Tom Barry (2 page)

In 1982, I wrote a book called
The Tom Barry Story
, commissioned by Mercier Press. Because, at the time I had to confine the book to a certain number of words, I didn't use a substantial amount of my accumulated material. Therefore, when a Kilmichael ambush controversy arose in 1998, together with the question by Peter Hart, in
The IRA & Its Enemies: Violence and Community in Cork 1916–1923
, regarding sectarianism in West Cork IRA during the 1920–22 period, I saw the need for a fuller biography of one of the great architects of modern guerrilla warfare in Ireland's fight for freedom. Because I had interviewed Tom Barry extensively and also the men who fought with him I believed that in the interest of historical accuracy certain issues required further investigation.

After
The Tom Barry Story
was published, David Willis approached me, saying he had acquired Tom Barry's letters and documents and asked if I was interested in consulting them. Having taken a cursory look I initially dismissed the idea of using them for research, as they were in a dreadful state. Some were torn, water marked, in black plastic bags, having been salvaged by a builder while demolishing and renovating Tom Barry's flat after his death. But, in 1998 I felt if I was to undertake writing a full biography of Tom Barry I would have to tackle this substantial body of papers. This existing collection has been extremely important in clarifying controversial aspects of his life. Furthermore, in my research I obtained a number of personal recordings of Tom Barry and a home video, together with a vast amount of material, much of it unedited and not transmitted, in the
RTÉ Sound Archives and TV Archives – all recorded in my acknowledgments. Numerous records have survived in personal documents and in the various archives in Ireland and England, thus throwing new light on a man of action, who spent a lifetime, in his unique way, trying to unite Ireland under one flag.

Moreover, I had interviews with some of the men who fought with Tom Barry, in his flying column in the War of Independence,
the Civil War, the IRA conflicts in the 1920s, 1930s, 1940s, 1950s
and right up to his death. I had accumulated a sizeable number of tape recordings and notes from men and women who were willing, honest and open with their accounts of ambushes and events.

In a certain way I have worked on this all my life. Growing up near the town of Bandon in West Cork I was acutely aware that a group of Volunteers known as the Third West Cork Brigade had played a major part in the fight for the freedom of Ireland. Before I ever heard of De Valera or Michael Collins, Tom Barry, with his flying column, was a household name.

We knew the words of ‘The Boys of Kilmichael', ‘The Upton Am
bush' and ‘The Men of Barry's Column' because they were taught by nationally-minded teachers in schools and sung by local men and women doing their daily work or meeting at threshing or station parties. For me the songs had a special significance because my uncle, Pat O'Donovan was one of ‘the boys of Kilmichael' and my mother's family was deeply involved in the Republican movement. But I was also influenced by the fact that the Hales family, who experienced so much trauma and who were the original organisers of the Volunteers in West Cork, were neighbours. Also, during those formative years, I became acquainted with many men, each of whom were known in the locality as ‘one of the Old IRA'. My father took a great interest in history as told by these people. His family hadn't been involved in
the Volunteer movement, but he was a descendant of an evicted family.
On some Sunday afternoons he would visit one of these old IRA men, and invariably, while quite young, I would travel with him, so I got to know these men and women who were involved in Ireland's fight for freedom. I listened to their personal stories and I saw tears in many men's eyes. All this was an invaluable insight for later. Furthermore, my mother's ‘inside' knowledge aided the discussions.

Later as I thought about writing a book on the Third West Cork Brigade, I interviewed a number of men and women during the 1970s and early 1980s. I spoke extensively to the man who trained and led the flying column – Commandant General Tom Barry. We discussed ambushes and incidents, and though I had not decided to write a biography of him at the time, he jokingly mentioned this possibility at our last meeting. Because there is overlapping in much of the nine interviews and in our many meetings and conversations, I have not dated each throughout this work, but have done so with other contributors.

I have covered the Kilmichael ambush in depth, as I knew it was vital for history that the record of what exactly occurred should be investigated in so far as this was possible. It was imperative, I felt, to explore the ambush details and subsequent records.

The necessity of being vigilant with interviewees struck me very
forcibly early on. Having familiarised myself with locations, with people's
background, I soon became alert to either unintentional or perhaps deliberate suggestions of an ‘untrue' viewpoint. While I regard oral evidence as an important part of history, as many participants would not take the trouble to consign their experience to paper, I am also aware of the importance of self-censorship, accuracy and a search for
the truth. Tom Barry drew my attention to this early on when he spoke
to me of the method used by Bureau of Military History members. Their brief was to record without question, every word that contributors proffered. He suggested burning that segment of the collection. This is dealt with within this book.

