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© Estate of Charles Dalton, 2014
© Foreword: Liz Gillis, 2014
ISBN: 978 1 78117 224 7
Epub ISBN: 978 1 78117 267 4
Mobi ISBN: 978 1 78117 268 1
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Contents
Foreword
Introduction
Author’s Preface
With the Dublin Brigade
Bureau of Military History Witness
Statement 434 Charles Dalton
Foreword
With the Dublin Brigade tells the story of one man’s role in the Irish War of Independence. First published in 1929, the author, Charles Dalton, was but a young man, only twenty-six years old, when he decided to write about his experiences during the conflict that resulted in Ireland winning independence, although not full independence, from Great Britain.
Dalton was born in January 1903 to James Francis Dalton, a staunch supporter and advocate of Home Rule, and his wife Katherine. He was the third of six children. The family had lived in America for some time, where Charles’ two older brothers Martin and Emmet were born, but then returned to Dublin where the next four children, Charles, Eileen, Brendan and Dermot (Pat) arrived. Their early family life was stable and happy, but as with so many young men and women of that generation, events far out of their control would affect them in ways that they could never imagine.
And so begin the first pages of Dalton’s story.
Immediately we are introduced to thirteen-year-old Charles’ description of the event that would have such a profound effect on him – the 1916 Easter Rising. Although his older brother Emmet was fighting for the British Army in the First World War, Charles makes no mention of that conflict, a conflict that had an impact on so many people the world over. To him the men and women who made a stand during that week in April 1916 were his heroes and in that moment, like so many of his generation at that time, Charles decided that if a future opportunity arose, he, too, would play his part in helping to free Ireland.
The young men and women who had witnessed the aftermath of the Easter Rising were determined that when they would fight again it would be on their terms. Knowing that they were outnumbered both in manpower and weaponry, they used every advantage at their disposal to attack and undermine the crown forces. Countless books have been written by participants of the Rising, the War of Independence and the Civil War, and these accounts give an invaluable insight into that period of our turbulent history. However, With the Dublin Brigade differs somewhat to the other publications, in that it not only describes how the War of Independence was actually fought in Dublin, but, more importantly, it also describes the methods used by the Republicans in the intelligence war against the crown forces.
The Volunteers, or Irish Republican Army (IRA) as they were to become known from 1919, fought their war on three levels – 1) undermining the civil administration, 2) physical attacks and 3) intelligence. This three-pronged assault was to be very effective, and the IRA intelligence units around the country, but especially in Dublin and Cork, were vital to this new type of warfare. The authorities never expected to be attacked through their own intelligence system – a system which had been used again and again to great effect against previous attempts by the Irish to obtain their freedom. And this is where Charles Dalton’s story is unique. Not only was it written just eight years after hostilities between Great Britain and Ireland ceased but, more importantly, it is a first-hand account of how the intelligence war was fought by young men and women who, although putting themselves in great danger, carried on regardless in order to free their country. The very nature of their work required the utmost secrecy but, through Charles’ story, we catch a glimpse of what it was like to participate in such activities.
His story reads like a film script, the memories of such momentous events in his life still fresh in his mind. And in those first few chapters we see him grow up very quickly.
In December 1917, aged just fourteen, Charles officially became a member of the Volunteers, joining F Company, 2nd Battalion, Dublin Brigade. His description of his first ‘official job’ is full of excitement, even though he was only helping in the cleaning and removal of pigs’ carcasses to be cured by local factories. He wrote, ‘Dramatic accounts of this incident appeared in the newspapers. It gave me a feeling of elation to receive this public recognition of what was my first job.’
His descriptions of events are at times funny, for example dressing in his father’s clothes to make himself look older. We see his rise through the ranks of the IRA, firstly assisting the Squad and then as a member of Michael Collins’ Intelligence Unit, and we are soon introduced to those men who would become some of his closest friends. Through Dalton we hear their stories too. All of them he held in the highest regard and when telling of those who did not survive the conflict he does not shy away from expressing how their deaths affected him, especially that of Dick McKee, OC Dublin Brigade, in the aftermath of Bloody Sunday, 1920.
Surprisingly, Dalton goes into great detail about the build-up to the events of Bloody Sunday. As an active participant in the shootings he gives a first-hand account of the events, not only of the shootings themselves, but of how it felt to actually carry out the shooting of the British agents, not in battle, but in their residences. He writes: ‘I was wrought up, thinking of what we had to do the next morning, and I could feel the other men were the same … Outwardly we were calm and collected, even jesting with each other. But inwardly I felt that the others were as I was – palpitating with anxiety.’ Of the aftermath he wrote: ‘The sights and sounds of that morning were to be with me for many days and nights …’
As the story progresses we see the effect the war had on its participants: ‘We slept lightly, waking often with a start to hear a lorry pulling up outside … Even in our slumbers, the sense of danger was always near us.’
