British Voices

by William Sheehan

  The main job for the Navy during my first spell there in 1920 was to help maintain the coastguard stations and the lighthouses round the coast of which there were a large number. The crews had been sent to Coventry by the Sinn Féiners, and no-one dared contact them in any way or keep them supplied. Incidentally, the great majority of the men in the coastguard stations were Irishmen who had served in the Navy, but this made no difference to their treatment by the Sinn Féiners.

  There were many of these stations, some exposed to the full force of the Atlantic weather and others tucked away in sheltered coves and inlets, the sort of place where smugglers might want to land, and which the CG St. were there to prevent.

  My ship had quite inadequate boats for this sort of work. Two clumsy 20 foot merchant type 4 oared gigs, one small dinghy and no power boat. It was tough going at times to land on the weatherbeaten coasts. Some of our charts of the Irish coasts were old, some dated 1840. Leading marks given had often disappeared and shoals shifted. This did not exactly help matters.

  For a period I had two Rear Admirals on board, Rear Admiral Somerville, the Rear Admiral in charge of Coastguards for Southern Ireland and Rear Admiral Glossop who was taking over his appointment. The plan was to inspect all coastguard stations from Dublin southabout to Galway, and Truro was selected to take them. It was quite a job, I had no Navigator, and would have to do it all by myself.

  All went well at first on board, but unfortunately the two flag officers started a fierce quarrel between themselves. Apparently, a British Army officer had been travelling in plain clothes by train from the North of Ireland to the South. He was in a railway carriage with five or six other travellers, when, at a small railway station, the Sinn Féiners searched the train for someone they wanted, and one could guess pretty certainly that, if found, he would be murdered – such were the times.

  It was the British Army officer they were after. He was taken off the train at pistol point, without any protest or resistance from the other occupants or passengers, and before the train started again, the volley ending his life was heard. Glossop – new to the country – took the attitude that it was most cowardly of the Irish and the other occupants of the carriages not to resist. Somerville – an old hand and Irish – strongly disagreed and insisted it would have been useless. So for some days there was an embarrassing time, especially when each Flag Officer in turn came to me separately and gave me his views on the matter. However they calmed down after an interval.

  I recollect Rear Admiral Glossop, although he had been a Navigator himself was a great nuisance on the bridge when entering or leaving harbour for he would place himself bang in front of the standard compass. ( I should mention he was Captain of the cruiser Sydney , which sank the German raider Emden early in the war.) I wonder how many coastguard stations we visited. Was it thirty or could it have been more? At this distance of time I can’t remember. I was some weeks in this job and really enjoyed it.

  It was anxious navigation for me at times into the harbours, but we survived! Sailing directions and charts were old and out of date.

  During this time I had much contact with the Army both on the shore and when military parties took passage in my ship. Several officers told me of the obscene mutilations carried out on dead British soldiers after an ambush or attack. These they had themselves seen, it was no yarn. They could not believe that any Irishman could commit such atrocities and put these mutilations down to gangsters over from Chicago or New York. There were rumours that many had come over.

  On one occasion, I had just anchored off Youghal on the South coast when a loud explosion occurred on the shore not far from the town where a newly arrived Regiment (Scotch I believe) was stationed. There was a rifle range outside the town, to which the troops marched twice a week with bands playing. On this occasion, a land mine had been exploded under the troops on the march with heavy casualties especially amongst the band. An electric lead was traced to a nearby haystack where two women were hiding. The previous regiment had been a Yorkshire one (if I remember rightly) and there had been no trouble and a very friendly attitude in the neighbourhood. The Colonel of this regiment, however, always took precautions, for instance when marching to the rifle range, he had scouts ahead and on the flanks. He told the Scotch Colonel, who, however, in view of the absence of trouble so far adopted the policy of not showing suspicion, with this deplorable result. When I came on the scene within an hour of the explosion I found a sad and bloody spectacle on the road. Most of the victims were young bandsmen. I have forgotten what the exact casualties were.

