by Meda Ryan
... the scenes at Mass were really heartbreaking. The poor women weeping and almost shrieking (some of them) for their dead sons. Sisters and one wife were there too, and a few small children. It makes one feel I tell you.5
With strong key men in all the commands his military tactics should soon bring the matter to a close, he was certain.
By 10 August, Dalton, with Liam Tobin and their men, was making steady progress. After hearing good news, Mick, elated, wrote a few lines to Kitty ‘to show I’m thinking of you ... by this time you’ll know what I had on my hands then [9 August]. Cork is in the melting pot now.’6
By the second week in August it was time for Collins to move into the country to review the military posts. He was encouraged by reports returned from each of the commands that the anti-Treatyites were now ‘beaten as an open force’.7
With this in mind, and because a sizeable part of the country was now held by the National Army, he would take a trip to the country, talk to officers and review the army on location. On Saturday, 12 August, having had little sleep, he ‘left Portobello barracks at 4 am exactly’ on an inspection tour. He would visit Limerick, Kerry, then cross the border into County Cork.8
‘I am scribbling you a line and it will only be a line – as there are two officers waiting for me and a car. If, however, I don’t write now I may not be back here for the post. It is very likely that you won’t hear again for a few days, but you’ll understand – won’t you Kitty dear ... Fondest love.’9
His decision to travel from Kerry to Cork and other centres was halted as news reached him in Tralee late on 12 August that his friend, colleague and mentor, Arthur Griffith, had died. Very early next morning, 13 August, he was on the road again for Dublin.
Over the next few days Griffith’s funeral would occupy some of Mick’s time. However on Tuesday, 15 August his diary bears witness to a crowded day involving a vast number of operational matters, disciplinary matters and government correspondence.
Hazel and Sir John Lavery had come to Ireland on 13 August, and were staying at the Kingstown Hotel in Dun Laoghaire. That Wednesday morning, 16 August, Michael Collins telephoned Cosgrave before calling Sir John and Lady Hazel Lavery, both of whom had been friendly with Griffith. He met members of the Provisional Government at 10.30 am, and together they went to Arthur Griffith’s funeral Mass. This was followed by the processional march to Glasnevin cemetery.10
That morning he had got word that Reggie Dunne and Joseph O’Sullivan had been hanged on 10 August, in Wandsworth Prison, London, for the shooting of Sir Henry Wilson. Dunne’s final wish was similar to that often expressed by Collins: ‘Oh pray for our poor country!’ O’Sullivan in his last letter to his mother had listed people to whom he wished to be remembered; included in the list was ‘Mick Collins’.11
As he walked behind the tricolour-draped coffin at the head of his staff, a bystander, noticing Collins’ grim expression, remarked, ‘Ireland’s problems hang heavily on his shoulders’.12
The commander-in-chief, in a graveside tribute to Arthur Griffith, said:
He always knew what Irish Nationality meant, just as Davis knew it. He never confused it with English nationality. ... In memory of Arthur Griffith let us resolve now to give fresh play to the impulse of unity, to join together one and all in continuing his constructive work, in building up the country which he loved.13
This part of the task completed, he moved back. Silently he stood, head bowed, while the soil was placed over the coffin of his friend. He had more work ahead. His inspection tour of southern counties had to be completed; with most of the major towns and cities in the hands of government forces it looked to him as if the Civil War would soon be over. The slow processional march to Glasnevin had been stressful. Dr Fogarty, bishop of Killaloe, moved beside him as he stood alone and gazed at the grave. ‘Michael, you should be prepared – you may be next.’
Collins turned. ‘I know,’ he said stoically. Then as if dismissing that interlude and wishing to God this nightmare was over, he said, ‘I hope nobody takes it into his head to die for another twelve months’.14
Sir John and Hazel Lavery observed his despondency. They chatted with him for a few moments and asked him to join them for a meal later that night.
