Tom Barry

by Meda Ryan

  Tom, Liam Deasy and other officers had been working on plans for mobilising the column to ensure the safety of the arms. They organised dumps in Cork and Kerry, drew up transport maps and arranged for the commandeering of lorries and other motor transport. During the last week, using only trusted local men for security reasons, they worked to perfect a plan that would leave little or nothing to chance. They examined charts to be sure how far the Italian ship could sail into Union Hall harbour. Trawlers and small boats onto which the cargo would be transferred were listed, drivers chosen and routes worked out. They arranged for the destruction of the other roads and bridges and for parties of IRA rifle-men to delay any enemy moving in any potentially obstructive direction. Barry said, ‘we had given much thought during the early months of the year to this landing of arms, and the responsibility weighed heavily on the few of us who knew of it. We had many headaches, and because of the absolute necessity for complete secrecy, we could not delegate inquiries or any part of the work to any but a few specially selected officers.’[17]

  The IRA’s movements were being slightly hindered by British military involved in a round up in the Union Hall district. One April night Barry and four officers, after a local battalion and brigade council meeting had been held, were sleeping in a house near Union Hall when scouts woke them at 4 a.m. with the news that British troops were approaching. Pausing only to pull on trousers, grab guns and equipment, they fled. But Seán Buckley, IO, had the post that had been stolen the previous morning. It was in a heap on the table. He jumped, bundled them up, grabbed his coat, ran and hid it in a good spot in the yard and followed the others into the haggard. Soon they heard soldiers hammering at the front door with the butts of their rifles. In the pitch darkness, they held on to each other’s guns so that they could stay together. Carefully edging each step they reached a small field some distance up the hill. Buckley was unarmed, but Barry had two revolvers and a rifle. He gave Buckley a revolver and some ammunition. The five freezing cold officers took up positions, one at each ditch with Barry ready to make for wherever the attack came from. The sounds of enemy were all around. Barry had left his socks, pullover, cap, trench coat and leggings behind. In the April night coldness they could only wait, hope and shiver. Buckley had been at a meeting in Baltimore the previous day, on instructions from Michael Collins, to check up on the position of Baltimore Co-op Fishery, which had been set up with the help of a Republican government loan. He had been respectably dressed and took his detachable white collar and tie from his pocket and began to put them on, believing if caught, respectability would win. ‘I always had more faith in wits than weapons’. When Barry vaulted towards him and saw a soldier dressed like he was, in the face of an enemy, he left fly at Seán in language that was ‘hot enough to set the heather ablaze.’

  Believing they were surrounded, they remained silent in the cold for some hours until eventually the dogs were silent. Before leaving the troops arrested the owner of the house when they found the beds warm and the men’s clothing strewn of the floor. After the owner pleaded with them, saying the IRA had guns and so he had no alternative, he was released. But the patrol carried away two trench coats belonging to Seán and Tom.

  Col Hudson and men from the Skibbereen garrison had conducted the raid. Later, Barry wrote a letter to Col Hudson de-manding the return of the trench coats, pointing out that they were ‘not contraband of war’. He put it in an invoice from the raided mail, and apologised ‘for the unavoidable interference with his private correspondence, regretting that he was unable to wait to receive his men when they called and hoped to be better prepared next time and promising them a warm welcome.’

  Some days later the colonel called on the editor and manager of the Southern Star, Dick Connolly, informing him of the letter he had received from Tom Barry. He said he agreed with the sentiments expressed and handed him the coats, requesting that they be returned to Tom Barry. Barry described Col Hudson as a kindly gentleman who didn’t indulge in the torture of captured IRA. It was this man’s garrison they had failed to draw into conflict in February and whose men had been given a good time. If Hudson had caught up with Barry on this occasion there is, of course, no doubt but that he would have done his duty. Barry admired a man whether enemy or friend for doing his job well, as long as he kept to civilised rules.

