Decoding the IRA

by Tom Mahon

  Most IRA prisoners were incarcerated at Mountjoy jail in the centre of Dublin city or Maryborough prison in Portlaoise. Among those in Mountjoy were senior officers such as George Gilmore and Mick Price, serving short sentences or on remand, while the IRA group at Maryborough included a small number of men convicted of serious offences, frequently dating back to the Civil War. The IRA on the outside was able to easily communicate with the Mountjoy men, but those in Maryborough were more isolated and appeared to have endured harsher conditions.

  Mountjoy prison

  Mountjoy, or the ‘Joy’ as it’s known, is a nineteenth-century prison in Dublin city. The IRA headquarters communicated with the prisoners largely by way of visitors or prison warders.

  The IRA was prepared to pay for the services of corrupt warders, such as Bob Glynn, a ‘stout dark man, clean shaved, full faced, a native of Ulster’. He already did ‘a bit of traffic with the lags [convicts]’ in cigarettes, and the IRA proposed to test his reliability by asking him to smuggle in cigarettes to ‘a man named Johnson, who could then give them to George [Gilmore] in church’. Another likely recruit was ‘warder Bailey, who has or had charge of parcels, this man is always prepared to work for money’.59 On the other hand, warder Collins, who probably worked for the IRA, was reported by one prisoner to be ‘untrustworthy’.60

  Most warders were, naturally enough, not going to cooperate with the IRA, and Frank Kerlin warned Mick Price and George Gilmore to be careful of a ‘warder, pale, thin face and dark complexion, who brings [the] prisoner[s] to [the] visiting boxes, and watches [the] visits, [and] is CID [sic]’.61 Price’s brother, Charlie, was cautioned to avoid chatting to warder Folan, as he was a ‘CID tout’.62 Warders who abused or beat up IRA prisoners were liable to be threatened, and in 1928 the IRA shot and wounded the chief warder, Robert Grace.63

  A Fr Fitzpatrick had contact with George Gilmore in the prison and also knew Charlie Price, which made him of potential value to the IRA. However, Moss Twomey dismissed the idea: ‘Fr. Fitzpatrick is just courteous, but could not be depended on much.’64 One of the IRA’s most valuable contacts was a truck driver ‘prepared to do anything required’, who delivered coal to the prison as part of a regular convoy of four to five lorries. He took in a message to Gilmore, and Kerlin was hopeful that if they could come up with an escape plan he’d assist.65

  Figure 19. The department of intelligence wrote to ‘Mr Campbell’ discussing what prison warders at Mountjoy could be used to smuggle in items for the IRA:

  George Gilmore suggests that a warder, named Bob Glynn, who lives in Buchanan St, near Amiens St, would take him some cigarettes, if approached. This warder is a protestant, and does a bit of traffic with the lags. He could give the cigarettes to a man named Johnson, who would give them to George in church.

  Do not mention to Glynn, that George suggested him. Give him impression [that] we have no touch [sic] with George.

  You may recollect, warder Bailey, who has or had charge of parcels, this man is always prepared to work for money. You should get in touch with him. Regarding the man mentioned in Para. 1: You will probably be known to this warder [Glynn], he is a stout dark man, clean shaved, full faced, a native of Ulster and I think from his appearance an ex-seaman. If he would work, you could promise him money, if you were satisfied with his trustworthiness. Try him first with the cigarettes.

  The following two sections describe the experiences of George Gilmore and Michael Price during their imprisonment in Mountjoy.

  George Gilmore

  George was the best known of the three Gilmore brothers, George, Harry and Charlie, all of whom were in the IRA. They were from Dublin and, unlike most of their comrades, were of Protestant stock. George was a leading republican socialist and was at one time OC of the Dublin brigade.66 In November 1925 he organised a jailbreak from Mountjoy, when he entered the prison disguised as a garda sergeant accompanied by five other armed IRA men – two ‘policemen’ escorting three ‘poachers’ under arrest. They managed to release nineteen men, including such well-known republicans as Mick Price, Jim Killeen, Michael Carolan and Jim Nugent.67 Gilmore followed this up three months later with the release of Jack Keogh from Dundrum asylum.68

  He was finally arrested in November 1926 and sentenced to eighteen months’ hard labour for ‘taking part in the gallant rescue of 19 political prisoners’. Gilmore refused ‘to accept criminal status or wear criminals’ clothes’ and was confined to a punishment cell in the basement – naked and isolated from the other IRA prisoners.69 At one point he was forced into prison garb and his hands were restrained in muffs to prevent him from ripping the clothes off, or as An Phoblacht wrote, he was in a ‘strait jacket’.70

