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- Herausgeber: The O'Brien Press
- Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015
Tom Connolly joined An Garda Síochána in 1955, following in the footsteps of his father and grandfather. His early days on the force were spent in various villages and towns around Ireland, tracking petty thieves, raiding pubs and patrolling country roads on his bicycle. Back then, before the dawn of DNA profiling, policemen relied on local knowledge and intuition – as well as careful evidence-gathering and interrogation techniques – to make their cases. Over his forty-year career, Connolly rose to the rank of Detective Superintendent, working on high-profile thefts, assaults and murders with the National Technical Bureau. This fascinating memoir offers an insight into the day-to-day work of the gardaí, and celebrates the courage and dedication of all those who risk their lives to keep us safe.
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Dedication
I dedicate this book to the memory of my wife Maureen, to our children Tom, Maria and David and to our grandchildren Ciara, Michelle, Aoife and Niamh; David, Mark and Aidan; and Thomas and Ciaran.
Acknowledgements
I sincerely thank my ex-colleagues throughout the country for the assistance and support they gave me in compiling this account of various investigations I was involved in. A special word of thanks to the widows of John Morley and Henry Byrne, Frances and Anne, who shared with me their recollections and intense grief arising out of the murder of their husbands. To Derek Kelly, now the sole surviving occupant of the garda car of July 1980, for his recollection of events on the day and his trauma suffered as a result. To Jenny, my typist, for her efficient work and the professional manner in which she prepared all the material for presentation to the O’Brien Press. I want to express my heartfelt gratitude to my fond friend, Teresa, for the many hours she spent editing the book before presentation to the publishers, and for the great support and encouragement she gave me throughout the whole process. Thanks to two other people that discussed with me their recollections of a memorable day in their lives many years ago.
Thanks to all my family and friends who encouraged and supported me along the way, and to The O’Brien Press, especially Eoin, for his patience and his cooperation with me in dealing with some thorny problems.
Again, thank you everybody for your assistance and help, and I wish you and yours good health and happiness always.
Contents
Introduction
In June of 1994, I retired from the Garda Síochána, with the rank of Detective Superintendent. At that time I was attached to the Investigation Section at Crime Branch in Garda Headquarters. I had served thirty-nine years, having joined in 1955. My father and grandfather were policemen, and my two sons and one of my daughters-in-law are serving Gardaí now, so you could say that police work is in my blood.
When I retired, I had no intention of writing my memoirs, or anything else for that matter. Colleagues, friends and acquaintances had urged me on occasion to do so, but I always gave them a very definitive ‘no’. One reason was that I would have to write about myself, which indeed I still have reservations about. Eventually, and for various reasons, I changed my mind, and set about writing my recollections and reminiscences. It has been an interesting journey, looking back through old case notes, court records and media reports. Some of it brings back hard memories, of the faces of bereaved and distraught families, of dealing with depraved and unscrupulous criminals, and of long, tense hours at crime scenes, in interrogation sessions and in courtrooms.
This book, I suppose, is also a sort of tribute to the work of the many thousands of brave men and women who have worked with the Garda Síochána, dedicating their working lives to keeping the rest of us safe. I hope this book will give the reader a window into the work of the Gardaí – into how investigations are carried out, how evidence is gathered, how criminals are apprehended and how cases can be won or lost in Court.
Since my Garda career began in 1955, there have been many changes and advances in the technology used in policing, particularly in the field of forensics, with comparison microscopes and DNA profiling now providing concrete and indisputable evidence. However, the basics of crime investigation remain the same: diligent examination of the crime scene and interviewing of all persons in the immediate area of a crime, careful and thorough follow-up of every lead and thread of information, and impartial and cold assessment of known facts.
It has been an interesting and challenging career, full of ups and downs. I have met all manner of interesting, good, civic-spirited people, people who are willing to do their bit to keep society safe. I would recommend the work of a Garda to anyone seeking a ‘life less ordinary’.
Chapter One
Early Days
MY FAMILY BACKGROUND
My grandfather, Patrick Connolly, was born in 1862 in Ballyfin, County Laois. He joined the RIC in 1882, and was stationed in Limerick. There he met my grandmother, Ellen Creagh, and they married in 1893. Ellen Creagh’s father, John Creagh, was also in the RIC. A native of Cork, his first station was Waterford, and then he was transferred to Limerick. His father, John Creagh, was also in the RIC. As Ellen Creagh was from Limerick, when my grandfather married her he was transferred out of Limerick to Scariff in County Clare, where my father was born in February 1901.
My father’s first job was as a telegram boy, delivering telegrams by bicycle. He then became a fireman on the railway, operating out of Limerick. He married my mother, Kate Minogue, from Ballintotty, Nenagh, in September 1921. I believe they met while my mother was working in a bar near the railway station in Nenagh.
My dad joined the Garda Síochána in November 1922. I can see by his application form that he was two years in the IRA, so that must have looked well at that time on application forms to join the Garda. His first station was Enniscorthy, County Wexford, in February 1923. He was a member of the first station party to arrive in Enniscorthy. After some time there, he became the Superintendent’s clerk.