  Years later, Barry with a wry smile, spoke of this man of principle, with whom he had dinner during the Truce. He became a brigadier later, went to India and wrote ‘several letters’ to ‘General Tom Barry, Cork’. Barry was ‘in prison at the time’.[18]

  Barry found that generally the RIC ‘were a different type’ to the Auxiliaries and the Tans. ‘You’d get a bad RIC man just as you’d get a bad saint in heaven. Sure you had a fellow called Lucifer up there, and he created hell, I believe! Many RIC resigned in mid 1920s as they didn’t like what their “helpers” were doing and weren’t prepared to stand for it!’[19]

  After Tom Barry and Liam Deasy were satisfied that they had attended to all arrangements for the importation of the arms, they cycled through the night. There were some hair-raising episodes when they heard the sound of military vehicles and had to hide in boreens. On two occasions they had to heave the bicycles over a wall and vault after them. They arrived by morning at O’Mahony’s of Belrose, Upton. Because the house had been burned the family now lived in the barn.

  Despite all the effort, their hard work and weeks of planning, the ship never arrived. Eventually (much later) Madge Hales returned from her visit to her brother, Donal, in Italy and went straight to Michael Collins with the details of the difficulties encountered in trying to secure the shipment. Their brother Seán Hales was also aware of the situation, but Barry never knew the facts regarding the shipment.[20] Apparently, he drew his own conclusions. In an interview with Raymond Smith he said that the British were helped by the refusal of other nations ‘to sell Ireland one rifle or a bandolier of ammunition. Ireland was refused a hearing at the Peace Conference. And tens of thousands of American veterans on demobilisation passed through Ireland on army leave, but not one offered to stay and lend a hand in Ireland’s fight for freedom.’[21]

  With only a few hours sleep, Barry and Deasy left Belrose, for a meeting at Kippagh in the North Cork No. 2 Brigade area. It took them two days to walk cross-country. This, they felt was the safest method of travelling. On the first night they met up with Seán O’Hegarty and Florrie O’Donoghue of Cork No. 1 Brigade. They billeted in a friendly house and compared notes on activities. ‘I already knew those Cork 1 officers and liked them well’, Barry wrote. He regarded Hegarty as a man of ‘fine character, keen brain and personality’ who worked ‘tirelessly and efficiently’ as commander, and O’Donoghue as ‘shrewd, calm and capable, an all round officer whose speciality was intelligence bracketed justly with Michael Collins.’[22]

  GHQ had issued an order to hold a meeting on 24 April 1921 at Lynch’s farmhouse in Kippagh, near Millstreet. Delegates from nine brigades were to attend to establish the First Southern division in accordance with the Dublin directive. Because only five of the nine brigades were represented, Barry expressed disappointment.

  ‘Liam Deasy, Brigadier of West Cork, came over the mountains,’ Ernie O’Malley a staff captain from Dublin wrote. ‘With him was Tom Barry who commanded the brigade column. His light bushy hair stood straight up like a wind-blown hedge. There were two guns in his belt; they touched almost when he stuck both hands in his trousers’ pockets … he was fearless and very much admired by West Cork.’[23]

  The meeting opened, chaired and addressed by Ernie O’Malley who brought orders for the formation of the division. These he read aloud to the delegates with, according to Barry, ‘military terminology rolling off his tongue’. It certainly didn’t appear to be the way to win the attention of men who had been through so much and who had practical experience of fighting. The men O’Malley was dealing with were shrewd and mentally alert. There were men like Liam Lynch, Deasy, Moylan, Cork No. 2 Br
igade; Humphrey Murphy, Andy Cooney, Dan Breen, John Joe Rice, Kerry, and other well known IRA men. O’Malley continued to speak and the more he used words like ‘terrain’ and ‘topography’ the more he angered his listeners.

  Seán O’Hegarty, commanding Cork No. 1 Brigade, began to shuffle. At the next mention of ‘terrain and topography’ he jumped to his feet and told him to shut up. He voiced the bitter feelings that many of the IRA fighting officers now entertained towards GHQ. He asked why didn’t a senior staff officer like Michael Collins or Richard Mulcahy come, or for that matter why didn’t any of these ever think it worth their while to visit any of the active fighting units in the south?