  Moss Twomey tried to mobilise public support for Gilmore, writing: ‘We were all very sorry about G.G. [George Gilmore] and the terrible fight he is up against. We are doing our utmost on the matter of publicity and a special meeting with regard to his case is being arranged … I am hopeful that from action outside [the prison], George will be transferred [from his current cell].’71 A mass meeting was held in support of him and the other republican prisoners in Dublin, with de Valera sharing the platform with Art O’Connor of Sinn Féin and Maud Gonne of the Political Prisoners Committee.72

  Following his transfer from the basement cell, George was seen in the grounds of the prison infirmary by the IRA informant who drove the coal truck. Frank Kerlin gave the truck driver a letter to pass along to Gilmore. Kerlin wrote: ‘Leave [a] reply to this despatch at the exact place on [the] ground, where [the] bearer is leaving this note for you, and pin it to a piece of the blue hospital cloth to enable [the] bearer to find it easily. When writing give full details of your location and hours of exercise, also any suggestions re. [regarding an] escape [plan].’73 Another inmate, Donal O’Donoghue, came up with the bright idea that the IRA could send a man into Mountjoy for a few days to check up on Gilmore. O’Donoghue wrote to Kerlin: ‘[I] suggest someone be fined for [having] no light [on his bicycle]. Refuse to pay, [and] get seven days [in Mountjoy. He can then] find all about Geo[rge] in B wing. [The person should be a] first offender, [and an] adult.’74 Moss Twomey replied: ‘George Gilmore’s brother is to do 4 days [in prison], for not paying [a] fine for [having] no light on [his] bike. He is trying to arrange to be arrested, today or tomorrow. I gave him verbal messages, if he sees you. Be on the lookout.’75 By January, Gilmore had scored a victory when he was allowed to wear his own clothes, though he continued to agitate for the right to freely associate with the other prisoners.76

  Figure 20. Handwritten note from Donal O’Donoghue in prison to the director of intelligence, Frank Kerlin.

  [I] suggest someone be fined for [having] no light [on his bicycle]. Refuse to pay, [and] get seven days [imprisonment, so that he can] find all about George [Gilmore] in B wing. [He should be a] first offender [and an] adult. Charlie Price knows Father Fitzpatrick, see other note.

  In May 1927 Moss Twomey sent a letter to George in cipher. The letter, reminiscent of a Christmas letter to a dear friend, is warm and fuzzy with updates on the IRA ‘family’, but with the addition that there was concern about some unaccounted money. ‘Everyone charmed to hear from you, and to hear … how well you looked. We were all very upset about Xmas time when you were putting up the fight for your clothes, of course all classes of rumours came through. You would be all right now if you had company. I hope you manage to kill the time without being too fed up.’ Twomey filled him in as to how his comrades were doing, including ‘[Seán] MacBride is now running the jam factory’, and also explained the IRA’s position on the recent negotiations for a republican election pact. Then arose the question of the money: ‘At [the] time of your arrest, your accounts were not fixed [up]. There was an apparent deficit of nearly £200 … [I] am sure, you had not some expenditure written up … You got £30 from [the] QMG for [a] purchase last October in S[outh] Dublin. [The] man said he [was] not paid. He has been paid now. £30 were [sic] found at your place after y
our arrest. I presume this was the amount in question … I do not want to worry you in any way with regard to this as it can quite well wait over until your are out.’77

  Gilmore seems to have endured his incarceration well and despite all he went through, his mother reported he was ‘fine and is well’.78 This may have been due to his personality, described by one fellow prisoner as ‘a withdrawn sort of a man whom you would not intrude on’.79 He spent time reading Gibbon’s The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire from the prison library and was released in early 1928.80

  Mick Price

  Mick Price, another republican socialist, had been OC of the IRA’s 1st Eastern division in the Civil War and following that OC of the Dublin brigade.81 During the Civil War he styled himself as ‘Comrade Price’.82 Todd Andrews described Price unfavourably as Napoleonesque and that he had an expression which represented either ‘deep thought or depression’.83 The veteran republican May Ó Dálaigh was more complimentary: ‘Mick Price was the one I like [sic] the best’, adding that he was the only IRA leader who helped her wash up the dishes!84 Con Casey, who had served under him during the Civil War, said that Price, was ‘very sincere’ and was ‘constantly in a state of agitation’, adding: ‘I always thought he was a man under stress, so deeply was he concerned about Ireland and its future.’85

