by Joe Ambrose
The 27 May burning on Kilmallock barracks was a major overnight operation involving IRA men from east Clare, Cork, Tipperary and Limerick. The interesting thing about this action – the ultimate example of co-operation between brigades – was that many of those who attended, who travelled long distances to be there, came to watch and to learn how such an attack could be done. Thomas Malone said that the IRA had eighty men arranged at vantage points around the barracks. Among them were key people from neighbouring brigades like Treacy, Breen and Mick Brennan from Clare. According to Malone, they were ‘all anxious to see how it was done’.
East Limerick Volunteer, J. M. McCarthy, was put in charge of one of the distinguished visitors, Clare warlord, Mick Brennan: ‘How he came to be present at Kilmallock I do not know, but when we were assembling to open the attack he was on the spot and I was asked to include him in my section … I treated him as an ordinary Volunteer, to which unaccustomed role he readily adapted himself, apart from a tendency to be prolific in suggesting alternative courses of action.’
‘We had very elaborate plans in connection with the attack which provided for widespread activities in the surrounding area, including north Cork, mid Limerick, south Tipperary,’ noted Malone. ‘The local Volunteer companies all engaged in connection with the blocking of roads and the cutting of railway lines, because we guessed that it would take a good while to capture the barracks and that enemy reinforcements might be rushed to its relief. It was, I think, actually the biggest barracks attack that took place during the whole fighting in order of importance … I don’t think anyone ever found out how many there were there in all. There were some Tans there, whose names were never given nor whose presence was ever admitted and the names of some of the people who were killed there were never published. It was our first experience of meeting the Tans. It was the first time they had been seen around there.’
Kilmallock firmly established the pattern which was followed in subsequent attacks. A hole was made in the barracks roof and petrol was poured into it. The building was burned down but the RIC never surrendered. Instead they withdrew to an outhouse and kept on fighting. Three men died at Kilmallock: two RIC members and one IRA.
Brennan from Clare clearly didn’t learn all that he needed to know because, a few days later, he sought Tipperary assistance when he was planning his own barracks’ assault. Ernie O’Malley was busy masterminding the Drangan attack when Brennan sent for him. ‘A dispatch rider came to the back of our house,’ O’Malley wrote. ‘He brought us news from Mick Brennan who was brigadier of east Clare. With him, Breen, Treacy and Robinson had stayed for a while the previous year when they were being carefully sought by the British. There was to be an attack on Six Mile Bridge barracks. But Brennan needed a few men who had experience in the use of explosives to help him. Séamus Robinson and I decided that we would go on to Co. Clare and that Seán Treacy would make the necessary preliminary arrangements for the attack on Drangan with Tom Donovan.’ Donovan was the commandant of the Drangan brigade.
The seven-hour fight which took place in Drangan followed the Kilmallock pattern. All roads leading into the village were blockaded and patrolled. Telegraph wires were cut. Volunteers occupied a house left unguarded by the police which was attached to one of the gables of the barracks. Treacy, Breen and Tom Donovan made mud bombs – a petrol pump and hosepipe was requisitioned in Cashel.
By 11.30 p.m. the barracks was surrounded and a relentless battle commenced. The RIC let off flares – their only means of letting the outside world know that they were beleaguered. All the while petrol was being poured onto the barracks and, eventually, it caught fire. When ammunition inside the building began to explode the RIC hoisted a white flag and surrendered.
