‘I distinctly remember meeting a lady in the inner office when we first entered,’ he said. ‘Where is she now?’
‘That must be Mick Collins who escaped disguised as a lady,’ someone suggested in an undertone. Of course, this added to the myths surround the elusiveness of Collins. While his mystique continued to grow, his influence within the IRA was on the wane.
The remaining members of the Squad were amalgamated with the ASU, which became known as the Dublin Guard, under the leadership of O’Daly, but not without some controversy. He spoke to a joint meeting of the remaining members of the Squad, the ASU and the intelligence officers at the Plaza hotel in Upper Gardiner Street.
‘O’Daly addressed all present and stated that he had now been appointed to command the ASU,’ stated Joe McGuinness of the ASU. ‘He said that owing to the very much reduced strength of the ASU on account of arrests and other casualties, it was now proposed to reorganise it and that, from that day on, the Squad, the ASU and intelligence would merge and form one unit under his control.’
The combined strength of the two amalgamated units was 120 men. This was divided into two half companies, with Joe Leonard of the Squad in charge of the half-company covering North Dublin.
Even though the opposition to O’Daly from within the Squad had evaporated following the arrest of Keogh and the other dissidents during the Custom House operation, the transition was still far from smooth. Paddy Flanagan, the head of the Dublin ASU, resigned, as did his adjutant, Mick White, following O’Daly’s appointment. ‘When I took over I told the men that we were having no staff officers,’ he explained. ‘Every officer and non commissioned officer would be a leader in attack. The lieutenants would not alone take orders from me, but they would look for jobs and keep the men employed. Every Tan and military lorry was fair game, but no individual shootings of civilians must take place; no man had the right to say who was a spy. Headquarters were the only people who would give an order for an execution.’
‘An all out effort was being made by those still at liberty to increase the number of attacks, so that the enemy would not be aware of the depletion the Custom House arrests had made in the ranks of the active volunteers in Dublin,’ noted Charlie Dalton. Instead of targeting only specific individuals, members of the former Squad were targeting any enemy personnel. But some individuals remained targets, such as Ormonde Winter, the head of British intelligence operations. On the afternoon of 2 June a small group of IRA men ambushed the RIC car in which Winter was travelling along Thomas Street approaching the junction with James’ Street. A grenade was thrown at the car and several revolver shots were fired, but Winter escaped with just one minor bullet wound.
Plans were also made to attack the British hangman, John Ellis, and his assistant, William Willis, the following week, as they arrived from England to hang Edward Foley and Patrick Maher in Dublin on 7 June. Ellis was the chief British hangman. He had already carried out the executions of Roger Casement and Kevin Barry, along with all seven others already hanged in Dublin during 1921. Even though members of the IRA staked out Kingstown to kill the two hangmen as they arrived, both had already slipped in without being noticed. It was only much later that the IRA learned that Ellis and Willis always arrived some days in advance.
Collins was still director of intelligence, but he had effectively lost control of the Squad, and all of his moles within the police in Dublin had been uncovered. David Neligan did remain undetected. ‘After a while I suggested to the British that it would be better for all the British secret service men to meet some place where we could have a discussion,’ Neligan noted. ‘The meeting took place in the North Dublin Union. About forty or fifty of those fellows turned up there. I got to know several of them and where they were living too.
‘There was to be another Bloody Sunday, but the Truce came along and it saved those fellows,’ he added. Indeed, there was also a plan to kill as many auxiliaries as possible on the streets of Dublin but it too was called off.
Lloyd George had been anxious to negotiate ever since the previous autumn, but his wing of the Liberal Party was only a small minority within the coalition government. The Conservatives actually enjoyed a clear overall majority in both houses of parliament. They could therefore bring down the government at will. While Hamar Greenwood was contending that the security forces were winning, Lloyd George had to wait, if only to strengthen his own negotiating position. The attack on the Custom House seemed to undermine the contention that the security forces were getting the better of the IRA, because in May 1921 the British suffered their heaviest casualties since the Easter Rebellion.
