Cork's Revolutionary Dead E-Book

Barry Keane

• Herausgeber: Mercier Press
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 687

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

In Part 1 Keane gives a brief introduction to the period and outlines the most important events that took place during the course of the fight against the British in Cork from 1916 to 1921 and during the Civil War of 1922–23. This includes the burning of Cork city, the ambush at Kilmichael (which is examined in great detail), Crossbarry and the story of Tom Barry's trench coat. In Part 2 Keane uses a wealth of new sources to reconstruct every death that can be ascribed to the war, including those caught in the crossfire and some accidental deaths that can be directly linked to one side or the other. Some individuals who did not die in the county, but who were central to the conduct of the war there, are also included. One such example is Terence MacSwiney, who died in Brixton prison in London in October 1920, but was both head of the IRA in Cork and lord mayor of the city, having assumed the role after his predecessor, Tomás MacCurtain, had been assassinated earlier that year.

Leseprobe

I gcuimhne ar mo mháthair

18.12.1925–5.11.2016

MERCIER PRESS

3B Oak House, Bessboro Rd

Blackrock, Cork, Ireland.

www.mercierpress.ie

http://twitter.com/IrishPublisher

http://www.facebook.com/mercier.press

© Barry Keane, 2017

ISBN: 978 1 78117 495 1

Epub ISBN: 978 1 7811 496 8

Mobi ISBN: 978 1 7811 497 5

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

List of Abbreviations

ASU           Active Service Unit

BMH         Bureau of Military History

CCCA       Cork City and County Archives

DI              District Inspector

GHQ         General Headquarters

GPO          General Post Office

HMSO      His Majesty’s Stationery Office

IPP            Irish Parliamentary Party

IRA           Irish Republican Army

IRB           Irish Republican Brotherhood

Acknowledgements

I am indebted to a great many people who have contributed in no small way to the final result. No book is ever the product of one person and it is through conversations with other researchers, and holders of important documents and information, that the fullest story can be fleshed out. Each and every one deserves my deep gratitude for the time and effort they put in to help me tell this story. I can only hope they will not be disappointed with the result.

Some individuals and groups deserve particular acknowledgement. First among these is David Grant, who has conducted an enormous amount of detailed and accurate research in his two linked websites dealing with the ‘Cairo Gang’ and the Auxiliaries, without which the task of tracing details of the British casualties of this war would have presented an almost insurmountable challenge. Such is his generosity that when I asked him for formal permission to use his research he simply replied, ‘You can use anything you want.’

Equally, the staffs of the various archives and libraries have been extraordinary in their willingness to assist in this work. These include the staffs of the Cork City Library, Cork County Library, Cork City and County Archives, National Library of Ireland, National Archives of Ireland, National Archives UK, Military Archives of Ireland, Roman Catholic Dublin Diocesan Archives and University College Cork Archives. Once again their knowledge and willingness to help made it a pleasure to work with all of them. To each and every one I am deeply grateful.

My own friends have encouraged and supported this work, either by listening to parts of the story or proofreading it, or simply offering encouragement. However, I must again give thanks to my long-standing partner in crime, Henry O’Keeffe, whose keen intellect and sharp analysis has often nudged me in the right direction. Our much put-upon wives, Mairead O’Reilly and Louise Crockett, have literally travelled this long road together and without their grace under pressure it is doubtful if this book could have been finished.

Mercier has taken a risk in publishing this book, and Mary Feehan and the brilliant team have put a proper structure and polish to the original manuscript. Without brave independent publishers like Mercier few, if any, history books would be published in Ireland and they deserve to be supported.

Finally, Louise and my daughter, Ella, have put up with an awful lot over the years and remain my two greatest supporters. Ella has grown up listening to this topic and there is no doubt that research can often be all-consuming. Neither has complained (too often) and I will always owe them a great debt for this.

Barry Keane

June 2017

Introduction

The origin of this book is simple. Over the past five years, while doing research for my book Massacre in West Cork and articles dealing with the Protestant decline in Cork between 1911 and 1926, I have been collecting information about the dead of the revolutionary period. As I published my initial research on the Internet, I was surprised by the number of responses I received from the families of the dead who were tracing a relative’s story. Too often, the information I published was the first confirmation for them that a family story was true. It was obvious that the victims of the war were in danger of being forgotten as folk memories faded, memorial cards lost their meaning and documents were mislaid. Equally, as many of the victims were British troops, their records were in danger of becoming lost simply because there appeared to be little or no British or Irish interest in recording their deaths.

The Internet has proved to be a uniquely powerful tool in tracing the victims of the revolutionary era in Ireland from 1916 to 1923. Previously sealed archives such as the Irish Bureau of Military History (BMH) witness statements and the Military Service Pensions Collection are now available free online and in searchable formats. These have proved to be invaluable for identifying IRA victims and those who killed them. With the advent of paid and free searchable newspaper archives, the monumental task of working through these to look for victims has been reduced to manageable proportions. This does not mean that it is easy, and trawling through thousands of ‘hits’ still takes an enormous amount of disciplined and focused work. Often a newspaper record is little more than a single line, especially in reports from the most violent years, 1921 and 1922, and in the latter year first names are often omitted, increasing the difficulty of the task. More recently the online launch by the British National Archives of their Easter Rising and War of Independence documents means that the details of practically every death can be read and cross-checked against the newspaper and Irish archives, creating a fuller picture of how each of these events came about.

