OUR FACTORY BLOWN UP.
My most exciting experience was to see our munition factory blown into
the sky. I had a narrow escape, for I was within fifty yards of the door;
but my partner, Paddy Keogh, had an even more wonderful escape, for he
was actually on the premises when the explosion occurred.
We never knew what brought about the havoc. I had gone out to a well
to fetch a can of water, for necessity compelled us to do all our own
cooking and cleaning. As I was returning to the cottage, I saw the roof
leaving it, and simultaneously came the roar of the bursting grenades. In
a moment the house was in flames. It was a desperate situation. My one
thought was to save my comrade, if indeed he was not already beyond human
aid.
I dropped the can of water and rushed to the house. I dashed up the
stairs and found Paddy lying in the room either dead or unconscious. I
raised him in my arms and carried him with a heavy heart through the rain
of shrapnel down the stairs and out of the house, and away to the banks
of the Multeen, a little stream not far away from the house. My heart was
wrung with anguish as I laid him by the stream and rushed for my can to
throw some of the fresh clean water over his pale countenance. Before I
had time to try the effects of a second supply, Paddy was on his feet and
rushing for me—very much alive!
“You damn fool, do you want to drown me?” he shouted. And then he added a
lot more that I prefer not to repeat.
The destruction of our house was a heavy blow, and for a while we mourned
the loss of our little factory and its contents.
My little capital was gone now, and the O’Dwyers had to be compensated
for the loss of their home. I thought out my plans, and gathered together
all the tradesmen in our little army, and put them to work. In a few days
the cottage was repaired, and looked none the worse.
By the way, the Black and Tans, at a later stage wreaked vengeance on it
more effectively than the explosion of the grenades.
O’Dwyer’s house was now out of bounds for my work, but in a very
short time I got another house from a good typical Tipperary man,
Jer. O’Connell. Here I was more successful, because I took greater
precautions with my work. I guarded against another explosion; but other
circumstances compelled us to evacuate it within a few months.
During our stay in this house our condition was far from happy. Of
bodily comforts we had none. We had neither bed nor bed coverings, and
worse still, we had no money wherewith to buy them. We got a loan of a
couple of blankets from neighbours, and we commandeered some straw from
the nearest farmer. First we spread out the straw on the ground and
covered it over with one blanket. We then spread over us a lot of old
newspapers (which we carefully collected every day), and over these we
placed our second blanket. The paper was excellent for keeping us warm,
and by not turning out of one position we usually got about three hours’
sleep. As soon as we moved, the paper tore and the cold quickly worked
its way through. Still greater discomfort than our bed was caused by the
presence of mice! The little beggars were very numerous and very daring.
Many a night we were wakened by their nibbling at our hair. Whenever I
protested, in action as well as in words, Sean Treacy would plead—“Ah,
the poor little creatures! They might as well be happy when we can’t.
Don’t be vexed with them, Dan, even if they take a little of your black
hair.” I argued that it was enough to have the peelers after us, and that
if the mice had any decency they ought to leave us alone.
For some time things went on smoothly, and our work progressed
pleasantly. Then my partner, Keogh, left me, and I was joined by Sean
Hogan—whose life for the next five years was to be very closely linked up
with mine.
The two Seans and myself seemed to have but one mind—I have never had any
difference with Hogan up to the present day, and never had an angry word
with my dear old comrade—Sean Treacy—up to the day of his death.
It was during our sojourn in O’Connell’s house that we were joined by
Seumas Robinson, later elected Deputy for East Tipperary and Waterford.
Robinson, who had lived a good part of his life in Glasgow, at once
became a fast friend. The four of us—Treacy, Hogan, Robinson and I—seemed
perfectly balanced in temperament, age, outlook and hopes. Many an
ambitious plan we made, and many a dream we dreamed of the Free Ireland
for which alone we now lived and worked.
After a few months Jer. O’Connell gave us notice to quit. We had no
tenant’s rights, no protecting Act of Parliament, and no alternative but
to depart. Being “on the run” we dare not go looking for lodgings in the
ordinary way, even if we had money to pay. The peelers knew every hole
and corner in their district, and were ever on the prowl for Irishmen
known to have little love for English rule.
But good luck came to our rescue.
Some cousins of Sean Hogan’s had a little dairy or outhouse, which they
generally placed at our disposal. Here we enjoyed the luxury of bed,
clothing and other little comforts, but our meals were few and far
between. I myself lived for two weeks in the “Dairy” on rice boiled in
water, without either sugar or milk. This abstemious life was not new to
me. For months while I was organising I used to fast from breakfast to
breakfast, and many a night I walked twenty miles for a bed, or even a
shake-down.
The “Dairy” did not escape the attention of the enemy, who subsequently
gave it the name of “The Tin House.”
We were terribly handicapped for want of money; not indeed for personal
comforts, which seldom troubled us, but to get round.
On one occasion Sean Treacy and I cycled to Dublin to get some arms.
We had no money for train fares, and it was essential that we should
reach Dublin by 6 o’clock on a particular Monday evening. There was a
Brigade Council meeting fixed for Sunday night—at which we were bound to
attend. That meant that we could not leave Tipperary till about 8 o’clock
on Monday morning. We covered the 110 miles, and we reached Dublin in
good time. Of course we were very hungry, but once we reached the house
of our good friend Phil Shanahan—himself a Tipperary man, and later a
Republican Deputy for Dublin—all our troubles disappeared. Then and
after we never wanted for anything while Phil was about.
We had to remain in Dublin until the following Saturday before we could
conclude our business. Here another difficulty arose. We were due back
in Tipperary at an officers’ meeting the same Saturday at 6 p.m. We left
Phil Shanahan’s house at 8.30 in the morning. We carried six revolvers,
five hundred rounds of .303 (rifle) ammunition, and half a dozen
grenades, and we were the only two who were punctual at the meeting.