  When a break for food was announced Seán, went and located a bucket, soap and a towel. He asked Tom to go down to the stream with him. He scooped up buckets of water and ‘judging by the violent manner with which he splashed them over my soaped head and body he was still thinking of “terrain and topography”,’ Barry wrote.[24]

  After the meal Tom listened to O’Malley again. He had begun to dislike him. He could take it no longer and was on his feet. In On Another Man’s Wound O’Malley describes Barry’s contribution as being ‘assertive, aggressive, almost spitting out his words directly’. He told the meeting that the orders from GHQ bore no relation whatever to the realities of the situation in the south. There was no point he said in using ‘ornate language and meaningless military phrases’ to impress hard-bitten officers who were daily fighting forces against all odds. GHQ didn’t understand what was required to make split-second decisions when a group of men were in danger of being surrounded, or the quick action needed when an ambush or barracks’ attack didn’t go according to plan. It just wouldn’t work having brigades moving around in a large body when, he said, ‘the three Cork brigades could hardly muster 300 rifles between them, were without automatic weapons, artillery or transport, had no proper signalling equipment and no proper staff arrangements.’[25]

  Barry in Guerilla Days in Ireland says, ‘Not one of us was opposed to the setting up of the unit of a division as such, but we were at a loss to understand how its establishment on paper would help the brigades at the most critical period of their existence.’ They were all in an angry mood. Seán Moylan of Cork jumped up: ‘We started this war with hurleys, but, by heavens, it seems to me we will all finish it off with fountain pens.’[26]

  Barry said, ‘My own opinion remains that in guerrilla warfare no unit larger than a brigade could ever be effective as a striking force, and it could not be directed in its activities by a higher authority from outside the brigade area.’[27]

  Nevertheless, the First Southern Division was set up. The divisional commandant elected was the daring Liam Lynch. He had commanded the party that had attacked the first British troops in the Anglo-Irish war at Fermoy in 1919 and he had been an active IRA officer in the Cork No. 2 Brigade area.[28]

  Before the meeting closed Barry suggested that something should be done to try to stop the executions and torturing of IRA prisoners. He told of the harassment of civilians in West Cork. Funerals of men ‘killed in action or murdered were broken up by soldiers’. People were searched, held for long hours with their hands held up ‘sometimes they had to kneel or to sing God Save the King … People had been flogged with whips, belt-buckles and canes.’ Of immediate concern was the ‘torture of prisoners by some of the intelligence staff of their 6th Division.’ O’Malley heard these men speak with passion and concern. Major General Sir E. P. Strickland, the British GOC in the martial law area should be threatened with reprisals. It shouldn’t end by being a threat, Barry said; they would carry out the reprisals. O’Hegarty supported him forcibly. This proposal met with enthusiasm and a lively discussion followed.

  Four of O’Hegarty’s Volunteers of Cork No. 1 Brigade and one from the Tipperary area were to be executed before a firing squad in Cork, towards the end of April. The meeting agreed on a definite action plan. Liam Lynch undertook to write to General Strickland informing him of their decision. A plan of reprisals was drawn up in case Strickland ignored the warning and each officer returned home to his own area, and prepared for a ‘shoot-up day’ on 14 May throughout the divisional area. O’Malley undertook to inform the Limerick, Tipperary and Kilkenny brigades to carry out similar raids on the day.[29]

  Back in West Cork they found that when the forces raided houses they seized bicycles. If this continued the officers of Cork No. 3 felt they would be deprived of their fastest mode of transport. The brigade council issued an order that all bicycles, except those that were needed and whose owners could be depended on, should be secured from enemy hands. On the 8 May 1921, in every parish in the brigade area, at least 3,000 of the 5,000 Volunteers on the roll swept through the countryside in twos or threes and efficiently carried out the task.

  The column had another set back as the Essex began a round-up. Three Volunteers were killed. Frank Hurley was captured; he was armed and told to walk towards a field. A friend hidden behind the ditch found his maltreated body on the roadside a half a mile from the barracks. Geoffrey Canty was with others and was unarmed, he was shot at as he saw a patrol approaching, the shot injured his ankle. The others got away. His body was found later. Con Murphy was also shot dead. Propaganda stated it was ‘while trying to escape’.[30]

  Meanwhile the executions of the four Cork Volunteers had taken place on 28 April. Immediately Barry set up his action plan. Between 1 February and 4 May 11 prisoners from Cork No. 1 and Cork No. 2 Brigades had been shot before a British firing squad in Cork jail. Barry says that in the Bandon area ‘none of our Volunteers were ever to be judicially executed, since the British officers in our brigade area invariably acted as judge, jury and executioner, without bothering about the formality of a trial for suspected IRA men.’[31]K Company Auxiliaries in Dunmanway captured Tim O’Connell, who had taken part in the Kilmichael ambush. In the Dunmanway Workhouse they beat him unconscious, they stripped, kicked and tortured him, he lost his hearing and had nose problems for the rest of his life. There was blood everywhere. This Auxiliary Company tortured Tadhg Ó Séaghdha and Jerh Fehilly in a most inhuman way.