The number of attacks on the security forces in the first six months of 1921 was supposedly down, but the number of casualties was dramatically up. The total casualties for the second half of 1920 were 174 killed and 310 wounded, whereas 317 were killed and 638 wounded in the first half of 1921. In the circumstances it seemed unlikely that the IRA was about to collapse.
There was a noticeable relaxation on the part of British officials. De Valera had been arrested and quickly freed and told to await a communication from the British prime minister. This turned out to be an invitation to London to discuss terms for a peace conference. De Valera demanded a truce first and the terms of a truce were agreed on Saturday to come into effect on the following Tuesday. Brigid Lyons was passing Mountjoy Jail on Sunday when, on impulse, she went up to the door to request permission to see MacEoin. ‘There’s a one outside wanting to see MacEoin,’ he said to someone inside the gate.
‘What do you want to see him for? he asked. ‘Do you have a permit?’
When she replied that she did not, he slammed the wicket. Then she heard the bolt on the door being withdrawn and a well dressed man came out. She did not know him, but later learned he was Sir Alfred Cope, the assistant secretary at Dublin Castle.
‘I am trying to get into to see Commandant MacEoin,’ Brigid said to him, ‘and they won’t let me see him.’
‘That’s too bad,’ he said. ‘Are you a friend?’
When she said she was, he turned to the warder and said, ‘Take the visitor to see Commandant MacEoin.’ She was as surprised at the use of MacEoin’s title as she was at being taken to see him.
EPILOGUE
The Truce came into effect on 11 July 1921. Collins sent a message to Brigid Lyons that night that he would like to accompany her to see MacEoin on Wednesday afternoon at 2.15. She made arrangements for herself and ‘James Gill’ to visit. The Big Fellow entered the jail as Gill.
‘It was a joy to see Seán MacEoin’s surprise when he saw Mick Collins walk into Mountjoy that day,’ remembered Brigid. ‘Seán just greeted him as a visitor but there was no hiding his inner delight.’
The following day MacEoin wrote to Brigid. ‘I don’t know how to explain to you how grateful I am to you for your visit yesterday. My old heart beat high with joy and all I could do was stare and murmur to myself “Thank God”. I am sure you understand how I felt,’ he wrote.
‘I will be forever grateful to you for that visit,’ he continued. ‘Never were you so welcome and that welcome will always remain so long as I remain.’
There was no doubting the intensity of MacEoin’s appreciation at Collins’ gesture. Later the Big Fellow caused a certain amount of disquiet within Sinn Féin circles by announcing that the dáil would not consider peace terms offered by the British unless Mac Eoin was first released. The British had already announced that all the other members of the dáil would be released, but they were holding on to MacEoin because he had been sentenced to death. Collins had no authority for his pronouncement, but it worked and the British promptly released MacEoin.
Part of the loyalty that Collins attracted was prompted by the sense of caring that he generated. Men believed that he really cared about them as individuals and that he would go to extraordinary lengths to try to rescue them. After the Anglo-Irish Treaty was accepted by the dáil in January 1922, Collins became chairman of the Provisional Government. Some of
his subsequent behaviour though raised questions about whether he would ever have been able to adapt from the part of gang leader to a more restrained role in civilian government.
On 21 January 1922 Collins thought he had an understanding with Sir James Craig, the prime minister of Northern Ireland, in accordance with which prisoners would be released. These included ten ‘Monaghan footballers’ who were arrested crossing the border on 14 January. They were supposedly going to play a football game, but were actually planning to spring three prisoners from Derry Jail who were under sentence of death for killing a warder.
When it became apparent that he had overestimated the significance of his understanding with Craig, Collins came up with a plan to kidnap about a hundred Orangemen and hold them as hostages for the three men under sentence of death. General Eoin O’Duffy, who took over as chief-of-staff from Richard Mulcahy when the latter became minister for defence, arranged the overall operation, which was supposedly undertaken by anti-Treaty forces. On 7 February forty-two unionists were kidnapped and held hostage. The whole thing was a reckless act, especially when it was learned that the three men had already had their sentences commuted earlier that day. If the sentences had not been commuted, would Collins have had some of the hostages executed?
