‘I could not resist the temptation to have a look at the elusive “Mike”. The man to whom my friend referred was small, thin, with mouse-coloured hair, and looked rather like a jockey. What he lacked in physique, however, he made up in facial ferocity, for a more villainous looking individual I never saw.’
‘Are you sure that he is Collins?’ Smyllie asked.
‘Of course, don’t I know him well?’
‘For nearly a year, therefore, I guarded the guilty secret of having been within touching distance of the most badly “wanted” man in Ireland,’ Smyllie continued. But now he was about to learn the truth.
‘I scanned the assembly in vain for the gentleman of the restaurant. None of the members resembled him in the very least, and I was just beginning to be afraid that Collins was a myth after all, when the Clerk of the House began to call the roll by constituencies. As Collins was the only member present who had been elected from Antrim or Armagh, he was the first person to answer the roll call.
‘Here was no emaciated little jockey-man, furtive of eye, and hang-dog of look. A big, burly, broad shouldered individual with a shock of pitch-black hair and a broad smile, walked across the floor and signed the register. All my preconceived ideas were shattered. I could not have been more completely taken aback if the Moderator of the General Assembly had answered to that name.
‘At first sight Collins is decidedly disappointing. He does not look a bit like a mystery man. And the stories we used to hear about him! One, I remember was that he had slipped up a chimney to escape arrest. I should like to see that chimney, for Collins does not weight an ounce under fourteen stone. He is of more than average height, although you would not describe him as tall. He face is round and somewhat O’Connellesque, with a sharpish nose and a largely mobile mouth. A phrenologist would give him good marks for his head, and he has a fine pair of eyes, which are well set off by arching brows. One misses that aggressive firmness that hits you when you look at Mr Arthur Griffith. Collins can be firm enough when he pleases, but it is impulse rather than resolution that makes him dig his heals into the ground.’
A special correspondent of The Irish Times wrote that Collins ‘gave one the impression of an almost Falstaffian geniality. Unless his looks belie him, Collins had an abundant sense of humour.’
Eamon de Valera delivered a short presidential address. ‘Speaking with great emphasis and obvious sincerity, de Valera soared into the realms of pure theory and lofty idealism,’ according to The Irish Times correspondent. It reminded one reporter of Woodrow Wilson’s famous speech at the opening of the Paris Peace Conference in January 1919. ‘One had the same impression of moral fervour and passionate sincerity and the same unwelcome convictions that disillusionment lay in store,’ the correspondent noted. ‘As a shrewd observer of human affairs remarked on that occasion when the American President resumed his seat: “C’est magnifique; but it is not hard tacks”.’
Speaking off the cuff de Valera caused a bit of a stir when he talked about the unmistakable answer given by the people in the recent general election. ‘I do not say that the answer was for a form of government so much, because we are not Republican doctrinaires,’ he said, ‘but it was for Irish freedom and Irish independence, and it was obvious to everyone who considered the question that Irish independence could not be realised in any other way so suitably as through a Republic.’ Yet he had indicated to both Smuts and Lloyd George that the unfettered status of the dominions would be acceptable.
‘Great numbers of people were not Republicans,’ Robert Barton explained. ‘They were sympathetic but not sincere Republicans. They suffered willingly and gave the Republican leadership enthusiastic support because public opinion and patriotism demanded it and because the Irish Army could punish as well as the English. But the resistance of the people was measured by the resistance of the leaders. To the outside observer the demand for complete independence may have appeared to spring from the people; in reality the people were infused by the leaders and the strength of the National demand.’
In a further speech next day, 17 August, de Valera elaborated by emphasising his personal readiness to compromise on partition and defence, as well as on the issue of association with the British commonwealth. ‘I would be willing to suggest to the Irish people to give up a good deal in order to have an Ireland that could look to the future without anticipating distracting internal problems,’ he said. The unionists in the six counties were ‘Irishmen living in Ireland’, so he would be prepared to give up a lot to win them over. ‘We are ready,’ he emphasised, ‘to make sacrifices we could never think of making for Britain.’
The main demands made by the British in the July proposals related to membership of the British commonwealth and defensive measures. De Valera openly indicated a distinct willingness to compromise. ‘We are never likely to complete with Britain in armaments,’ he said. ‘Therefore, we have no hesitation in entering into any agreement on the limitation of armaments, provided it is obvious that they intend it for that good and wise purpose, and not simply for the purpose of disarming us or making us helpless.’
Since the British described their relations with the dominions as ‘free and friendly co-operation,’ he intimated that such a relationship would be acceptable. ‘The cooperation of the British dominions is free,’ he told the Dáil. ‘They have said that as a proof that it was free, they could get out of it, if they wanted to. They have not chosen to get out.’
Collins spoke rarely during the session, except in his capacity as minister for finance on financial matters, but one intervention was poignant in a discussion on the operation of the republican courts. There was no doubt that he was getting a dig in at Stack. ‘The courts broke down for the reason that the machinery was not held together,’ the Big Fellow complained. ‘There was not enough work done locally or at headquarters.’