  Another time I was sent from Queenstown to Fishguard to fetch the Public Executioner and his assistant. I remember my sailing orders stated something to the effect that I was to remember he was a high state official and was to be treated accordingly, so he and his black bag, which I imagine contained ropes, and the Sub-Lieutenant’s cabin during the passage. We had foul weather and he and his assistant were very seasick. On arrival at Queenstown these two, both looking like death itself (appropriately enough) and the bag were transferred to a launch which was heavily escorted, and were taken to Cork where the jail was. However, that evening the three men were pardoned, and another ship took the Lord High Executioner back to Fishguard. He was the type of man one would not be surprised to find as the landlord of a good public house – perhaps he was.

  After five or six months in Ireland I had a spell at Portland but returned to Ireland for much of the winter and spring of 1921. I found the policy for the coastguard stations had been changed and it had been decided to evacuate them, and my ship was one of those so employed. It was not always easy owing to the weather and my clumsy and unsuitable boats. The southwest and west coasts of Ireland are not exactly millponds in the winter and spring. We had to take on board not only families, personal luggage and family treasures but furniture, pets, including donkeys at times and all sorts of coastguard flags and stores.

  Sometimes we started the job in reasonable weather, which would then change, or a heavy swell would intervene, holding up the rest of the operations perhaps for some days while the ship with two anchors down and much cable veered, rolled and pitched. Sometimes it was best to get underway and patrol till weather subsided!

  I was sent to Waterford several times to bring to Queenstown private firearms, for an order had been issued that private arms were to be handed in to prevent the rebels seizing them. Waterford was a collection depot. There were severe penalties for not complying.

  The approach to Waterford by sea is a lovely one as is the town’s waterfront. I lay alongside there and made an official call on the Mayor which he duly returned. He told me that during the World War that if a man wanted to join the British Army, and quite a number did, he had to smuggle himself out of the country. But if he was going to join the Royal Navy all honour to him and he was played out, so to speak, ‘with guard and band’.

  Some 300 or so private weapons were brought on board on these occasions. They were an interesting and varied collection. There would be for instance a pair of Purdey guns belonging to Lord Somebody, right down to the roughest possible weapons such as metal tubes or pipes lashed by wire to chocks of wood as a butt barely shaped by an axe.

  One visitor I had on board was the owner of three small drapery shops along the coast. He was convinced that by refusing to buy British goods to store his shops he could seriously injure Britain’s economy.

  During this term of duty we were warned by the Admiral that the Sinn Féiners were plotting to capture a ship flying the White Ensign. I was naturally determined it would not be my ship that would fall into their hands, and made suitable arrangements. Once at anchor in Castletownsend, large fishing boats passed close under my stern on their way to and from the entrance. Each could hold 40 or 50 men and the situation could be awkward if say four or more of them suddenly put their helm up and ran alongside me. If unready my crew of 70 could have been swamped by numbers. My preparations on board included machine guns and rifles each sid
e of the fore bridge always manned, strong nets to prevent boarding at certain points and steel flexible hose pipes led to the upper deck direct from the boilers to pour scalding steam on any attackers. But no attempt was made. I must say I was disappointed!

  While in this harbour I gave leave up to 7pm but once two men did not return until 24 hours later. They had been taken by Sinn Féiners in a pub and taken to a barn outside the town for the night where they overheard their guards planning an attack on the Truro . They managed to escape and brought the news.

  By a strange coincidence, while I was writing this 51 years later, the IRA were seizing and blowing up two small Naval Survey launches in Baltimore Harbour, not far from Castletownsend.

  I paid several visits to Castletownsend, a charming port and got to know Miss Somerville, the author of many very amusing Irish books.

  Near this harbour was an offshore lighthouse (I forget its name) but one night when I was passing the usual flashing light was not shown and several red rockets went up from it. I anchored nearby and sent an officer and small party to investigate. It appeared that the Sinn Féiners had attacked the lighthouse earlier that evening and stolen the gunpowder (or explosive whatever it was they used for fog signals) put the light out of action and on departing had locked the entrance which we had to break open.

