STORY OF THE FURYS.

Taranaki Daily News, 9 October 1915, Page 10 (Supplement)

STORY OF THE FURYS.

A FAMILY OF HEROES. FATHER AN'D SONS ALL SOLDIERS. (By James Douglas in the London Daily New;.) This is a very plain tale. It is told, in the first place, to cats'i the eye of His Majesty King George, so that due honor may be done to a v< ; vy noble mother and her very noble sons. It is told, in the second pl:i»e, in older that every man, worn in i>ml chill in these little islands and in their sister-lands all over the world may admire and cmu'ate its ardom of matchless aolf-sacrifne and simple duty, simply done by obs;ure and humble souls. It is told, in the third place, in order that the -English people, the Welsh people, and the Scottish people may with a common gesture of | reverence salute the Irish people, that has bred a woman so very great and men so very gallant. In the little town of Loughrea, County Galway, there lives an Irish mother wliose' heart is peopled with so many sorrows. Her name is Mrs Fury. She is a mourning widow, who deserves to be chiselled iu marble like the mourning widows of the great Serbian sculptor Mestrovic. This is her incredible story, a story the like of which I have never heard or read in all the annals of war. Her husband, now dead, was a soldier in the C-omiaught Rangers, one, John Fury. He served in that famous regi-ment-for twenty-one years, and died, full of years and honor, in 1903. A year ago, on the second of August, Mrs Fury gave all her sons to the cause of tins Allies—no fewer than ten strong men. The story of her ten heroic sons is without ipreecdent or parallel in the records of war, ancient or modem. Homer himself never had such a story to sing. To begin with, there is Michael Fury, a reservist with nine years' service in the Royal Irish Fusiliers. When the war broke out j he went back to the colors, and at this moment he is fighting in -Flanders. Another son, Edward Fury, is also a soldier in the Royal Irish Rifles. He fought in the desperate fight at Mon.s. He was severely wound, eel in the shoulder and breast, and is now in a Dublin hospital. All her other eight sons followed in the footsteps of their father, and enlisted in their father's regiment, tho Connaught Rangers.' I am told that one battalion of this renowned regiment has been completely wiped out in Flanders, and has been merged in the other battalion. Of Mrs Fury's eight son 3in the Connaught Rangers, five have died on the field of battle in Flanders. Maiaeny Fury was killed on April 7th at Ypres, Martin Francis Fury was killed somewhere in France or Flanders, no one knows where or when. Henry Fury was killed somewhere in France or Flanders, no one knows where or when. The bare news of the death of these four son 9 came to their mother of many sorrows, together with a formal letter of sympathy from the King and Lord Kitchener. Mrs. Fury does not know how they died, or where or when. All she knows is that they gave their lives for their King and country, and the great good cause—somewhere in France or Flanders. I have accounted for five of Mrs Fury's sons serving in the Connaugnt Rangers. What of the other three? Martin Fury served in the Connaught Rangers in India. He was called up from the Reserve and was invalided out of the service. Thomas Fury was a soldier in the second battalion of the Connaught Rangers. He fought in the great retreat from Mons, was captured, and is now a prisoner of war in Germany. John Fury, after serving four years in the Connaught Rangers, was wounded at Givenehy. It was from the lips of John Fury that I heard the whole story of the Furys. John Fury is a handsome young Irishman, clear of eye, and clean of limb. He is twenty-two years of age. I was a few days ago the guest of Colonel Lewin, D.5.0., commanding the third reserve battalion of the Connaught Rangers at Kinsale. There in the barracks he did me the honor of introducing me to John Fury, a straight upstanding young warrior with a shattered arm. Very simply and very modestly John Fury told me the story of his wounds. _ The Connaught Rangers were, in the firing line at Givenehy. John Fury was chosen to carry under fire a message from his company officer to his commanding officer. He delivered the message, and was coming back. The Germans threw a grenade into the trench. John Fury i a left-handed. He instantly picked up the grenade and was in the act of throwing it back at the Germans when it burst, wounding Captain O'Callaghan, killing two men, and shattering John Fury's left arm. "Captain O'Callaghan," said a brother officer, "has died since then—we called him 'Daisv O'Callaglian." As he told his story, Jo«n Fury stood up straight as a dart, with his left arm in a sling. There he was, still in the old barracks with his comrades, still suffering, still in pain. Greatly marvelling at his stoical fortitude,' 1 said to him:

"Did you know that you were risking your life when you picked up the grenadeS" His answer was a simple and soldierlv answer. "If, I had not thrown it back," said he, "there would have been twelve! or thirteen of us killed in the trench. 1 knew it was my .duty." Could words be nobler? "I knew it was my duty." In those simple words is crystallised the whole story of the gallant Furys. It is the story of the British army. Private John Fury has received no reward for doing his duty. Nor does he ask for or expect any reward. But everybody who reads liia story will say that if any soldier has earned the V.C., Private John Fury has earned it. For his own sake, for the sake of his famous regiment, for the sake of Ireland, for the sake of his brave dead father, for the sake of his heroic mother, and for the sake of his five dead brothers. ! hope the King wili pi" it on his gallant breast. There is more to tell. John Fury has a sister. Slip is the wife of Sergeant O'Xeil]. who is also in the Connaught Rangers. What of old Mrs Fury? Her son told me that he refused to allow a word about her sufferings and sacrifices to be printed in (he newspapers. I hope she will forgive nic for telling this heroic story. Her son was asked if there was anything that could bo done for him. His only wish was to be with his mother on the anniversary of the day in August upon which all the house went to the war. She was dreading that day, and hn was afraid that she would not live through it, and its tragic memories.

It was not for me to say what the nation ought to do in order to showMrs Fury and her sons its pride and il3 giatitude. It can hardly do too much. The telling of their noble story is enough. I know what the Germans would do if they had a story like it to cherish.