Someone Has to Die for This E-Book

Derek Molyneux

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

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Hot on the heels of Killing at its Very Extreme, Dublin: October 1917 – November 1920, Someone Has to Die for This, Dublin: November 1920 – July 1921 wrenches the reader into the final frenetic months of Dublin's War of Independence, in uncompromising, unflinching, and unprecedented detail. The reader will follow in the footsteps of IRA assassination units on Bloody Sunday, witness the hellish conditions in Croke Park, taste the gripping tension that stalked the city as intelligence services battled it out over the winter, while equally clandestine peace feelers were set in play. The pressure ratchets up in 1921 as surging IRA Active Service Units take the fight to the Auxiliaries, police and military in Dublin. Swathes of the country erupt into violent attacks and barbarous reprisals. Killings escalate in daily ambushes. Prison escapes are vividly detailed, as are the Mountjoy hangings. Shuttle diplomacy intensifies as a settlement is desperately sought, but fault lines develop among the Republican leadership. Street-battles paralyse the city with civilians bearing a brutal burden; the IRA relentlessly presses on. The devastating Custom House attack precedes the war's ferocious final weeks, culminating in a near bloodbath that almost scuppered the truce. Experience these breathtaking events through the eyes of their participants. This is an unforgettable story, its style providing long-overdue justice.

Leseprobe

Dedicated to

Albert Little, 1936–2021,

and

Tommy Lawless, 1942–2021,

who went with their chins up and their boots on.

Gone but not forgotten.

MERCIER PRESS

3B Oak House, Bessboro Rd

Blackrock, Cork, Ireland.

www.mercierpress.ie

www.twitter.com/MercierBooks

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© © Derek Molyneux and Darren Kelly, 2021

Epub ISBN: 978 1 78117 757 0

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.

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Introduction

This book is our second of two that deals with the War of Independence in Dublin. It is also our fourth book of five whose subject matter is the momentous 1916–1923 period in Ireland’s capital, seen through the eyes of those from both sides, and those caught between their struggle.

Our first work covering this war in the capital –Killing at its Very Extreme: Dublin, October 1917–November 1920(Mercier Press, 2020) – was itself a successor to our previous works:When The Clock Struck in 1916: Close-Quarter Combat in the Easter Rising(The Collins Press, 2015) andThose of Us Who Must Die: Execution, Exile and Revival after the Easter Rising(The Collins Press, 2017). In this work we pick up whereKilling at its Very Extremeleft off, continuing our account of the astonishing journey undertaken by so many of our ancestors during the War of Independence; many did not survive it, whilst others who did were left with indelible scars – both physical and mental.

InKilling at its Very Extreme, we divided our War of Independence work into two volumes; it would have been impossible to impart the level of vivid detail and information the story deserves into one. As in all our aforementioned works, we could not have done the participants justice if their stories were abridged simply for expediency.

The timeline featured here runs from November 1920 to July 1921, a far shorter timeline thanKilling at its Very Extreme. This is because this pivotal period saw massively increased frequency of actions – military and political. Our previous work was not lacking in drama, intensity and brutality as the war escalated. However, November 1920 in Dublin unleashed unprecedented ferocity and political intrigue that continued right up to the Truce. The events of November and the subsequent eight months provided more than enough tumult to justify a similarly sized book of its own.

During early autumn 1920, the British military and police had taken the offensive in Ireland and gained a significant strategic advantage. Their grip was tightening, despite the Irish Republican Army’s (IRA) tenacity. Round-ups and arrests were in full flow, facilitated by the recently enactedRestoration of Order in Ireland Act (ROIA). Their intelligence gathering grew in efficacy, while the loomingGovernment of Ireland Act was expected – once and for all – to unshackle the British government from the burdensome and frequently bloodyUlster question. This in turn would free up its agents to attack militant republicanism, paving the way for a settlement with moderate nationalists throughout the rest of Ireland that would be advantageous to the crown.

Attaining such strategic advantage had not come easily. Following a lengthy series of devastating blows to British intelligence, not to mention its very ability to govern, the world had watched in horror as the arrival of theBlack andTans andAuxiliaries led to atrocity after atrocity being inflicted upon the wider Irish population by the very forces whose official mandate was to restore law and order.1Their unrestrained brutality only served to undermine Britain’s claims to Ireland, not only throughout Ireland itself, but also in the court of world opinion. Great Britain, perceiving itself as a beacon of enlightened democracy even beyond its empire, saw its international reputation plummet; a predicament worsened by global condemnation overTerence MacSwiney’s death byhunger strike andKevin Barry’sexecution. British politicians looked on in horror as their plans had backfired amid a worldwide and domestic wave of censure over the reprisals carried out by these new forces and their apparent disregard for life. Moderate nationalists became radicalised. Meanwhile, the military, repulsed by the lack of discipline displayed by the paramilitary units, accused the new forces of bringing their own sense of honour into disrepute. The army’s commander, General Sir Cecil Frederick NevilMacready, called instead for a transparent military strategy to fight the insurgency; effectively, to call it what it was and crush it by force underpinned bymartial law. Westminster politicians were, however, loath to label as war what they considered the actions of IRA murder gangs. This lack of cohesion helped the IRA remain a step ahead.

The British had also faced an uphill military struggle. Resources were scattered across an empire struggling with a turbulent post-war world. Their initial successes of early 1920 in arresting huge numbers of IRA insurgents and suspects had foundered following the masshunger strike inMountjoy Prison, which saw many inmates released and hailed as heroes. Then, when much-needed logistical reinforcements finally arrived, the subsequent railway munitions and armsembargo forced the redeployment of military vehicles towards transportation rather than tactical roles.Macready’s forces spent months hamstrung by frustrating organisational impediments.

Nevertheless, weight of numbers and huge advantages in material and money eventually saw the crown’s composite forces closing in. Armoured cars bristling with machine guns patrolled Dublin’s streets, as did Crossley Tender trucks packed with well-armedAuxiliaries. Police and military agents flooded the city. In November 1920, British Prime Minister DavidLloyd George boasted of having ‘murder by the throat’. However, he was about to be taught a harsh lesson.

IRA counter-intelligence, operating under a young and deadly triumvirate –LiamTobin,TomCullen andFrankThornton – directed byMichaelCollins,was, alongside theDublin Brigade, about to attack the very heart of Britain’s counter-insurgency. The brigade commandant,DickMcKee, persuaded many comrades struggling with their own scruples that it was time to either strike hard at the British or accept inevitable defeat. Extreme ruthlessness was called for, the type employed by the squad of highly effective IRA assassins operating since summer 1919 in Dublin and mimicked by equally merciless enemy operatives.

