by Meda Ryan
Michael gave Tom great encouragement and told him he was very proud of the men of his native West Cork. He was glad that Lloyd George had singled out the ambushes of Kilmichael and Crossbarry in communiqués leading to a truce. There were times when Collins teased. Barry argued. The two debated and laughed at their differences. They parted on the morning of 25 May. Collins said goodbye to the ‘medical student’, advising him to keep up the good work and to keep the West Cork flag flying![11]
Apart from the casual inspection and routine check of the train by the military Tom’s trip from Dublin was uneventful. Three men of the Cork No. 1 Brigade met him at the station. All four walked briskly across the road to a waiting horse and trap. Dick Casey, a 14-year-old Fianna boy, sat inside. Tom took the reins, thanked the Volunteers and set off with Dick for what he hoped would be a problem-free journey to headquarters.
They chatted as the horse ambled along. Almost two hours later they were just on the incline near home (headquarters) and had almost reached the entrance gate to O’Mahony’s Belrose, when approximately 40 steel-helmeted heads rose from inside the ditches on both sides of the road. Barry pulled back the horse, because if he turned in at the gate nothing would save them.
Soldiers crowded around as they ordered them to step down. Responding to the ‘Hands Up’ Barry’s heart sank. As his hands reached skywards he caught a glimpse of the merciless Essex Regiment identification. He suddenly realised that Dick hadn’t been coached for such an eventuality and in answer to the officer’s question he called out loudly for his companion’s benefit that he was Ted Ryder, a medical student from Cork College. ‘I’m going home to my mother’s farm near Crookstown, and this is Dick Casey the son of one of our farm labourers. He brought the horse and trap to Cork to bring me home.’
Tom was searched. They emptied out every scrap on his person. His medical paraphernalia was tumbled out and examined. They checked The Times and The Daily Mail to see if he had anything marked. They questioned him about his Republican views and as to why he was returning home in the middle of a term. He used his doctor’s excuse. After a further lapse of time, the questioning officer told him to ‘Go in there’ where a group of local men had been taken prisoners and were just inside O’Mahony’s gate. Walking down the road he saw these men. They all knew him and could give him away. ‘I had to think hard,’ he said. Immediately he assumed a snobbish attitude, asking the officer if he would expect him to associate with those Republicans. The officer grinned and said, ‘Wait on the road!’ While he waited, other groups of the regiment began to converge on the road; troops seemed to be everywhere. Barry didn’t know then that the Essex were involved in a massive round-up. There were over 200 British soldiers in the area. The officer brought him a map and told him to point out his home. Awkwardly Barry fumbled, ‘I’ve never seen one of these before. I don’t think I can find it.’
‘Wait for the major,’ the officer said.
After an interval that seemed like hours, the major came up the road. Barry felt weak at the knees as Major Percival walked towards him carrying a colt automatic in his hand. ‘The fear of death itself was overshadowed by the great fear of torture and a lingering exit’. He prayed as he was brought face to face with Percival, and he hoped he could stand up to the ordeal.
‘And then, mercifully, for no explainable reason, I was no longer afraid. For whatever reason, after the first fifteen minutes, I was calm and detached.’
Percival questioned him, his hard eyes staring, piercing, ‘his buck teeth’ showing. He walked away, came back, removed Barry’s hat, stared again and went away. After some time Barry heard the wonderful words, ‘Release him’. Percival turned and strode briskly down the road.
Tempted to put the horse into a gallop but allowing better sense to prevail Tom guided the animal at an easy pace, headed for Tom Kelleher’s, gave a well-earned thanks to young Dick Casey, got a fresh horse and collected his guns from the dump. ‘Then a vow was taken that never again while hostilities were on would those guns be separated from me!’
Almost sixty years later he said, ‘It was the one time I really wished I had a gun. Then I’d face death bravely if I got the bastard, Percival, first.’[12]
Notes
[1]Butler, pp. 153, 154; Jeudwine Papers, IWM; see also John P. Duggan, A History of the Irish Army, pp. 57–66.
[2]Barry, Guerilla Days, p. 175.
[3]Brigid O’Mahony, author interview 3/2/1977; Barry, Guerilla Days, p. 176.