The first born in the family was Eileen; she died at a very young age, and was buried on her fifth birthday. She died in the married quarters attached to the Garda Station in Enniscorthy in April 1927. My dad was transferred from Enniscorthy to Charleville in June of 1934, and the family arrived there with six children: Kitty, Paddy, Molly, Nancy, Jimmy and John. I was the first member of the family to be born in County Cork. I was born in Newline, Charleville, in August 1934. We soon moved to Prospect Lodge, The Turrets, in Charleville.
My first real memory of Charleville is my brother John cutting off the top of my finger, the middle finger of my left hand, with a hatchet, when I was about five years old. I’m sure it wasn’t intentional. Our house in Prospect Lodge was single storeyed, with a tiled floor, three bedrooms, a pantry and a dry toilet out in the garden.
My mother, God rest her, was a great provider, with a lot to do and a lot to look after. We had very little growing up really, but we survived and I think we were all the better for not having too much. My dad had a bicycle, and he was very careful with it, because it was essential for his work. We were always trying to have a go on it, but we’d have broken it up on him.
I remember some of my younger sisters being put into a tea chest in the kitchen. Once they were able to walk, to keep them out of trouble, they’d be put into the tea chest, where they could hop up and down and shout and scream. I think every one of us went through the tea chest in our time, and we all did the roaring and shouting too.
My brothers Paddy and Jimmy were great lads for hunting rabbits. They would catch them as well as hunt them, and they very often put food on the table for us. Paddy got a greyhound named Nora, from where I don’t know, which was wonderful for catching rabbits. There was great affection for this greyhound, and we still talk about it.
Paddy used to set snares for rabbits, and one day I made a snare myself. I made it from a piece of netted wire, cut with a pliers to about a foot or so long, and straightened by pulling it back and forth over a railing. Down the field was a gateway and I could see a track under the bottom rail of the gate where I took it that rabbits would go through. I set my snare there, and I went back to it some time the next day. There was a rabbit in the snare, and it looked like he was just sitting down with his head resting on the bottom rail. I went over to him, and he was dead. I was terribly sorry that I had killed the rabbit, but anyway I took him out and brought him up to my mam, and of course she was delighted. To this day, any time I see a rabbit, I think of the rabbit that I killed. But I’m sure I ate part of it myself without any problem.
One of my best memories of Charleville is going up Love Lane, about a quarter of a mile from our house, to a pond where there were collies – little fish like pinkeens. We brought jam jars, and if we caught one with red under the mouth, that was a blood cock, a real prize catch.
A big, tall man on a donkey and cart used to call to us in Charleville. Tom Fisher was his name, and he would sell tripe, drisheens, black pudding and eggs. Mam would always get something from him. I always had the impression that he was so tall, when he sat in the front of the donkey and cart he had to hold up his legs to keep them off the ground.
I don’t have much memory of going to the infants’ school in Charleville, but I know that I did. I have little memory either of the CBS in Charleville, because I was only there a short time before my dad was transferred to Clonakilty. The world knows that De Valera went to school there, and the Archbishop in Melbourne, Archbishop Mannix. We used to go and get apples from a family down the Limerick Road who were relatives of Archbishop Mannix.
Prior to leaving Charleville, Kitty, Paddy and Molly had already flown the nest, to make their own way in the world. Kitty went to Tooting Bec hospital in London, Paddy joined the Army in Cork and Molly went to some place in England as well. While the family was in Charleville, its number increased by six. I was the first born in Charleville, and then came Sadie, Joan, Eileen, Margaret and Willie. Willie was born in October 1943, and was only four months old when we left Charleville. I remember loading all our bits and pieces, as much as they were, into the lorry on the morning of the transfer. My dad went with the lorry, and we went to the railway station with my mother and went by train into Cork and on to Clonakilty.
The railway station in Clonakilty was at the top of a hill called Barracks Hill. I remember coming down from the station and it was dark. My mam, with little Willie in her arms and eight children, walked down Barracks Hill, then down Strand Road, to our new home. We were reunited with Dad and our furniture. There was great excitement – we had a two-storey house, with an indoor toilet and many other extras compared with the home we had just left.
Having left a school that De Valera had attended, I was now in a school where Michael Collins had gone.
In May of 1944, a few months after we moved to Clonakilty, Willie died. He was only seven months old. I remember we were all gathered around him, and Mam told us that he was going to die. We were all in tears, and praying as best we could. He was buried in Darrara Cemetery, about four miles from Clonakilty, the following day. That left eleven of us in the family.
Most of us had never seen the sea, or even a boat, before we went to Clonakilty, so we had great excitement the first couple of weeks, exploring the town and surrounding area. When my dad was off duty and we were off school, we often used to walk down to Inchydoney, about three or four miles away. Inchydoney is a beautiful spot, now home to a beautiful hotel. It was a long walk, and on the return journey, we would be strung out over about a quarter of a mile along the road. Mam always seemed to be home first, and well advanced with the cooking by the time we arrived.