One very important point to remember is that this book was written long before any attempts were made to record the stories of those involved in the revolutionary movement. Thankfully, through the work of Ernie O’Malley and later the Bureau of Military History, these stories were recorded, but they were not in the public domain until recently. With the release of the BMH Witness Statements online and the recent publication of some of the O’Malley notebooks we are finally getting to see the real people behind the events, those men and women who gave so much for the freedom of this country.
Charles Dalton himself made a witness statement for the Bureau in 1950, twenty-one years after With the Dublin Brigade was published. His statement differs slightly in detail to the book, for example a name here and there. One possibility for these differences is that he was protecting the real identity of those who helped or gave information – after all the book was written only nine years after the events on Bloody Su
nday. Where it differs most is in the use of language. The twenty-six-year-old Charles Dalton has now matured – the facts are presented just like they are in the book, but he is older. Here we meet the now forty-seven-year-old Charles Dalton, husband, father, civilian – a wiser and certainly more reflective man.
To conclude, I want to draw attention to one very important statement in the original introduction to the book: ‘The Irish struggle of 1916–1921 was not and is not yet understood by those who did not take part in it or sympathize with it.’ This is as true today as it was in 1929.
This new edition of With the Dublin Brigade is a vital publication and a welcome addition to the many personal recollections published over the years. Through this book and indeed any of the other accounts, be they books, diaries or letters written by those men and women who were involved, and now through their witness statements, we can at last gain an insight, no matter how small, into what their experiences were, what their hopes were and what motivated them to do what they felt they had to do, turning ordinary people into extraordinary men and women.
And whether we agree or disagree with them, at least we should now begin to see them as real people.
Liz Gillis
Introduction
The Irish struggle of 1916–1921 was not and is not yet understood by those who did not take part in it or sympathize with it. The episodes described in this book are of novel and dramatic interest, and the story told may serve to throw light on the nature of the struggle, and on the startling changes which marked its end.
‘We have got murder by the throat,’ said Mr Lloyd George, the British Prime Minister, on 9th October 1920. He ‘hoped for good results from maintaining the pressure’ which the British armed forces were exerting in Ireland. He ‘could not permit the country to be debased into a condition of complete anarchy where a small body of assassins, a real murder gang, were dominating the country and terrorizing it’. ‘It is,’ he exclaimed, ‘a sham and a fraud, the whole of this nationality.’ ‘Undoubtedly you must restore order there by methods very stern.’ ‘It is essential in the interests of Ireland that that gang should be broken up, and unless I am mistaken, we shall do it.’
The so-called reprisals – acts of terrorism and sabotage – by the British armed forces were casually mentioned by Mr Lloyd George as ‘some severe hitting back by the gallant men who are doing their duty in Ireland’.
To his fellow-banqueters at the London Guildhall in the following month Mr Lloyd George spoke lightly of Ireland as ‘one disturbed corner of the Empire’. He announced that ‘the police were getting the right men’, without troubling to explain who ‘the police’ were, what ‘getting’ meant, or in what sense they were ‘the right men’.
What was the British law and order in Ireland which Mr Lloyd George was enforcing? The London Times wrote on 15th November 1920: ‘Persistence in the present method of Irish Government will, we are satisfied, be proved utterly irreconcilable with the ideals of this Christian country.’
Who was terrorizing Ireland and debasing it into a condition of anarchy? Was it overlooked by Mr Lloyd George that while the British administration was deteriorating into a licensed lawlessness, the Irish people were successfully engaged in building up their own self-government?
Historians are still in want of authentic material to explain the turning point when the British Government at last decided that they must seek for peace. At first they set about negotiations secretly through intermediaries, restricting the matters on which they were willing to confer. They let it be known that they would give safe conducts to any accredited Irish negotiators whose names were not upon their ‘black list’ as criminals, and, therefore, outside the pale, and that they would give notice in advance of such names. They would exclude from any terms of peace ‘persons reasonably suspected of murder’.
Many of the soldiers of the Irish Republican Army had already been hanged. One Irish officer lay in Mountjoy Jail under sentence of death. But there were at least three men whom the British had not succeeded in capturing (the ‘right men’ whom Mr Lloyd George was still hoping to ‘get’), whom it was known the British Government meant as ‘persons reasonably suspected of murder’ – Cathal Brugha, the Minister of Defence, Richard Mulcahy, the Chief of Staff, and Michael Collins, the Minister for Finance and Chief Intelligence Officer, who was being hunted with the price of £10,000 on his head.