On 21 July, an attack on Clerihan RIC barracks was called off at the last minute. Jerome Davin was one of the organisers: ‘I considered that the capture of the barracks itself was as easy as cracking a nutshell. Our main concern was to hold off the British troops if they came … thus it was that the intensive blocking of the roads and the manning of the road blocks was so important. On the appointed night we went to Clerihan just after dark. Every detail was fully organised. We had a pump capable of pumping oil and petrol up to a distance of 60 yards. A load of yellow clay was brought in a horse’s cart, as we intended to make the mud bombs as we required them. Milk churns were used as containers for the paraffin oil. The riflemen and shotgunmen actually went into positions around the barracks. Treacy and I then made a final check-up. Seán had a look at the barracks and at the house which I had decided we should occupy. He agreed that it was suitable as our key point of attack. It was at this point that Séamus Robinson, the brigade O/C, arrived on the scene. He had just returned from Dublin. We told him everything was ready to go ahead with the attack. He told us that, in view of a recent GHQ order, plans for major engagements, including attacks on barracks, would first have to be submitted to GHQ for sanction. There was no alternative but to call off the attack. He was very definite that this GHQ instruction should not be broken. Some of the officers present, including Ned O’Reilly and myself, were sorely disappointed, but Seán Treacy, in his cool, calm manner, gave us an example in discipline. He simply remarked: “All right Séamus, you are the boss”. Treacy and I then went to a position at the door of a public house, from where we covered the door of the barracks. We were both armed with long parabellum revolvers and we feared that the police might make a sortie out of the barracks whilst our men were being withdrawn, especially as we had learned that there was a British officer in the barracks that night. While we were there we saw an RIC man who had left the public house by a rear entrance crossing a wall into the barracks yard. Seán had him covered and I remarked that he had been in the pub for a pint and that he was harmless. This remark of mine must have been overheard by someone who knew me and who did not know Treacy, for later when this particular RIC man was stationed in Lisronagh he got in touch with me and thanked me for saving his life, saying that he understood that the strange man would have shot him when he was crossing the wall had it not been for my intervention. He also gave me some useful information from time to time afterwards. To finish with Clerihan, we had a bloodless victory, for the barracks was evacuated next day and we then destroyed it to prevent its reoccupation.’
The enthusiasm of Volunteers for attacking barracks took many forms and some IRA men were inebriated by more than the love of freedom, as Breen discovered when involved in an attempt to overrun Tipperary barracks: ‘They asked me to take charge of some men on the north side of the town. We had to move from three or four miles outside the town. At that time, when you made a big attack you would call all the local Volunteers. We came along near Soloheadbeg and there was a fellow called Dinny Leahy, a fireman in the local creamery. On a Saturday night, when the locals got a few bob, they’d go into the town and have their few pints of stout and Dinny, like the others, returned home this night but he was “magalore” [very drunk]. So we called out: “Din! Din!” but not a word, he was in a state of coma. The only answer we got was a semi-conscious grunt. “Come on, Din. You must get up! You are to block the roads!” Din, being now awake, exclaimed with the utmost feeling and sincerity, “I wish to Jesus Christ Ireland was free!”’
13 – The Noose Tightens: Fernside and the Death of Seán Treacy
In Templemore, a teenage republican called Jimmy Welsh got a message from the Blessed Virgin Mary, who said that she was upset by the ongoing violence in Ireland. Inspired by this visitation, Welsh discovered a holy well in his home and religious statues in the house started bleeding. Soon he was doing a roaring trade in the sale of relics, holy water and other manifestations of his miraculous good luck.
Up in Phil Shanahan’s Monto pub, Breen – a well known sceptic when it came to all matters religious – was given the job of investigating the Templemore ‘miracles’: ‘Collins ordered me to get in touch with this “saint” from Templemore. He was the fellow who operated the bleeding statue. I met hi
m over in O’Neill’s in Pearse Street. But we did not trust him; we thought he was a spy. I went across and Dinny Lacey was with me, also many others. I brought Dinny into O’Neill’s in Pearse Street. The “saint” was in the next room and when it came to my turn to be interviewed, Dinny said: “The next time he meets the Blessed Virgin Mary, be sure to insist on nothing less than a Republic.” Dinny was a very solid catholic. I said to the “saint”, “How do you do, boy?” After about fifteen minutes’ talk I mentioned going but he insisted on going first. They were kissing his coat. Collins said, “One can’t take any notice of what you say, Breen, because you have no religion.” That was the last I saw of the failure, Welsh. Phil Shanahan took a car to Templemore and brought a bottle of water back with him. He wanted me to take a drop of it, but I declined.’