  On my return passage to Portland I gave a passage to a newly joined Naval cadet, Somerville by name. Later in 1940 my son, Michael, served in his destroyer in the Mediterranean and I met him again. He was killed in Malta in April 1941 when a bomb burst at the entrance to an air raid shelter, my son escaping this fate as he had temporarily gone back to his destroyer, which was in dry dock. Somerville was looked upon as being in the front rank of our many fine destroyer officers at this time.

  By this time my service in Ireland was over in 1921, I was looking forward to a year at the RN Staff College at Greenwich. My wife and I had had a very spasmodic and scanty homelife at Rodwell, and it was high time this changed, especially with the two boys growing up.

  CHAPTER 7

  Captain R.D. Jeune

  Details

  This account was written in 1972 is taken from the private papers of Captain Jeune held in the Imperial War Museum. During the First World War, Jeune served as an interpreter with the 1st Indian Cavalry Division in France from September 1914 to September 1915. He commanded the 94th Trench Mortar Company, from October 1915 to October 1916, seeing service at the Battle of the Somme. He also commanded the 24th Trench Mortar Battery in the Ypres Salient from June to July 1917. He took part in the British Military Mission in Poland, from January 1919 to December 1920. Afterwards he served in intelligence duties in Ireland, mainly in Dublin, where he served alongside the Cario Gang. He was one of the few British Intelligence Officers to survive Bloody Sunday.

  DURING THE SUMMER of 1972, I made the acquaintance of Mr. T.E. Utley, of the Daily Telegraph , who had written a very sound article on the Ulster question. I had asked him whether he would be interested to know what really happened in Dublin during the Sinn Féin Troubles in 1920-21. He said that he would be very interested and asked me to write an account of my experiences there, which I did. He has, I understand, been trying to find a means of getting it published, but after meeting him several times I have heard nothing more.

  Herewith, therefore, a copy, in case anybody may be interested.

  A very considerable degree of optimism would be required by anyone seeking to analyse and appreciate the complexities of the Irish question. Add to the political aspect, the religious, plus the historical, the climatic laziness, and to these the rebellious Irish temperament, and the result is a mixture capable of defying the probing of the most determined psycho-analyst. Some clarification may possibly be derived from referring to the failure of the Romans to exercise their civilising influence in Ireland. Likewise to misunderstanding and some misrule, or lack of rule, from Whitehall and to absentee landlordism. So is it surprising that there have been many troublous times in the Emerald Isle?

  In considering the present crisis in Ulster, it may be of interest to recall the situation in Dublin in 1920-21, and to note the similarities and differences.

  Those of us whose memories are long enough will remember the loyalty shown by the people of Ulster, the gallant record of the 36th Ulster Division, which suffered such grievous loses at Thiepval on 1st July, 1916. On the other hand there was the Easter 1916 rising in Dublin, which stabbed us in the back though it must not be forgotten that many Southern Irish fought with us.

  After the rising had been crushed, possibly with rather excessive harshness, resistance simmered, being punctuated by occasional raids on police stations, the murder of some police and Residential Magistrates, until it was realised in Whitehall that this had to stop. A rather hastily improvised Intelligence Organisation was formed, of which I was a member, and after a short course of instruction at Hounslow, we were sent over to Dublin in the early summer of 1920.

  The first batch were instructed to pose, initially, as RE officers, but this rather futile procedure was soon dropped and the work consisted of getting to know the town thoroughly, tailing ‘Shinners’, and carrying out small raids, with a view to collecting all possible information which would lead us eventually to stamping out the revolt.

  For example, I received orders to carry out a surreptitious night raid on the house of Arthur Griffith, the self-styled Vice-President of the Irish Republic. A successful and unobserved entry was effected, and a number of subversive documents were removed, which proved to be of considerable interest.

  On the following day, the local press published a report stating Mr Griffith’s house had been raided by ‘expert Cracksmen’!