He even tried to have the hangman and his assistant killed. Having failed to intercept John Ellis and William Willis on their way to Dublin on previous occasions, Collins sent two men over to England to kill them in their homes.
‘Charlie Byrne and I got instructions to report to Collins at the Gresham hotel where he had his office at the time,’ Dolan said. ‘Collins explained to me what he wanted done. We were told to get in touch with a man named Paddy Daly, who was one of the Liverpool Irish Volunteers, that he would show us where to go to find the men who we were to shoot, and that he would give us the assistance of whatever number of Liverpool Irish Volunteers as we might consider necessary.’
They met Daly as arranged and then went by train to Man chester. ‘I undertook the shooting of Ellis, and six or seven of the Liverpool men came along with me,’ Dolan continued. Byrne went after the hangman’s assistant, William Willis, with some of the Man chester Volunteers. Willis lived in Accrington and they went by car.
‘We went by train to Rochdale where Ellis lived, and some of the Liverpool Volunteers conducted me to the house and pointed it out to me. I walked up to the door alone and knocked at the door, which was opened by Mrs Ellis. At this stage I noticed that the other fellows had all disappeared, but I decided to go ahead with the job on my own. Mrs Ellis informed me that her husband was not in, that he had gone to Ireland, but as I did not believe her at the time, I forced my way into the house and looked around. There was no one there and I had to accept her assurance that he had left already for Ireland. Our boats had probably crossed.’
Charlie Byrne’s mission had also proved abortive. Their car broke down. Byrne wanted to commandeer a car, but the others would not hear of it. So he too came up empty handed. Willis had probably already left for Ireland anyway.
In the early 1950s Dolan caused a sensation by disclosing that in June 1922 Collins had been behind the killing of Field Marshal Sir Henry Wilson in London. This was the incident that had essentially ignited the Civil War in Ireland. The British thought that republican forces occupying the Four Courts were responsible and they warned that if Collins did not clear out the Four Courts without delay, they would do so. In fact, General Sir Nevil Macready was ordered to clear out the Four Courts, but he delayed in the hope that Collins would eventually do so, which he did the following day.
Dolan was not involved in the shooting of Wilson, who was killed outside his London home by Reggie Dunne, the officer commanding the London IRA, and one of his men, Joe O’Sullivan, who had lost a leg in the war. There was also believed to have been a third man driving a getaway car, but he apparently fled when the two were chased and captured by people at the scene.
‘I was then a Staff Captain in the National Army attached to the military intelligence branch at Oriel House,’ Dolan recalled. ‘Naturally, we all discussed the shooting, or the report of it that had appeared in the newspapers, but I don’t think I spoke to anyone who knew any more about it than I did at the time.’ Before Dunne and O’Sullivan went on trial Collins summoned Dolan to his office in Portobello barracks.
‘Collins was a man who wasted no words; he always spoke snappily and to the point,’ Dolan said. ‘Having mentioned the shooting of Sir Henry Wilson, he immediately came to the point by saying that he wanted to effect a rescue of Dunne and O’Sullivan if at all possible. He said he wanted me to change into civilian attire immediately, report to Sam Maguire in London and there to see what could be done towards effecting a rescue at all costs. The idea was not that I should attempt to rescue immediately but that I should explore the possibilities and report back to Collins without delay.’
‘I left for London by the mail boat that evening and reported to Sam Maguire as arranged,’ Dolan continued. ‘The rendezvous with Maguire was at Peel’s public house in Fetter Lane, which is off Fleet St. That was the usual place where Maguire could be contacted. When I met Maguire, I discussed my mission with him, and I gathered from him that he already knew of the rescue project. He called over another man who was there at the time – Seán Golden, whom I already knew – and told me that Golden would show me the same pub but had not been in Maguire’s company when I came along, and he was instructed by Maguire to show me the way around and assist me to explore the likely places where a rescue might be attempted.’