November 1920 is where we pick up the story here. We deal with what became known as ‘Bloody Sunday’ – a day whose infamy still resonates – and its aftermath. As newspaper headlines brought Ireland’s tribulations to the world, Dublin reeled from a well-orchestrated bloodbath followed by a massacre inCroke Park.Dublin Castle recoiled from the killings, as did the IRA, itself suffering a crushing blow afterwards. The aftermath saw incessant raids and mass arrests at the same time as tentativepeace talks, set against a backdrop of state-sanctioned killings, further police atrocities and IRA attacks carried out by their newly created, full-timeactive service units (ASU) and byflying columns.

The end of the seven-month-long railembargo – which itself had con­tributedto near starvation throughout Ireland, not to mention among the rail workers – freed up British Army logisticians to redirect their forces and attempt to get on the front foot once again. Meanwhile, as theGovernment of Ireland Act was passed, ÉamondeValerareturned from theUnited States to reassume his position at the political helm of the nascent Irish Republic.

The year 1921 got off to a turbulent start for the IRA. Enemy intelligence was closing in. Open warfare began to take hold of Ireland’s capital. IRA units and their enemies, both at times resembling murderous street-gangs, sought one another out. Military vehicles carried hostages, discouraging attackers.Curfews intensified, as did killings. Daring prison escapes emboldened the insurgents, while losses of agents withinDublin Castle dismayed them. Prisonerexecutions took place once again in the capital; accounts of poignant last-hour interactions of condemned men filled the newspapers, while, elsewhere, IRAflying columns held the media spellbound with audacious successes and bruising defeats.

Spring 1921 saw the departure of Lord LieutenantJohn French, the survivor of countless assassination attempts, amid further escalations of violence and counter-measures. The IRA regrouped strategically with two additional battalions for Dublin, while also rejigging nationally. Casualties mounted on both sides. Newelections took place, followed by clandestine meetings between adversaries.

Early summer saw an increased number of ambushes, raids and rescue attempts, followed by the burning of Dublin’sCustom House – a monumental event in the city’s history followed soon afterwards by further conflagrations. These later incidents preceded the threatened unleashing of full-scale warfare by the British. The IRA continued undeterred; attacks increased in frequency right up to the Truce, the point where this volume concludes.

It is an old maxim that victory, when unclear or disputed, can be attributed to those who hold the battlefield at the end of a battle or campaign. Therefore,the eventual transfer of power from a British to an Irish government in Ireland,largely derived from the events described inKilling at its Very Extremeand in this book, represented a victory for the nationalist and republican forces. Subsequent factors such as dominion rule, partition and civil war do of course present their own challenges to this. Unfortunately, the onset of the civil war brightly illuminates the danger of failing to recognise the value of even a partial, yet still substantial, victory.

Nevertheless, the principal aim of the majority of the Irish who fought between April 1916 and July 1921 was to remove British dominance from Ireland, and this was, by and large, achieved. In any event, history reveals that revolutions generally fail to deliver on aspirations, Ireland being no exception. But it is not our purpose to debate the rights, wrongs and flaws that tarnished the hopes of so many in not delivering fully on the objectives proclaimed in Dublin in 1916 and in 1919. What remains a fact is that the world’s greatest empire was forced to concede that its protracted military and police campaign against the insurgents was unwinnable. This was a colossal achievement by theIrish Republican Brotherhood (IRB), the IRA,Cumann na mBan and others, particularly considering the close proximity between the proclaimed Republic and its historically dominant neighbour.

The republicans’ steadfast methodology during these times was studied and mimicked afterwards throughout the world. Tactics and strategies employed by both sides were used in subsequent wars, including the Second World War; WinstonChurchill sought to emulate the IRA with auxiliary forces planned to resist an anticipated German conquest of Britain. Sabotage and counter-mobility operations perfected in Ireland featured similarly throughout Axis-occupied territories. Soldiers and resistance fighters alike adopted tactics refined in Dublin for urban operations. Years later, in what is now Vietnam, a strategy of simply refusing to lose, despite massive enemy superiority, while draining the will of the enemy – be that military, politician or civilian – to continue fighting, was hugely effective for communist forces against the combinedAmerican and South Vietnamese armies, navies and air forces.

Our style here is as unflinching as the book’s predecessors. We employ vivid accounts of violence, so often glossed over, while simultaneously warning the reader that parts of this work are not for the faint-hearted. To avoid repetition we have not added background to many characters featured already inKilling at its Very Extreme, while ensuring adequate elucidation for new characters and protagonists where applicable. Regarding the graphic depictions of violence and killing – as we stated in our previous books, it is only by striving to convey the brutal ferocity, agony, fear and suffering that we can do justice to those who lived through such tumultuous times. It has, once more, been a privilege to walk among them, to study their gripping accounts from one of our principal sources – Ireland’s Military Archives – which, among other sources, has – yet again – left us amazed at their audacity and the heavy personal price paid by so many ordinary men, women and children. We hope to have done their actions and memories some justice.

Derek Molyneux and Darren Kelly

Abbreviations

ACRI American Committee for Relief in Ireland

ASU Active Service Unit

CIS Central Intelligence Service

CRB Central Raid Bureau

DDSB Dublin District Special Branch

DMP Dublin Metropolitan Police

GAA Gaelic Athletic Association

GHQ General Headquarters

GPO General Post Office

HQ Headquarters

ICA Irish Citizen Army

IPP Irish Parliamentary Party

IRA Irish Republican Army

ITGWU Irish Transport and General Workers’ Union

MP Member of Parliament

NCO Non-commissioned Officer

O/C Officer Commanding

OHMS On His Majesty’s Service

QMG Quartermaster General

RAF Royal Air Force

RASC Royal Army Services Corps

RIC Royal Irish Constabulary

ROIA Restoration of Order in Ireland Act

TB Tuberculosis

TUC Trade Unions Congress

UCD University College Dublin

USC Ulster Special Constabulary

Prologue

‘I posed as a house-painter’

‘I was still 1st Lieutenant of my Company (“B” Company, 2nd Battalion) and attending parades fairly regularly, taking out patrols or raiding houses for arms, shot guns etc. With other members of theSquad, I received instructions from G.H.Q. to keep away, and if necessary to resign, from the Volunteer Companies, which we did. This had a peculiar reaction in that many old members and new members of my Company, who were not aware of my permanent whole-time position with G.H.Q., believed that I had left the organisation and shortly after the Free State was founded I was openly accused of desertion on a few occasions.