  At that time, the general situation in Dublin was quite normal on the surface, and quite different from that prevailing at present in Ulster. There was no bombing or shooting, and, of course, no internecine religious strife, though in the country districts the number of cases of illicit drilling, burning of country houses, attacks on police stations and shooting of police officers was mounting. In this context, the often misunderstood and misapplied term ‘Black and Tan’ should be mentioned. During and shortly after the war, losses to the Royal Irish Constabulary were sometimes replaced by recruits from England. The uniform of the RIC was a dark green tunic and black trousers. Owing to the difficulty of supplying sufficient green tunics, the recruits were fitted out with khaki jackets, and were consequently known as the Black and Tans, after the well-known Irish pack of hounds. Incidentally, in 1919 a few couple of these hounds were bought by the Cotswold Hunt.

  Later, in the summer of 1920 a new police force was raised, composed of British ex-officers, and known as the Auxiliary Police Force. They wore khaki uniform with Glengarry caps, and were housed in barracks. Mistakenly the term ‘Black and Tan’ came to be applied to them. We often collaborated with them; and there was no nonsense with the IRA.

  In September 1920, a raid took place, which had a significant result. It was decided to raid several houses in Drumcondra, and that we were to have the help of a detachment of the East Lancs. Particular attention was attached to the house of a man called O’Connor, known to us as an active Sinn Féiner. At the arranged signal I charged the door, but it did not give, so I charged again, and this time it flew open, and, much to the amusement of the Tommies, I went slithering along the linoleum-covered floor on my front.

  There was no hostile reception, however, and the search went on. While this was happening I was standing talking to Boddington, who was in charge of the raid, then a letter was brought to him, which he read and handed to me, saying: ‘Money for jam.’ It was on official Dublin Castle paper and was in these words:

  Dear Mr. O’Connor,

  I am having the papers you require sent to you.

  Yours Sincerely,

  A.W. Cope

  This was distinctly interesting. Here was the Assistant Under Secretary writing to a notorious Sinn Féiner, with whom he had obviously already been i
n contact.

  After this I made a point of trying to find out more about this individual’s doings, and found that he had done some rather strange things, such as arranging for some electricians of known Sinn Féin views to come into the Castle at unusual times. Also he was one of the very few Castle officials who could safely walk about the streets of Dublin. But it was decided that no drastic action could be taken against him, as it turned out that he was a protégé of Lloyd-George, who had picked him out of the Fisheries and sent him over to Ireland under Sir John Anderson in order to get a foot in the Sinn Féin camp, or, in modern parlance, to set in motion an ‘initiative’. Later he was given a good job in the Liberal Party.

  A little later, in October, we were involved in a disastrous raid, also in Drumcondra. Shortly before, Col. Smyth had been murdered in the County Club in Cork by Dan Breen, the leader of the original murder gang, which also included Sean Tracey, Denis Lacey and Sean Hogan. Major Smyth had come from India to avenge his brother’s murder, and he asked if he could join us, so, when it was decided to visit some houses where it was thought that wanted men were given shelter, about half a dozen of us, including Major Smyth, set out at night in a truck to investigate a house near Kingstown (now called, Dun Laoghaire). But we drew a blank, so we went on chance to Professor Carolan’s house, Fernside, Drumcondra.

  As was our custom, my immediate chief, Phil Attwood, and I went round to the back of the house and waited in the garden. Suddenly we heard a volley of shots in the house, and Phil said to me ‘Come on Bob, let’s go in’. This seemed the natural thing to do, but it turned out to be a grievous mistake. At the back of the house was a conservatory, and as I went in I saw Michael, whose surname I have forgotten, raise his pistol and fire a couple of shots. I asked him what he was firing at, and he said, ‘He came down from the window and I think I got him in the leg. He has gone up again’. It was obvious that the only way then to get back into the garden to prevent any escape was to go by the same way by which we had originally gone, so I ran round the house, but by the time I had got back into the garden it was too late, and there was no sign of my gunmen.