Dolan concluded there might be an opportunity of rescuing Dunne and O’Sullivan as they travelled between the prison and the court. Some three days later he reported to Collins, but then became involved in the Civil War, which had already begun. Afterwards Sam Maguire told Dolan that Collins had sent T o m Cullen to check on Dolan’s suggestions, and apparently ruled out any rescue.
‘There is nothing more I can say from my personal knowledge on this incident except to express my firm belief that Collins did instruct Dunne to carry out the execution of Wilson,’ Dolan added. ‘The Belfast pogrom was still going on and we all knew that Wilson was one of the chief forces at the back of it. Before the Truce it would have been perfectly legitimate to have Wilson executed, but perhaps it was only after the Truce that his responsibility in this matter was identified and his activities had not ceased with the Truce.’
These were not the actions of someone committed to a democratic constitutional process. Whether Collins would ever have adapted to a role in civilian government must be open to question in view of his efforts in trying to kill the British hangman and his assistant, as well as the subsequent murder of Sir Henry Wilson. There is little doubt that some of his men were not able to make the transition after Collins was killed at Béalnabláth on 22 August 1922.
Major General Paddy O’Daly was in charge of the Free State’s soldiers in Kerry who committed the worst atrocities of the Civil War, and he presided over the subsequent army inquiry, which was a proverbial whitewash. Liam Tobin, Charlie Dalton and Frank Thornton were leading figures in the Army Mutiny of 1924. Eoin O’Duffy became commissioner of the garda siochána during the 1920s, but he tried to organise a coup d’état to prevent Fianna Fáil coming to power in 1932, while David Neligan, the head of the special branch, stood idly by. O’Duffy and Neligan were ousted the following year. Ned Broy became garda commissioner and loyally served the de Valera government.
Most of those closest to Collins were unable to make the adjustment to civilian authority. They were virtually leaderless without him. They tried to live up to his ideals, but as the Big Fellow was such a secretive individual, nobody was ever quite sure where he really stood.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Manuscript Sources
Robert Barton Papers, TCD
Michael Collins Papers, Marquette University, Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Michael Collins Papers, Liam Collins, Clonakilty
Richard
Mulcahy Papers, UCD
Ernie O’Malley Papers, UCD
Austin Stack Papers, Nanette Barrett, Tralee
Bureau of Military History Statements, National Archives
Ahern, Maurice, WS 483
Archer, Liam, WS 819
Barton, Robert, WS 979
Beaumont, Seán, WS 709
Berry, Patrick J., WS 942
Bolger, John C., WS 1,745
Broy, Eamon, WS 1,280
WS 1,284, WS 1,285
Byrne, Bernard C., WS 631
Byrne, Joseph, WS 461
Byrne, Vincent, WS 423
Coghlan, Francis X., WS 1,760
Culhane, Seán, WS 746
Dalton, Charles, WS 434
Dalton, Emmet, WS 641
Dolan, Joe, WS 663, WS 900
Doyle, Gerald, WS 1,511
Duffy, Thomas, WS 1,409
Fitzgerald, George, WS 684
Fox, Thomas, WS 365
Gay, Thomas B. WS 780
Harpur, James, WS 536
Hyland, Joe WS 644
Kelliher, Edward J., WS 477
Kelly, Paddy, WS 726
Kennedy, Patrick, WS 499
Kennedy, Tadgh, WS 135, 1413
Kenny, James, WS 174
Knightly, Mike, WS 833
Lawless, Sr Eitne (Eibhlín),
WS 410
Lawson, Patrick, WS 667
Leonard, Joseph, WS 547
MacNeill, Hugo, WS 1,377
Mannix, Patrick, WS 502
McCorley, Roger, WS 389
McCrae, Patrick, WS 413
McDonnell, Daniel, WS 486
McDonnell, Michael, WS 225
McElligott, T. J., WS 472
McGarry, Seán, WS 368
McGuinness, Joseph, WS 607
McMahon, Liam, WS 274
Mernin, Lily, WS 441
Mullen, Patrick J., WS 621
Neligan, David WS 380
Newell, Thomas ‘Sweeney’
WS 572, WS 698
Nunan, Seán, WS 1,744
The Squad Page 26