Dáil Éireann (the Irish Parliament) had been declared an ‘illegal assembly’. Thirty-six of its members were in penal servitude or otherwise imprisoned or interned. These included Arthur Griffith, who was acting President while President de Valera was in America, and who later headed the Irish plenipotentiaries in London. They also included Seán MacEoin, who had been tried by court martial and sentenced to death. As a General of the Irish Army he was afterwards to take over from the English the stronghold of Athlone. Another member, Robert Barton, was undergoing penal servitude in an English prison, and on his release was chosen as one of the Irish plenipotentiaries.
President de Valera, who had been rescued in 1919 from Lincoln Gaol by Michael Collins, had recently returned from America. On the eve of the Truce he was arrested, but was promptly released, without reason given, obviously with a view to the possibility of negotiations.
Michael Collins himself was alive and free, but not by the grace of the British Government. How he had eluded the hounds who were continually on his track, is one of the miracles of history. The British were aware that Michael Collins dominated and directed the whole movement. His name was the blackest on the British list. He was the supreme outlaw.
But the climax of the long struggle had already been reached. Events had acquired a momentum which was hurrying them to an inevitable conclusion.
In June 1921, the British Government publicly proposed a conference with the Irish leaders. The previous attempts to impose restrictions on the conference were abandoned. The ‘black list’ was thrown into the wastepaper basket. In his letter of 24th June 1921 to President de Valera, Mr Lloyd George proposed that he should attend a conference in London ‘to explore to the utmost the possibility of a settlement’, and he invited him ‘to bring with him for the purpose any colleagues whom he might select’.
Terms of Truce were arranged between military officers on both sides on 9th July 1921.
A Peace Conference followed. The right of Ireland as a nation under arms to decide its own destiny was acknowledged. By the Treaty of Peace made between the two nations and afterwards ratified by the British Parliament at Westminster and by Dáil Éireann in Dublin, the Irish Government, deriving its authority from the Irish people and controlling its own army and civil administration, was acknowledged by England and the other nations of the world.
Michael Collins, with Arthur Griffith, was one of the Irish plenipotentiaries, and his was one of the signatures to the Treaty. On the 16th January 1922, as head of the Provisional Government, he took over from Lord Fitzalan the historic Dublin Castle, from which for seven centuries the British had sought to exercise dominion over Ireland.
The wheel of destiny, moved by forces which the historian must appraise, had come full circle. The British Government had completed their volte-face.
In December 1922, a year later, Mr Lloyd George, writing a description of the Peace Conference, said:
Opposite to me sat a dark, short but sturdy figure, with the face of a thinker. That was Mr Arthur Griffith … quiet to the point of gentleness, reserved almost to the point of appearing saturnine. A man of laconic utterance … But we found in our few weeks’ acquaintance that his ‘yea’ was ‘yea,’ and his ‘nay’ meant ‘nay.’ By his side sat a handsome young Irishman. No one could mistake his nationality. He was Irish through and through. Vivacious, buoyant, highly strung, gay, impulsive, but passing readily from gaiety to grimness and back again to gaiety, full of fascination and charm – but also of dangerous fire. That was Michael Collins, one of the most courageous leaders ever produced by a valiant race.
As yet many essential details have remained hidden in mystery, known only to the actors themselves. There had been months and years of endurance, days and nights of agony, yet illumined by a spirit of exultant faith and the joys of comradeship. One or two frank, unadorned pictures by the men who in the humbler positions played an essential part will tell more than any second-hand history, and will enable persons and events to stand out in their truth. This story by a young Irish soldier who took part in the decisive stage of the struggle must appeal to readers who are interested in human character, or appreciate drama, or are concerned with the history of nations. But for those who are not well acquainted with the history of Ireland leading up to and including the period covered by this memoir, the following summary may serve as a prologue.
The Irish people as a nation had never acquiesced in the British occupation. They were never willing citizens of the United Kingdom.
But for half a century before 1916 Ireland’s claim to nationality had been represented chiefly by the Irish Parliamentary Party. Its members sat as Ireland’s representatives in the British House of Commons. Though always in a minority there, they claimed that by holding the balance of power they would some day be able to force an English Government to restore the Parliament in Dublin, which had been abolished in 1800 by the Act of Union. In the meanwhile, they assisted legislation, especially Land Acts, with a view to ameliorating conditions in Ireland.
But there were always Irishmen who had no such faith in the British Parliament, in its ability to govern Ireland according to Irish ideas, in its right to determine Ireland’s destiny, or in its will to listen to the national demand. Consequently, there had been in nearly every generation an armed revolt. Few in numbers, and with inadequate arms (which had to be procured secretly), the insurgents were always defeated. But when they had been hanged, imprisoned, or transported, they became the heroes and martyrs of Ireland, and the faith for which they had suffered remained alive in the imagination of the people.
Espionage and Assasination with Michael Collins' Intelligence Unit: With the Dublin Brigade Page 1