‘The usual method of allocating men to carry out anexecution of an enemy agent was for the leader of theSquad,Paddy Daly orJamesSlattery, to nominate two men in turn.1 This was adhered to very rigidly. This did not mean that two men went forth to carry out theexecution as theSquad, at full strength, was always present at everyexecution and it worked in this fashion. The Intelligence Officer or Officers instructed to identify and point out the individual did so in a very direct fashion, usually by actually speaking to him and then pointing to him by a pre-arranged signal. The two members of theSquad detailed to carry out the actual shooting on receiving the signal usually waited apart from the remainder and walked towards the person and carried out theexecution which, in the majority of cases, took place on main public streets. The remainder of theSquad, fully armed, were usually within fifty yards of the scene and at the time of theexecution stepped on to the public streets, very often with guns drawn to protect and ensure the line of retreat for the two men who had been engaged on the shooting. In some cases it was usual to have a car in the next street to expedite the getaway but in very many cases the getaway was made on foot. Having temporary dumps on both sides of the city (there was one in a stable at the rere of a house inFitzwilliam Place) it was usually possible to dispose of the guns and proceed across the city normally. I should mention that all of us carried fictitious papers of one sort or another not particularly organised by G.H.Q. although it was originally suggested by them. Each man was left to his own devices to have whatever paper or story to suit himself and thus enable him to answer questions without hesitation if held up by the enemy and searched. It was no uncommon thing for the members of theSquad, having safely disposed of their guns, to be held up by the enemy advancing on the site of a recentexecution. I was held up on several such occasions and I posed as a house-painter. I had a lot of house-painters’ old Union cards and a few letters addressed to me as “T. Smith”. I knew a lot of people in the house-building and painting line, as my father was a small building contractor, and I found it easy, if cross-examined, to discuss and explain my assumed trade in detail. Another member of theSquad was a cabinet maker, andCharlie Dalton, Intelligence Officer, who had been a clerk, posed as a law student.’2

1

The Lead-in to ‘Bloody Sunday’

‘The Particular Ones’

On Monday 1 November 1920, the dayKevin Barry’s remains were interred inMountjoy Prison’s garden after his hanging, Dublin was in shock. An eerie atmosphere hung amid the smoke of the city’s chimney tops. It was also ‘All Saints’ Day’ – a religious holiday.

The IRA leadership had been desperate to spring Barry from the prison before hisexecution, with the suggested plan being to blow up the prison’s outer wall, but the inevitability of civilian casualties had scuppered the prospect. Thousands of civilians had gathered in protest outside the prison’s walls as hisexecution loomed, the low cadence of their prayers tapering away for hours afterwards.

Barry was the first republican executed in Dublin since the 1916 Rising, hanged for his part in an ambush that had killed three British soldiers; the first such killings in Dublin since the Rising. Coming hot on the heels ofCork Lord MayorTerence MacSwiney’s burial, following his death onhunger strike six days earlier, the public backlash fromBarry’s hanging echoed that of the 1916executions. MacSwiney’s seventy-four-day fast to the death inBrixton Prison had also aroused huge resentment and captured world attention.

That night, as pitch darkness descended, tension gripped the city. Acurfew was in force between midnight and 5 a.m. Since February, Dublin Corporation’s response in protest to curfews had been to extinguish street lamps. Heavily laden military and police vehicles ground their gears through Dublin’s cobbled and tram-lined streets incessantly. Huge sixty-centimetre-diameter searchlights, operated by Royal Engineers, groped through the mist and hanging smog as raids were directed on countless homes and buildings, their operators seeking out IRA suspects or their political associates.

Tuesday 2 November saw anotherexecution – an Irishman in British uniform, twenty-two-year-oldPte James Daly of the 1st Battalion Connaught Rangers. Members of this unit mutinied in India in June over reports of atrocities carried out by crown forces at home in Ireland. Afterwards dozens of Rangers were detained in appalling conditions before their courts martial in August. Fourteen had been sentenced to death. Thirteen sentences were commuted.Daly, from Tyrrellspass in Co.Westmeath, was a ringleader. He was shot by firing squad in the subcontinent’s Punjab region, 4,300 miles from home.1

Meanwhile, hunger prevailed throughout Ireland as winter drew in. In some areas the prospect of starvation loomed. Since May, the railway munitionsembargo had seen train drivers refuse to operate locomotives carrying military personnel, supplies or armed police. Ireland’s rail system became throttled. When, on many occasions, the frustrated military insisted on loading trains with personnel and supplies regardless – knowing they would not be moved as a result – accusations appeared in nationalist newspapers that British Minister for Transport EricGeddes was exercising a spiteful stranglehold on Ireland’s railways. This, combined with the rampant burnings of rural creameries – a valuable source of sustenance to local populations – as reprisals by crown forces for IRA attacks, led to allegations of deliberate starvation policies. These were underscored by the fallout from an unprecedented state of siege in theKerry town of Tralee, cut off from the rest of the country for the first ten days of November by theRIC Special Reserve –theBlack andTans.2

North-eastUlster remained an exception to such interminable scourges as near-starvation, at least among the more trenchant unionist majority, who had asserted themselves in a wave of violent attacks against Catholics, suspected nationalists and republican sympathisers throughout summer and early autumn. Tens of thousands, including Great War veterans, were driven from work and rendered destitute, while many others were brutally killed. The impendingGovernment of Ireland Act was set to isolate a six-county statelet, as sought by unionist leaders such asSirJames Craig andSir Edward Carson, under the crown. On the same day thatKevin Barry was hanged,Ulster’s special police, the blatantly sectarianUlster Special Constabulary (USC), commenced recruitment to protect their impending territory.

The same day also saw IRA General Headquarters (GHQ) address its own hard-pressed police units. During June, Chief of Staff RichardMulcahy had ordered the official creation of such units to supplant the beleaguered Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC) and Dublin Metropolitan Police (DMP).Simon Donnelly had been appointed as national police chief. Serving Volunteers were to act as policemen.3Now, however, it was decided to separate the policing units from the IRA, at least nominally. Henceforth, IRA police – who had their work cut out with the escalating disorder – were relieved of army service and placed instead in a reserve.4AustinStack,Dáil Éireann’s minister for home affairs, was placed in overall charge.

The British military were relentlessly gearing up. Guerrilla warfare training took place in theCurragh inKildare and was also attended by theRIC. Cycle patrol tactics were drilled, as were ambush responses and raiding from lorries.5In Dublin’s numerous fortified military barracks, and in a similarly bulwarkedDublin Castle itself, units of troops andAuxiliaries rotated in a constant state of alertness for deployment. Vehicles were kept ready by Royal Army Service Corps (RASC) personnel and carried a multitude of spare parts and additional items, such as shovels, towing cables, searchlights, crowbars, wire-cutters, field-dressing kits and, frequently, several thousand rounds of ammunition – inadvertently marking them out as a tantalising prize to the insurgents. Tactical commanders regularly inspected convoy personnel or those to be used in raids to ensure they carried their standard combat equipment, including a .303 Short Magazine Lee Enfield rifle, seventeen-inch bayonet, helmet and grenades. Each man carried 100–120 rounds of ammunition. Barrels were left unchambered until units became engaged, before which all weapons’ safety catches remained on. This was because they were not officially operating in enemy territory, a fact that – technically at least – left soldiers without the legal protections afforded by being ‘in action’ in the normal sense.6Officers carried powerful six-round .455 calibre Webley Army Service revolvers and seven-round Colt 1911 semi-automatics.

