The Republic- The Fight for Irish Independence

by Charles Townshend

  O’Duffy also worried that taking over Tyrone might damage his position in his own county, Monaghan – ‘After years of building it up alone & unaided I would not like to lose my grip on it.’ In the south, opposition was more strident, often on the grounds that divisions were artificial and impracticable, a paper exercise of the sort you would expect from the Dublin desk soldiers. Did the divisional areas make real military sense? GHQ put quite a lot of effort into drawing up strategic appreciations clarifying the strengths and weaknesses of various divisions. These are the most substantial surviving evidence of republican military thinking, and their survival is indeed remarkable. Mulcahy noted the ‘danger that if any of this material falls into enemy hands’ (which, as his own experience showed, was quite possible) ‘it discloses our mind fairly completely to them.’ But he thought that less dangerous than ‘not setting down our ideas’.152 Only by setting them down could they ‘hope to have a uniform outline or a uniform understanding of the main lines along which we should work and develop’. To Mulcahy these were self-evidently desirable.

  What he did was essentially to codify as doctrine the methods which active areas like Cork had developed more or less instinctively. So their general policy was ‘to hem them [enemy forces] into a few big stations and repossess the countryside outside’. This applied above all to Cork city itself: it was ‘most important for us to have the firmest grip possible on Cork, both to use its resources ourselves and to dispute the Enemy’s use of its facilities’. Mulcahy insisted that ‘our War is distinct from all other Guerrilla Wars’ in being ‘the Guerrilla War of a civilised modern people’. Urban areas were vital; it was ‘not enough to maintain ourselves indefinitely in remote areas’. ‘The more effort we put into Cork City and the more strain we put on enemy in and around it the greater relief we afford to outlying areas.’ If the enemy was ‘resolutely tackled in suburban areas’ – ‘largely peopled by his adherents or people overused to his exhibited strength’ – this would (as they had discovered in Dublin) have a significant impact on his prestige. ‘Such operations manifest the “imperturbable offensive spirit” because they tackle the Enemy where it would suit him to have his hands free.’ But hemming the enemy in must not involve risky operations; ‘small jobs’ and sniping could be enough. ‘It is not very important what post is attacked, nor when, nor how often – the great thing is to have every attack that is made successful.’ Again, obvious as it might seem, this was a key insight.

  Seán Moylan, who took over Cork No. 2 Brigade when Lynch became divisional commander, left an account of the 26 April meeting at which the 1st Southern Division was set up. It was the first time that he met Tom Barry or Seán O’Hegarty. He could see the benefits of inter-brigade co-ordination, and in this sense the creation of divisions was ‘a natural growth fostered by conditions’. But like some others he was less impressed by the GHQ input, delivered by Ernie O’Malley as GHQ representative. ‘Those who wrote such communications at GHQ seemed to have as bedside book and Bible General Lettow Vorbeck’s story of the war in East Africa. From this and “Infantry Training, 1914” I assume came the inexplicable military periods and inapplicable military proposals … which roused the ire of men of long fighting experience and terse speech.’ Seán O’Hegarty, a ‘master of invective, tore the communication and its authors to ribbons’.153 According to Moylan several others, not just Tom Barry, joined in the assault – though Barry’s condemnation echoed loudest down the years – divisionalization did not contribute ‘a man, a gun, a round of ammunition, a shilling or a plan of action’.154 Mulcahy’s wider state-building ideas bounced off these ‘fighting men’ like peas off a wall.

  Ernie O’Malley, who chaired the meeting, recalled O’Hegarty’s ‘biting gnarled tongue that flayed’, demanding arms not memoranda. ‘Why was the pressure on the South not relieved? Why didn’t some other part of the country begin to fight? And why doesn’t HQ organize or train the Midlands, the West or the East? And why doesn’t Dicky Mulcahy or Micky Collins come down to inspect brigades in Tipperary, Cork and Kerry? Then they could see how things were.’ O’Hegarty’s ‘acrid spleen’ was unusual, but he only ‘voiced our general discontent’. The mood of the meeting brightened when it turned to a project of running in a really big arms shipment – 20,000 rifles with 200 rounds of ammunition each, and 600 machine guns, 150 tons in all – to West Cork. This, O’Malley estimated, would give the two southern divisions some thousand rifles between them. ‘Our faces shone … Here were we, who thought in terms of seventy or eighty rifles to a brigade and an odd machine-gun, talking of thousands of rifles and millions of rounds of ammunition.’155 Landing points were discussed and evaluated in detail, and plans made for transporting the bulk of the arms on through to ‘the Midlands and the North’. The great gun-running did not, however, materialize.

