It's sad to think it's half a century
Since you were taken down by a mercenary.
Few youths today know of how you died
Fighting bravely, your dying comrade at your side.
Out-numbered and out-gunned
There still, your remains unfound.
In a place called Katanga, in the Congo
Far from Kilbeheny, where you are still a hero.
At only eighteen they sent you overseas
In a wool uniform only fit for the Galtees.
Now more will know when they read this poem
Of the bravery of an Irish blue-beret, who never came home.
L to R: Tpr. Jerry Lewellyn, Cpl Michael Nolan and Tpr Pat Mulllins pose with local children-Congo 1961
Now after fifty years a visit may be planned
To erect a plaque where you made your last stand.
Then the Katangans will know
The story of our Irish hero.
Who Knows, a ceremony may trigger memories
They may even tell us where your body lies.
So your broken-hearted family can bring you back home
To the foot-hills of the Galtees, where as a youth you did roam.
The tragedy is, the war rages still
Millions have died, and more will.
As long as the minerals last
Innocent lives will be lost.
So I dedicate these sad lines
To the memory of, "Trooper Pat Mullins".
Monument in memory of Tpr Pat Mullins in Kilbehenny.