Beggar’s Bush Barracks, in the city’s south-east, housed theRICAuxi­liaries’Depot Company. They had drawn their first blood against the IRA’sDublin Brigade in September by killing VolunteerSeán Doyle in the Dublin Mountains. When not on duty, members generally converged on the city centre to drink in establishments frequented by similar units stationed inDublin Castle, as well as IRAspies, such asLiamTobin,TomCullen,FrankThornton andWilliamBeaumont, who each took colossal risks rubbing shoulders with such men. Britishspies and Irish touts also moved between the city’s cafés, hotels, brothels, restaurants and pubs, as did their IRA enemies.

While this lethal cat-and-mouse game ebbed and flowed between drunken absurdity and bloody assassination, those overseeing Britain’s attempts to subdue Ireland’s revolt continued to vacillate and blunder between dilemma and disaster. The British Army commander, GeneralMacready, an unwilling participant in a country he despised – his antipathy particularly rancorous when it came to hard-line unionists – found himself wedged between political subtleties that he did not see as the remit of a soldier. Ade factostate of war existed that his government did not acknowledge, insisting instead that Ireland’s troubles were a policing issue and would be contained by continued reinforcement of theRIC.Macready looked on in horror as those reinforcements ran amok, killing, looting and burning, unchecked by their commander, General Sir HenryTudor, while, at the same time, political protagonists inDublin Castle sought surreptitious dialogue with revolutionary leaders – their overall objective to marginalise and eventually isolate more radical republicans.

Macready saw things differently to those who had ostensibly advocatedpolicerather than military action. He repeatedly protested that the un­controlled reprisals plaguing the country were counter-productive. He advocated the imposition ofmartial law, an imperfect but at least transparent measure, which he felt would eventually bring moderate nationalists onside following the restoration of order. Prime MinisterLloyd George, on the other hand, feared thatmartial law would be perceived internationally as a forced reconquest of Ireland, while Field Marshal Sir HenryWilson, chief of the Imperial General Staff, consideredMacready naïve. He argued that, given requirements elsewhere and at home, the military manpower needed to take, and more importantly, hold the country in its current state was simply unavailable. Arguments abounded regarding the merits of regularised official military reprisals as an intermediate measure. All the while the IRA’sDublin Brigade, despite the crushing pressure it was under – worsening daily with the advent ofDublin Castle’s Central Raid Bureau (CRB) toiling away relentlessly under Col OrmondeWinter to gather and collate ‘hot’ intelligence – geared itself towards upping the stakes in a manner the Castle establishment did not see coming.7

To date, one of the most constraining countermeasures toMacready in Ireland had not, in fact, been the IRA; it had been the railembargo. This had curtailed and frustrated his attempts to launch a winter offensive against the IRA outside of Dublin.8In early November, as a redress, Chief Secretary HamarGreenwood increased the burden on both the country’s populace and the railway workers by warning that he would shut down the rail system completely.9To urgently forestall the consequent threat to the capital’s lifeblood, a relief committee was formed under RichardMulcahy, BrigadierDickMcKee and Labour leaderWilliam O’Brien, and included several others whose loyalties differed diametrically from these three. Thousands of census forms were printed to assess the needs of various city districts, although these forms were seized by the military in a raid before they could be distributed. Contingency transportation plans were formulated involving trucks, canal barges and even Dublin Corporation’s Shamrock steamship, normally used for dumping sewage into Dublin Bay.10These would be employed to relieve the city by transporting food. It soon became clear, however, that any such efforts would be unable to prevent near-starvation should the entire rail system collapse. Meanwhile, despite tremendous pressure from the military, frequently at pistol point, railway staff stood firm and theembargo continued.

HarryColley, twenty-nine-year-old 2nd Battalion adjutant, was one of several Volunteer officers who became concerned forDickMcKee’s security because of his membership of the relief committee. Following a meeting one evening in Dublin Corporation’s Rates Office in Lord Edward Street,Colley, having afterwards spoken toMcKee outside, was surrounded by people asking whoMcKee was and what authority he had, disconcertingColley. He then followedMcKee toDublin Brigade Headquarters (HQ), operating out of the Typographical Institute in No. 35 LowerGardiner Street. There,Colley urged him to cease his committee work, deeming it too risky considering the differing loyalties of the members, and adding that, in any case, if the rail system collapsed the Volunteers would step in. However, his pleadings fell on deaf ears.McKee stated that someone needed to do it and that, if he were captured as a result, there would be others to take his place. Tragically forMcKee, this soon came to pass.

Colley had recently been asked byMcKee, as had all battalion adjutants, to compile lists of battalion members, including names, addresses and, in code, what weapons and ammunition each had at his disposal. To facilitate this,Colley then had four of the fiveDublin Brigade rolls handed to him, a fact he considered most worrying in terms of security.Oscar Traynor,McKee’s vice-brigadier, shared his concerns and suggestedColley burn them.

Nevertheless,McKee’s idea was to employ the lists to facilitate rapid identification of Volunteer names from among the lists he was regularly receiving from IRA intelligence warning of imminent raids. These originated from informers.McKee was aware that many of the names on these lists were not actually Volunteers, having discovered this by paying endless visits with warnings to addresses due to be raided, only to discover that they were not connected to the IRA. UsingColley’s collated list he created a cross-referencing card system using a clandestine office in theMater Hospital. There, Volunteer names and addresses were entered on one set of well-concealed cards, linked by code to another set hidden elsewhere within the hospital that identified what weapons and equipment each man had. Each night, whenMcKee received the list of pending raids, he cycled to the hospital and cross-referenced this with the names on his initial list to see if they were Volunteers. Then, if applicable, he checked what weapons and equipment might be at risk and prioritised those who needed warning about imminent raids by dispatching a messenger or, if necessary, cycling to their address himself.11

RichardMulcahy’s equally frenetic and hazardous schedule was rudely interrupted during the night of 10 November, when the military raided a safe house he was employing that, unfortunately for him, had not made it to any such warning list – 49 Longwood Avenue inPortobello, home ofMichael Hayes. Not for the first time,Mulcahy narrowly escaped at the last minute wearing nightclothes, by climbing through a skylight, traversing several rooftops and finally making his way to another safe house.Hayes was arrested and interned, and documents seized in two attaché cases provided an unexpected boost to British intelligence and their propaganda units. In addition to the rolls of over 200 Volunteers, papers were found that referred to plans to use bacteriological warfare against the military – firstly, by infecting their cavalry horses with glanders through oat feed stocks, and secondly, by poisoning the army’s milk supply with typhus. Additionally, plans to blow upLiverpool docks andManchester’s Stuart Street power station, as well as the Clayton Vale water pumping plant, were uncovered. The latter operations were to be spearheaded by 5th Battalion engineerGarry Holohan, instructions having come fromMcKee andPeadarClancy, in his former role asGHQ director of munitions. Holohan had recently returned to Dublin following extensive reconnaissance of both facilities.