But first of all duty called back at his Portobello office. Later, happy to get away from his desk, he set out for the Kingstown Hotel, to have dinner with the Laverys at 8 o’clock. He was glad of the break after the ordeal of the earlier part of the day. He was never to know that Hazel had saved his life that night. Unknowingly she sat between him and the window, outside of which a gunman waited.15
At 10.30 pm he left for Baldonnell to pick up ‘air service reports’.16
On Thursday morning, 17 August, he received a letter from Eoin O’Duffy, Limerick headquarters, stating that Mr Liam Hayes TD had brought O’Duffy a letter requesting that Commandant General Hannigan issue to Dan Breen, ‘a safe conduct’ pass to see Collins. O’Duffy argued: ‘I respectfully suggest that you refuse to see him. He has been most active against us here and was one of the great “ralliers” in the fight put up by the Irregulars’ and is ‘the tool of Lynch’ who in turn is ‘the tool’ of de Valera. ‘Any sort of negotiations at this stage would do an enormous amount of damage among the troops. They would immediately ease off and it would take some time to get them back to the present fighting spirit.’
In this letter O’Duffy explained how much territory was now held by the National Force. With himself moving along the front from ‘the Waterford border to Rathmore’ in Kerry, with Dalton taking in much of the Cork area and Prout moving from Waterford towards Clonmel and on, ‘with all three ... working in co-operation for a week, which should bring us up to the 25th August, we might then be in a position to negotiate with advantage ... I suggest to you, not to see Breen or any of the others ...’17
This opinion from a commanding officer like O’Duffy, together with the aerial reconnaissance report and a further report from Dalton of the capture of the Mallow-Fermoy-Buttevant area, helped Collins to clarify his thoughts.
He felt he should resume his review of the forces in the south, see the situation for himself, and speak to officers ‘on the ground’. Immediately he sent a message to O’Duffy: ‘Am anxious to know progress towards Millstreet. Expect to see you linked up with Dalton everywhere within twenty-four hours. See you about ten o’clock on Saturday.’ His mind was made up. At this juncture he wasn’t sure how far south he would go, but he was going south – first to Limerick.18
Early next morning, Friday 18 August, he walked into the office of Joe McGrath, his intelligence officer, and announced his intention of travelling south. McGrath protested, pointing out the danger.
On one occasion Mick had said to Cosgrave, ‘Do you think I shall live through this [Civil War]? Not likely!’ And he turned to Sinéad Mason and asked, ‘How would you like a new boss?’ She found this so strange that she recounted the episode to O’Reilly. Next day as the two were out, O’Reilly enquired about his health, ‘Rotten,’ replied Collins. There was a slight pause, ‘How would you like a new boss?’ O’Reilly’s heart sank. He told him he would never work for anybody else. Never a man to dwell on anything, Collins had an order for O’Reilly then, and the incident was forgotten.19
Now this morning Collins had another order. He told McGrath to get a convoy organised; he was determined he was not ‘going to run from his own Corkmen’. He would travel on Sunday, not on Saturday as he initially intended, as an amount of correspondence awaited his attention.
McGrath later wrote all his objections in red ink in a letter which he intended to put on Collins’ desk, but on reflection decided that when Collins gave an order he wanted it implemented without argument.
Next morning a wire message from Dalton in Cork stated that ‘terms’ had been communicated to him ‘by a committee of prominent citizens of Cork’. Their terms included a week’s truce during which ‘facilities are to be afforded to the Republican mili
tary and political leaders to hold a meeting to discuss the making of peace.’ Certain guidelines concerning ‘arms, ammunitions and political prisoners’ were listed in a five-point plan.20
Collins responded by wire:
Will you say by cypher who the prominent citizens responsible for the offer are? Have the Irregular Leaders, political and military agreed to the offer and is it made on their behalf?
Government offer published in the Press 5 June and conveyed to the People’s Rights Association, Cork stands.
So that there would be no ambiguity, Collins listed the terms which included the ‘Transfer into the national armoury of all war materials’.21
Collins as commander-in-chief knew now that he was acting from a position of strength: ‘Any further blood is on their [the Anti-Treatyites] shoulders. The onus is placed unmistakably on their shoulders,’ he wrote.22
That Saturday morning Lady Hazel Lavery telephoned Elizabeth, Countess of Fingall and asked if she thought Sir Horace Plunkett would like her ‘to bring Michael Collins over to supper’. A number of important people had been invited to dinner at Kilteragh House, residence of Sir Horace Plunkett, who was the founder of the cooperative movement.