  Ten British garrisons, scattered over the West Cork area between Innishannon and Castletownbere (about 80 miles), were to be attacked simultaneously by the IRA on Saturday 14 May at 3 p.m. Barry decided he would engage the First Essex in Bandon. The intention was to have a short, sharp shoot-up in each area, and all IRA arms were to be at the disposal of the 12 officers and the men detailed for the attacks.

  A month previously an old Ford Model T car had been captured from the Essex and hidden in a field under a haystack. Barry decided it was time to bring it out. For two days prior to the action, Seán Lehane practised driving it to orders: ‘Slow! Fast! Turn! Ditch!’ At the order to ditch, he would jam the brakes, and they would ‘clear’ the ditch for cover. The hood of the car was removed, the windscreen stripped and the Lewis gun, captured at Crossbarry, was mounted on it.

  Anna Hurley, leader of the Cumann na mBan in Bandon, and sister of Frank who had been killed the previous week by the Essex Regiment, agreed to go to Bandon to observe enemy movements. She reported, on returning, that the military were busily sand-bagging their posts in North Main Street. Obviously, The garrison had been warned, but the attack had to be executed.

  The seven selected men were too many for the car, so two men were dropped off outside the town. All were armed with pistols, rifles and two Mills bombs. Barry, dressed in his IRA uniform, sat on the back-rest of the front seat with his feet at each side of Seán Lehane the driver.

  Only a few hundred yards from the army barracks, but just outside the town, a sentry was sighted. Barry calmly calculated the situation. To shoot would be fatal. It was better to drive slowly past. The sentry was standing on the road-side ditch looking towards them with his rifle and bayonet at the ‘At Ease’ position. ‘Take no notice,’ Barry whispered.

  When they were quite close the sentry jerked his rifle to the ‘On Guard’ pos
ition, but possibly seeing the uniform and assuming that the IRA did not drive around openly, he brought his rifle to ‘Slope’. As they drove past he saluted smartly. Barry casually returned his salute. They drove on.

  The plan of attack was not an elaborate one. They were to enter Bandon, drive down slowly through North Main Street past the barracks and the police post and fire at anybody in a British uniform. Then they would drive across the bridge along South Main Street and out on the Kilbrittain Road, where the members of the Bandon Company were waiting, ready to block any enemy pursuit.

  However, as frequently happened, the plan was abruptly changed; shortly after passing the sentry they noticed a large party of troops in a field. Some of the soldiers were in full battle-order with steel helmets and others were kicking a football. Immediately Barry ordered, ‘Halt! Open Fire!’ The Lewis gun and the rifles went into action. Then there was a ‘Forward! Turn!’ for the driver as some shots were fired back. Continuing to fire they drove back towards the road from which they had come. The car raced past where the sentry had stood. Fortunately for him he had now vanished. They drove four miles before stopping up a byroad to throw petrol on the car and set it alight.

  The silence was broken when Seán Lehane, a good singer, put his voice into action as the flames soared:

  We will pay them back woe for woe,

  Give them back blow for blow,

  Out and make way for the Bold Fenian men.

  Their task completed they set off cross-country in the direction of Newcestown. In the Bandon attack, according to the reports in the papers the following day, an Essex soldier had been killed and seven Black and Tans injured. Apparently, the foray, after Barry and his men sped out from Bandon, turned into a major episode of machine-gun and rifle-fire. This, according to the Cork Examiner, 16 May 1921, lasted for about an hour as the British ‘shelled the enemy’. Two civilians were wounded. Throughout West Cork, attacks on all ten locations took place on target at around three o’clock. The official British losses in the area were seven men killed and thirteen wounded; the IRA had no casualties.[32]