Both sides quickly hurled accusations. From the British perspective these revelations of bacteriological warfare provided an opportunity to besmirch an enemy whose penchant for public relations far outmatched their own. It was hoped that sympathy at home – a corrosive and chronic nuisance – would plummet for Irish republicanism. However, republican propagandists ensured the allegations were countered. Retaliatory claims were made of black propaganda, founded upon protestations that poisoning British Army horses would be pointless given that the army was heavily mechanised, and foolhardy because glanders was highly contagious. Moreover, it was asserted that to spread typhus among enemy soldiers would have placed the entire capital at risk of an epidemic.12Such assertions were bolstered by recent ridicule directed towardsDublin Castle propaganda over the supposed filming of a successfulAuxiliary engagement against the IRA outside Tralee; this was exposed instead as a staged event in Dublin’sKilliney. Nevertheless, despite this and other such effective counter-blows, the mere mention of bacteriological warfare underscored the threat posed by the IRA to ordinary British people, should such measures be planned for the British mainland, and added to their growing fatigue with Ireland.

The day afterMulcahy’s narrow escape, Armistice Day, Dublin appeared to be returning to normality.Dame Street andGrafton Street were, for the third year running, decked out in Union Jacks, which sat at odds with the Irish Tricolour still flying above City Hall.Phoenix Park heaved with crowds marking the occasion.Mark Sturgis, one of two assistant under-secretaries for Ireland, along withAndy Cope, wrote in his diary that Dublin that day looked as British as London’s Bond Street and added that Ireland was ‘a queer country’.13In relation to the IRA he exulted: ‘I think they’re beat. We’re on top and I’m sure they know it.’14

Recent successes in Dublin against the IRA were indeed noteworthy. On top of this,Kevin Barry’sexecution, despite vociferous protest, outwardly displayed that the British government stood fast, prepared to execute anyone whose swords crossed with theirs regardless of world opinion; police and military morale was up from this support. As if to prove Sturgis right, when a large nationalist crowd gathered outside the Bank of Ireland inCollege Green and mocked its hoisted Union Jack, they became silent when, at 11 a.m., a Crossley Tender truck full of triumphant-lookingAuxiliaries pulled up adjacent to the nearby William of Orange statue. Its complement of fully armed cadets dismounted and stood to attention for the two-minute silence, to be cheered and applauded afterwards by other groups of bystanders.15The day itself was noticeably quieter than its previous two equivalents, which had seen considerable rioting in the capital, as well as raids onSinn Féin buildings and audacious assassination plots against the viceroy,Lord French.

Even theAmerican consul in Dublin,FrederickDumont, observed what he considered to be a transformation in the state of Ireland. Strikingly, on the day after Armistice Day,Dáil Éireann’s acting president,ArthurGriffith, called for the ending of thehunger strike inCork Prison that had already claimed the lives of two IRAprisoners. It had run in conjunction withTerence MacSwiney’shunger strike, which had completely overshadowed the recentCork deaths. That same day, a query was put toPatrick Moylett, a senior rankingIRB figure, businessman and gunrunner, who had been dispatched to London in October byGriffith to sound out peace feelers on behalf ofSinn Féin with the British Foreign Office. Moylett had been asked by the Foreign Office if theDáil would stop attacking police and military in return for an end to British reprisals. When this was subsequently relayed toGriffith as a proposed prelude to a conference,Griffith responded favourably.Dumont subsequently wrote that theDublin Castle administration was retaking the country. Moreover, he wrote that the IRA secret service was being matched by the Castle, which he even suggested may, by then, have been superior.16Dumont, however, was in for a surprise.

The fight was indeed being taken to IRA intelligence. Nonetheless, recent detentions and, astonishingly, the subsequent releases of none other than the two IRA agents closest toMichaelCollins–LiamTobin andTomCullen – suggested a gulf remained between the two sides. Moreover,FrankThornton – the third man in this triumvirate – although held for ten gruelling days filled with interrogations following his recent arrest atVaughan’s Hotel inRutland Square, was released without charge. Ominously, in just over a week, unprecedented events laid waste to suppositions such asDumont’s and almost resulted inDumont being inadvertently killed.

It had become obvious to IRAGHQ that the British military had radicallyexpanded its intelligence services and that the efforts of theDublin DistrictSpecial Branch (DDSB) were paying off. British intelligence officers, generally wearing mufti, were more frequently observed at raids. Although raid outcomes varied, every slip of paper found on a raid helped paint a picture of the key IRA players. The one thing British intelligence continued to lack was photographs, butGHQ realised this situation would inevitably change.Mulcahy’s recent narrow escape was proof enough that the enemy were closing in onGHQ and that British intelligence intended to destroy the IRA from the top down.

Counteraction was required. Accordingly, the combined intelligence units ofGHQ andDublin Brigade had been put to work and began locating these new enemy agents and their touts.17In what was by now typical fashion, hotel receptionists, maids, porters, waiters, tailors, shop assistants and postal and office workers all continued to operate industriously as information sources. Incessant mail raids also revealed plenty. Additionally, the police had been thoroughly infiltrated. More than thirtyDMP constables, controlled by SergeantsPatrick Mannix andMatt Byrne ofDonnybrook andRathmines respectively, watched and noted movements of individuals carrying passes duringcurfew hours, frequently noting their addresses when they questioned them, and helped the IRA detail a blueprint of British intelligence.18Added to this was the continuous flow of information from the men ofDMP’sG-Division working forMichaelCollins:NedBroy, DavidNeligan, the recently deceasedJoe Cavanagh, and Cavanagh’s protégéJim McNamara. Added to this list wasRIC Head ConstablePeter Forlan, based in theRIC’sPhoenix Park HQ and an invaluable source of intelligence. The IRA’s pervasive intelligence tentacles had even penetrated the dreaded F Company ofAuxiliaries atDublin Castle, which was heavily compromised by twenty-two-year-old SgtJohn Charles Reynolds, recently turned.

The toughest nut to crack for IRA intelligence, though, was the British Army. Individual soldiers passed on snippets of information while selling guns, but there was only one well-placed individual among its higher echelons: the typist at the adjutant’s office atShip Street Barracks,LilyMernin. However, this deficiency was compensated for byMernin’s adeptness and audacity. One of her jobs was to type the names and addresses of British agents residing at private lodgings who posed as ordinary citizens.19This was done weekly as the agents changed addresses regularly.