The way Collins crossed the bounds of his own portfolio to express views on other matters might have been more acceptable if he had not been so resentful of similar interference in his own areas. He behaved as if others should abide by certain rules, while he was free to improvise as he went along.
‘What the hell do you know about finance?’ he snapped at Stack one day, when the latter had the temerity to make some suggestion.
‘I know more about finance, than you know about manners!’ Stack replied.
On 18 August the Dáil went into a private session from which the press and public were excluded, and de Valera spoke much more candidly. For instance, he stated it was a fact ‘that no nation would recognise the Irish Republic, unless that nation was prepared to go to war with Britain.’ While he would be very glad of such support, he said ‘that was a very vague hope.’
In the course of a rather rambling discussion during a private session on 22 August, de Valera seemed to be almost echoing the New Statesman when he told deputies that if they were determined to make peace only on the basis of recognition of the Republic, then they were going to be faced with war, only this time it would be a real war of British re-conquest, not just a continuation of limited military coercive measures ‘in support of the civil police’ to force some people to obey the law. In short, he was saying the War of Independence had not been a real war at all.
Although de Valera’s remarks were couched in terms of outlining stark realities so the Dáil could decide the best course for itself, there was absolutely no room for doubt about his readiness to compromise, even on important issues like the partition question. He gave the private session an idea of what he had meant when he talked publicly about making sacrifices for a settlement.
‘The minority in Ulster had a right to have their sentiments considered to the utmost limit,’ he explained, according to the official record. ‘If the Republic were recognised he would be in favour of giving each county power to vote itself out of the Republic if it so wished.’ The only choice would be to coerce Northern Ireland, and he was opposed to such coercion because it would not be succe
ssful and, anyway, he warned, attempting to coerce the majority in Northern Ireland would be to make the same mistake the British had made with the Irish people as a whole.
On the issue of commonwealth membership, he told deputies ‘they could not turn down what appeared to be, on the face of it, an invitation to join a group of free nations provided it was based on the principles enunciated by President Wilson.’ And he also indicated they would have to make concessions to satisfy Britain’s security requirements.
‘It was ridiculous of course to say that because Ireland was near Britain she should give Britain safeguards,’ de Valera admitted. ‘But,’ he continued, ‘America demanded such strategic safeguards from the small island of Cuba.’ If security concessions were refused, Britain would depict the Irish as unreasonable, America would agree, as would the international community generally, and then ‘England would be given a free hand to deal with Ireland.’ The Irish people’s natural moral right to their own island would be eradicated, just as the rights of the American Indians had been trampled on in North America.
‘Look at America,’ he said ominously, ‘where are the natives? Wiped off the face of the earth.’ The same thing could happen in Ireland. ‘Unfortunately,’ he added, ‘they were very far away from living in a world where moral forces counted’; it was ‘brute force’ that mattered.
If the deputies insisted on securing recognition of the republic as a totally independent country, they would be acting like prisoners in jail going on hunger-strike to secure their freedom, he explained. If they won, they would have their freedom, but if they lost, they would be dead and have nothing. His choice of allusion was particularly significant because he had always opposed hunger-strikes himself.
De Valera gave only a vague outline of the kind of compromise alternative he had in mind. He demanded what amounted to a blank cheque to negotiate whatever agreement he thought fit, subject only to its subsequent approval by a majority of the Dáil. With the latter due to go back into public session for the formal election of the president, he told the secret session he wanted his own position clearly understood before allowing his name to be put forward.
‘I have one allegiance only to the people of Ireland and that is to do the best we can for the people of Ireland as we conceive it,’ he declared. ‘If you propose me I want you all to understand that you propose me understanding that that will be my attitude.’ All questions would be discussed, he said, ‘from the point of view absolutely of what I consider the people of Ireland want and what I consider is best from their point of view.’
One deputy interjected to object to the president’s stated willingness to allow each of the six counties to vote itself out of the Irish Republic, but de Valera reaffirmed his position. He would be ready to consider allowing counties or provinces to vote themselves out.
‘I do not feel myself bound to consider anything,’ he emphasised. ‘I feel myself open to consider everything.’ He would not be confined. ‘I will not accept this office if you fetter me in any way whatever,’ he declared. ‘I cannot accept office except on the understanding that no road is barred, that we shall be free to consider every method.’ The policy of his government would be to do what he thought best for the country and ‘those who would disagree with me would resign.’
Brugha had said at the cabinet meeting of 25 July that the president had no right to consider anything which was not in line with allegiance to the Irish republic, so the latest remarks were a patent effort to ensure such an argument would have no validity in future. De Valera concluded by proposing the Dáil adjourn for the day. No time was allowed for any debate on what he had said; there was no room for discussion, as far as he was concerned. If the deputies wanted him as president they had to accept his terms; otherwise, they should elect somebody else.
Before the election for president on 26 August, however, there was a discrepancy to be cleared up about his actual title as president because, as de Valera admitted, ‘no such office had been created’. Back in 1919 he had simply given himself the title of president without the authority of the Dáil, which had elected him priomh aire (prime minister). Now the discrepancy was somewhat obliquely tackled by slipping the term ‘President’ into a constitutional amendment limiting the size of the cabinet to seven specified officers – ‘the President who shall also be Prime Minister’ and the ministers for foreign affairs, home affairs, defence, finance, local government and economic affairs.