  In the summer of 1926 following the attacks against moneylenders in Dublin, Price, along with Donal O’Donoghue and Fiona Plunkett, was arrested. After the moneylenders failed to identify the accused in court, the three were remanded in prison. In December Price and O’Donoghue were sentenced to six months in Mountjoy, while Plunkett was released.86 In jail, Price and O’Donoghue demanded to have freedom of association, the right to wear civilian clothes and other privileges known as political status, and for this they were confined to their cells without exercise privileges.87

  On 16 December Price wrote to Frank Kerlin that he and O’Donoghue were now allowed to exercise together in the prison yard for two hours each day, but that: ‘I am very weak. [I] will send all news of GG [George Gilmore] to Moss [Twomey]. Pick it up on your visits. Do not forget to take [the] girls out [most likely a reference to Kerlin’s orphaned sisters]. God bless you in your difficulties. Mick P.’88 To which Kerlin replied: ‘Please send out all [the] news about yourselves [sic] and George G[ilmore], as we are making a big push and want as much news as possible. Let me know always [the] exact number of your cells. Let me know [the] names of [the] prison officials against whom action should be taken outside. God bless you.’89 Around the same time Maud Gonne reported: ‘Michael Price is so weak that he collapsed twice at Mass on Sunday.’90

  Price was becoming deeply depressed in prison, a cause of great concern to Twomey, who wrote: ‘My Dear Mick, I need not tell you how sorry I was to see that you were not in good form and it was hard for it to be otherwise after what you had gone through – the close long confinement must have been terrible. I was delighted to hear that the conditions were so changed that you could see your way to go to exercise. I feel sure that in a very short time you will be in good form.’ However, as he only had six months to serve, Twomey felt that it wasn’t worth the risk to try and rescue either him or O’Donoghue: ‘Regarding rescues. I am, and have been, of [the] opinion, it is unwise to rescue men serving short terms, and for [the] sake of [the] men themselves.’91

  Kerlin asked O’Donoghue if Price’s ‘condition is bad, or is it merely [a] temporary lapse?’92 O’Donoghue was reassuring, that though he remained in the prison infirmary, ‘Mick [has] improved. [His lapse was] only temporary.’ O’Donoghue went on to press for public protests in support of the early release of the prisoners.93 Twomey countered that he doubted that picketing the prison would be successful, but that ‘if it is absolutely essential that Mick be released’ quiet diplomacy by approaching ‘certain people’ would be more productive. Twomey may have been referring to making contact with the Catholic hierarchy by way of intermediaries. Twomey went on to admonish O’Donoghue for under-estimating the severity of Price’s condition: ‘Miss Delaney visited Mick [a] few days ago. She said he looked very bad and depressed. [I] got [the] impression, she considered him much worse than your report would convey.’94

  Given the lack of knowledge and understanding of psychiatric illness at the time, it is understandable that O’Donoghue was confused by Price’s condition: ‘Mick [is] bad now, and then was bad yesterday over [the] special visit [by his brother]. [He was] very bad last week. [I] don’t know why, except for this. [He was] normal [the] past three weeks. When [he’s] normal, [he’s] irritable [and] takes things very seriously. [The] sight of [the] Deputy [governor] and certain warders annoy him, otherwise [he’s] sane. [He] needs constant assoc[iation] for cure.’ He went on to complain that Price’s brother, Charlie, shouldn’t ask for special visits as these annoyed him and that Mick disliked Charlie speaking of ‘short grass people’, a slang term for people (unfortunate enough to come) from Kildare.95 By requesting special visits Charlie Price was drawing attention to his brother’s illness, and this could have been the source of Mick’s displeasure. Twomey replied: ‘Do your best to prevent him from being moody, and beg him not to be worrying unnecessarily.’