My dad was a great gardener, and always had every inch of the garden sown with fruit and vegetables. There wasn’t sight of a weed anywhere. He always had a new plant of some sort ready to replace the one he would take out. My mam and dad were very strict on doing our lessons at night time. They made sure we did them, and did them right. We would have our books and pens and pencils ready for the morning. I can still hear someone say, who took my pencil? There’d be a bit of a squabble, looking for bits and pieces.
I got involved in sport at an early age in Clonakilty. My mam and dad would say, ‘Well, it’s going to keep you out of trouble anyway.’ I remember the first match I went to play with Clonakilty. I was only a sub, and I was going to Ballinascarthy, four miles out the road. I knew my mother had my togs washed and nicely ironed, and they were inside in the sitting room in a press. So I put my hand in, pulled out this thing and put it in my pocket. I got my boots and joined the rest of the lads heading off to Ballinascarthy. Of course there was no dressing room or anything then; we togged out in the side of the ditch. So I took off the shoes and socks and the pants, and got this thing out of my pocket. What was it? It wasn’t shorts; it was a pillowslip. It could have been worse I suppose, and anyway I wasn’t playing. In fact I was relieved, when I saw the size of the opposition.
In my first real match, in 1949, I got a little medal for being a finalist. In 1952, I played with Cork minors, and we won the Munster Championship. We were beaten by Galway in the all-Ireland semi-final, and Galway were the eventual winners. In the same year in the final, I won the Cork senior football championship with Clonakilty. After a replay I was playing centre field.
In one match in Clonakilty, in the first few minutes I dislocated my left thumb. Somebody ran in from the sideline and gave it a pull and pushed it back into place, and I played on. ‘Twas foolish, but I was okay after a couple of days. There were no scans or anything like that in those days.
On 8 May 1955, Clonakilty played St Nick’s in the first round of the senior championships in Kinsale. The previous year, St Nick’s had beaten Clonakilty in the final, so this was a real grudge match. I happened to be captain, and we won, 2-2 to 3 points. I thought, and so did others, that another county title was looming on the horizon for Clonakilty, having just beaten the previous year’s champions. Macroom ended our dreams in the next match and we were gone. I received a beautiful black eye and a cut under the left eye during that match. It was the first of a few that I would get before the year was out.
The following morning, I picked up all my possessions and left Clonakilty on the train for Dublin. I shed a few tears on the way into Cork at leaving my mam and dad and the rest of my family behind, as I set out on my own in life.
TRAINING AT GARDA HEADQUARTERS, THE PHOENIX PARK
I arrived in Dublin, and made my way over to Crumlin to my aunt Jane Wheatly’s house. She kept me there for the night, for which I was very grateful indeed, and I was also grateful to her son Joe who brought me on the back of his Lambretta scooter up to the depot gate the following morning. Here I joined two hundred and eighteen others joining the force that day. Joe’s niece, Lorraine Wheatly, is now Chief Superintendent in charge of the Westmeath Division, based in Mullingar.
Recruits entering training had to have all the items on a list. I remember one item listed was a pair of black boots. The Connollys didn’t have the price of a pair of new boots. I had been in the Forsa Cosanta Áitiúil (FCA Army reserve) for two years or so, and had been issued with a pair of brown boots. My da, who over the years was the resident cobbler for all, did a great job of changing the colour of the FCA boots to black. I wasn’t surprised to notice that many of my fellow recruits were also former FCA members, with identical boots, which required plenty of black polish to keep the original brown colour from showing.
We were organised into classes of twenty-five, and soon integrated with each other. Our training lasted five months, and graduation day was 10 October 1955. During my time in training, I played with the Cork junior football team, and I picked up two more black eyes during the course of that championship. I was known to most of the fellows as the fellow with the black eyes.
As a Garda trainee, I was paid five pounds ten and a penny per week. Out of that we had to pay our mess bill, so we didn’t have too much to spend out of the five pounds ten and a penny. My time off in the depot centred around the Garda sports ground, kicking a ball around with colleagues who were interested in football like myself.
The fellow with the black eyes
I missed my passing-out parade, as I went to Birmingham on that date to play in the All-Ireland junior football final against Warwickshire. Cork County Board was very strict on Rule Twenty-seven, the rule that prevented members from playing or attending foreign games. They would certainly suspend anybody that breached that rule. However, on the Saturday, the day before the final, two teammates and I got lost, so to speak, and we attended a soccer match. I will always remember it. Birmingham were playing Sunderland, and it was a spectacular scene – such a huge crowd, a beautiful pitch, great excitement and wonderful skill on display on the field. I remember one of England’s soccer greats, Len Shackleton, was playing. He was probably one of the reasons we went to the match. That was the first and only soccer match I ever attended.
We won our own match, and then I travelled back that night by boat, to arrive around six or seven o’clock in the morning. I made my way back up to the depot. All my colleagues had left, gone to their respective stations. I felt alone in the world, and missed all the lads, having missed my opportunity to say goodbye. Anyway I went straight to bed, as I was jaded tired, and the train to Kildare was leaving around seven o’clock that evening.