In May, Seán Treacy, thinking about marrying his girlfriend, Mai Quigley, wrote whimsically to Cait de Paor, a prominent member of Tipperary Cumann na mBan, concerning the implications of marriage: ‘I can’t agree with your opinion that marrying amounts to becoming a passive resister. History, past and present, disproves that theory. So don’t let your members off work just because they’re married.’
Investigating fake miracle workers and thinking about the vagaries of married life provided light relief as the noose tightened around Breen and Treacy. They’d now been spending a lot of time in Dublin so British intelligence had familiarised itself with their look, style and activities. When the IRA successfully lured Inspector Brien, a Dublin Castle intelligence gatherer, out onto the street where they could get a good shot at him, the adversaries inadvertently ended up talking to one another face-to-face in the rain while Liam Tobin, Collins’ trusted intelligence chief, looked on in horror. Breen said: ‘Neither of us knew Brien, so we had to go to Tobin at Vaughan’s Hotel, Parnell Square and ask him to come and identify Brien. We did get Tobin and we went ahead, it being arranged that Tobin would come along and join us. We set off about 8.20. It was pouring rain. We stood in the archway at the Mail Office and this powerful man came along. He said he thought he’d wait until the rain stopped. No sign of Brien or Tobin coming! We were there until about 8.40. There were some fellows on the other side of the street. The big man said, “I don’t think it will clear at all. I’ll be off.” The fellows across the street moved off too. Up came Tobin. “What kept you?” we asked. “Weren’t ye talking to him for the last fifteen minutes?” said Tobin. But he was evidently covered by the boys on the other side of the street.’
Having spent the summer of 1920 in Tipperary participating in barracks attacks, Breen came back to Dublin in August: ‘Collins notified me to come back. I had been down the country for some time. Then we had some scraps in Dublin but these were not much. In one scrap, when I remained in bed, Treacy got the sole shot off his shoe. This was in Beresford Place. Some fellow was coming in from Belfast; they went down to get him, but without success.’
On the night of 11 October, Treacy and Breen were cornered in Fernside, a middle-class Dublin safe-house in Drumcondra belonging to Professor Carolan from the nearby teacher training college. This bloody encounter resulted in Breen – after a hair-raising escape which involved face-to-face shoot outs, leaps from first floor windows, and rearguard shooting as he disappeared through adjacent back gardens – being secretly moved to the Mater Hospital by Squad members including Joe Leonard and Dick McKee. Professor Carolan died later in hospital from his injuries. Desmond Ryan quoted a British officer as saying that five British soldiers were killed.
The British fatalities at Fernside included Major George Smyth. Smyth’s brother, Colonel Brice-Ferguson Smyth, RIC divisional commander for Munster, had been slain in Cork the previous July. Smyth’s other brother had been killed in Lisburn.
Dan Breen later told of his injuries: ‘When we got out through the window we continued out through the back and over the walls down by St Patrick’s Training College. I was not wearing boots because I was caught in bed and I broke my toes. I went on towards Glasnevin after that … The first shot fired wounded my right hand and then I had to use my left hand. I had many wounds, including leg wounds. At the time I was more or less oblivious to my wounds, but I suffered great pain afterwards.’
Eamon O’Duibhir’s sister, Mrs Duncan, lived in Stella Gardens, Irishtown and her home was a safe house regularly used by Collins and the Big Four. ‘I have always felt that had Breen and Treacy got to me in Stella Gardens in the week before the battle at Carolan’s,’ O’Duibhir said, ‘the Duncans and I would have got them shelter in that working-class district. It is known that they were hard-pressed to get shelter in the city.’