Mernin had, since 1919, been passing information to the IRA. Her employ­ment also provided her with access to army instructions and circulars, troop strength returns, information on military movements, and details concerning armoured cars and trains.20She made weekly visits to the home of Post Office DirectorPatrick Moynihan, at 118Clonliffe Road inDrumcondra, to deliver notes and memos. These were written or typed from carbon copies from the Castle and left there for another agent whom she never met. More pressing messages, such as warnings of imminent raids, were delivered directly toVaughan’s Hotel or else toMary O’Rahilly’s bookshop in nearbyDorset Street. She also delivered such messages directly to her cousin,PiarasBéaslaí, editor ofAn tÓglách,the weekly IRA journal.

As well as such perilous duties,Mernin spent time socialising withCastle associates, usually accompanied by a date: her handler,Frank Saurin, posing as ‘Mister Stanley’. Saurin, who also spent time as Mr Stanley drinking in the company of British agents andAuxiliaries alongsideTobin,Cullen,Thornton andBeaumont, was well known amongst his comrades for his debonair dress sense, the source of regular jibes, but this characteristic augmented his role.Mernin and he socialised amongst the IRA’s most dangerous enemies, ‘skilfully ingratiating themselves with people while simultaneously arranging theirexecutions’.21Meanwhile, IRA intelligence officers stood ready to follow anyone singled out by them to their ‘flats, boarding houses, and hotels’.22Similar work was carried out by twenty-one-year-oldMolly O’Reilly at the United Services Club inStStephen’s Green, where she worked as a waitress and had endeared herself to its military clientele for equally duplicitous reasons.

Mernin had struck up a rapport with a fellow castle typist,Lil Dunne, daughter of a formerCastle superintendent. Dunne’s father’s recent retirement had seen Lil and her brother move to 22LowerMount Street, home also to two British intelligence officers: twenty-nine-year-old Capt. HenryAngliss and thirty-five-year-old Lt CharlesPeel.Angliss was operating under the pseudonym Patrick Mahon. Both were marked men, having participated in killing unarmedSinn Féin councillorJohn Lynch in his bed during the early hours of 23 September in the Royal Exchange Hotel inParliament Street.Angliss had begun drinking heavily afterwards and developed a loose tongue.

Lily Mernin, seated here next to her cousin Piaras Béaslaí, was a pivotal and audacious IRA intelligence agent. Her position as a typist in the adjutant’s office in Ship Street Barracks gave her access to information that proved fatal to several British agents on (Courtesy of the National Library of Ireland)

Lil’s brother spent time drinking withAngliss and frequently related to her afterwards the latter’s information-laced disclosures.Lil, in turn, recounted many of these toMernin at work. Any useful titbits of information were then relayed to IRA intelligence.23Mernin briefly came under suspicion one morning when, after Dunne’s brother had gone missing and was feared abducted by the IRA, Lil insisted there must be an enemy spy in their midst who had revealed his associations with British intelligence officers.Mernin, maintaining her cool, had insisted this was ridiculous. Luckily,Lil’s brother resurfaced.

Seán Hyde, a veterinary student and IRA intelligence operative living in 21LowerMount Street, next door to 22, had also disclosed the whereabouts of the two priority targets. He subsequently liaised with IRA intelligence officerCharlie Dalton, who set about organising their killings. Their movements were tracked between an ex-servicemen’s club inMerrion Square and a billiard hall inMount Street. Dalton andJoeLeonard, a seasoned IRA assassin, narrowly missed them one night, only to discover afterwards that the killings were to be postponed; they would be executed soon as part of a much grander operation, guided in no small part byLilyMernin, and overseen tactically byDickMcKee and the recently promoted twenty-seven-year-old 2nd Battalion CommandantSeánRussell on the day that became known asBloody Sunday.

Ironically, the type of horrific bludgeoning that was about to befall the Castle administration on that particular day had been anticipated. In September, with his forces gaining the upper hand,Macready had ominously forewarned of potentially desperate measures being employed by the enemy, writing: ‘We may therefore expect to see a temporary increase in murder and outrage.’24

Macready’s own forces were on the receiving end of a tidal wave of outrage and revulsion on Saturday 13 November, when soldiers from the Lancashire Regiment opened fire from an army truck on a small crowd of civilians onCharlemont Street, killing eight-year-oldAnnie O’Neill with a shot to the chest and wounding six-year-oldTeresa Kavanagh in the arm. The soldiers assumed the crowd were IRA members because they had run on sight of the military. Annie died in the back of the truck minutes afterwards as its driver sped towards the nearbyMeath Hospital. Her distraught mother had only recently lost her husband to tuberculosis (TB).25

Elsewhere in Ireland the killing continued. Two IRA members were shot dead by theRIC in Tralee on 12 November in a skirmish. The following day, threeRIC constables and oneBlack and Tan were killed in an IRA ambush atLisnagaul, Co.Tipperary, and four others wounded. One of the dead policemen had become trapped underneath the police truck after it had crashed. He was burned to death by ignited fuel.26Tipperary town sufferedtheBlack andTans’fury that night. On 14 November, twenty-eight-year-oldFr Michael Griffin ofGalway was lured from his presbytery by crown forces. He was found buried outside the city almost a week later, shot in the head on the night of his abduction following a brutal interrogation. His death sparked further outrage.

Tensions rose. Tuesday 16 November saw Dublin Corporation call for the ending of the railembargo at a meeting of theLabour Party and the Trades Union Congress (TUC) in Dublin’s Mansion House. Tributes were paid to the sacrifices of rail workers, but it was emphatically asserted that theembargo was no longer sustainable given the living conditions prevalent among workers themselves and the beleaguered civilians dependent on the railways.Labour Party leaderThomas Johnson argued that maintaining the strike for much longer would set the country back a hundred years. However, not everyone agreed with such statements. A representative fromDerry argued that sustaining theembargo was vital and that, if necessary, his constituents would rather carry food on their backs than give in.27No conclusive decision was reached.

McKee andMulcahy received a full briefing of the meeting afterwards, their efforts continuing relentlessly to seek remedies for the never-ending crisis. However, more imminently calamitous events were careering headlong to their conclusion, and their attentions were diverted elsewhere.

On 17 November,McKee received a letter fromCollins, which read: ‘Dick – I have established the names of the particular ones. Arrangements should be made about the matter. Lt. G. is aware of things. He suggests the 21st. A most suitable day and date I think. M’.28The most suitable day and date referred to the most opportune time to kill the ‘particular ones’. ‘Lt. G’, an abbreviation of ‘Little Gentleman’, was in factLilyMernin. The codename was deliberately obscure, suggesting the agent was a male military officer.

Mernin’s information, as well as intelligence from various other sources, had been relayed for some time toFrankThornton, toiling ceaselessly in a front office inGreat Brunswick (now Pearse) Street’s majestic Antient Concert rooms. IRA intelligence HQ in 3Crow Street – still operating ceaselessly just 200 yards fromDublin Castle – was not large enough to accommodateThornton’s recently acquired workload. Assisted byCharlie Dalton,Thornton began constructing a detailed dossier on each suspected enemy agent.