The countess replied that she was sure Sir Horace as well as George Bernard Shaw who had also been invited would be ‘interested in the idea of meeting the rebel leader’.23
In Portobello Barracks that same morning Michael Collins was feeling unwell. As he sat down to breakfast beside Richard Mulcahy he was ‘writhing with pain from a cold all through his body; and yet he was facing his day’s work for that Saturday, and facing his Sunday’s journey.’24
While he attended to some preliminaries in his office he got a telephone call from Lady Hazel Lavery inviting him to the Plunkett dinner. He gladly accepted. Shortly afterwards he left the barracks. He had a few calls to make and dropped in briefly on his friends, the Leigh Doyles, in Greystones, where with Kevin O’Higgins and others he had been a regular visitor. Kitty often stayed there when visiting Dublin. She would come again at the weekend, and he would meet her on his return from his army tour of inspection. He asked them ‘to take care of her’ – afterwards this would have ominous significance, as neither would ever see him again. On the way he had picked up a picture of himself in uniform which had been taken recently on Portobello grounds. He gave them a copy; he would sign it when he returned from Cork. Now he was in a hurry. Kitty had written that she had got a wire to go to her sister Chrys in Belfast who had had a baby though it wasn’t due until ‘end of August or later ... Picture my disappointment,’ she wrote. ‘I intended going to town this week ... I’ve got a feeling that I’ll be lonely this time and not interested’.25
Back in his office he dealt with a vast amount of correspondence. There were also last-minute decisions to be made regarding his next day’s journey. Although he was not in top form physically he got through a tremendous volume of work, including a large number of letters.
Later in the evening, having checked with Joe McGrath that everything was in order for his early morning start, he was ready to relax for a few hours. According to Sir John Lavery, Hazel was anxious that Horace Plunkett and Michael Collins should meet. She took Collins ‘the same evening alone. I was a little anxious,’ Sir John wrote, ‘but for some reason did not go’.26Lennox Robinson, who was also there, afterwards wrote to Lady Gregory: ‘He came in Lady Lavery’s train, or rather she in his, for she is his abject admirer’.27
That night prior to his southern tour, Collins signed his name in the visitor’s book at Kilteragh House, in the now familiar manner, Mícheál Ó Coileáin – the Irish version. Because he was quieter than usual he did not impress Countess Elizabeth – ‘not at all an eloquent man, and my recollection of the dinner is that it was very quiet, and almost dull.’28
The writer, George Bernard Shaw, met him that night ‘for the first and last time’. He was ‘very glad’ he did. ‘I rejoice in the memory,’ he wrote afterwards to Lady Lavery.29
The guests, who included W. T. Cosgrave, left early because Michael Collins had to leave early for his journey south. They went ‘for a drive in the mountains,’ according to Sir John Lavery – ‘a car with an escort followed them’. As they returned to the Kingstown Hotel where the Laverys were staying, they were ambushed. ‘Half a dozen shots were poured into the car.’30
On their arrival at the hotel Sir John examined the car with an electric torch: ‘It seemed a miracle that no one was hurt, for there were six people in the car, sitting close together.’ Collins’ slight illness caused him to make light of the ambush; he was complaining of a pain in his side and thought it might be ‘his appendix’. After some persuasion he accepted Sir John’s offer of a hot-water bottle which he placed under his tunic. He smiled and said, ‘The pain is gone’. With a ‘God bless you both,’ he jumped into the car which sped off into the night. That was the last time that Lady Hazel and Sir John saw Michael Collins alive.31
When he reached Portobello Barracks, Mick told Joe O’Reilly how badly he had been feeling. O’Reilly made a hot drink with oranges and took it to his colleague in bed.
‘God that’s grand!’ said Collins with glee.