However, a serious difficulty arises from the variable quality of the sources. The Southern Star is an excellent source for the periods when it was published, but it was forcibly closed by the British for the latter part of 1920, leaving a large gap in the record at a crucial moment. Fortunately, it was re-opened by Michael Collins in January 1921 with an Irish government loan. However, because he placed his cousin in charge to exert more control over the content, the paper takes on an increasingly Sinn Féin tone and its value as an unbiased source diminishes from that time.1

Other sources are unquestionably biased. The records of courts martial in cases where it is stated that IRA members were shot ‘while trying to escape’ are challenged by IRA records where witnesses state that the prisoner was shot out of hand. Both cannot be right, but it is often difficult to say beyond reasonable doubt who is telling the truth. However, it is noticeable that 193 of the 577 shootings attributable to British forces recorded in the martial law area (mostly Cork, Kerry and Limerick) between 7 August 1920 and 11 January 1922 were described as ‘civilians attempting to escape from military’ outside of armed conflict situations.2

In much of the commentary about the war the focus is very much on the Irish side of the story, particularly in relation to the trail of destruction, arson and looting wrought by the Auxiliaries and Black and Tans once they were introduced in 1920. Historians are constrained by the relative paucity and lack of availability of sources on the British side. There is, for example, no single official list of British casualties. Because the British refused to recognise it as a war, the War of Independence did not even merit its own medal or commendation on the British side, in stark contrast to the commemoration of the struggle by the Irish government and the Irish armed forces.3 However, David Grant has traced most of the British victims in two linked websites.4 The first deals with the so-called ‘Cairo Gang’, an intelligence-gathering squad operating in Dublin. Many of its men were assassinated by Michael Collins’ ‘Squad’ on 21 November 1920, in the first action of Bloody Sunday.5 The second concentrates on the Auxiliary Division of the Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC), popularly known as the Auxiliaries or Auxies. David has recently expanded these websites to include all members of the British forces killed in Ireland. This book has, with David’s permission, relied heavily on his work and cross-checked all of his entries to ensure that all the names are recorded.

Even more bizarre than the British attitude, the winning side of the Civil War between Free State forces and the anti-Treaty IRA erected no monument to those soldiers who lost their lives in the service of the state. While it is true that many of the names are inscribed around Michael Collins’ grave in Glasnevin Cemetery, that source is in no way comprehensive. In contrast, Co. Cork is sprinkled with monuments to the anti-Treaty (Republican) dead. While it is understandable that the successors of the anti-Treaty IRA, Fianna Fáil, who dominated the state from 1932 to 2011, would have little interest in commemorating their enemies, it is now perhaps time that such a monument was constructed, although there is little doubt that any such suggestion would meet with opposition. Recent suggestions that the seventeen Auxiliaries killed at the Kilmichael ambush and its aftermath might be commemorated in a redevelopment of the site caused such an uproar that strenuous denials were made that this had ever been contemplated.6

Part 1 of this book is a brief introduction to the period and examines the more important events which epitomised the conflict in the county from 1916 to 1923. Part 2 is a list of every death that surviving records show can be ascribed to the war, including crossfire and some accidental deaths that can be linked to one side or the other. Some individuals who did not die in the county, but who were central to the conduct of the war there, are also included. One such example is Terence MacSwiney, who died in Brixton Prison in London in October 1920, but was both head of the IRA in Cork and lord mayor of the city, having assumed the role after his predecessor, Tomás MacCurtain, had been assassinated earlier that year.

Sources are usually quoted without comment. This can lead to the semblance of bias in some entries, but this would be an incorrect inference. Clearly, if a British or unionist source is used then the shooting of a member of the RIC, for example, is inevitably referred to as murder. In the BMH witness statements, the same death will be described as a shooting or an execution. The reverse is also true. Pedants will also be disappointed by some of the nomenclature employed. I use Free State, for example, to describe the period from the handover of Dublin Castle in January 1922 to the state’s formal creation in December 1922, rather than create a technically correct but turgid construction like proto or nascent Free State. Irregular is rejected in favour of anti-Treaty IRA, as the former was a derogatory term used by the Free State. Using ‘Republican’ to identify the anti-Treaty IRA is also rejected, because many on the Free State side would also have regarded themselves as republicans. Equally, National Army is preferred to Free State Army, as this is what the soldiers themselves called it.

Richard Kent

Choosing a start date for the book was simple. On the morning of 2 May 1916 an attempt to arrest the Kent brothers led to the only three deaths in Cork resulting from the Easter Rising. When the RIC arrived at the family home at Bawnard, outside Castlelyons, the resulting shootout left Head Constable Rowe and Richard Kent dead. Rowe was shot in the head while he took cover behind a low wall and Richard was shot in the back when he tried to escape after the family surrendered. Thomas Kent was court-martialled and hanged in Victoria Barracks.

Deciding on a date to end the list proved more problematic. Professor Eunan O’Halpin understandably decided to end his national list at the end of 1921.7 As this clearly leaves out the Civil War, it appeared to me that to stop there would leave out half the story. I further decided that the generally accepted end date for the Civil War in May 1923 was too early, as there were sufficient politically inspired incidents after that to justify continuing until the end of that year. This, of course, omits some politically motivated deaths in 1924 and 1925, but as normality returned, these events became almost as rare as they had been before the war.

The fragmentary Civil War reportage, in comparison to that of the War of Independence, makes the task of identifying the victims of that time period more difficult. This may be partially due to the apparent willingness of both sides to draw a veil over these events and to various attempts to destroy and censor the press. Equally, a certain war-weariness can be detected in the reportage by 1922, where the amount of coverage an individual killing gets can be as little as one sentence. The same event two years earlier would have garnered banner headlines for days.

For each victim recorded, I provide the precise date of death (if known) and the source, the location of the source, the name(s) of the people involved and the outcome for them. Where possible an extract from the original source(s) is quoted. Despite detailed research, it is possible that some individuals have been missed due to the large volume of material available. Where this is the case they will be added to the database for inclusion later. I am confident that the number of omissions, if any, is small. Some names were not included because the decision was taken to exclude ‘ordinary’ deaths unless the circumstances were such that they suggested the death could, in some way, be linked to the conflict.

I originally intended to include photographs of the dead, but few, if any, of the surviving images were of sufficient quality, so photographs have only been included in Part 1.

Finally, as there were more than 700 deaths during the revolutionary period in Cork city and county, I decided that to expand the book beyond Cork would be unreasonable. I intend to continue this project and hope to publish the results for other counties in due course. I would also like to encourage other historians to take up this challenge, especially in the under-researched Civil War period, before the folk and family memory of these events is lost forever.