Chapter Two
Garda
KILDARE, MY FIRST STATION, 1955
When I arrived in Kildare Station, the electricity was off for some reason or another. There were candles lighting in the public office, one up on the counter, and another on the fireplace. I was brought upstairs to a huge big barn of a room where there were two other men staying. The Station was a hundred years old, and the floor boards were very worn. T he nails were sticking up above the timber, and fluff and dust was coming up between the boards. I got a single bed, with a mattress about two inches thick, and a few grey blankets. No wardrobe, just a chair, and a rack overhead for your possessions. No toilet upstairs, and no water, so we had to go down to the basement to use the toilet. There were two or three big windows in the room, facing out onto the street. No curtains, but there were big shutters. We didn’t complain – we had a job and we got on with it.
My Sergeant in Kildare was John McGrath. A Tyrone man, he was strict, fair, fatherly and considerate. If you abided by him, as I think I did, he kept a man on the straight and narrow path at the beginning of his time of service. My Superintendent was Malcolm G. Crummey, an extremely nice man.
There were nine or ten Gardaí in Kildare at the time I arrived there. Great characters, and mostly elderly men, and I think the fact that my father was a Garda helped me greatly to associate with them. One of them, Pat Hennessey, was a great storyteller. One story he used to tell took place during the time the British were in the Curragh camp. The daughter of one of the officers was out late one night, and she was sexually assaulted by a man in uniform. She pulled a button off his uniform. The investigators were satisfied of the barracks the culprit came from. So all the barracks personnel were paraded the following morning in uniform. This button was from a particular place, an epaulette or sleeve, I don’t know, and the officer went around with the button. He looked at every uniform, and each member was missing this same button. According to Pat, the officer stood out and said to them, ‘A thing is done and well it’s done and wise is he who did it, and let no man know who knows it not, or do again who did it.’
We’d have an inspection by the Super every month, and by the Chief every three months. And of course, the night before, young men like myself in the Station would be studying police duties in the public office beside the fire. But, as Pat Hennessy put it, ‘It’s too late to sharpen your sword, when the drum beats for battle.’
I wasn’t too long in Kildare before I found a GAA field, and I started going up training with the local team. In 1957, I threw in my lot with Round Towers in Kildare, and I played with them up to 1960, when I was transferred to Naas and went back to playing with Clonakilty again. I won a county championship final with Towers, and we were beaten in another.
For the first couple of years of my service in Kildare, I was on ordinary duty, doing patrols and working in the public office. But after this time, I started to drive the patrol car – first came ZL 6755, an old Prefect, and then we graduated to FIK 11, a Consul. Pat Mulgrew was the other driver while I was there. We were on night duty every second week, which was tough, because sleeping accommodation wasn’t great. When we were on night duty, we’d go to a different station every night and pick up a member from that station. We’d patrol anywhere we wanted to go really, unless there was something in particular on. Of course there was no radio in that day – no radio in the car, no radio in the Station. In Kildare, if you saw the light on in the public office in the early hours of the morning, it was the signal that they wanted you for something. That was the communication system.
Coming up to Christmas every year, the Chief Superintendent would send out a circular. It was much the same every year, and the heading was ‘Anticipated Outrages over the Christmas Period’. The outrages outlined were the theft of Christmas trees from the forest out around Carbury, and the theft of turkeys from farmers in the locality, who would be rearing maybe twenty or thirty for sale at Christmas. The Chief, Finionn O’Driscoll, was very regimental and formal on inspections. He had a thing about a particular criminal – John Keenan was his name, a Monaghan man. Keenan used to specialise in breaking into priests’ houses and churches, and he used to travel on a bicycle. At some time or another, the Chief had circulated the number of John Keenan’s bicycle – the number was on the frame under the saddle. Some Guard took it some time and sent it in to the Chief, and he circulated it so that every Guard should know the number of this bicycle. At inspection, he would ask the number, and I remember one day he issued an instruction that when Gardaí were out on duty at night time, to make sure they called by the churches and priests’ houses, and look all around the area for any sign of John Keenan’s bicycle.
One day I was out in Suncroft, a little village about three or four miles from Kildare, with two pubs, a church and a shop. I went into the pub for something, and there was a man sitting at the counter. Who was it? John Keenan! I knew him from his photograph. I brought him out anyway and chatted to him, got his bicycle and put it into the boot and brought him into Kildare Station. I talked to him for an hour or so. He didn’t admit to any crime, but at least I was showing that I knew him.
MY BLACK BOOTS
I mentioned earlier about these black boots I got, FCA boots that I brought to the Depot. Having left the Depot, the boots were well worn in the soles, so I got protectors. Now people may not know what protectors are, but in those days they were quite common. They were like studs, in various different shapes – half-moon shapes, triangles and that sort of thing. I got two cards of them and I hammered them into the worn soles of my boots in a very irregular manner. So then I was right for the road again. I put them on when I was going on duty, and went out in the street. I wasn’t gone fifty yards when I said, I can’t wear these. I was like a plough horse; I would be heard all over the town. So I went back and changed, and didn’t wear them any more.