Relatives of those who played important parts in many of the am
bushes, raids or events mentioned and whose names are not quoted, will, I hope, understand that this work is about one man, Tom Barry, and the part he played in the important activities upon which his life touched. However, I would like to say that his greatness and success was helped by the men and women who worked and fought bravely with him.

I knew from my research that Tom Barry was the ‘mighty' man, the legendary commander – ruthless, daring, cold-blooded, unselfish, benign, irritable, sometimes uncompromising or compromising, open-minded or single-minded, depending on the circumstances. Described by an ex-detective sergeant as ‘the most principled man' he ever met, Barry, with his out-spoken opinions, made him constantly a controversial figure. Professor Gearóid Ó Tuathaigh in an RTÉ recording in 1980, described Barry and his flying column's ‘contribution in the establishment of the twenty-six county state' as an integral part of a much more general attempt ‘to subvert what was the constituted authority in the land' in order to ‘implement the decisions' of the suppressed Dáil. Barry's brief term as chief-of-staff of the IRA, his constant battle with the State and the Church added colour to his activities. Having discovered this colourful character
whom I had got to know, and whose faults and virtues presented them
selves to me, I was aware that in order to be true to myself, to readers and to him, I would have to present the ‘full' man.

After
The Tom Barry Story
was published, Cardinal Tomás Ó Fiaich,
Primate of all Ireland, rang me. He believed that more than any other
freedom fighter, Tom Barry deserved credit for what he had done for the Irish people. The cardinal had met Barry and said that Barry's
first words were of freedom – ‘freedom for the Irish people to be them
selves and to be masters of their own country'.

In a broadcast tribute to him after his death, Donncha Ó Dulaing,
who had interviewed him when he was in his early eighties, said he found him with ‘his back as straight as his point of view'. In that transmission Denis Conroy described him as ‘one of the greatest men this country every produced'. He was the man, Dave Neligan records, that Mick Collins ‘thought the world of' and believed ‘he truly helped' bring the British government ‘to its knees'. He was a Republican activist who held no bitterness towards comrades who took the opposing side in the Civil War, and he tried, where possible, to heal ‘wounds' left because of the conflict.

Being aware that Tom Barry's deeds, his strength of character and his controversies will be remembered not alone in the county of Cork which he loved, but throughout Ireland and amongst Irish people everywhere, it is my hope therefore, that in presenting the ‘rounded' man with all his faults he will be seen as a human being, who was capable of distinguishing the ideal from the real situation, and emerging as a true patriot.

Meda Ryan

When Tom Barry was appointed commander of the Third West Cork Brigade Flying Column he took a vow to dedicate himself to working to see Ireland as an independent nation. As the years progressed, he was mindful of a partitioned Ireland, and could quote by heart the 1916 Proclamation, which contained the declaration, ‘of the people of Ireland to the ownership of Ireland'. He described the document as ‘a brief history in itself' that noted that ‘Ireland had suffered at the hands of the English for those seven centuries' and had resorted to arms ‘six times' in the previous ‘three hundred years'.

When he returned to Ireland, having fought in the Great War, he began to study Irish history and the attempts made by previous generations who tried to free Ireland from British domination. He found a dichotomy between his role fighting as a British soldier for the freedom of ‘small nations' while his own country continued to be suppressed by British rule.
[1]

There is no doubt that Tom Barry deserves a prominent place in Irish history; that his role as a freedom fighter has not been given a merited place in history is certain; that he is among the most important historical figures in obtaining independence for the twenty-six county Irish state is irrefutable.

Tom Barry spent his formative years in West Cork. This part of the country had a tradition of learning – from the hedge schools to the state schools; a tradition of sport, athletics and Gaelic games; a tradition of emigration dating back to the famine; a tradition of yearning for independence, especially since the formation of the Fenians. There had been tithes, rack rents, insecurity of tenure and evictions. Several families in the area were either connected to, or knew, evicted families. This, coupled with the Fenian movement, influenced many West Cork citizens, and permeated the region at a time when morale was low after famine had decimated the area, especially Skibbereen and its hinterland. Members of several West Cork families were involved in the Fenian movement, including the Hales, the Deasys, the many branches of the O'Donovans, the O'Briens, the O'Mahonys, etc. Prominent members included the executed William Philip Allen of Bandon – one of the Manchester martyrs – involved in the rescue of Timothy Kelly and of Timothy Deasy, Clonakilty. These men, like Clonakilty's Eugene Davis and Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa (Rosscarbery), were steeped in the Fenian movement.