[4]Tom Barry in conversation with Dave O’Sullivan, Home video held by Dave O’Sullivan.
[5]Tom Barry, author interview; Tom Barry’s notes and manuscript, TB private papers; Tom Barry, Irish Press, 23 June 1948; Barry, Guerilla Days, pp. 176 –178; Butler, pp. 155–157.
[6]Tom Barry, notes, TB private papers; Tom Barry, Irish Press, 24 June 1948.
[7]Bob [Robert Barton] to Tom Barry, n.d. c. 1948 – first page missing. TB Papers.
[8]Tom Barry to Kenneth Griffith, RTÉ Sound Archives
[9]Tom Barry, author interview; Tom Barry, manuscript, TB private papers; Tom Barry, Irish Press, 24, 25 June 1948; Guerilla Days, pp. 179–183; Butler, pp. 157–160.
[10]Tom Barry to Kenneth Griffith, RTÉ Sound Archives.
[11]Patrick Jung, The Thompson submachine-gun during and after the Anglo-Irish war, in, The Irish Sword, Vol. XX1, p. 191. I am indebted to Michael Mac Evilly for this reference.
[12]Tom Barry, notes and manuscript, TB private papers.
11 - Through Boggy Slopes to Deep Valley Desmond
As Tom mounted the horse Mrs Kelleher came running out, a jug of milk in one hand and a bottle of holy water in the other. He drank the milk as the woman prayed out loud that ‘God would protect us all from the Sassanach’, while she sprinkled about half the contents of the bottle on Tom and his horse. This widowed woman and her family were using an outhouse as a dwelling as her home had been burned after the Crossbarry ambush.
It was an all-night ride of about 40 miles to Gloundaw where the major ambush, which he had planned with Deasy before his Dublin trip, was to take place. He changed horses twice and reached his destination without further confrontation with the enemy.
Gloundaw was a bleak open country area between Dunmanway and Drimoleague with high ground on both sides of the road which, like Kilmichael, did not allow for a retreat. When Barry arrived after his long journey the column was already moving into position. Liam Deasy handed over the column to Tom and left for headquarters. The men had billeted in the Drominidy area at 2 a.m., risen at 4 a.m. on >28 May 1921 and moved for Gloundaw after a bread and butter break>fast in the neighbouring houses. A full strength brigade flying column of 100 rifle-men, supported by 20 armed men from the local companies were organised for the attack. Many of the men who had taken part in Kilmichael, Crossbarry and other ambushes and barrack attacks were there.
The plan necessitated the local Drimoleague Company shooting-up the barracks or a Tan company. This, it was felt, would lure the military who would be summoned from Dunmanway. The men >at Gloundaw lay in wait in sections, stretched inside the ditches along the road between the two centres – all other roads had been blocked by trenches and felled trees, so that they would have to travel this road. Tom Ward and Liam Deasy had arranged for a party of five men under the command of Dan O’Driscoll to take up position to the left of the barracks behind a fence running parallel to the railway line for the attack on Drimoleague barracks.
The men were in position at Gloundaw by 6.30 a.m. At each end of the ambuscade, Barry placed a section to break through any encirclement which might occur. He had other sections strategically placed. Willie O’Sullivan, a machine-gunner with British army experience, manned the captured Crossbarry Lewis gun. Mines were >placed at both entrances, a number of men carried hand grenades and home-made bombs, and a large explosive was mounted on a horse->cart which was, at a given command, to be pushed by a few men, down the lane-way across the road at the commander’s signal. The column were prepar
ed to meet a convoy of forces which could bring into action anything from six to ten lorries. This was to be a major battle, and Barry having taken all precautions, was hopeful of a major success.
By 8.30 a.m. action commenced when a Black and Tan was shot outside Drimoleague Barracks. Immediately Patrick O’Mahony set out on his bicycle to deliver word to the waiting column.
>Now it was certain that the Auxiliaries would come. Barry, walking along the rough ground immediately overlooking the road where over 100 fighting men were stretched out motionless, sensed the increasing tension, for a tough fight was anticipated. As the day passed and hours ticked away slowly, the men waited, but the enemy never showed. After the shooting of the Black and Tan the Auxiliaries in Dunmanway were in lorries ready for their journey to Drimoleague when a man was seen approaching the first of six lorries and subsequently the forces were ordered to return to their quarters.