A week or so afterwards, I went down the town and I saw this man with a canvas bag on his back and he looking up at the signpost. I took it that he was a travelling man, and I found out he was. I spoke to him and brought him up to the Station, because I wanted to see what was in the bag. He told me his name, and that he was from Balbriggan in Dublin. I had a look in the bag, and it contained the usual things a travelling man would have. He had a razor, a bit of a towel, soap and a whiskey bottle with an inch or two of whiskey in the bottom of it.
We chatted away, and when he was going he said to me, ‘Garda, would you have any pair of shoes you’d give me?’ He said, ‘Look at these, they’re in very bad repair.’ So here was an opportunity for me to get rid of those boots. He was delighted with them, put them on and off he went.
Next morning, a shopkeeper reported that his shop had been broken into, on Station Road. I went down with Sergeant McGrath. The culprit had clearly come in through the back yard, broken a window and got into the shop and stolen a few bits and pieces. It had been raining, so the clay was soft, and out in the back yard, leading right up to the window, I saw perfect impressions of the soles of my old boots. I knew by the way I had hammered in the protectors, that they were definitely my boots. So the crime was solved. John McGrath circulated his description, and he was arrested that night or the following night, in the Ivy Hostel in Dublin. I thought I was going to be in trouble, but it didn’t turn out that way. So that was my boots from the FCA and what happened to them.
NEIGHBOURLY DISPUTES
When I was about two or three months in Kildare, I was on duty one night with Garda Michael McNamara, affectionately known as Mick Mc. A lady down in Assumpta Villas, an estate in Kildare, had complained about the conduct of another lady, her neighbour. So we went down to the house. Mick did all the talking of course, as I was just the little boy.
The lady outlined the way the lady next door was behaving. The lady was putting her washing up on her hedge, and there were a number of other complaints, all silly things really. Mick listened for a while, and then he said to her, ‘Do you know what you’ll do now? When you are up town tomorrow, tip into your solicitor and you get him to summons the bitch, and that will keep her quiet.’
So we left, and called in to this lady who was supposed to be causing the problems, and she outlined the troubles she was having with her neighbour. The hedge was hers, and she was entitled to put her clothes on it, and so on. We listened for a while, and then Mick Mc told her exactly what he had told her neighbour – go down to the solicitor and get him to summons the bitch. Then we left, mission accomplished. I certainly didn’t hear any more about it, and I doubt Mick McNamara did either. It was all a learning process for me.
AFTER-HOURS TIPPLES IN KILDARE
In Kildare at that time, there was very little crime really. Maybe at weekends, you would have a few soldiers that would be a bit late going home to the Curragh Camp. They might see a bicycle on the side of the street, and be tempted to take it, as they could then get back to the Curragh in ten or fifteen minutes. Occasionally you would have a lad coming into the Station saying, ‘My bicycle is gone Garda,’ and of course we would know where to find it. It would be recovered up in the Curragh Camp the following morning.
I think I had a bit of a reputation for raiding pubs, but I don’t think for prosecuting really. When you’re out on duty and you know there is unlawful trading going on inside a pub, it’s no harm to go in and show yourself.
Now there were two pubs in Kildare at that time by the name of Nolan’s – one was up at the top of the square, and was known as Top Nolan’s, and the other was lower down on the Dublin Road, and that was Bottom Nolan’s, which has since changed ownership several times. So one night, I went into Bottom Nolan’s, and there was a crowd inside, after hours, having a few drinks. I saw a man go out the back door into the yard, and I knew him well because he played on Round Towers football team with me. I walked off out the back door, down the yard and garden, and I could hear noise down the end, in a garden shed. The door of the shed was pushed closed but the sliding bolt was open. Knowing who was in there, I closed the bolt and walked away. Back in the bar, of course, the customers had now left.
Three or four days later, I met my friend that had been locked in the shed, down training at the GAA pitch. I said to him, ‘I thought you were locked up!’ I’m not going to quote his reply, but he took it well. He said it was better than having his name appear in the local paper, for being on a licensed premises after hours.
THE CHILD DROWNED IN A GULLY, 1957
I was sent to the border, to Dundalk, at the very end of 1957. I was there about three months, on night duty at a checkpoint out near Hackballs Cross. I wasn’t too long there, when a very sad incident occurred. There was a report of a child after falling into a gulley, somewhere north of Dundalk. It had been raining very heavily for a number of days, and there were floods all around the place. Two of us went out anyway, and I remember there was a field and half of it was flooded. Down in one corner, where the water was about three or four feet deep, it was flowing into a gully and under the road. The child, who I think was around five or six years old, had been up on the ditch over the gully, looking in at the water flowing, and had fallen in. The force of the water brought the child in under the road, where it was trapped. The water was only about an inch or two below the top of the gully.
