The Squad (27 page)

Dalton assumed that Igoe was heading for Harcourt Street railway station, and he told those at headquarters that he would go with Newell to Stephen’s Green and wait there for the Squad. ‘After a few minutes Dalton came back and told me that he and I would walk on one footpath, and Jim Hughes and Dan McDonnell would walk on the opposite side.’ None of them was armed. They were just trying to locate Igoe for the Squad, which was to join them. It just so happened that Tom Keogh, Jimmy Slattery and Vinny Byrne arrived at intelligence headquarters moments later. ‘We met Liam Tobin, who asked us had we our guns with us,’ according to Byrne.

‘No,’ they replied.

‘For God’s sake, get them quick. Igoe is on his way to Harcourt Street railway station.’

‘Go and get the guns and we will meet you in Stephen’s Green,’ Keogh said to Byrne.

‘I made a dash down the stairs and away over to the dump at Moreland’s,’ Byrne explained. ‘I collected the guns – Jimmy’s long Webley, Tom’s Peter and short Webley, and my own Peter. Tom Keogh always carried a Webley, in case his Peter would jam. I buckled on my belt beneath my light dustcoat, and slung the guns, which were all in holsters. Leaving the dump, I proceeded to Liffey Street and crossed the Metal Bridge.’ He was heading for St Stephen’s Green to meet the rest of the Squad and Newell, but Dalton and Newell had already run into trouble.

‘Newell and I proceeded to Grafton Street by the shortest route, and when we had almost reached Weir’s jewellery stores in Grafton Street, I noticed that we had been passed by some men who I instinctively recognised as Igoe’s party, although Newell had not had time to confirm this. When they had passed us out, they wheeled on us.’

‘I felt a hand gripping the collar of my coat,’ Newell recalled. ‘I turned to see who was holding me. It was Igoe .’

‘Come on Newell,’ he said. ‘I want you.’

‘My name is not Newell.’

‘I know you anyway,’ Igoe said and told his colleagues to arrest Dalton.

‘Pedestrians passed by, unaware that anything unusual was happening,’ Dalton explained. They were then told to walk in the direction of Suffolk Street, down Trinity until they came to No. 38 Dame Street, which was an insurance office. They were told to stand against the wall. Newell and Dalton were kept some distance apart and surrounded by Igoe’s men. Igoe questioned both of them but they could not hear each other’s answers.

Dalton saw Vincent Byrne cutting across Dame Street on his way to St Stephen’s Green to the rendezvous. ‘As I was crossing Dame Street I noticed a group of men standing along the wall and, speaking to two of them, was Charlie Dalton,’ Bryne recalled. ‘I did not know any of the other men, and I thought to myself that the group was probably the southside ASU. I carried on up Dame Street and, as I was passing Charlie, I gave just a slight nod of my head towards him. He did not recognise me. I thought it was strange.’

‘When I arrived at Stephen’s Green, I met the remainder of the Squad and intelligence,’ Byrne continued. ‘I told Tom Keogh that I had seen Charlie in Dame Street with a gang of fellows, but that I did not know any of them. As far as I can remember, we proceeded to Harcourt Street station, but there was no sign of Igoe or his gang, or anybody looking like his party.’

Meanwhile Dalton and Newell were still being interrogated. ‘In reply to the questions put to me, I gave my correct name and address,’ Dalton said. ‘I stated that I was a believer in home rule and that my father was a J.P. (Justice of the Peace) and did not agree with the Sinn Féin policy.’

‘Newell endeavoured to bluff also, and we were asked how we came to know one another. I stated that he was a stranger I had met on the street who had got into conversation with me and that I was directing him somewhere or other. I failed to realise at the time that Igoe was aware of Newell’s position in the Galway Volunteers and knew him quite well. Under the interrogation Newell lost his temper and abandoned pretence.

‘I know you, Igoe, and you know me.’ This outburst ended any further questioning and Dalton was let go.

‘I was told to walk on and not look back,’ he recalled. ‘I walked on in the direction of Trinity Street, knowing from the footsteps behind me that I was under cover by some of Igoe’s men. I moved fairly slowly at first, not being physically able to go any faster. I moved through Trinity Street, Suffolk Street and into Wicklow Street, gaining a few yards on each bend and when I turned the corner of Wicklow Street I made a dash of about thirty or forty yards and entered a building where my father had his commercial offices. I went up to the two flights of stairs into his office and was practically in a state of collapse on reaching it. My father’s typist was in the office, but I did not speak to her as I expected to hear the sound of steps on the stairs any second. After about five minutes, as nothing happened, I asked her to put on her hat and coat and accompany me, which she did. We walked out from the office and cut up Clarendon Street as far as St Stephen’s Green, where I parted with my pilot and located the squad.