  ‘IN HOSTILE TERRITORY’

  The northern divisions were sometimes referred to as ‘Ulster’ divisions – a slip which indicates how far the sense of separation had already gone. (The other provinces were never linked to the divisional structure.) Their limited military capacity inevitably reflected the very different political demography of the north. The potential citizenry of the Republic were, in practice, never more than a minority. The Volunteers in Crossmaglen were not unusual in keeping a low profile. ‘No person seemed to have any idea what it was possible to do or make any effort to do anything.’ It was not, Thomas Luckie of the Crossmaglen company thought, a matter of ‘trying and things not working out’ – ‘as far as I know no effort was made even to make plans to carry out operations.’156 Even in the more active areas, like the Newry Brigade, the first serious attack – on the RIC barrack at Camlough – did not come until December 1920. Only after that was there enough British pressure to generate a flying column ‘of sorts’.157

  GHQ’s grand strategic analysis identified Ulster – or, as Mulcahy preferred, ‘the six Carsonia Counties’ – as the ‘vital English bridgehead’, which must be ‘attacked steadily and persistently’. Whatever that meant, it was easier said than done. And while it may have been encouraging for 2nd Northern to hear that ‘although the fact of a large unfriendly population’ (or, in the case of 4th Northern, ‘operating in hostile territory’) ‘has serious disadvantages, it also has counterbalancing advantages’, the northern commanders were not told just what these were. Mulcahy’s strategic memoranda often talked about ‘flanks’ as if there were big regular military forces on the ground. 1st Northern Division was told that it ‘menaced the western flank of Carsonia along its entire length’, and that an advance from Donegal to Omagh would ‘outflank the disaffected territories in the Foyle valley’. But since it had neither the capacity nor presumably the wish to invade and capture these territories, the relevance of such information remained obscure. 2nd Northern was told that a ‘proper military grip’ on its area would ‘result in breaking up Carsonia internally’. The centre of its area was a ‘continuous mountain mass’, and it should aim to ‘establish a solid base in the mountains and develop outwards from it’. Operations should focus on cutting communications, to bring ‘economic pressure on the hostile population, and prove to them that adherence to the Enemy is not a paying game’. If the strategic position of 4th Northern Division was ‘turned to the fullest possible account … Belfast can be brought to the brink of ruin’.158

  That division should form the ‘spear point of the offensive for which the driving power would be supplied from the South’. The republican leadership in Dublin naturally tried to push northern activity into a single national framework. From a northern perspective it might look exploitative; GHQ has been criticized for ‘using northern Volunteers for its own southern priorities’.159 But of course its fundamental ideas made this inevitable, and it would not have seen its priorities as anything but national. To treat the north differently would have been, in a sense, partitionist. But if there was indeed a ‘cynical undercurrent’ in Dublin operational policy, it perhaps appeared in the decision to send a
northern force to Cavan in May 1921. 3rd Northern Division (mainly the Belfast Brigade) was ordered to create and equip a column, to assemble on Lappinduff Mountain, meeting up with a Cavan column under the command of the GHQ organizer Seamus McGoran. The thirteen Belfast men travelled to Cavan by rail in small groups, while their arms were brought up by Cumann na mBan women. Unfortunately, Cavan did not prepare to receive them as ordered, and munitions promised by GHQ did not appear. After two days preparing its own base, the column was surprised by a big search operation. ‘Enemy forces numbered about 350, with ten lorries and one lorry of hostages picked up on way. These passed houses in different directions but strange to say none of the inhabitants came to inform us of such enemy movements …’ The column men were either ‘without instructions as to their fighting dispositions or ignored it [sic]’.160 After a two-hour fight in which one of the column was killed and one wounded, ten men surrendered.161 The Belfast men’s commander had ‘cleared off’ during the fight, according to his lieutenant, Seamus McKenna. Even though he could see ‘the hopelessness and utter futility’ of their position, McKenna would always regret the surrender: hearing the enemy cheer ‘as they jumped to their feet from where they had been concealed and danced with joy’ was ‘the most bitter moment of my life’.162