The men who lay in wait that day have said, had the ambush taken place, it would certainly have been a slaughter for some side. Barry was prepared to win, but it is almost certain that men would have been lost. It was nightfall when he withdrew the column to billets in the Drominidy area.[1]
The following evening word reached the column that there was a large movement of troops in several regions: Clonakilty, Bandon, Dunmanway, Skibbereen and Bantry. It was obvious that a massive round-up was under way. Fear of being encircled again entered Tom Barry’s mind and this time he knew the enemy would be more prepared.
All men had to be alerted immediately. Word was sent round to the various houses where the column was billeted, or to those who knew where the dug-outs were. A battery of people criss-crossed the >area with the verbal dispatch. Two young girls, Lily and Mary O’Donovan, set out across the fields shortly after 2 a.m.
‘It was a very dark night, and every once-in-a-while we would have to stop and listen in case of any military movement. But the most difficult part was when we had to cross the road.’ Frightened but determined as ‘men’s lives were at stake’ they roused several men in field dug-outs, and when they came near Mrs Young’s yard the dogs began to bark so they clung to each other.
‘The lads had a dug-out in her back kitchen, but that night they weren’t there so we had to go across the fields to Andrew Timsy [McCarthy’s] house. James, who was in bed, stuck his head out of the window.’ They told him word had to be got to the lads immediately as there was a massive round-up. He knew the field dug-outs where they might be and said he’d take care of it, told them to go home quickly as they could be in danger.[2]
>All the men headed, as instructed, to a field behind Pat O’Donovan’s. Barry got them into quick formation, gave them a few snap instructions, and began to weave eastwards to get to the rear of the enemy. Soon he discovered that the only way open was to move forward (westwards) and try to avoid confrontation. With little food and snatches of sleep the men edged on.
On the third day after Gloundaw, news came that thousands of enemy were sweeping north Cork. They had formed a line right across the county in a thorough combing action. British navy troops and marines patrolled the Atlantic Ocean. Meanwhile, ‘the column had commenced to weave its way, by day and night, avoiding the largest and most threatening round-up in its history.’[3]
Barry was leading his column towards the Bantry direction when word reached him of a largescale troop movement towards the Kerry-Cork border from Kerry. It seemed as if they were walking on the edge of a precipice. The enemy advanced from all directions. Barry did not know then that troops from as far away as Templemore and the Curragh had been drafted in to capture him and his flying column. Now one of the most wanted men in Ireland, Barry was more concerned for his men than he was for himself. The IRA were being driven from east to west into a wall of British troops on the border between the two counties. By the fourth evening they wove in front of the on-coming British forces, driven on relentlessly, their corner getting narrower while the enemy lines contracted as they closed in. This whole episode was the most frightening of all the events which had taken place over the previous months. There was the constant dread for Barry and his men of being totally destroyed; each dispatch received, brought added gloom and a feeling of being trapped without hope of escape. It became a fight for survival.
That night the flying column moved noiselessly along the grassy fields, their rifles at the ready with a bullet in each breech. At midnight they arrived at the Valley of Coomhola near the shores of Bantry Bay. Here they were billeted in a number of houses, outhouses, dug-outs and were fed by the hospitable people after their long weary journey.
‘Gone were the merry quips, the laughter and the songs one usually heard in other days when approaching a billet. The men now sat round, their rifles between their knees, silent and thoughtful.’ Barry observed that each man was freshly shaven, their boots shone with ‘extra polish’ and their rifles gleamed, and they did not appear nervous. Salutes were ‘more formal’ it was as if they were making a special effort to exude an air of military confidence.[4]
For the night, sentries and scouts were doubled with the aid of local companies, and the men rested without removing clothes or boots and with rifles at the ready. Tom tried to relax and had a smoke with the other officers in Marcella Hurley’s drawing-room. Marcella, a famed Feiseanna singer, entertained them with traditional and national songs as she played the piano.
