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The official inquiry appeared more interested in protecting the Church and State than uncovering truth. Its report blamed "faulty directions, lack of fire-fighting training by the staff, and an inadequate fire-fighting service" for what should have been an avoidable tragedy. This conclusion was disputed from the start by several panel members, including the inquiry secretary Brian O'Nolan (aka Flann O'Brien) and counsel for the ESB, Tom O’Higgins, later Chief Justice. Testimony alleged the nuns even blocked firefighters from entering, fearing they’d see the girls in a state of undress. The orphanage was built like a prison, barred windows, locked doors and the girls were too terrified to disobey. Escape was possible, but they were trapped by fear and control. Even in death, their dignity was denied. The 35 remains were buried in just 8 coffins in a mass grave at Cullies Cemetery. Only in 2010 was a memorial plaque erected by the Friends of the Cavan Orphanage Victims group. Cavan had no professional fire brigade, just under-equipped volunteers with a faulty hose. Dundalk’s trained brigade was called, but 45 miles and poor roads meant they arrived too late. Enniskillen’s brigade, much closer, was never summoned, despite frequent cross-border cooperation. Within 40 minutes, the roof collapsed. The Poor Clares’ cold refusal to help during or after the fire horrified locals. Locked exits, denial of aid, and later silence at the Tribunal showed a Church leadership unmoved by guilt or grief. This act of fatal superiority was emblematic of its broader cruelty toward Ireland’s unwanted children. Many of these so-called orphans had parents or relatives willing to raise them, but local clergy could override such arrangements especially if the family was Protestant or otherwise deemed "unsuitable." A child could thus be condemned to forced labour and spiritual terror in the Industrial School system. Survivors called the orphanage “a cruel place.” Abuse came not just from guardians but from the community. Even Cavan's devout townsfolk let their children hurl stones and insults at the orphans. These blameless girls endured shame and suffering under the silent gaze of holy icons whose compassion never stirred. The food was so inadequate that children scavenged from bins. Their rooms so cold they huddled near vents for warmth. Could there be anything less maternal, less Christian? Authors Heather Laskey and Mavis Arnold exposed this system in Children of the Poor Clares, based on testimonies from survivors and locals. Their work proved the deep collusion between Church and State. One architect testified the fire escape was wholly inadequate, but no nun was charged or held accountable. Survivors were interrogated, their testimonies cherry-picked and buried beneath excuses of lost keys and poor equipment. What must those final moments have been? Children clawing at windows, trying to descend too-short ladders. Fire escapes locked. Nuns safe with the keys. Hands shredded on glass. Smoke filling lungs. Screams rising, then fading. These girls weren’t victims of misfortune. They were sacrificed to arrogance and bigotry. To compound it all, a medical inspector told the inquiry that St Joseph’s was “one of the good schools.” It finally closed in 1967. Decades later, Laskey and Arnold heard still more horrific stories of girls fighting over scraps from hens' buckets while nuns feasted. It’s not enough to say no laws were broken. The 1908 Children’s Act, meant to protect the vulnerable, was flouted in nearly every way.