the episode description.
Now, let’s journey back to April 1st, 1922, when the streets of Belfast bore witness to one of the darkest and most harrowing episodes of the post-partition period: the Arnon Street killings. Six Catholic civilians were brutally murdered by members of the Royal Irish Constabulary’s reserve force in what was widely viewed as a retaliatory attack. These killings shocked the city, exacerbated deep sectarian divisions, and offered a grim window into the chaos that gripped Ireland in the wake of the Anglo-Irish Treaty.
To understand the horror of that night, we must first step back to the fraught political atmosphere of early 1922. Ireland had just emerged from the War of Independence with the signing of the Anglo-Irish Treaty in December 1921. The treaty partitioned the island, creating the Irish Free State in the south while leaving six counties—Northern Ireland—under British rule. Belfast, situated in the newly formed Northern state, became the epicenter of sectarian violence as tensions between nationalists and unionists boiled over.
The Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC) was already under immense strain. In the north, the newly formed Ulster Special Constabulary—largely Protestant and unionist—had taken on the mantle of security enforcement. Many Catholics viewed these forces as openly hostile. On the evening of April 1st, an RIC constable named George Turner was shot and killed on Donegall Street, allegedly by members of the IRA. That killing would set off a terrifying chain of events.
Later that same night, a group of uniformed men—widely believed to be members of the RIC’s reserve force—descended on the New Lodge area of Belfast. What followed was not a search for suspects or an attempt at justice. It was a coordinated act of vengeance.
The first victim was 50-year-old John McRory, shot dead in his home on Stanhope Street in front of his wife and children. Just minutes later, three men—Thomas Donnelly, William Spallen, and Samuel Donnelly—were murdered inside a house on Arnon Street. All three were unarmed civilians. Their attackers, reports suggested, burst in, asked no questions, and opened fire.
Two more victims followed that night: 18-year-old Michael Loughran was shot on Park Street, and Bernard McKenna was killed nearby. All were Catholic, none had any proven connection to the IRA, and their only apparent crime was their religion. The coordinated nature of the attacks, the use of police uniforms, and the brutality with which the murders were carried out shocked even those accustomed to Belfast’s cycle of violence.
What made the Arnon Street killings so infamous was not only the number of victims but also the perception—widely held—that the attacks were carried out by those sworn to uphold the law. The incident drew international condemnation and deepened the sense of injustice felt by the Catholic minority in Northern Ireland. While no one was ever formally charged for the murders, the names of several officers were circulated in nationalist newspapers, further damaging the already fragile credibility of the RIC.
Politically, the killings came at a critical moment. The Irish Civil War had not yet begun, but tensions between pro- and anti-Treaty factions in the south were escalating. In the north, sectarian clashes were growing more frequent and more violent, with both unionist and nationalist communities arming themselves for what many feared was an impending wider conflict. The Arnon Street massacre added fuel to this volatile mix, reinforcing the belief among many nationalists that the northern state could never be a neutral or safe home for Catholics.
In the years that followed, the Arnon Street killings would become a grim symbol of the lawlessness and sectarianism that gripped Belfast in the early years of partition. For many, they underscored the failure of the state to protect all its citizens equally. For others, they marked a point of no return in a city already scarred by division.
Thank you for joining me on this journey through Ireland’s rich and, at times, tragic past. Please like and subscribe, and until next time, I’m Raymond Welsh—Slán go fóill.
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