3 - ‘We can afford to be generous’
De Valera was duly elected president unanimously, and he delivered a short address extolling in mythical terms the supposed unity within the Dáil. ‘When I was in America I used to be amused about the talk of extremists and moderates and differences of opinion,’ he said. ‘There are no differences of opinion amongst us’. He went on to emphasise that this was not only within the cabinet, but also within the whole movement. He then proceeded on to engage in a piece of theatrics to bolster his own carefully cultivated image of passionate sincerity.
It had been agreed to release at noon the text of his latest letter to Lloyd George confirming ‘the anticipatory judgment’ of the Dáil’s rejection of the British offer. As there was still two minutes to go, he waited in silence for the two minutes. He then read the letter, which concluded by intimating that the British should convene a conference to negotiate a democratic peace settlement. ‘To negotiate such a peace, Dáil Éireann is ready to appoint its representatives, and, if your Government accepts the principle proposed, to invest them with plenary powers to meet and arrange with you for its application in detail.’
De Valera then nominated the six men who were to make up the new cabinet with him. He began with Griffith, then Stack, Brugha, Collins, Cosgrave and finally, Robert Barton. The president also named eight ‘Extra Cabinet Ministers,’ who included Kevin O’Higgins, Count George N. Plunkett, Desmond Fitzgerald, Countess Markievicz and Ernest Blythe.
Although Collins had been dropped to fourth place in the pecking order, he delivered the first ministerial report. ‘The President has been sufficiently praised’, he declared early in the address in which he went on lavish praise on James O’Mara for his work in America.
De Valera had asked Collins to come out to the United States to organise the bond drive in 1919, but the Big Fellow sent James O’Mara, one of the Dáil’s trustees, instead. If it were not for the pioneering work done by O’Mara, they would not have been ‘nearly so successful in raising the money abroad,’ according to Collins. He believed he was voicing the feelings of everyone who worked with, or was associated with him. ‘Everyone was particularly grateful to Mr James O’Mara for the work he had done for us,’ Collins emphasised.
De Valera was so happy with O’Mara’s work that he offered him the post of ambassador to the United States, but O’Mara was far from content with de Valera’s performance. He declined the offer because he could no longer ‘hold any official position under the government of the Irish Republic whose President claims such arbitrary executive authority, and in whose judgment of American affairs I have no longer any confidence.’ He not only refused the post but also resigned as one of the Dáil’s three trustees, and he announced he would not stand for re-election to the Dáil itself. Instead of just accepting the resignation, de Valera sent O’Mara a petulant telegram announcing he was being fired. It was a blatant example of de Valera’s presumption of the arbitrary authority about which O’Mara had already complained. Even if O’Mara had not already resigned, de Valera did not have the authority to remove him as a trustee, because the Dáil had appointed him.
The effusive praise that Collins heaped on O’Mara was really a figurative shot across the Long Fellow’s bows, though few of those present seemed to have realised that at the time. De Valera had been so touchy about O’Mara’s criticism, however, he would not have missed the significance of the Big Fellow’s remarks.
The same day in some written answers to questions posed by Clyde A. Beals of United Press, Collins ap
peared to adopt a firmer approach than de Valera’s much more moderate tone during the Dáil private session of recent days. He essentially dismissed any suggestion of submitting the British offer to a plebiscite of the Irish people. ‘There is unanimity in rejecting the present proposals,’ Collins explained. ‘The proposals constitute no basis that any self-respecting Irish man will consider. Another thing – and the thing that counts – is that nationally there can be no free plebiscite while the English forces are in occupation here.’
Asked by Beals whether any alternative to a republic could be submitted to the people, Collins was evasive, rather like a typical of politician. ‘No,’ he said. ‘The issue was the Irish republic – that means Irish freedom. The Irish people stand solidly for that.’
Collins did some of his own posturing in the following days. ‘They have asked me to go north to Armagh for a meeting on Sunday. A rally for Ireland! I must do it although I hate a public meeting like I hate a plague,’ he wrote. Armagh was one of the two constituencies from which he had been elected to the Dáil and he planned on expressing strong sentiments. ‘I’m going to endeavour making such an appeal to them as will make them rock to their foundations,’ he continue. ‘At least I’m going to try.’
He had little to say about the British offer in his speech in Armagh on 4 September. ‘With regard to the terms themselves I have little to add to what has been said in our letters to the British Government,’ he said. ‘These terms are not acceptable to us. They do not give us the substance of freedom.’
He was speaking to nationalists, but his remarks were really directed at the unionist population. He asked the gathering of some 7,000 in the playing field of the local seminary how Sir James Craig could believe in self-determination and deny it to the people of Fermanagh and Tyrone. ‘The Orangemen have been used as a tool in preventing up to the present, what is now inevitable,’ Collins said. ‘The moment is near when they will no longer be of use as a tool – when they will, in fact, stand in the way of an agreement with Ireland which has now become essential to British interests. Then they will be thrown aside, and they will find their eyes turned to an England which no longer wants them.
I Signed My Death Warrant Page 5