Part 1

Significant Incidents in the War

The Irish Revolution and Civil War

24 April 1916–24 May 1923

When Patrick Pearse surrendered to General William Lowe at 3.30 p.m. on 29 April 1916, the small rebellion of 1,200 Irish Volunteers, Irish Citizen Army and Cumann na mBan that had resulted in the destruction of much of the centre of Dublin and almost 500 deaths was over. The final surrender of arms took place the following day. What became known as the Easter Rising had lasted little more than five days and had been a complete military failure. Unsurprisingly, in England’s capital in Ireland, the revolutionaries were spat at as they were marched to Richmond Barracks after their surrender.1

The newly appointed military governor, General John Maxwell, immediately commenced courts martial of the leaders, and British Prime Minister Herbert H. Asquith informed the House of Commons on 3 May that ‘P. H. Pearse, Thomas J. Clarke, and Thomas MacDonagh, were tried by court martial, found guilty and sentenced to death by being shot. The sentence was duly carried out this morning.’2 A further eleven executions took place in Dublin over the next nine days, and Thomas Kent was executed in Cork on 9 May.3 On 3 August Roger Casement was executed by hanging in Pentonville Prison in London after a trial for treason against the British Crown.4 A further 3,500 Irish Volunteers and Sinn Féin members were arrested, and approximately 1,300 of them were interned. Many of them were released over the following months, with the final 600 internees from Frongoch Internment Camp in North Wales freed at the end of December. However, around fifty ringleaders were kept in English prisons until the middle of 1917.5

Thomas Kent

The rebellion came while an Irish Home Rule Act was on the statute books. The Act had been passed, although it was suspended in September 1914 for the duration of the Great War. In the circumstances many Irish nationalists were incredulous that anybody saw a need to rebel. Indeed, one of the reasons for the initial success of the Rising was that the British authorities ignored intelligence reports of a possible rebellion, having checked with Irish Parliamentary Party (IPP) leaders John Redmond and, more importantly, John Dillon. Dillon was in Ireland more often than Redmond and his opinion was trusted by Augustine Birrell, the chief secretary for Ireland. Both men assured the authorities that nothing serious was happening. This, combined with the capture of the German arms ship Aud off the Kerry coast and the cancellation of Easter Sunday manoeuvres by the Irish Volunteers’ leader Eoin MacNeill, had persuaded Birrell, who was in London, that the planned rising had been called off.6 Indeed, his under-secretary, Sir Matthew Nathan, having eventually agreed the night before to arrest the Irish Volunteer leadership, was sitting in his office in Dublin Castle waiting for permission from Birrell when the building was attacked. Incredibly, he had not thought it necessary to increase the guard on either the castle or the vice-regal lodge, both of which were guarded by little more than ten men. According to the evidence of Lord Lieutenant Lord Wimborne at the subsequent inquiry, once the Irish Volunteers had shot Constable James O’Brien at the castle gate, ‘They could walk right in, of course.’ If they had, they would have captured Major Price, the director of military intelligence, who ‘was talking to Sir Mathew [sic] Nathan in his office not 25 yards from the gate when the firing commenced’.7 Arthur Hamilton Norway, head of the Irish Post Office, had also just arrived at the castle.8

A plaintive dispatch sent to Birrell by Wimborne on Easter Monday afternoon set out the situation:

… the worst had happened just when we thought it averted. The Post Office is seized – Nathan still besieged in the Castle, but I hope he will be soon out. Almost all wires cut. Bridges blown up. Everybody away on holiday.9

The reaction of the British government in the aftermath of the Rising was understandable, but they failed to listen to John Redmond or to Edward Carson, leader of the Ulster Unionist Party, who were both urging leniency and extreme caution.10 The executions changed the public mood in Ireland and the IPP lost ground to a re-emergent Sinn Féin, which had gained credibility by being blamed (in the wrong) for the Rising. From 1916 to 1918 various attempts were made to reach a political settlement, most notably the Buckingham Palace Conference of 1916 and the Irish Convention of 1918, but came to nothing.11 The public continued to turn away from the IPP as a result of these repeated failures. In the general election of 1918 Sinn Féin swept the IPP out of power everywhere except in parts of Ulster.

On 21 January 1919 twenty-seven of Sinn Féin’s sixty-nine TDs (some of whom held more than one seat) met at the Mansion House in Dublin and ratified a Declaration of Independence. Separately, on the same day two members of the RIC were killed in Soloheadbeg, Co. Tipperary – the Irish War of Independence had ‘officially’ begun.12

In comparison with the industrial slaughter of the Great War, what happened in Ireland during the War of Independence is best summed up by British Lord Chancellor F. E. Smith, who told the House of Lords on 21 June 1921:

In judging whether noble Lords are right, or whether the Government are right, in this matter, do not, at least, let us add to all our other errors, errors in which all Parties and sections have shared, this further error that we did not look around us now and with clear and undeceived eyes realise what is going on at this moment in Ireland. It is no longer even, in a phrase once used by an illustrious predecessor of mine, ‘a kind of war’. It is a small war that is going on in Ireland.13

This is not in any way to diminish the effect of the war on the countryside, the combatants or the civilians caught in the crossfire, who numbered in their tens of thousands. However, the raw figures of 2,819 homicides between January 1919 and December 1923 show how little it affected the majority of the population in a country where the average number of deaths in any one year was in excess of 75,000.14To put it in further perspective, on the first day of the Battle of the Somme on the Western Front (1 July 1916) the Ulster Division lost 2,069 officers and men killed and missing, which is only 750 less than the total for five years of war in Ireland. The figures also point to the central position Cork occupied in the revolution. More than 30 per cent of all the homicides recorded took place in this one county. During the most violent years, 1921 and 1922, there was at least one violent death every second day on average in the county.15 Not for nothing did Cork earn its nickname, the ‘Rebel County’.