The Irish Volunteers were formed in southern Ireland in November 1913, in response to the formation of the Ulster Volunteers. In West Cork, Volunteers were engaged in drilling, parading and general discipline from 1915 onwards.

Before the 1916 Rising a group of West Cork Volunteers set out on foot for Tralee Bay to obtain arms and ammunition from the
Aud
. Outside Millstreet, they received word of the ill-fated cargo, and had to return. Some of these men were arrested and jailed for many months.

The participation of West Cork men in the Dublin Easter Rising, their subsequent term in internment camps, plus the execution of the Rising leaders had a profound effect on all Irish people, not least on Tom Barry who was far from his native shores at the time.

By 1917, when all political prisoners were released and conscription for the Great War was looming, Volunteers in West Cork were aware that parading, drilling and public meetings were in preparation for further military action, if the need arose.

In West Cork poverty was widespread. The livelihood of a large segment of the population was dependent on manual labour. Small farm-holders sometimes used a barter type system, where eggs, fowl, grain, potatoes and vegetables were given to shops in return for groceries. This poverty ran side by side with the comfortable living style of the ascendancy class. Many people believed that if Ireland had their own elected government, justice, together with the necessities of life would be more evenly distributed.

Liam Deasy records that news of the success in 1917 of Sinn Féin candidates, Joe McGuinness, Count Plunkett, Eamon de Valera and W. T. Cosgrave, ‘caused great excitement' in West Cork. This was followed by De Valera's election as president of both Sinn Féin and of the Volunteers. Soon afterwards De Valera was welcomed to Bandon ‘by massive crowds, marching men, cyclist groups, and most striking of all, many horsemen from rural areas paraded for the event'. This ‘helped to create a strong sense of confidence in the Nationalist movement.' In 1918 the threat of conscription sent large numbers flocking to the Volunteers. There were arrests in West Cork, as elsewhere, of men like Neilus Connolly, Skibbereen who spent some time in Strangeways jail before escaping with five others, blooded from the barbed wire. The Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC) was continually harassing the Volunteers and their difficulties were added to when the
Skibbereen Eagle
used its column to denigrate the organisation.
[2]

Home Rule, which looked imminent before the Great War, was suspended for its duration, but was not honoured when the war ended. The overwhelming success of Sinn Féin in the 1918 election meant that the Irish people placed their trust in their own representatives. Nationalist Ireland, though disillusioned, found common hope as Sinn Féin was united with the Volunteers against the Military Service Act. The meeting of the First Dáil, on 21 January 1919, laid the constitutional basis of the new Irish state, 34 of the elected representatives were ‘absent' in jail.
[3]
The Dáil had been declared an illegal assembly; prohibition by the British parliament necessitated its members holding meetings in secret. As the RIC scoured the country and arrested Volunteers and Sinn Féin members, it was obvious that the British government wanted these new-found ‘troublemakers' in custody.

Instead of trying to curb the disquiet by communication, the British administration, in banning Dáil Éireann, only fuelled the Volunteers' effort to obtain arms and ammunition by raids and attacks on RIC barracks and other military premises. British acquiescence in incidents like the RIC's killing of Cork's lord mayor, Tomás MacCurtain in March 1920 and the introduction of the Auxiliaries and the Black and Tans by mid-1920 gave priority to militarism rather than political diplomacy and persuasion. The oath of allegiance to the Dáil of the Irish Republic by Volunteers established them as an army for that parliament.

According to Lionel Curtis, imperial activist, writer and drafter of policies for Lloyd George, ‘Sir Edward Carson threatened to revive the Ulster Volunteers' in response to Sir Horace Plunkett's (Irish Dominion League) manifesto demand for Irish Home Rule. Lloyd George denied the application of President Wilson's principles of a Paris Peace hearing for Ireland in July 1920. And on 23 July
The Times
‘published its plan for settlement of the Irish question on the lines of partition, and thereafter definitely transferred its support from the cause of Unionism to that of Home Rule'.
[4]

The partition-framing mould had been publicly set in motion by mid-1920. As Professor Joe Lee noted, if Sinn Féin ‘were out-witted on the north, it was not in December 1921, but already in December 1920 when they proved powerless to prevent the imposition of the Government of Ireland Act'.
[5]

