MY RETURN TO TIPPERARY.
From Dun Laoghaire I was taken in a motor car by Eamonn Fleming across
the mountains into Wicklow. At one place Eamonn introduced me under an
assumed name, but the man of the house laughed heartily and assured him
that he knew me well as Dan Breen, for he was a patient in the same part
of the Mater Hospital when I was there some weeks before.
At this time I had to keep moving from place to place more rapidly, as
England was now pouring troops into the country by thousands. The jails
and penal settlements of Britain were being scoured for recruits for the
Black and Tans, who were given every assurance by their chiefs that they
need have no fears they would ever suffer for letting themselves loose on
a campaign of murder, loot and arson. And they took the hint.
I spent a few days at the lovely home of Bob Barton, T.D., in the Glen
of Wicklow. Later I went farther south again, and finally, a few days
before Christmas of 1920, I found myself back again in my own brigade
area in South Tipperary.
Here I met all the old comrades again—Seumas Robinson, Dinny Lacey, Sean
Hogan, Sean O’Meara and many others. I was feeling strong again, but by
doctor’s orders I was not allowed to walk any considerable distance.
The war was now at its height. Our columns were moving about in broad
daylight with their rifles on their shoulders, welcomed everywhere by the
people, whose offence in harbouring us was punishment by death. The enemy
now only ventured from their strongholds in the towns when they were in
hundreds, accompanied by dozens of armoured cars. The British machinery
of Government was completely wrecked. British courts were deserted while
litigants flocked to the Republican Courts to get justice, even though a
long term of imprisonment was the penalty for anyone found in one of our
courts. The orders of the English Government Departments were ignored by
all our public bodies. In a word, England’s only claim to rule Ireland at
this time was that she had about one hundred thousand armed criminals in
the country dressed as soldiers and police.
I spent a while in the neighbourhood of Solohead, and later went on
towards Cahir and Rosegreen. Most of the remaining period of the war I
passed in that part of the county, round Fethard, Cahir and Rosegreen
direction. Our columns were now busy fighting every day, and about this
time we put into practice the idea of having elaborate dugouts for
sleeping accommodation and for concealing arms. These underground resting
places had very narrow entrances, barely large enough to admit a man’s
body.
In April, 1921, we were in Cahir district when our Brigade Intelligence
officer reported that it had become usual for a convoy of British troops
to pass between Clogheen and Cahir every Wednesday morning. We decided
to ambush this convoy on 22nd April. Word was sent to the columns to
mobilise at the spot chosen for the attack. Con Moloney (who became
Deputy Chief of the I.R.A. Staff during the Civil War) and I arrived
in the neighbourhood the previous night and fell in with our columns.
At this time we travelled about in a motor car, so the reader will
appreciate the change that had taken place. In 1919 when the war had not
started I dare not stay in my own county, and now in 1921, when the war
was at its height, I could use a motor car with comparative safety.
At 5 a.m. on the morning of the 22nd all our men rose to prepare for the
ambush. It was about midway between Clogheen and Cahir. When all was
ready Moloney, Lacey, Hogan and myself visited the positions.
The enemy party was expected to pass about 10 o’clock in the morning,
and before that hour our men were on the alert with their guns in their
hands. It was approaching 11 o’clock when we began to fear that the
soldiers would not follow their usual custom; still we remained in
readiness until 1 o’clock, when Con Moloney and I decided to return to
Brigade Headquarters—“somewhere in South Tipperary.”
We had left the position only half an hour when the convoy came along.
Our men at once called upon the enemy to surrender, but they replied by
opening fire. A sharp encounter followed, in the course of which one
soldier was killed and two wounded. The remainder of the party then
surrendered to the I.R.A., who disarmed them, destroyed their convoy, and
then released their prisoners.
Our men lost no time in retiring from the position, for the firing had
probably been heard in Clogheen and Cahir, both occupied by strong
British garrisons who would at once rush reinforcements into the
districts. The I.R.A. were marching off with their booty, in column
formation, when a single motor car, rounding a corner at a place called
Curraghclooney, almost ran into the rear guard. The car was halted. Our
men asked the occupant his name and got the reply, “District Inspector
Potter, of the R.I.C., Cahir.”
He was at once taken prisoner, and his car seized. Our columns had not
proceeded much farther on their way when they suddenly found themselves
being ambushed by a strong party of enemy troops. A brisk engagement
developed, but although out-numbered three to one, our boys not only
fought their way through without losses on their side, but carried their
prisoner with them. Their success was due to the able leadership of Dinny
Lacey and Sean Hogan.
Now at this time an I.R.A. man named Traynor was under sentence of death
in Dublin. Already the British had hanged several of our soldiers who
had fallen into their hands, but our side firmly set its face against
reprisals. On many a day that I.R.A. men were hanged as criminals British
soldiers and police fell into our hands, but they were always released on
handing up their arms. If England would not play the game we would.
Traynor’s was a particularly sad case. He was the father of a helpless
young family. His execution was fixed for April 25th.
With Potter a prisoner in our hands we at once decided upon a course of
action which might save Traynor’s life. We sent a special courier at once
to Dublin, with a message to be delivered at the enemy headquarters to
the effect that we were prepared to exchange our prisoner for Traynor,
and failing this, that Potter would be executed by us.
The message was delivered in Dublin Castle two days before the time
fixed for the execution. We got no reply. I believe the Castle officials
never let the offer go beyond their own secret circle. After all, Potter
was in their eyes but one of the mere Irish whom they had used as a tool.
On the 26th we received word that Traynor had been executed the previous
day. We felt it would show weakness on our part if we did not carry out
our threat. We thought, too, it would have a good effect if we had to
make similar offers in the future. And besides Potter was, in our eyes,
not an English soldier but an Irish traitor.
We informed him he was to be executed. We gave him every facility for
communicating with his wife and children, and for writing any messages he
wished.
I never felt more sorry in my life at having to carry out such an
unpleasant task. We discussed the matter from every aspect and agreed we
had no alternative. Potter was a kind and cultured gentleman, and a brave
officer. Before he was executed he gave us a diary, a signet ring and a
gold watch with the request that we should return them to his wife. We
fulfilled his request.
As an official reprisal for his death the British military authorities
blew up ten farmhouses in South Tipperary. Amongst them was Mrs. Tobin’s,
of Tincurry, where Sean Treacy, Hogan and I had sheltered the night after
the Soloheadbeg affair.