When we arrived, the Fire Brigade was already there, frantically doing what they could. They were pumping water from one side over to the other, trying to lower the level, and meanwhile another crew was digging a hole in the road, trying to get down to the gulley underneath. We were there for about an hour, helpless. There was nothing we could do. I do not remember the body being found – perhaps we had left at that stage. It was terrible to be there, unable to do anything. I think before we even arrived, the child had left this life.
MAUREEN MCDONAGH, THE DANCE, 1958
In late 1958, I went to a dance in Ballyshannon, a little place between Kilcullen and Athy on the main road. The parish hall had a dance on, and I remember going with the crowd of lads from Kildare in a baby Ford. At the dance, I met a beautiful, loving, wonderful and saintly lady, Maureen McDonagh from Suncroft, who was later to become my wife. We got engaged on 15 August 1959, and we got married on 19 September 1961. Maureen is no longer with me.
DONEGAL ELECTIONS
From Dundalk, I went back to the Depot to do my refresher course. While I was there, there was an election, a general election I think. In those days, you would have a Garda in every polling booth in the country. Every Garda that was available was sent out, and the group on the refresher course were sent off to different parts of the country.
We went out the day before the election, up to Donegal with two or three others, including a Sergeant Moloney, the Sergeant in charge of the Garda Band at the time. We took off by train, up through the north, up to Letterkenny. We scattered there, and Sergeant Moloney and myself were heading for Churchill in Donegal.
Somewhere on the route we had to travel by narrow-gauge railway. There were only about two small carriages and about half a dozen passengers, and along the route one of the carriages become derailed. The train naturally stopped, and we got out. The driver and the guard were well prepared for a situation like this – it had clearly happened before. We offered to help, but they said, no, we will manage. They had a few crowbars, and were able to get it back on the line again. There we were, derailed, then back on the rails again and off we go.
We got a bus somewhere and arrived late that night in Churchill. We went to the Station, and there was somebody there to meet us. They had arranged for Sergeant Moloney and myself to stay in the local pub, the only accommodation available. Not alone was that the only accommodation available, but there was only one bed, a double bed, so I had to sleep with Sergeant Moloney for two nights.
I was told where to go the following morning, and was given a bicycle, perhaps one that was found or had no owner. I was rushing to be there on time, but I needn’t have worried, because when I arrived, there was no one else there. It was a polling booth in a house at a crossroads, out in the middle of nowhere. Eventually people started to arrive, and I would say if there were one hundred in the whole day, it’s as many as were there.
That evening I had to wait until the ballot box was collected. Then I was alone, and I had to make my way back in the dark to Churchill. I would say that the distance was around three or four miles of country roads. I started off anyway, and sure I hadn’t a clue; I would come to a crossroads and didn’t know whether to turn right, left, or whatever. I went to a dwelling house that had a light on beside the road, and I told them my situation. Here I was, a new Garda in uniform, a complete stranger to them, lost with no light. They gave me a bicycle lamp, and told me exactly how to get back to Churchill. They asked me to leave the bicycle lamp in the Garda Station, and they would collect it whenever they were in there. With the luck of God, I made it back to Churchill Station.
TRANSFERRED TO NAAS, 1960
I was transferred from Kildare to Naas on 16 March 1960. I was told about the transfer about a week or so before. At first I did not want to go, I wanted to stay in Kildare, but John McGrath had a good chat with me, and he advised me it was the best thing for me to do. I needed to think of my career, and not about my football. In Kildare County at the time, a GAA player had to play with the team in the parish in which he lived, and playing with the Towers was one of the reasons I wanted to stay in Kildare. In the end, I took John McGrath’s advice – not that I agreed to go, but I had little say really. The Towers football team wasn’t really sufficient grounds for an appeal.
My first day on duty in Naas was Saint Patrick’s Day 1960. I was driving the patrol car between Naas and the Dublin border, up and down and up and down, supervising traffic going to the Railway Cup finals. I was saying to myself, if I was in Kildare, I would be off today and going to the match myself. I was sorry to have left all my friends and teammates in Kildare. I still go to Kildare regularly, and play golf with some of my ex-teammates. But I am delighted I went to Naas. I don’t know what would have happened to me if I had stayed in Kildare, and no one else does either, but I am happy the way things turned out.
NAAS GARDA STATION
Naas Garda Station in 1960 was situated just beside Naas Courthouse, on the main street. A new Garda Station has been built since then, and the old Station is now the Naas Court Hotel. In 1960, there were about forty to forty-five Gardaí there, of all ranks. There was a mess in the Station, and the cook was a lovely elderly lady from the town, named Elizabeth Farrell. She was a mother to all of us who dined at the mess. She was a great character, good humoured and very fluent and well versed in all Garda terminology. There was limited sleeping accommodation in the Station, and I was one of the members who availed of it.
Duty for me at that time involved driving the patrol car, covering the Clane, Celbridge, Maynooth, Kill, Blessington and Naas area, and later Rathcoole. Night duty was every second week, and it consisted of investigating traffic accidents, stolen cars and thefts, as well as traffic supervision. At that time, of course, the main road from Cork to Dublin went through Naas. The main road from Waterford, Kilkenny and Carlow also came into Naas town, at Murtagh’s Corner.