Breen, despite the showy style of My Fight for Irish Freedom, was not especially given to self-importance but he did feel that the Fernside ambush was a direct attempt by Smyth to kill him. Incorrect rumour had it that Breen had killed his brother in Cork and Breen felt Smyth had been seeking revenge: ‘Colonel Smyth was in India and he brought eleven picked men over here with him to avenge the shooting of his brother or brothers. They didn’t know Treacy was there. They thought it was Lacey was with me. When Smyth heard that I had gone into a house in Drumcondra, he called his “braves” and decided to go down and get me and to bring me back and skin me alive. Smyth was cautioned to look out for me, that “this fellow will fight”, but he said, “No, they are only rats; I’ll bring him back alive and I’ll skin him alive”. And he meant it. He did not go back because he was killed and they say eleven of his pals were killed with him. On that night in Drumcondra Treacy was with me and neither of us was in good health after being severely wounded. We had been on the move more or less since 1916 … We were just caught in a corner.’
Treacy escaped from Fernside, only to be gunned down on Talbot Street three days later. Jerome Davin had a poignant last encounter with Treacy in Tipperary shortly before the Fernside affray: ‘It was at my sister’s (Mrs Looby’s) house that he shaved and dressed before taking his departure. That would, I’d say, be about a week before he was killed. He told me he was going to Dublin but did not say why he was going there. Before leaving Looby’s he wrote his name and the date on a sheet of paper and handed it to my sister. She still has it in her scrapbook.’
A week later the news of Treacy’s death reached Davin via a telegram from Michael Collins: ‘Séamus Robinson asked me to go to Tipperary town to make the funeral arrangements. A large force of British troops were present at Limerick Junction when the train bringing the remains arrived, but I must say that on that particular night they certainly were not aggressive. As a matter of fact, a party of them presented arms as the coffin covered with the tricolour was borne from the train to the hearse. From Limerick Junction to the church at Solohead the route was lined with British troops, but this did not prevent hundreds of people, including many Volunteers, from marching behind the hearse. Next day when the burial took place British troops were again present in and around the cemetery at Kilfeacle, but the only action they took was to seize some bicycles which were left around by their owners. The officer withdrew the military before the grave was filled in and there was no interference with the firing party who fired the three volleys with revolvers … To my mind Seán Treacy’s death was the biggest blow the Third Tipperary Brigade could or did receive.’
‘People were always telling Seán as he left their houses, “Be careful this time, Seán”,’ said Breen. ‘His reply always was, “The other fellows better be more careful”. That meant that he would fight to the end – no matter what the odds. And he did that in Talbot Street the day he was killed.’
Maurice McGrath, of the Third Tipperary Brigade, claimed: ‘Some days after Seán Treacy’s funeral, the Dwyer’s homestead at Ballydrehid was raided about midnight by a party of armed and masked men and two brothers, Frank and Ned, were taken outside the door and shot dead, bayoneted and beaten to pulp with rifle buts in the presence of their sister, Kate, who tried to save them. She was the local captain of Cumann na mBan. The eldest brother, who was the local
company captain, escaped, as his parents prevailed on him to hide beneath their bed … … The company captain had forbidden the principal of the local school to open on the day of Seán Treacy’s funeral – all schools were to be closed as a mark of respect and mourning. All schools, except Ballydrehid, obeyed the order, so the captain had the children turned back in the morning and no school was held. It was clear that this shooting of the Dwyer brothers was a reprisal, as the principal of the school was a policeman’s wife.’
14 – Ending the Tan War
We crossed the pleasant valleys and the hilltops green
Where we met with Dinny Lacey, Seán Hogan and Dan Breen
Seán Moylan and his gallant band they kept the flag flying high
Farewell to Tipperary said the Galtee Mountain Boy.
In 1921, the Third Tipperary Brigade both unravelled and consolidated. Dan Breen got married, Dinny Lacey emerged as a de facto Tipperary leader and Eamon O’Duibhir grew alienated from the war. Two flying columns absorbed the top IRA men in the county.
The myth of the Big Four disintegrated. Séamus Robinson, isolated at the brigade’s new Rosegreen HQ, was now ignored by the Volunteers in the field. Seán Hogan led a flying column, but there were substantial murmurings of discontent about his stewardship. Breen became the inheritor of the Big Four’s mantle. Despite huge personal setbacks, he remained a major organiser and, more importantly, a valiant source of inspiration to younger Volunteers wherever he went.