On 6 December 1921 a Treaty was signed between an Irish delegation and a British delegation which set out the future constitutional relationship between the two countries. Ireland would have dominion status within the British Empire, while six northern counties that already had a Home Rule parliament in Belfast would have the option of seceding from this Irish parliament, pending the demarcation of both parts by an ill-defined Boundary Commission.16 Crucially, this new Free State dominion was to have fiscal independence. Six weeks later the Provisional Government of Southern Ireland was inaugurated at Dublin Castle when Michael Collins handed an endorsed copy of the Treaty to the British viceroy, Lord Fitzalan, who then relinquished control to the Provisional Government. Collins had been nominated as chairman of the new government at a meeting of the Parliament of Southern Ireland on 14 January.17 A few hours later he issued a statement announcing the ‘surrender of Dublin Castle’, much to the chagrin of the British government and members of the House of Lords.18

Early on the morning of 14 April 1922 forces opposed to the Treaty and the creation of the Free State occupied the Four Courts in central Dublin. Led by Rory O’Connor, who described himself as leader of the ‘left wing of the IRA’, the stated aims were to maintain the Republic, end the Provisional Government, retain the IRA under the control of an independent executive, disband the new Civic Guard in favour of the Irish Republican Police (IRP), pay the army’s bills and ensure that no elections were held while a threat of war with England existed.19 The leaders of the anti-Treaty IRA had not sanctioned the occupation and it is likely that it was a response to Churchill’s speech in the House of Commons, which had been reported on 13 April:

Whatever happens in Ireland, however many years of misfortune there may be in Ireland, whatever trouble, the Treaty defines what we think should be the relations between the two countries, and we are prepared, and will be prepared, to hand over to any responsible body of Irishmen capable of governing the country the full powers which the Treaty confers. Further than that, in no circumstances will we go, and if a republic is set up, that is a form of government in Ireland which the British Empire can in no circumstances whatever tolerate or agree to.20

The occupation resulted not in an immediate attack but in negotiations. These continued throughout the months of May and June, when proposals to unify the army were put to the ‘Four Courts’ Executive and finally narrowly rejected on 22 June 1922. A proposal by Tom Barry to this meeting to declare war on the British was defeated after a recount and those anti-Treaty IRA who had supported Barry’s suggestion retreated to the Four Courts and closed the doors.21 Early on the morning of 28 June, after an ultimatum to quit the building had been ignored, the National Army attacked the building and the Civil War commenced. The conflict soon drew in many other members of the anti-Treaty IRA, including Liam Lynch, who returned to the role of chief of staff after the capture of Joe McKelvey on 29 June.22

The Civil War effectively ended on 30 April 1923, shortly after the death of Lynch and a subsequent order to ‘dump arms’ issued to anti-Treaty forces by the new leader, Frank Aiken, on 23 May 1923. This was to come into effect the following day. For good or ill, after eight years the British had left Southern Ireland and the government of the Irish Free State had secured control over its territory.

Cork 1916–1919

The period between Easter Monday 1916 and the meeting of the First Dáil on 21 January 1919 was virtually non-lethal in Cork city. During the week of the 1916 rebellion no shot was fired in the city by either side. After ‘shuttle diplomacy’ by Roman Catholic coadjutor Bishop Daniel Cohalan and Lord Mayor Thomas C. Butterfield, the Volunteers agreed to surrender all of their weapons into the lord mayor’s custody by agreement of the British commander in the city. Breaching the agreement that the surrendered weapons would eventually be returned to their owners, the military confiscated them, much to the annoyance of Bishop Cohalan, who wrote to the Cork Free Press outlining the sequence of these events.1

Outside the city, Volunteers had assembled at Macroom on Easter Sunday. Their original objective had been ‘the obstruction and delaying of British forces at Millstreet and Rathmore by cutting the railway line’ in order to protect the arms shipment, which, as far as they knew, was to be landed from the Aud in Tralee Bay. They had been mobilised despite being informed on the night of Good Friday that the arms had been captured. The Volunteers returned to Cork city by train after hearing of MacNeill’s command to cancel all manoeuvres for Easter Sunday.2

In due course inquiries were set up by the Irish Republican Brotherhood (IRB) and the Irish Volunteer Executive to inquire into the failure of Cork, Limerick and Waterford to rise. Both inquiries found that as a result of nine countermanding orders, the sinking of the Aud and the loss of the vital arms it carried, it had been impossible for Cork to rise.3

This did not mean that Cork was generally pliant. After the majority of internees were released from Frongoch in December 1916, the Volunteers and Sinn Féin in the county spent much time reorganising. However, with the exception of the incident at the Kent family home in May 1916, only one other individual died between 1916 and 1919 who might reasonably be described as having been killed for political reasons. This was Abraham Allen, who died after being bayonetted during a riot on 24 June 1917. Republican prisoners had been granted a general amnesty and their return had resulted in pro-Sinn Féin demonstrations across the city centre. Around 9 p.m. police with rifles and fixed bayonets clashed with a huge crowd near St Patrick’s Bridge, which had spent the previous hour on Patrick’s Street destroying the recruiting office and fighting off a counter-demonstration by ‘separation women’, whose husbands were at the Front. Reinforcements under RIC District Inspector Oswald Ross Swanzy managed to contain the situation, but the police were unable to regain control until the military arrived from Victoria Barracks. The threat of machine-gun fire eventually persuaded the crowd to disperse.4

This was the first, and most serious, of the riots in the city which continued until the end of the year. Yet the Irish Volunteers remained a small force. For example, until the conscription crisis of April 1918, the Queenstown/Cobh Company of Volunteers had no more than forty members.5

The attempt to extend conscription to Ireland was a disastrous error of judgement by the British government. In March 1918 the British Army was desperate for fresh troops to replace the men lost during Operation Michael, the German offensive on the Western Front that drove a wedge between the British and the French. On 9 April British Prime Minister David Lloyd George had announced the conscription policy, but it had the unintended consequence of pushing Sinn Féin towards respectability when the party joined forces with the Roman Catholic hierarchy and the IPP to oppose the move.6 In Cork, Patrick Murray, who later became a member of the Volunteers’ Cork City active service unit (ASU), noted that there was only one Volunteer brigade in the city and county, with six battalions, until the conscription crisis; by January 1919 the organisation had rapidly expanded to twenty battalions.7 At this stage the IRA divided into three brigades roughly equating to the three main river valleys in the county: Blackwater (Cork No. 2 Brigade), Lee (Cork No. 1 Brigade) and Bandon (Cork No. 3 Brigade).