Lionel Curtis found that by 1 January 1920 it was difficult for the police to obtain recruits in Ireland so ‘a recruiting office was opened in London. Men who had served in the war as NCOs were selected, and as they were sent to Ireland faster than police uniforms could be made for them' relationships did not ‘improve'.
[6]
‘Even Loyalists were resorting to Republican Courts'. Curtis found Sinn Féin ‘a movement' which, ‘throughout seems free from a sordid taint …' therefore ‘the criminal courts of Sinn Féin were a direct challenge. To ignore it would have meant the most practical admission that Sinn Féin was ruling the country. Government decided to accept the challenge. Col Byrne, the chief inspector of police, was displaced and Sir Hamar Greenwood became Irish secretary and appointed General Tudor as police adviser to himself', and General Macready was appointed commander-in-chief. The decision to recruit Auxiliaries and the Black and Tans meant that as 1920 progressed a state of military action became pervasive in Ireland.
[7]

Tom Barry, in a wide-ranging talk to a select group in Cork in the early 1970s, prefaced his talk by outlining a brief history of Ireland's fight against British domination: ‘when we went into this revolution, we had to feel that we were doing it for a purpose, we had been slaves for 700 years. 'Twas time that that was ended!' He spoke of the election and formation of ‘Dáil Éireann as a government set up by the people of the country', at the same time, he said, ‘there was also the British government – the
de facto
government who had the power and arms … They proclaimed the Irish government that was set up. They proclaimed anything that was Nationalistic – the GAA, Cumann na mBan, the IRA and Sinn Féin. The logical conclusion was that men and women were arrested – they resisted arrest and that resistance led to shooting. Perhaps it wasn't started in the best possible way, but it had to work out that way, because it was the British who set the pace. It would have been better if the Volunteers were more ready. They could have taken barracks – but it didn't work out like that because the British were setting the pace all the time and so this led to guerrilla warfare.'
[8]

Cork county was divided into three brigades and a state of war existed by the time the flying columns were formed in late 1920 and early 1921. In September 1920, with the formation of the Third West Cork Brigade Flying Column, the appointment of Tom Barry as training officer and then as commander, guerrilla fighting began to reach a more intense level.

The Irish people who committed themselves to fight for their country were idealists but it was idealism rooted in the reality of the ultimate goal of independence. It took steel-like determination, willpower and self-sacrifice to continue day after day and night after night, often wet, cold and hungry, against all the odds. But as Jack Hennessy, a flying column veteran, put it: ‘All we wanted was to get rid of the enemy in our midst – to get our freedom.' (Jack Hennessy was caught, severely beaten by the RIC on 10 July 1920, and his house was burned.) To gain this freedom the fighting men needed unselfish support. ‘People who weren't alive then will never understand the spirit of the people,' Tom Barry said.
[9]
Life was harrowing for these fighters and also for the civilian population. ‘It is difficult for those who have never known decision-making in war to think themselves into the minds of those operating in wartime – any wartime, but especially into the minds of those fighting against overwhelming odds, for whom any miscalculation could mean disaster for oneself, for one's comrades, and one's cause,' J. J. Lee wrote.
[10]

Tom Barry always described the people of West Cork as ‘a grand people'. The people knew they had a reason to fight. ‘There were families who were very poor. When we went into some of these houses, it was painful to see these people, without shoes, with scanty clothing in the freezing cold, with little to eat.'
[11]
But these people were unselfish, according to flying column participant, Tim O'Donoghue: they backed ‘the column and the fighting men to the last man; the mixed civilian population who were good could not have been much better. They were the best this country or any other country ever produced; old and young of them gave their all to the army of the Republic. Night and day saw them standing to and behind the men of the column. Enough credit can never be given to the old folk who sat up at night to give their beds and accommodation to “the lads”, who scouted and acted as sentries often all night as the column rested. The true history of their unselfish and marvellous support could never be told in a short article. Ireland has reason to remember them, and leaders who today (December 1937) say they move towards the National goal as fast as the people want them, libel those of our race who proved in 1920–1921 and later, that they will always move as fast as honest leadership will take them'.
[12]

Arguments persist as to whether military intervention was necessary to obtain Irish Independence because of the possibility that the British administration would eventually grant Home Rule. Tom Barry had no doubt but that persuasion and coaxing would never have worked. The British ‘had no intention of conceding without a fight. They proved that!' As Ronan Fanning noted, ‘Lloyd George's Tory-dominated government would not have moved from the 1914-style niggardliness of the Government of Ireland Act of 1920 … if they had not been impelled to do so …'
[13]

Notes