‘Having told Tom Keogh what happened, I got hold of a gun and we all returned to Dame Street in the hope of overtaking some of Igoe’s party. We searched several streets in the area without coming across them. We assumed that they must have entered the castle, as they were nowhere to be seen.’

Newell had been marched off with two of Igoe’s men in front of him, one on either side and two behind him. He was taken to what he later learned was Greek Street, where they stopped. ‘Igoe again questioned me as to how I came to be in Dublin.’ But Newell refused to answer. ‘Four of Igoe’s gang were beside me and two on the opposite corner.’

‘Run into the street,’ Igoe told Newell, pointing to Greek Street.

‘If you want to shoot me,’ Newell replied, ‘shoot me where I am standing.’

‘He gave me a hell of a punch which sent me several yards into the street and immediately opened fire on me,’ Newell added. ‘I fell and I was not able to get up as I had received four bullet wounds, one in the calf of the right leg, two in the right hip and one flesh wound in the stomach. I then saw Igoe blow a whistle. Within a minute a police van arrived. I was put roughly into it, and taken to the Bridewell. I was questioned as to where I lived in Dublin. I refused to tell them. I was beaten on the head with the butt end of a revolver; four of my teeth were knocked out and three or four others broken. I was left lying on the floor for some hours and was then taken in an ambulance to King George V hospital.’

While the Dublin brigade was targeting the auxiliaries and British troops in general, Collins and the Squad were still targeting individuals, such as Willie Doran, the night porter at the Wicklow hotel. Collins had information from Paddy O’Shea within the hotel that Doran was giving information about guests of the hotel to the British. People like Collins, Tobin, Cullen, Gearóid O’Sullivan and Diarmuid O’Hegarty often used the hotel. Despite a number of warnings Doran persisted, and the Squad was sent to kill him.

‘Tobin turned to me one day and asked me would I carry out the execution,’ Joe Dolan recalled. ‘I said I would if I got Dan McDonnell to go along with me, so the two of us were detailed to carry out the job.’ McDonnell already knew Doran. The two of them walked to the door of the hotel on 29 January 1921. Just as they entered the lobby Doran came out of one of the rooms.

‘That’s Doran,’ said McDonnell.

‘I produced my revolver and shot him through the head and the heart,’ Dolan added. ‘McDonnell shot him through the stomach. We had a covering party and we had no difficulty in getting away.’

Doran, aged forty-five, was married with three young children. His wife knew that Doran had helped Collins in the past and she assumed that her husband had been murdered by the crown forces, so she appealed to Sinn Féin for money for her children. Collins ordered that she should be given the money and not be told what had actually happened.

‘The poor little devils need the money,’ he said.

There was a curious incident on 1 February when Vincent Fouvargue from Ranelagh was being moved from Kilmainham Jail to Dublin Castle for questioning. ‘While passing along the South Circular Road fire was opened on the lorry’, read an official statement issued from Dublin Castle. ‘The lorry was stopped and all the escort alighted and pursued the attacking person or persons. In the excitement the prisoner escaped, and has not since been recaptured.’

McNamara and Neligan thought the story was ‘too good to be true’ when the British military command notified the DMP about the escape. ‘We thought it highly suspicious that this man should have escaped in broad daylight from an escort consisting of British intelligence officers who fired no shots,’ said Neligan. ‘We conveyed our suspicions to Collins.’

‘Collins afterwards told us that he [Fouvargue] had recently joined the Volunteers and on being arrested betrayed his comrades and volunteered to work for the English. He was shot in England afterwards by the IRA over there.’ Joe Shanahan, who acted as the driver, told Neligan that Reggie Dunne killed Fouvargue at a lonely part of Ashford Golf Course in Middlesex, outside London. Fouvargue’s body was found on 3 April 1921 with a note: ‘Let spies and traitors beware. IRA.’

Also early in the year Collins learned that Corporal John Ryan of the British military police was responsible for the arrest of Dick McKee and Peadar Clancy in the early hours of Bloody Sunday. The Squad was told to kill him.