Conscription was never introduced to Ireland and by the end of the Great War the voluntary recruitment campaign designed to paper over the cracks of the debacle had managed to persuade only 840 Cork recruits to join up out of an initial target of 5,250. The initial total of 50,000 for the whole country had been reduced to a paltry 10,000 and the figures for Cork show that it did not even reach its equivalent proportion of the reduced total. Those who did join up flocked to the RAF and the navy, both of which were safer than the army.8

The general change in mood towards the war from the initial optimism of 1914 was palpable, as this motion passed by the workhouse Board of Guardians in response to its Church of Ireland chaplain’s call to arms shows:

That the Cork Board of Guardians have seen with surprise that the Reverend Treasurer Nicholson have [sic] made a public declaration in favour of Conscription … in order to put his martial spirit to the test we are willing to offer him every facility to join the colours … we are sure his Four [sic] sons … will follow his example.9

While the conscription crisis had eased by early May, with the containment of the German advance outside the strategic railway junction of Hazebrouck between 12 and 29 April, the British viceroy provided Sinn Féin with a second propaganda victory almost immediately. On the night of 16–17 May, 150 senior members of the party were arrested and interned in England as part of the ‘German Plot’. According to British Intelligence the Germans had contacted Sinn Féin and were planning an expedition to Ireland. The information had come from John Dowling, who had been arrested in Clare having been landed from a U-boat.10While there is some evidence that the Germans were attempting to contact Sinn Féin, the arrest of the leaders kept the focus on the party in the lead-up to the general election in December 1918. Inevitably, Michael Collins, who had warned the leadership of their imminent arrest but was not believed, escaped. As he was one of the few party leaders not in prison, he chose many of the prisoners to represent the party in the election.11The slogan ‘Put them in to get them out’ was coined for the occasion.12

Exactly seven days after the armistice of 11 November 1918 brought the Great War to a close, Lloyd George announced the much-delayed general election. For the first time every male over eighteen and every female over thirty would be entitled to vote. The electorate in Ireland had increased from just over 700,000 to almost 2,000,000.13The national result was extraordinary. Across Ireland two parties achieved landslides: Sinn Féin took seventy-three of the 105 seats available, while the Ulster Unionists took twenty-two seats, the majority of which were in the north-east. The IPP, which had dominated nationalist politics since 1880, was practically wiped out.14Sinn Féin was in such a strong position in Munster that their candidates in nineteen of the twenty-five constituencies were unopposed. The only Munster constituency which was contested by a unionist was Cork city, where Sinn Féin received 41,308 votes, the IPP 14,642 and the unionists 4,773.15Patrick O’Keeffe (Pádraig Ó Caoimh) for Cork North and Thomas Hunter for Cork North East were in prison at the time of their election.

By the time the House of Commons assembled in London in early February 1919, the situation in Ireland had been transformed. The Sinn Féin members who were at liberty had assembled at the Mansion House in Dublin on 21 January and proclaimed independence. Out of nine Cork TDs, only J. J. Walsh and Seán Ó hAodha answered the roll call.16One of the Dáil’s first acts was to send Seán T. O’Kelly to the Paris Peace Conference seeking recognition of the ‘Provisional Government’ from the American president, Woodrow Wilson, and to press the French premier, Georges Clemenceau (the official host), for ‘the international recognition of the independence of Ireland’.17 His attempts were rebuffed and, in an article dripping with condescension, The New York Times suggested that O’Kelly might be ‘cooling his heels for a very long time’ if he was waiting for a reply from President Wilson.18Not a single word of this was mentioned in the British parliament: it was as if it hadn’t happened.19

Collins engineered a spectacular propaganda coup when he and Harry Boland rescued Éamon de Valera, Seán McGarry and Seán Milroy from Lincoln Prison on 3 February 1919. De Valera literally took a taxi to freedom and returned to Dublin on 20 February, where he was elected president (Príomh Aire) of Dáil Éireann on 1 April.20 Unsurprisingly, the escape made international news and the British looked particularly foolish as the prisoners had apparently walked through locked doors. It was three hours before the escape was discovered.21

This was the most spectacular escape organised by Collins, but others included Robert Barton from Mountjoy Prison on 16 March, followed a few weeks later by Piaras Béaslaí, J. J. Walsh, Thomas Malone, Paddy Fleming and fifteen other prisoners, who escaped over the wall of the same prison. Warders were kept at bay by other prisoners armed with ‘revolvers’, which turned out to be spoons. In October Austin Stack and Béaslaí (who had been re-captured) escaped with four others from Strangeways Prison in Manchester. All of this kept the Irish story on the front pages in Britain and around the world.22

Inevitably, the standoff between the Irish and British parliaments would have to be resolved. Already, in Tipperary, Dan Breen and Seán Treacy had shot dead RIC constables Patrick MacDonnell and James O’Connell during a raid for gelignite at Soloheadbeg. On 1 February 1919 An t-Óglách (the internal newspaper of the Irish Volunteers) declared war on the British. It was unambiguous: ‘[Dáil Éireann] claims the same power and authority as any other lawfully constituted Government; it sanctions the employment by the Irish Volunteers of the most drastic measures against the enemies of Ireland. The soldiers and police of the invader are liable to be treated exactly as invading enemy soldiers would be treated by the native army of any country.’23 Thus the stage was set for the War of Independence.

The Murder of Lord Mayor Tomás MacCurtain and the ‘Stolen’ Jury

Tomás MacCurtain

On 19 March 1920 Sinn Féin Lord Mayor of Cork Tomás MacCurtain wrote to his colleague Liam de Róiste, TD, arranging to meet Bishop Daniel Cohalan the following day. Signifying the profound change that had occurred in the local elections, when Sinn Féin and their allies in Labour obtained an overall majority despite the use of the new proportional representation electoral system, the letter and the lord mayor’s headed notepaper were in Irish.