Thornton had soon compiled an initial list of sixty ‘particular ones’.29These were then watched and tracked. Subsequent incoming reports determined whether a name remained on the list. Eventually,Thornton trimmed his list to forty-five names. WithMcKee’s help, he then submitted the dossiers toCathalBrugha, theDáil’s minister for defence.Brugha combed over each one, subsequently dismissing a further fifteen names for lack of sufficient evidence. He was meticulous; he knew he was dealing with a kill list with no margin for error. If even a shred of doubt existed about a suspect’s guilt, his name was removed. Nevertheless, as an extra layer of diligence,Brugha presented the full dossier list to the IRA Army Council for further review.

McKee andThornton then had to present a detailed report proving that each suspect was either accredited to theSecret Service or had at least aided them. This took place before a joint meeting of theDáil cabinet and Army Council.30Ultimately, the cabinet and council acceptedBrugha’s recommendations, and the fifteen he had deemed doubtful were definitively struck off the list.31

Frank Thornton, pictured here (standing to left) while imprisoned, was a veteran Irish Volunteer and served as IRA deputy assistant director of intelligence. Thornton was the third of a lethal triumvirate at the helm of IRA intelligence – along with Tom Cullen and Liam Tobin – whose efforts and actions sealed the fates of a large number of enemy agents. Thornton initially compiled the IRA’s kill list for Bloody Sunday. (Courtesy of Kilmainham Gaol Museum OPW, KMGLM 18PC–1P41–03)

It was then agreed that any operation to eliminate the remaining thirty would have to comprise a single swoop; to do otherwise would create a stampede of agents who, alerted, would scurry for theCastle walls, beyond which they would become untouchable but remain active. The council then insisted thatMcKee take charge of the operation. He had no objection and gained agreement forSeánRussell to assist him in the overall planning.

The two men wasted no time.Russell combed each brigade battalion for company commanders and men suitable for the planned operation. Soon 100 men were identified and divided into small units, each with an intelligence officer and, where possible, aSquad member. Tactically, each unit would split into two upon reaching its designated target building, be that a hotel or boarding house used by enemy agents. One group would enter the premises, the other would secure the exterior. Scouting sections would support units, and motor cars would facilitate quick getaways for assassins and accomplices, particularly the wounded.Cumann na mBan members would be deployed to collect and conceal weapons once the assassinations concluded. First-aid stations, operating from dozens of innocuous city residences, were placed on standby. Suitable escape routes were reconnoitred, a particularly important aspect considering that the 2nd Battalion would be heavily involved and would, in many cases, be operating outside its normal deployment area. Capt.Tom Kilcoyne of B Company was put in charge of commandeering a boat to have ready to ferry 2nd Battalion men across the RiverLiffey to its northern docks and safety.

McKee andRussell put details into place expeditiously, until all that was required to complete the deadly jigsaw was the operation’s date.Collins’ letter toMcKee on 17 November provided the final piece.

Elsewhere the killing continued. On the night of 16–17 November, four IRAprisoners, having initially been captured byAuxiliaries, were marched by the regularRIC ontoKillaloe Bridge between countiesClare andTipperary and shot dead. InCork, a civilian former British soldier and a sixteen-year-oldFianna scout were shot in a separate police reprisal.

Back in Dublin, during the evening of 20 November, the leaders of each unit detailed to carry out operations against the ‘particular ones’ the following morning assembled in the Typographical Ins­titute.The intensity of Dublin’s war was about to esca­late. In front of them stoodMcKee andOscar Traynor, and next to them wereClancy,Russell,Mulcahy,Collins andBrugha. First to address those assembled wasMcKee. Aware that close-up killing was not for everyone, he nonetheless stressed the importance of the unpalatable job ahead, its dangers and, critically, the potentially catastrophic perils of failure. He asserted that it was a clear case of neutralising British intelligence before British intelligence neutralised them; any sentiment against such brutal killing had to be suppressed. Most accepted this readily enough, others less agreeably. Although no objections were raised, each officer had to grapple with another critical consideration: the fate ofKevin Barry, which illustrated what they could expect if captured.

Seán Russell, 2nd Battalion commandant, who, alongside Dick McKee, oversaw the tactical organisation and planning of the Bloody Sunday assassinations. (Courtesy of the National Library of Ireland)

As some shuffled uncomfortably at the glaring prospect of what loomed larger by the hour, each operational leader was taken aside individually and interrogated byMcKee andRussell about their preparations and reconnaissance work. Afterwards, satisfied that all was in place,Collins addressed the gathered men. A few jibes and well-phrased encouragements galvanised them. Concluding, he emphasised one factor above all others: each job was to be carried out at precisely 9 a.m., declaring in his own unique style: ‘These whores, the British, have got to learn that Irishmen can turn up on time.’32

The assembled officers were then dismissed to return to their battalion areas to issue final instructions. Some, having done this, sought distraction in the Gaiety Theatre, also attended by a few of the following morning’s targets.

As the last few men were leaving the Typographical Institute,Paddy Daly, a seasonedSquad officer, approachedMcKee. Daly had been ordered byRussell not to participate directly in the following morning’s operation, but to remain instead at its designated field HQ – 17North Richmond Street, home of Peter andCatherineByrne – and direct things from there along withSquad leaderMick McDonnell. The house would also operate as a first-aid post, attended by the Byrnes’ daughters, Catherine and Alice – bothCumann na mBan members – who would be under Daly and McDonnell’s command. Daly was unhappy about not being actively involved and directed his concerns toMcKee. The response was concise: ‘Paddy, I’m not going either. Have you not full confidence in the men appointed?’33Daly recognised thatMcKee was always willing to lead from the front and, accordingly, realised that, by not going, he was demonstrating full trust in the men. Reassured byMcKee’s confidence, he quickly agreed that he shared it.

Matters accelerated. Minutes before 10 p.m.,Traynor left brigade HQ, just asMcKee was rolling up his paperwork, and cycled to his nearby home, 21 Clonmore Road,Ballybough, taking diversions to throw off pursuers – a regular IRA practice.34He assumedMcKee would do likewise, but was wrong. The brigadier, accompanied byClancy, had urgent business to attend to atVaughan’s Hotel, where a last-minute meeting betweenGHQ and someDáil ministers had been convened.

Meanwhile, as the two men cycled to the hotel, anAuxiliary raid took place a mile away at 100Seville Place. Officially the clubhouse for St Laurence O’Toole’sGAA club, this was the mustering point for 2nd Battalion’s operation the following day and it had also operated for some time as theSquad’s HQ, as well as a marshalling and communication point for the battalion. As if to prove the accuracy ofMcKee’s earlier warnings that evening of the growing threat of enemy intelligence, No. 100 was ransacked, while military lorries thronged with troops threw up a cordon outside. Luckily, those preparing for the morning’s operation narrowly avoided the raid andRussell quickly implemented a contingency plan for just such an eventuality. Tara Hall, in nearbyGloucester (now Seán MacDermott) Street, became the alternative venue within which the units were given their final pre-mission briefings.