THE CURRAGH CAMP ROBBERY
I was on duty one night with Bill O’Connell from Kill. Lord have mercy on him, Bill is long gone now. Bill, as was sort of normal for him, got tired and he said, ‘I’ll knock off, I’ll go home, you know where I live.’ So Bill went off and I continued driving around, you could say aimlessly, but I was out and about with my eyes open.
About three o’clock in the morning, I was going towards Newbridge, and at a place called Jigginstown on the main road I met a cyclist coming against me. He had no light, so I stopped him, and I knew by him it was more than the light was a problem. We chatted for a while, and he told me he was after taking the bicycle in the Curragh Camp. He was an ex-member of the Defence Forces, and knew the run of the Camp very well. He told me that he went to the Curragh on the late bus, and he went to one or two billets in the Curragh. When the lads were asleep he went in to their lockers, and he had about four wallets belonging to Army chaps. I brought him back to the Station, and he was dealt with.
Around ten o’clock the following morning, I was asleep upstairs in the bed and I got a little shake on the shoulder, and who was it? Only Inspector Eamon Doherty, affectionately known as the Doc, who was Inspector in Naas at the time and later the Commissioner. He was delighted that we had got a prisoner, and wanted to know all about this soldier downstairs in the cell – how he was got and everything else. Of course, being the Doc, he said, ‘Bill O’Connell was out on duty with you last night; where was he when you got this prisoner?’ I said he wasn’t feeling well, and I dropped him home, so that was the end of that. The Doc knew very well I’m sure; he knew Bill as well as I did.
MY FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH JAMES ENNIS, 1960
In or about the first week of December 1960, I was on duty in uniform on the Dublin Road in Naas. I saw a man on a pedal bicycle, sitting stopped and with his leg up on the footpath. He had a billycan hanging off the handlebars, and a beet knife, or a beet crowner as it is often called, strapped onto the carrier of the bicycle. I took him to be a traveller, on account of the billycan and his general appearance really. So I started to talk with him, and we had a long conversation. He told me his name was James Ennis, and he was from Kilmegue, Robertstown, County Kildare, about five or six miles from Naas. He was a farm labourer, and travelled around the country seeking work. He mentioned Cork – Watergrass Hill amongst other places. He was friendly and talkative, and we parted on good, friendly terms. I took his name and his description in my notebook.
Some days later, at about two-thirty or three o’clock in the afternoon of 12 December, Joseph Reynolds returned to his home in Clane, County Kildare. Again that would be about five or six miles from Naas. Mr Reynolds, a Health Inspector with Kildare County Council, had left home at about nine o’clock that morning and gone to work. On returning home, he found the whole place in confusion, and blood spattered around parts of the house. He went into the spare bedroom, and found his wife Mary, lying face downwards on a bed. He turned her over and her right eye was completely closed. She was bleeding from a gash on her head, and there was a stab wound under her nose. He immediately sought medical assistance, and called the Gardaí. Mary Reynolds, semi-conscious, was conveyed to St Laurence’s Hospital in Dublin. She remained an inpatient there until 16 January.
Sergeant Thomas Tobin was on duty when a man called to the Garda Station at Carrigtwohill, County Cork, at about half-past six on this same night, 12 December 1960. The man gave his name as James Ennis, and said he wanted to make a report of a happening up the country that day. The Sergeant noted that he had blood on his shirt and overcoat. When asked about the blood, Ennis said he got it from the woman he had assaulted up in Clane that morning.
He told the Sergeant that he had left Kildangan at about seven o’clock, and had cycled to Clane, roughly twenty-seven miles away, arriving about half-past eleven. He had gone into a bungalow, and asked a woman there to make tea for him. He followed her into the kitchen and demanded money, but she said she didn’t have any. He said he drew out the beet crowner from his belt, and again demanded money. She repeated that she did not have any, and he hit her on the head with the beet crowner. She ran out the door shouting for help, and he pulled her back into the kitchen. She ran into a bedroom and she threw a handbag at him and said, ‘The money is in that.’ Then she raced out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Ennis followed her, and prevented her from going out the front door. He said he held the beet crowner in his hand all this time, but that the blade fell off as he stopped her from running out.
She fell on the floor and Ennis saw a small hatchet. He took it in his hand, and struck her a few times in the head with it. She started to moan, and he went into the bedroom, got the handbag and took five one-pound notes out of it. Then he searched the rest of the house, but got nothing else except a watch, which he handed over to the Sergeant.
Before Ennis arrived, Sergeant Tobin had already heard on the news about a serious assault on a woman in Naas that day. So he immediately contacted the Gardaí at Naas, and told them what Ennis had related to him.
At the house in Clane, the investigation had been initiated. The scene was preserved; a technical examination was being arranged; house-to-house enquiries were being made; and all the usual things that are done after a serious incident like that.
On receipt of the information from Sergeant Tobin, Inspector Ned Doherty, later Commissioner, Detective Sergeant Tom Spain and I immediately got organised. We left Naas at about half-past eight, and arrived at Carrigtwohill Garda Station at about twelve midnight.