Later that night Constable Joseph Murtagh of the RIC was shot dead on Pope’s Quay by members of the IRA as he returned from the funeral of his colleague Constable Charles Healy, who had been shot in Toomevara, Co. Tipperary, on 16 March. According to Patrick Murray, O/C of ‘C’ Company, 1st Battalion, Cork No. 1 Brigade, Murtagh was killed ‘by two members of my company (Christy MacSwiney and — O’Connell) on instructions from the brigade’. He continued:

It was reported that Detective Murtagh was endeavouring to get information from Martin Condon who had been captured by the British in an attack on a barrack in Liam Lynch’s brigade area. Condon was being held prisoner in the military barracks in Cork at the time, and it was known that this detective was using extreme methods on him in order to procure information regarding Volunteer activities.1

After the shooting, the gunmen went to Blackpool, to the house of Peg Duggan at 49 Thomas Davis Street, which was directly opposite MacCurtain’s home. Duggan and her sister had taken the two men to Sunday’s Well and when returning home had noticed ‘queer looking fellas’ on Blackpool Bridge, within yards of the lord mayor’s house. Duggan described what happened next:

We went to bed and noticed the gas lamps being put out, my sister passing a remark: ‘There is old Keane putting out the gas lamps.’ This fixed the time at about 12.30 a.m. Very shortly afterwards, we heard a thundering knock at a door, followed by shots up and down the street. My sister Annie looked out a window and said: ‘They are at Tomas’s house.’ Next we heard another few shots ring out and then a cry: ‘A priest, a priest, will someone go for a priest?’ Annie and I jumped out of bed and put on coats over our night attire. We could hear a woman’s voice crying: ‘A priest, a priest.’ We ran up to the presbytery attached to the Cathedral and met Rev. Father Burts, one of the curates … Father Burts did not know where Tomas lived and asked us to show him the way. The priest, my sister Annie and myself arrived at McCurtain’s [sic] in a very short time and were met by Mrs. McCurtain who said: ‘Thank God, Father, you are in time.’ Father Burts heard Tomas’s confession on the stairs landing. Tomas was lying there where he was shot, but was conscious. We were present while he was being anointed and, after the anointing, he died where he lay.2

Shortly after MacCurtain was killed in front of his wife and children, the house was raided by the military, who conducted a detailed search, including under the bed where the lord mayor’s body lay. Of course, Tomás MacCurtain was not only lord mayor, but also the brigade commander of the IRA, and his funeral on 22 March was used as a major demonstration of IRA strength, with thousands marching in the cortège and a volley of shots being fired over his grave.

Immediately after his murder, the British suggested that MacCurtain had been killed by members of the IRA because he was not radical enough and had fallen out with them.3 This was despite the mountain of evidence from witnesses that linked an RIC-led gang to the attack. According to ex-RIC officer Michael Feeley, on the morning of 19 March the military had linked MacCurtain to an attack on Viceroy Lord French in December 1919. It was decided to arrest and intern the lord mayor. At the meeting the Cork RIC, led by District Inspector Swanzy, had stated that MacCurtain was a moderate, so the revelation that he was an active gunman must have come as a shock to them.4 The inquest into the killing went through the events of the night in minute detail. A gas lamplighter working on King Street provided crucial evidence which proved that the police had, against regulations, left King Street Barracks, which was only a few minutes from the MacCurtains’ house, after the killing of Murtagh.

Only seven people had answered the coroner’s initial summonses for the inquest. Corkonians of all creeds and classes were traditionally well known for avoiding jury duty, so this would have been of little surprise. However, at this stage of the war Sinn Féin had begun to ban people from any involvement with the British state and it was proving difficult to hold assizes courts, especially in Munster.

Minutes before the inquest was supposed to open, the coroner was still under pressure to find jurymen after an ex-RIC man, Mr Sherman, had asked to be excused, stating: ‘I have a summons in my pocket signed by you, but if there is no objection I’d rather be off.’5 Finally, the coroner managed to find a jury of sixteen to take on the task, despite the potential threat.

So who were these brave souls? The foreman was W. J. Barry, and the other members were Michael J. Grace, Melville McWilliams, Jeremiah O’Callaghan, Joseph Kiely, Florence O’Donoghue, Daniel Barrett, Thomas O’Shaughnessy, D. Hennessy, Patrick McGrath, Peter O’Donovan, Tadhg O’Sullivan, Padraig O’Sullivan, Wilfred Perry, Richard Barrett and Harry Lorton. Some of these names will be readily identifiable to those familiar with the War of Independence in Cork. Tadhg O’Sullivan was shot on Douglas Street by the police while trying to escape from a raid on an IRA brigade meeting in April 1921. He had just returned from London after an abortive attempt to assassinate Essex Regiment Intelligence Officer Major Arthur Percival. He was the captain of ‘C’ Company, and at the time of his death it was noted that he was on the MacCurtain jury. Harry Lorton (sometimes written Loreton) was a founder member of the Irish Volunteers, while Wilfred Perry had joined that organisation on its first day.6 Although there was a Florence O’Donoghue on the jury, which also happened to be the name of the chief IRA spymaster in Cork, and while the person on the left of a contemporary photograph of the jury looks very similar to him, there is no corroboration that this was in fact the IRA spymaster.7 Of the other jury members, Daniel Barrett had joined the Irish Volunteers in 1914, Richard Barrett was a member of the Young Ireland Society, Patrick McGrath was an IRA member and a future lord mayor of the city, and Peter O’Donovan was the O/C of the Cork City ASU in April 1922. That all these men were sitting on the same jury was an extraordinary coup for the IRA.

The result of the inquest, announced on 10 April, was shocking and made headlines around the world.8 The sixteen-man jury concluded:

We find that the late Alderman MacCurtain, Lord Mayor of Cork, died from shock and hemorrhage [sic] caused by bullet wounds, and that he was willfully [sic] murdered under circumstances of the most callous brutality, and that the murder was organised and carried out by the Royal Irish Constabulary, officially directed by the British Government, and we return a verdict of willful murder against David Lloyd George, Prime Minister of England; Lord French, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland; Ian McPherson, late Chief Secretary of Ireland; Acting Inspector General Smith of the Royal Irish Constabulary; Divisional Inspector Clayton of the Royal Irish Constabulary; District Inspector Swanzy and some unknown members of the Royal Irish Constabulary. We strongly condemn the system at present in vogue of carrying out raids at unreasonable hours. We tender to Mrs. MacCurtain and family our sincerest sympathy. We extend to the citizens of Cork our sympathy in the loss they have sustained by the death of one so eminently capable of directing their civic administration.9

The propaganda value of the jury calling Lloyd George a murderer was immense.10

The jury that sat on the inquest into Tomás MacCurtain’s death.