  Twomey cautioned O’Donoghue for continuing to demand the right for republican prisoners, both sentenced and those on remand, to have free association. Instead he recommended they should try to improve conditions ‘bit by bit’ rather than risk confrontation with the prison authorities.96

  In May 1927, following Price’s release, Twomey reported: ‘Mick is not well and must take a long rest away, and get good medical treatment’, but ‘Donal [O’Donoghue] is fine.’97 However, Price, who was regarded by the gardaí as one of the ‘most dangerous’ IRA activists of the period, was back in Mountjoy by the end of the year, having been found in possession of a list of three Special Branch car licence plate numbers written on a blank page in a prayer book.98 Over the course of the 1920s he became increasingly committed to socialism and was eventually ‘dismissed with ignominy’ from the IRA in 1934, having failed to convince the organisation to support a workers’ republic. The following year he joined the Labour party.99

  Maryborough prison

  Maryborough prison, now the maximum security Portlaoise prison in the midlands, was commonly known as ‘Maryboro’. The IRA prisoners’ OC called the conditions there ‘deplorable’ and claimed he endured a ‘lingering asphyxiation’. The bread was so awful that the baker ‘should be in here amongst his compatriots’.100

  The prisoners included Jack Keogh and members of his ‘unit’ or ‘gang’ – Jack Downey, Matt Hughes and Pat Dunleavy. Downey was disliked by some of the others as he was well in with the warders and was allowed special privileges.101 The person with the most colourful past was the ex-British soldier Jack McPeake, who was serving six years. In August 1922 McPeake was the gunner of Michael Collins’ armoured car when they were ambushed by the IRA at Béal na mBláth, County Cork. In a brief firefight, during which McPeake’s gun jammed, Collins was shot dead. Two months later McPeake defected to the republican side and brought with him the armoured car. Later he returned to his native Scotland. In 1924 he was arrested and extradited back to Ireland. His presence at Béal na mBláth has generated a legion of unsubstantiated conspiracy theories as to how Collins died. Another prisoner, John Hogan, was serving life for the killing of a soldier during the Civil War and he was probably the prisoners’ OC, known as ‘S O’S’.

  The prisoners were divided among themselves and unable to adopt a coordinated strategy. At one stage during unsuccessful protests to gain ‘political treatment’, Hogan was left the sole participant. Political treatment was in effect prisoner of war status and included the rights to free association, to wear civilian clothes, and to do ‘suitable’ prison work, as well as having access to books and newspapers, and to have the ‘cells left open until 9 p.m. every night’.102

  Communication between the IRA and the prisoners in Maryborough was more limited than
at Mountjoy. Most despatches went through ‘J J’ or ‘Jack Jones’, a senior IRA figure from the midlands, probably Jim Killeen. Killeen was the IRA’s adjutant general in 1927. A man called Dray was probably one of the few IRA informants in the prison and may have been a warder or garda. J J wrote to IRA Headquarters: ‘Dray is going to [join] the London police, where he will work for you, if [he would be] of any use. Can you do anything by way of reward for his services?’103

  The life of Jack Keogh serves as an interesting, though unusual, example of a prisoner’s experiences.

  Jack Keogh

  Commandant Keogh was a mid-level IRA officer who led an armed gang in the Ballinasloe area of Galway that attacked unarmed civic guards, frequently stripping them of their uniforms.104 To the annoyance of the then chief of staff, Frank Aiken, these activities continued even after the end of the Civil War. Keogh was arrested in 1924 and sentenced to ten years’ penal servitude.105 Republicans later argued that the judge actually sentenced him to thirty years, as he recommended the three ten-year sentences were to run consecutively rather than concurrently, though this was disputed by the government.106

  Keogh was incarcerated in Maryborough, where he spent periods in solitary confinement, on a diet of bread and water.107 At one stage following a disturbance he was placed in a basement punishment cell. These ‘cells were completely dark, and full of cockroaches’, with an open sewer outside the cell door.108 A water pipe burst, flooding his cell and leaving him shivering in two feet of cold water for several hours.109

  He was one of the Irish prisoners ‘adopted’ by the Soviet organisation, International Class War Prisoners’ Aid, or Red Aid as it was more commonly known. Charlotte Despard was a leading light in the Irish section of Red Aid, which provided financial support to dependants of a small number of prisoners.110 In March 1926, Red Aid in Smolensk wrote a long letter of support to ‘Dear Comrade Jack Keogh’, announcing it had been ‘given the honour to become the patron of comradely help’ to him. Showing a deep knowledge of Irish affairs, it commiserated with his predicament of having been thrown into jail by ‘the English bourgeoise’, and gave him the hope that he could secure his freedom through martyrdom: ‘Right lives also in the tomb, lives and grows until the sides of the coffin shall explode.’ In the meantime it would be their ‘sacred duty … to help you as much as possible’.111