  This deadly fiasco has been seen as ‘little short of blatant exploitation’ of the Belfast men by Dublin, trying to stimulate activity in a quiet area. Mulcahy, though, would no doubt have defended the idea as a way of giving field experience to urban Volunteers. But the bottom line was that it revealed the ‘very appalling want of elementary training’ among all concerned. This situation endured. As late as mid-June 1921 the commander of 1st Northern Division reported that ‘organisation is so poor that it will be some time before operations can be attempted in the divisional area.’163

  THE REPUBLIC’S FIRST GENERAL ELECTION

  As the date for the Irish elections loomed, the British government could see that the military promise of ‘definite and decisive results’ by April 1921 had been over-optimistic. There were few illusions in London about the likely outcome of an election at this point: whatever the Irish people really thought, no candidate would stand against Sinn Féin in the existing circumstances. (If there were a few exceptions, they were not very encouraging: the Dr Ash who visited the Castle to ask for financial support led Sturgis to reflect that if he had any supporters, ‘their patriotism does not reach to their pockets.’) The Cabinet debated whether to postpone the elections, or to call a truce while they were held, in the hope that this would allow some moderates to stand. By 21 April it had decided against postponement, mainly because of the need to get the northern legislature up and running.

  The truce issue was more complicated. In a two-day discussion, Churchill, now Colonial Secretary, urged the ‘great public importance’ of getting ‘a respite in Ireland’. He worried that ‘we are getting an odious reputation’ and ‘poisoning our relations with the United States’. The improved military situation meant that a truce would not be seen as a sign of weakness, and if it was maintained it would produce a ‘tremendous advantage’ – the IRA would ‘have great difficulty in getting men to go back’. Balfour, the Lord President, was more hawkish. He accepted that ‘naturally we should wish to end this uphill, sordid, unchivalrous, loathsome conflict – we are sick of it,’ but argued that halting military action would ‘add no freedom of election’, while at the same time it would be seen as giving ‘your imprimatur as if the elections were “fair” ’. Both the military and police warned that a truce would hand a big advantage, particularly in intelligence, to the IRA. Ministers were clearly surprised that the C-in-C Macready – a home ruler with ‘a good civilian mind’ – should be against a truce. John Anderson also thought that the government’s growing military advantage should be kept up, and this led Austen Chamberlain to change his mind during the discussion. He still worried, though, that a ‘wartime’ election would be bound to reinforce Sinn Féin’s hard line on the Republic.164 In the end, the Cabinet suddenly realized that the election period had already begun: as nominations were taking place next day, it was already too late for a truce to affect it.

  The republican government had by now decided to use the electoral machinery of the Government of Ireland Act, despite the risk of appearing to recognize the British right to legislate for Ireland – and still more dangerously, perhaps, of recognizing partition. Though all republican discussions put the twenty-six-county ‘Southern Ireland’ entity conjured up by the new Act in mocking quotation marks, mockery might turn out not to be enough. As Collins had written to de Valera in January, ‘up to recently I was strongly of opinion that it was never intended to set up the Northern Parliament, but I have changed this view.’ Much as many republicans might have preferred to ignore the north, this was not an option. On 13 January de Valera told the party General Secretary, Paidin O’Keeffe, that preparations must be made for the northern election, but worried that the Sinn Féin electoral machinery had fallen apart – now it would have to ‘be reassembled under conditions of extreme difficulty’.165 Though SF’s Standing Committee had (uncharacteristically) voted £1,000 towards ‘organising Ulster’ in August 1920, the violent disturbances had scotched whatever efforts were made. Now the ministry decided to provide Sinn Féin with £4,000 to help reorganization in the north – to the annoyance of O’Keeffe, who fumed that the ‘80,000 Catholic families in the North should be easily able to raise £20,000 for the election’. If they would not, they should be left to their fate.