The meeting atVaughan’s had all but wound up by the timeMcKee andClancy arrived.Mulcahy andBrugha, having leftGardiner Street earlier to attend it, had already departed when the inseparable pair joinedCollins andBéaslaí upstairs in the hotel’s smoking room.Seán O’Connell, a clerk atKingsbridge railway station and messenger forCollins, was also there, as was twenty-seven-year-oldConor Clune, a plant manager at Raheen co-operative in Co.Clare and a Gaelic League member, who was in Dublin on business. The conversation within the room was relaxed, butMcKee remained quietly focused on his work. He double-checked details for the following morning and sent out dispatches via couriers who stood by warily, close to the hotel. One, forOscar Traynor, directed his attention to a military crest inscribed on a sheet of paper retrieved from a suspect’s waste-paper basket and asked him to identify it.

Downstairs, withcurfew imminent, the hotel porter,Christy Harte, became suspicious of a hotel guest named Edwards. Recently arrived, Edwards had just made a whispered telephone call and then quietly left the building.35Harte’s instincts were well honed to potential threats to the hotel’s most regular, and frequently troublesome, guests. He quickly made his way up to the smoking room to warn of a likely raid. Trusting him, the conspirators left.Clancy went first, followed byMcKee, thenCollins. However,Béaslaí,O’Connell andClune, having just minutes earlier made their way downstairs to the pantry, did not receive the warning, soHarte sought them out.

Collins, making his way on foot toDevlin’s pub nearby, had only made it as far as 39Rutland Square when he saw severalAuxiliary lorries screech to a halt outsideVaughan’s.McKee andClancy had by then reachedSackville Street on their way to their safe house – 36 LowerGloucester Street.Collins concealed himself in the entrance to No. 39 and watched the raid unfold.Béaslaí, O’Connell andClune, meanwhile, were still speaking in the pantry when thirty-six-year-old Dist Insp.William ‘Tiny’ King and Capt.Jocelyn Lee ‘Hoppy’ Hardy led their F Company men into the hotel, making straight for the smoking room, frothing at the prospect of seizing the prominent enemy officers they suspected were there.Béaslaí, hearing the raid, quickly slipped out the hotel’s rear intoGranby Place, followed soon by O’Connell. Clune, however, convinced he had nothing to fear as a civilian, hesitated. This proved fatal. He was wrenched from the pantry by a cadet and brought before Hardy. The captain – nicknamed ‘Hoppy’ because of his prosthetic leg – began questioning Clune, along with everyone else in the hotel.Clune was defiant.Hardy checked the hotel register for his name. It was not listed. He then searched his pockets and declared: ‘This bloody fellow hasn’t even got a toothbrush on him.’36All they found in his pockets was a notebook containing, among others, the namesCollins and Treacy. Hardy suspected the latter referred to the lateSeán Treacy, recently killed inTalbot Street. This was enough. Clune was arrested and placed in one of the trucks filling with otherprisoners waiting to be driven toDublin Castle.

McKee andClancy, meanwhile, had split up on their way to their safe house.Clancy arrived first and was greeted by the house’s owner,Seán Fitzpatrick. SoonMcKee arrived, suspecting he had been followed. He warnedClancy and Fitzpatrick. His suspicions were well founded. He had been seen leavingVaughan’s by Edwards and then picked up by another pursuer inGloucester Street. The latter individual, forty-eight-year-oldJohn ‘Shankers’ Ryan, former military policeman and local resident, shadowed him to Fitzpatrick’s front door. He left to telephoneDublin Castle and then returned to tie a piece of paper with some string to the house’s doorknob – a marker for theAuxiliaries soon to follow. After this, he disappeared back into the darkness to lurk and watch. Time was running out forMcKee andClancy.

DespiteMcKee’s suspicions, he andClancy decided to remain where they were and risk a raid. Thecurfew was in effect and if they moved outside they risked being arrested or shot. They began burning paperwork, including the list for the following morning’s assassinations.

Soon there was a knock on the front door.Fitzpatrick apprehensively went to answer.McKee andClancy continued burning evidence. Then, suddenly, they heard Fitzpatrick shouting that they were being raided. Fitzpatrick slammed the door just in time to stall the intruders. He then held his weight against the door as they kicked and threw their shoulders against it. The frustratedAuxiliaries, led by CaptsHardy andKing, shot at the lock. Cracks resounded, but the heavy door held. OtherAuxiliaries covered the back of the house and shone torches at its windows. There was no way out. Eventually,Clancy, satisfied that any evidence was destroyed, shouted toFitzpatrick to let the raiders in.37

Within seconds,Auxiliaries stormed through the house, kicking at doors and cursing profusely. Then,Hardy andKing came face to face withMcKee andClancy. They were instantly recognised as senior IRA figures, particularlyClancy due to his leadership of theMountjoyhunger strike the previous April. The pair, along with Fitzpatrick, were hustled onto a waiting truck. Neighbouring civilians woken from slumber stole cautious glances from windows as the trucks sped away toDublin Castle.

Within ten minutes,McKee,Clancy,Clune,Fitzpatrick and twenty-two others arrested in round-ups during the night were shoved into theCastle guardroom in Exchange Court. The room was already packed with people sitting nervously.McKee quickly took stock, recognising faces among them, as they, too, recognised him but feigned otherwise. Some were due to participate in operations the following morning, others were IRA members who had not been selected.Clancy recognised VolunteerBen Doyle, whom he knew well, but discreetly put his fingers to his lips in a signal not to address him orMcKee.38

Throughout the nightHardy andKing relentlessly interrogated theprisoners, each summoned in turn by F CompanyAuxiliaries at the guard­room door, then wrested and shoved on their way to the dark and dreary interrogation room lit by a single bulb. The room was situated to the left as one entered the lowerCastle gate. Its floor had a drain in the centre. During more aggressive interrogations water from a nearby tap was regularly thrown overprisoners to revive them. Suspects were frequently tied to a wooden chair and beaten.39However, that night there were few such horrors. The atmosphere was unexpectedly tame given that the authorities felt relaxed, convinced they had the upper hand in the city. Theprisoners were spared ordeals such as fingernails being pulled out with pliers, a common torture technique. Soldiers brought in rations and ‘biscuit’ mattresses – two-foot square and six-inches deep – for theprisoners to sleep on. A bucket acted as a latrine.McKee andClancy, however, were called out repeatedly. Their night was sleepless, their captors anxious to unravel what their IRA roles were.TheAuxiliaries were, unfortunately for them, completely oblivious to the terror that was about to be unleashed on their own ranks, largely at the instigation of this pair. An angel of death was about to swoop across the city, its path determined in no small part byMcKee. Dublin’s War of Independence was about to cross a bloody threshold.