James Ennis knew me straight away, as it was only about a week since we had met. He spoke freely about what he had done in Clane that morning. After leaving the house in Clane, he had cycled to Young’s Cross, about halfway between Celbridge and Lucan. He got a bus to Dublin, and then a train to Cork. From Cork, he got on a bus towards Midleton, but got off in Carrigtwohill to give himself up.
We arrived back in Naas with our prisoner at about half-past five that morning. Later that morning, the clothing and footwear that Ennis was wearing were taken from him for examination. I was living in the Station at the time, and I gave him a pair of black shoes to replace the footwear taken from him.
Ennis appeared before a sitting of Naas District Court on 15 December 1960, charged with the attempted murder of Mary Reynolds. He was remanded in custody and later appeared at a number of sittings of the District Court, as depositions were taken in the case before Mr Justice McGrath. Dr Cleary of Saint Laurence’s Hospital in Dublin described Mrs Reynolds’s condition on the day of the attack. He said she was in a state of mild shock; she had loss of memory of the events leading up to and at the time of her assault, and she didn’t know where she was. He said the lacerations on her head, hands and face would be consistent with having been struck by the beet crowner and hatchet that were produced in the Court. He did not think he had ever seen as badly a lacerated head in his career. He said it was possible she had been struck on the head up to fifty times.
Inspector Doherty informed the Court that Ennis had asked him to tell the injured woman’s husband that he was very sorry for all the trouble he had caused. Taking of depositions concluded on 13 February 1961. The Justice, having heard eighteen prosecution witnesses, said he was satisfied that a prima facie case had been established against Ennis. He asked Ennis if he had anything to say, and Ennis told the Court that he did not wish to say anything. He was remanded in custody.
James Ennis appeared for trial before the Central Criminal Court in Dublin, on 24 April 1961. On the charge of the attempted murder of Mary Reynolds, he pleaded not guilty. On the charges of robbery with violence, wounding with intent to cause grievous bodily harm, and larceny of a watch, he pleaded guilty. Counsel for the prosecution announced that they would enter a nolle prosequi on the attempted murder charge. The prosecuting senior counsel, Mr Darcy, outlined the actions of Ennis in the commission of the assault on Mrs Reynolds. Describing the injuries she sustained, he told the Court that although Mrs Reynolds had recovered physically from the assault, mentally she had not recovered. He said this was as bad a case of robbery with violence as one could contemplate.
Inspector Doherty was called and outlined Ennis’s three previous convictions. The surgeon once again outlined the injuries Mrs Reynolds had received. He also described her condition a week after being discharged from hospital, and said that, due to a brain injury she received, she was still childlike. His view was that she would continue to have residual brain damage.
James Ennis told the Court he had no intention of killing Mrs Reynolds. He said if he had had that intention, he could have killed her with one or two strokes. Having heard the evidence, Mr Justice Kenny, on the charge of wounding with intent to cause grievous bodily harm, sentenced the accused to three years’ penal servitude. On the charge of larceny of the watch, he sentenced him to one year. On the charge of robbery with violence, the sentence was four years, the sentences to run concurrently.
In his comments after sentence, the Judge said, ‘This woman was doing an act of kindness, and you then attacked her in this savage manner. In your favour it has to be said that you pleaded guilty and you called to the Gardaí in Cork, and admitted your guilt shortly afterwards.’ The Judge told Ennis that he could have got life imprisonment on the robbery charge, and only the fact that he had expressed his regret and pleaded guilty had led to the lighter sentence of four years.
As Ennis was led away to commence his sentence, little did I think that the pair of black shoes I gave him at Naas Garda Station, in December 1960, would literally walk Ennis and me back into Court later, he to face an even more serious charge than he had just been sentenced for.
PUT IN MY PLACE IN THE WITNESS BOX
In about 1960 or 1961, when I was in Naas, I got a good roasting in the witness box one day from the presiding Judge. It was in relation to a man who had overturned his car at a bend somewhere near Naas. He was arrested and brought to the Station, where I saw him with a number of other members. At that time there was no breathalyser or blood test; we only had our observations.
The man was charged in the District Court with driving while drunk. The other members gave evidence that in their opinion, he was unfit to drive, as a result of the consumption of alcohol. I gave evidence that I could not say that his condition was as a result of the consumption of alcohol, as he had suffered a fairly serious head injury in the accident. I conceded, of course, that there was a smell of drink from him, but I couldn’t in all conscience swear that alcohol had caused inability to drive.
He was convicted, and he appealed to the Circuit Court. At the appeal, we all gave our evidence, the same as we had in the District Court. But the Judge gave me a rough time. I stated that I couldn’t say definitively that the man’s condition had resulted from the consumption of alcohol. His head injury may have been the cause. Anyway, the driver lost his appeal.
I considered that I was being strictly impartial, and I have always endeavoured to be so when giving evidence in Court. I gave my honest opinion, and that’s that. That Judge was not impressed by me, however.