The Death of Colonel Smyth

Lieutenant Colonel Gerald Brice Ferguson Smyth, the divisional police commissioner for Munster, returned to Cork from Co. Kerry on 17 July and checked into the Cork County Club on the South Mall. As he was not expected, he telegraphed ahead. This message was intercepted in the telegraph office in Cork by a telegraph officer who was also an IRA courier and passed on to Volunteer Seán O’Hegarty.1 Ned Fitzgerald, a waiter who worked in the club, confirmed that Smyth was staying there.2 A squad was quickly assembled consisting of ‘Daniel (“Sando” [sic]) Donovan, Jack Culhane, Cornelius O’Sullivan, Seán O’Donoghue, J. J. O’Connell and myself [Daniel Healy]’.3

At approximately 10 p.m. Colonel Smyth was sitting in the lounge of the club with RIC County Inspector Craig. Seán Culhane described what happened next:

The five whom I have named above [Donovan, O’Sullivan, O’Donoghue, O’Connell and Healy] remained at the opposite side of the street and I went across to the entrance of the Club and met ‘Bally’ [Fitzgerald], who told me that Smyth was still inside. I took off my cap and ran my fingers twice through my hair, which was the signal arranged with my comrades. They immediately came to the Club entrance and with ‘Bally’ in front of us, as if at the point of the gun, he moved to where Smyth was sitting in the room and faced him. This was arranged to ensure that we got the right man.

We opened fire simultaneously, without any preliminaries, and most of our shots hit the target. Smyth made an effort with his one arm to make for his gun but collapsed in the attempt – he must have died at once.4

The shooting of Smyth had its genesis in a speech he had given to quell a mutiny among RIC officers in Listowel Barracks on 19 June. He had arrived in Listowel with ‘Police Advisor’ Major General Henry Hugh Tudor, as part of a tour of Kerry.5 The speech, which was written down by the leader of the rebellion, Constable Jeremiah Mee, and published in The Freeman’s Journal on 10 July, outlined Smyth’s version of what the British government intended to happen over the coming months. According to Mee, Smyth said:

Police and military will patrol the country roads at least five nights a week. They are not to confine themselves to the main roads but take across country [sic], lie in ambush, take cover behind fences, near the roads, and, when civilians are seen approaching, shout ‘hands up’. Should the order be not immediately obeyed, shoot, and shoot with effect. If the persons approaching carry their hands in their pockets or are in any way suspicious looking, shoot them down. You may make mistakes occasionally and innocent persons may be shot, but this cannot be helped and you are bound to get the right persons sometimes. The more you shoot, the better I will like you, and I assure you that no policeman will get into trouble for shooting any man. In the past, policemen have got into trouble for giving evidence at coroners’ inquests. As a matter of fact, inquests are to be made illegal so that in future no policeman will be asked to give evidence at inquests. Hunger strikers will be allowed to die in jail, the more the merrier.6

Mee, who had already persuaded his colleagues to disobey an order to turn over the barracks to the military, replied:

‘By your accent, I take it you are an Englishman. You forget you are addressing Irishmen.’ He checked me there and said he was a North of Ireland man from Banbridge in the County Down. I said, ‘I am an Irishman and very proud of it.’ Taking off my uniform cap, I laid it on the table in front of Colonel Smyth and said, ‘This is English, you may have it as a present from me.’ Having done this, I completely lost my temper and, taking off my belt and sword, clapped them down on the table, saying, ‘These too are English and you may have them. To Hell with you, you are a murderer.’ At this, Colonel Smyth quietly said to District Inspector Flanagan, ‘Place that man under arrest.’7

To Smyth’s surprise, fourteen of Mee’s colleagues also resigned and proceeded to rescue Mee, while at the same time threatening the senior officers, who withdrew rather than exacerbate the situation. Colonel Smyth’s party went on to Tralee, where they were refused a hearing, and then to Killarney, where they were met with shouts of ‘Up Listowel’ according to Mee, who had apparently tipped off his comrades there.8 Irish Chief Secretary Sir Hamar Greenwood explained to the House of Commons that Smyth had not exceeded what the attorney-general for Ireland, Denis Henry, had said on 22 June.9 Yet all Henry had said was, ‘If they have reason to suspect that a person approaching them is in possession of deadly weapons they are to call on him to put up his hands, and, failing his doing so, they are to fire upon him. It is impossible to give more explicit instructions.’10 Smyth’s version of his address to the men, which could at best be said to be a generous interpretation of what Henry actually said, was printed in The Irish Times after his death, and it is hard not to conclude that Mee’s recollection of what was said is correct.11

Smyth’s death led to indiscriminate reprisals by British forces over the following two days. These resulted in at least three deaths (James Bourke, William McGrath and John O’Brien) and a host of civilians being treated in all the Cork hospitals for gunshot wounds. The official report stated that there had been rioting in the city, but all the local newspapers described armoured cars being driven through the streets and firing wildly around Parliament Bridge and along the nearby South Mall. Indeed, William McGrath was killed by a bullet fired from an armoured car, having just saved a child from being run over in the middle of North Main Street.12

The Disappearance of John Coughlan

In August 1920 John Coughlan, who lived in Cottrell’s Row in Queenstown (now Cobh), was kidnapped by the IRA and taken across Cork Harbour to Aghada on the south side. Two of his daughters were ‘keeping company’ with British soldiers stationed in the town and, as the IRA had issued warnings against fraternising with the enemy, this was always going to be a risk. Years later Ernie O’Malley, who was recording the recollections of participants in the War of Independence, interviewed Michael Leahy. Leahy had been the head of the IRA in the area. O’Malley records Leahy as saying:

The strangest thing about the first spy who met his death through us was that we didn’t shoot him. In Cobh we arrested this fellow … and we took him to Aghada and we wanted to scare him for a while. He was kept in Mary Higgins’ in a loft and there was a young girl there. She was bringing him his breakfast when she found him hanging from a rafter, dead. We were in a jamb [sic] then, for he had been arrested in broad daylight, so I got 4 lads to bury him. Paddy Sullivan from Cobh who was later executed in Cork gaol after he had been caught in Clonmult. [sic] Later on he asked me ‘did you see “the Examiner”.’ And when I read it I found that a body which had been tied to an axle had been washed up on Inch Strand. The lads had not buried him. They had tied him to an old car axle and had flung him out into the sea. He was in a morgue in Middleton [sic], I was told, in the workhouse. ‘Did you search his clothes?’ I asked. ‘No, but we knew his face.’1