Paddy Kennedy was the intelligence officer selected to identify him. ‘Before the two men were detailed to carry out the execution, I asked to be allowed to take part in it as I felt very keenly about the murder of Dick McKee,’ Bill Stapleton explained. ‘I fought in 1916 and served subsequently with him in the second battalion. My request was granted and the second man instructed to accompany me was Eddie Byrne.’

Kennedy located Ryan at about 10.30 a.m. on 5 February in Hynes’ public house at the corner of Old Glouchester Place and Corporation Street. He went into the bar along with Stapleton and Byrne, while Jimmy Conroy remained on guard. ‘I saw Ryan standing facing the counter reading a newspaper and he was identified by the Intelligence Officer [Kennedy],’ related Stapleton. ‘Before doing the job we held him up and searched him but he had no guns or papers on him.’

‘You are Ryan?’ they asked.

‘Yes, and what about it?’

‘With that we shot him. I have an idea that the chap behind the counter was one of our intelligence officers’ contacts as he made himself very scarce as we entered. We left the place then and proceeded towards the Gloucester Diamond and as usual the remainder of the Squad were following up to cover our retreat. We went back to the Squad dump, which was in a stable off North Great Charles St near Mountjoy Square and that concluded the operation as far as we were concerned.’

While watching for the Igoe gang Ned Kelliher noted that four RIC men were in the habit of travelling to Dublin Castle in an open Ford touring car, and they would then walk down to a restaurant in Ormond Quay for dinner. He reported this and was told to continue to observe the men.

‘I was instructed to proceed to the Ormond hotel to find out if it would be a good place to shoot whatever policemen would be found there,’ Jim Slattery recalled. ‘Examining the hotel I thought it would not be a good place for the operations, as some innocent people might be hurt, and besides that there might be many enemy agents in civilian attire in the hotel itself. Viewing the position between the Ormond hotel and the castle, I thought the best spot would be Parliament Street, at the junction of Essex Street and Parliament Street.’

Paddy Kelly, one of the headquarter’s drivers, brought Ben Byrne, Jimmy Conroy and Mick O’Reilly to Essex Street around dinnertime on 23 February 1921. They took up positions near the Dolphin hotel, from where they could see the intelligence officer, Ned Kelliher, who had taken up a position on the opposite side of Parliament Street, near to Honan’s tobacconist shop, from where he was to signal the approach of the three RIC men – Constables Martin J. Greer of Cootehall, County Roscommon; Edward McDonagh from Tuam, County Galway; and Mick Hoey of Portarlington, who was a brother of Daniel Hoey, the DMP detective killed in September 1919.

‘I took up a position facing the Squad members,’ Kelliher explained. ‘The signal I had arranged to give was to raise my bowler hat when the RIC men were passing the Squad members. As they were passing, I gave the sign.’

The Squad had already been given descriptions of the three men, so they were ready when the three approached together heading in the direction of Ormond Quay when Kelliher raised his bowler. ‘Without any further ado,’ Byrne said, ‘Conroy, myself and O’Reilly descended on the three victims and, in less time than it takes to relate, two of them were lying on the ground dead.’

Hoey and Greer were killed almost instantly. Although McDonagh also went down, he got up and started running towards the river amid a hail of bullets. He then turned back and ran into Honan’s shop as bullets shattered the glass in the door. He tried to vault the counter. The shop owner helped him into a back room and tried to comfort him. McDonagh was shot in the chest and leg. He was taken to King George V hospital, where he died that night.

Despite assertions to the contrary, the Squad never did get Igoe or any of his gang. The three men killed in Parliament Street were not connected with him. ‘It was later learned that their names were Constables Greer, McDonagh and Hoey,’ Kelliher noted. ‘Nobody had even bothered to find out their names before targeting them in error.’

‘Those poor wretches were mere dispatch riders and were mistaken for members of the Igoe Gang,’ Neligan also admitted. After the shooting, however, the police were more circumspect about leaving Dublin Castle for lunch.

Many prominent IRA people were caught up and held in the round ups, but the British failed to appreciate the significance of those they were holding, because they had not identified them. Paddy O’Daly was taken under an assumed name and spent time in Arbour Hill and Kilmainham jails, before being transferred to Ballykinlar internment camp near Newcastle, County Down, without the British ever knowing who they were actually holding. Rory O’Connor was taken and brought to Dublin Castle, where Neligan told the auxiliaries that he was only a crank.