News that navy sloops were landing marines and soldiers in Bantry Bay and that the slopes of Shehey mountain were being shelled, in what must have been an effort to get the IRA to emerge, had Barry consulting local men as to the feasibility of bringing the flying column during darkness across the treacherous boggy slopes between Gougane Barra and Kerry, thus emerging outside the circle of troops. Barry got his men to stand to arms while scouts were sent in each direction to seek information of enemy approach. He told his men that they might have to stand and fight at a moment’s notice. But his intention was to avoid the enemy if possible.
Fifteen minutes later the column was moving up the old hilly road to the Kerry border. Having travelled some distance they halted to await darkness. Then the march was resumed. Though tired, they did not show it.
With the aid of a number of ropes tied together, a local man warned each man to keep on the path following the man in front as he led the full column through a nightmare march in heavy darkness. Sometimes the men sank knee-deep in boggy ground; often one walked on the heels of the man in front. Periodically one stumbled, but each clung to the rope or the equipment of the man in front. In the long night hours they trailed, avoiding a slip down an embankment to certain death. Before daybreak, they arrived at the top of Deep Valley Desmond.
Now began the descent. Aided by stretched out rifles and ropes, hours passed as the men swung and slithered down the rugged passage from the mountain-top to level ground at Gougane Barra. Some were bruised and hurt but none were badly injured. At last Barry felt they were outside the ring of roads likely to be used by the enemy.
With mountains all around, rocks and hills well covered with bracken, Barry found a fortified position, so that if the forces came they would fight, and pray that their ammunition would last the pace. As the rumblings of enemy transport could be heard in the distance they remained in their stronghold until nightfall. Rumours of enemy movement kept the column the on alert. Silently ‘each man prayed’. All night they waited. Barry decided to remain in this secluded spot, sheltered in the valley from the activities beyond.
Word came in the morning that the forces had returned to barracks having spent seven days raking the countryside, sleeping in bivouacs and fed by Service Army Service Corps.
In Cronin’s Hotel the column was fed. Now that the enemy had withdrawn to their barracks, Barry organised his flying column and gave them a spirited talk: if possible they would avoid the enemy but they would be ready to out-fight any British barrage. Once back in their own brigade area he felt it would be important, now more than ever, to show friend and foe that the fl
ying column could not be destroyed or intimidated.[5]
Fifty years later Barry was to take a sanguine look back at this type of British operation: ‘I was to read one operations’ order signed by General Strickland which detailed the use of over 5,500 troops, some of whom came from as far away as the midlands and the Curragh to sweep through the three Cork brigade areas. Although we at first feared these massive formations, we found that it was not very difficult to evade battle with them. They had no success in any of the Cork brigade areas, as some hundreds of the surviving veterans can testify.’[6]
On 2 June 1921 Sir Hamar Greenwood, British chief secretary for Ireland, stated in the British House of Commons that the total enlisted strength of the Auxiliary Division in Ireland was 1,498 officers and men – one-third were in the Cork area. This does not take into account the RIC, the naval forces, armed coastguard stations or even the 23 Black and Tan garrisons in Co. Cork. In a document captured by the IRA dated 17 May 1921 and signed by Major General Strickland, general officer commanding the 6th Division, a list of British forces operating in Co. Cork was given in detail – an approximate total of 8,800 first-time infantry troops. Added to this there was the Machine-Gun Corps, 580 officers and men; Royal Field Artillery, 727 officers and men; Royal Garrison Artillery, 440 officers and men; Royal Engineers, 240 officers and men; divisional and brigade headquarters’ staff, 200 officers and men; Auxiliary division, 540 officers and men.[7] Against this field force were the Irish Republican army and the Irish people.
The small force of IRA could not be mobilised ‘for a major operation likely to continue for a day,’ Barry admitted, ‘as its ammunition did not exceed 50 rounds a rifle, two fills for revolvers and automatics, and a few full drums for each machine-gun.’ But they were prepared to take on this force (at odds of almost 40-to-1) because as they fought, as in each of the major ambushes, they captured arms and ammunition which allowed them to continue; as at Kilmichael and Crossbarry they used the captured booty against the enemy, on the spot.