Like many of the stories told by the IRA, the huge problem with this was that it lacked verification. Certainly there was no doubt that John Coughlan had been abducted from Cobh, as a war office file in the National Archives at Kew discussed prosecuting individuals who had been involved in the abduction.2The problem lay with being able to find any public record that confirmed the story of the recovery of his body. However, the digitisation of newspapers across the world has created a revolution in historical research. A tiny reference in the Lincolnshire Post mentioned a body tied to a cartwheel found five miles from Cloyne.3 After a meeting with his grandchildren, who had heard the same story, a search of The Irish Times found two linked articles, which confirmed all the details of Leahy’s story. John Coughlan’s body had been found on Ballybranagan beach in East Cork.4 The body had been taken to the nearest town with a morgue (Midleton) and, when nobody claimed it after two days, it was buried in St James’s, the workhouse cemetery at Knockgriffin.5

The Funeral of Terence MacSwiney

OUTSIDE BRIXTON PRISON 23. 10. ’20.

Diary of week of Terry’s greatest torture and of the English Government’s and English Doctor’s low malice in excluding us from his deathbed.

Áine MacSwiney1

Terence MacSwiney

On Saturday 23 October 1920 Terence MacSwiney’s sisters, Máire and Áine, were banned from their brother’s bedside by the Home Office, which had become increasingly frustrated at their continuing belligerence towards the doctors and with the regular press conferences they held for the Irish and international media outside the gates of Brixton Prison in central London. They were ushered out of the gates at 10.55 p.m. and driven down Brixton Road. They would not see their brother alive again.

Alderman Terence MacSwiney, Tomás MacCurtain’s successor as lord mayor of Cork and commandant of Cork No. 1 Brigade of the IRA, passed away in Brixton Prison at 5.20 a.m. on 25 October, after a hunger strike lasting seventy-four days.2 On the same day Joseph Murphy died in Cork, having survived for three hours longer, but it was MacSwiney’s dramatic gesture in the centre of London that captured the world’s attention.3

While the Cabinet had set its face against the release of the hunger strikers, it was aware of the impact of MacSwiney’s death and feared repercussions among the British public and the possible effect on American public opinion in the run-up to the presidential election that year. The Irish side (including MacSwiney) had been interested in keeping the spectacle going for as long as it could, certain in the knowledge that every day the lord mayor survived the Irish revolution would stay centre stage in world news. However, outside these narrow political calculations was the appalling human tragedy of a man deliberately starving himself to death in pursuit of a political goal, which The Irish Times ungraciously described on the morning after his death as ‘a thing of folly and crime which is sacrificing Ireland’s peace and progress to the pursuit of an impossible dream’.4

MacSwiney’s death presented the British government with a practical problem: how to dispose of the body. If they buried MacSwiney in the prison grounds, his sisters were likely to continue their vigil outside Brixton Prison with all the inevitable bad press that would bring. However, if they handed the body over to the family, then the procession through Dublin and Cork would be an enormous propaganda opportunity for the IRA and Sinn Féin to exploit. This could not be allowed.

After the inquest on the following Wednesday, at 11 a.m., the Home Office declined to release the body, informing the family ‘that a government vessel would be placed at [their] disposal, free of all expense, and every facility offered if [they] would go straight to Cork’.5 Assisted by Sinn Féin’s press representative in London, Art O’Brien, the family refused. MacSwiney’s wife, Muriel, asked to see Home Secretary Edward Shortt and demanded her husband’s body. Initially, Shortt refused, allegedly seeking more time to consider whether he had the legal authority, but in the face of mounting pressure (and not a little embarrassment according to O’Brien) the body was released at 7 p.m. and taken to Southwark Cathedral. Following Requiem Mass on Thursday morning, the funeral procession went to Euston Station through crowded and silent streets, passing in sight of Westminster Palace on the way.6 The family left Euston at 6 p.m. on a special train accompanied by three carriages full of police, Deputy Lord Mayor of Cork Donal O’Callaghan, Bishop Mannix of Australia, Art O’Brien and other supporters. After the train had passed Crewe, they were informed that the police had orders from Chief Secretary Hamar Greenwood to take the body directly to Cork. This was done to avoid a funeral procession in Dublin, which would undoubtedly have been far larger than the London event.

At Holyhead the family attempted to prevent the police taking the body. Áine MacSwiney’s diary recalled:

Sean and Min were at the end nearest the entrance; next were Fred and myself. Art O’Brien, Fr. Dominic, Fr. Dan Walsh and Desmond Murphy were at the other side. Mid O’Hegarty, Geraldine O’Sullivan, Aileen O’Sullivan and May Foley were all there … Sean (our own Sean) and Min got the brunt of it, they were dragged from the coffin; Min was lifted off her feet and thrown out of the van. Sean tried to protect her; he had his arm around her, and three huge police attacked him in front; one of them struck Min in the face, while a military officer jumped at him from behind, caught him by the collar and tried to choke him …

I was still in the van at the time; after Min and Sean had been dragged out, the police came at the rest of us. I was pushed from behind away from the coffin and, having nothing to catch on to, they got me easily away. I tried to get back again, but a cordon of police surrounded the coffin, and it was impossible to get back. In the same way, everyone was either pushed or dragged from the coffin.7

The police took their trophy and headed to the waiting steamer, Rathmore. The coffin was ‘picked up by a crane and was silhouetted against the midnight sky for a moment as it was swung over the side. It was then lowered into the hold.’ Two hours later the family boarded the ferry for Kingstown (Dún Laoghaire), having told the stationmaster that they refused ‘to accompany you and your nefarious expedition’.8 On their arrival in Dublin, Sinn Féin held a funeral procession for the lord mayor, with his family following an empty hearse through the streets to Kingsbridge (Heuston) Station.