  De Valera weighed the issue of boycotting the Northern Parliament. It was not a simple one; if Sinn Féin did not win at least ten seats in it, it would look, he told Collins, as if ‘these counties were practically a homogeneous political entity, which justified partition’. And standing for both parliaments carried a financial cost. Even though the Senate created by the Act was studiously ignored, fielding 140 candidates would entail putting up £21,000 in deposits (£150 a head), and since none would take their seats the money would be lost. But failing to contest the north would drive nationalists to vote for the old party, and this, as he warned the Cabinet, ‘might later have a dangerous reactionary effect, by contagion, on the South’. And the election had massive propaganda potential – ‘the will of the people [could] once more be demonstrated.’

  The party manifesto, as drafted by de Valera, largely steered clear of substantive policy options. It headlined ‘the legitimacy of the Republic’, Ireland’s right to self-determination, the guarantee of minority protection, and devolved administration. It relied on a set of simple oppositions: ‘for Ireland against England; for freedom against slavery, for right and justice against force and wrong’. Voting Sinn Féin would be voting against the external enemy and also ‘the traitorous or pusillanimous within’. But as an organization Sinn Féin, long sidelined by the army’s priorities, was now a shadow of its former self. Austin Stack, who became the party’s director of elections, faced an uphill task to restore its infrastructure.

  It was not only in the north that the party machinery had atrophied since 1918. In Sligo, for instance, the Sinn Féin clubs were in no state to dispute the Volunteers’ primary role in selecting candidates, who all turned out to be senior officers, initially led by the Sligo brigadier Liam (Billy) Pilkington and including several battalion commandants. The leading Mayo Sinn Feiner Joseph MacBride’s attempt to get Michael McHugh adopted as a candidate was squashed by the west Mayo ASU’s choice of its former commander Tom Derrig. As soon as it was announced that this was ‘an IRA selection, there was no more about it’.166 The south Mayo flying-column commander, Tom Maguire, was selected as a parliamentary candidate while lying wounded on a hillside after an ambush; ‘I knew nothing about it at the time.’167 The five candidates put up in West Cork included Seán Moylan, Seán Hales and Daniel Corkery, commandant of the Macroom battalion. Though the Volunteers did not always get their way – when Seán O’Hegarty demanded that the Cork City TDs, J. J. Walsh
and Liam de Roiste, be replaced by Volunteer officers, he was overruled by de Valera – they increasingly tried to influence public appointments as well. Cork No. 1’s 8th Battalion, for instance, got the Macroom board of guardians to overturn the election of a woman doctor as dispensary medical officer (apparently because they felt uncomfortable undressing in front of a woman). Military service was becoming a qualification for public office: Paddy Cannon was nominated as accountant general to the Central Home in Mayo on the basis of his participation in four major IRA actions.168 All this demonstrated a shift in the internal balance of the republican movement towards the military side.

  As the police had predicted, no candidates were put up against Sinn Féin in any but four of the 128 seats in the ‘Southern Parliament’. (Hence it has been said, with perhaps a little exaggeration, that the second Dáil was ‘not elected at all’.)169 The four Dublin University seats were inevitably conceded to unionists. The Irish party had disappeared from the political picture, and Labour continued to stand aside – it decided to contest elections in the six counties but not the twenty-six. It explained its withdrawal from the southern elections as a repudiation of the Government of Ireland Act, which had ‘no valid sanction, being in contravention to the declared will of the Irish people’. Labour’s rejection of partition sat rather oddly with its decision to fight in the north, and its repudiation of the legitimacy of the Act sat oddly with Sinn Féin’s effective acceptance of its machinery. But Labour was in a fix – its constituency ‘had been drawn to the militancy either of Sinn Féin or of Unionism’, and a decision to stand would have been ‘disastrous’, even under PR.170 Instead it urged workers to ‘demonstrate their loyalty to Ireland and to freedom’ by supporting only candidates who stood for ‘the ownership and government of Ireland by the people of Ireland’. As in 1918, and in contrast to 1920, Labour adopted a role as auxiliary in a national liberation front.