These words of gratitude encouraged O’Reilly, who on impulse bent down to tuck him in for the night. Not used to such personal touches, Collins gathered his strength and shouted, ‘Go to hell and leave me alone!’32
‘If only this thing was over I’d feel quite happy but I’m afraid I might lose you before I’ve really had you,’ Kitty had written at the beginning of August as she recalled the first anniversary of their going-out together.
Mick had cherished the peace of the Truce period, following the hair-raising days of the War of Independence, when he could spend week-ends in Granard, attend Horse Show week and spend some days with Kitty. Now he longed for those days again, despite their having been laced with the anxiety of winning her love. More and more he had to depend now on Kitty’s letters and on her coming to Dublin – ‘but you will write, won’t you? When are you coming up again? You said next week. And it’s next week now. It is you know. And when are you coming?’ he pleaded on 8 August. He had to be himself, in control; if his tasks scooped from his rest-time it wasn’t important because ever since childhood he would endeavour to give his best.
Kitty – you won’t be cross with me for the way I go around. I can’t help it and if I were to do anything else it wouldn’t be me, and I really couldn’t stand it. And somehow I feel the way I go on is better. And please, please do not worry.33
Kitty agreed she’d ‘try not to worry tho’ it’s hard not to,’ as she was ‘as fond’ of him ‘as ever’, she said. She had gone to see him that weekend and she ‘never felt before’ that she was ‘such pals’ with him. His communication with Kitty was now all done in the haste of his tumbling schedule. When he complained that she didn’t write often enough, she put the blame on the post, ‘I wrote on Tuesday and since, but it takes two days to get to Dublin, damn it. I am sorry as I’d love you to get my letters in time. I was delighted with even your little note, and am longing to see you. Years and years since Saturday!’ she wrote on 15 August.34
Kitty intended travelling to Dublin after she had visited her sister Chrys in Bangor. She longed for one of ‘those long chats’ when they would plan their future, a future with children, with hope, with love. Because of the troubled times the date of their planned June wedding had come and gone. But the day would not be far off, Mick felt.35
His cold was only incidental, his duty as commander-in-chief of the army of the Provisional Government was now his priority. Having drunk O’Reilly’s hot orange, he would have a good, though short, night’s sleep and be ready to tackle the demanding journey and review of troops in many barracks.
Michael Collins woke early on Sunday 20 August, 1922. He dressed hastily. He and his convoy went through Limerick on to Mallow, to Cork. He stayed in the Imperial Hotel, where he met his friend Emmet Dalton and his sister Mary Collins-Pow
ell. The following day, Monday 21 August, he was engaged in government business in Cork, then travelled to Cobh and later Macroom on army inspections. That night he again stayed at the Imperial Hotel. The next morning, 22 August, he and his party left the hotel at 6.15 am for his inspection tour of army barracks in west Cork. He visited his home area, Sam’s Cross, and met his favourite aunt, his brother, cousins, friends and family members. On his way back to Cork City, travelling by the only route open to him, he was ambushed and shot dead at Béal na mBláth.
(A detailed account of the last three days of Michael Collins’ life and an analysis of the way in which he met his death and of subsequent events are contained in my The Day Michael Collins Was Shot)
Notes
1 Dr Gerard Ahern to author, 10/8/1974; See Meda Ryan, op. cit., pp. 26, 176, 177.
2 Dr Gerard Ahern to author, 10/8/1974.
3 John L. O’Sullivan to author, 30/7/1974.
4 O’Duffy to C of GS, n. d., MP, P7/B/68.
5 Michael to Kitty, 8/8/1922.
6 Ibid., 9/8/1922.
7 Ernest Blythe to author, 19/1/1974.
8 Collins’ notebook, 12/8/1922, MP, P7a/62.
9 Michael to Kitty, 11/8/1922.
10 Collins’ notes in diary, 16/8/1922, MP, P7a/62.
11 Collins’ notes, NLI.
12 D. V. Horgan to author, 23/5/1922.
13 Collins, 16/8/1922, MP, P7/B/28/97.
14 Forester, op. cit., p. 331.
15 Sir John Lavery, op. cit., p. 216.