Tom Barry (25 page)

It was the longest and toughest fight fought in West Cork. The men of the flying column excelled. They took great risks, put their own lives in danger many times during the long night hours. The IRA suffered no casualties and now had a free area that was never again occupied by the enemy.
[13]

Again the balladeer put the event to words and music:

When Barry saw the Tans efface,

The spirit of his fighting race,

Right through his soul did madly chase

His blood went boiling over.

He marched his men to Rossa's town

And burned that famous fortress down,

And never again will Britain's crown

Her foothold there recover.

Day dawned. After the night's echoes of resounding weapons, Rosscarbery seemed sedated. Barry ordered his men to fall into sections, thanked them and faced them for the town square. They paraded through the square and being in such high spirits began to sing some rebel songs, the harmony of their voices echoing notes of triumph through the frosty morning air. Just in case informers might shortly be at work, Barry marched his column first to the west, then north for a few miles and then turned eastwards for the 11-mile journey to Rossmore.

By midday reports reached the column that lorries of British forces were moving from Bandon, Clonakilty and Dunmanway, but because of the ‘felled' trees and road trenches, it was late afternoon before they reached the smouldering ruin of the barracks. Barry's deception worked because the forces continued to comb out the western area.

The flying column marched a further 22 miles to the east; they waded through the water in a shallow part of the Bandon River and cold and wet reached Newcestown before dawn. Barry got a dispatch to meet Liam Deasy and other officers at Foley's near Béal na mBláth. Here Tom and brigade officers held a meeting; he gave them an up-to-date report on the Rosscarbery events. Later that night Tom was in the kitchen chatting when he collapsed. The two Foley girls, Nora and Josie, went across the fields for a local doctor. With the aid of a scout they brought a slightly intoxicated doctor to examine Tom. Fr Coakley came and administered the last rites to him.

The strain of all the previous months, and especially the nerve-racking Rosscarbery engagement, had once again put a strain on Tom's heart. After some days he was again taken in secret to the Mercy Hospital. This time his stay was shorter. He had no intention of remaining indoors once he knew he was all right. His ailment was described again as ‘heart misplacement', which settled back after a short rest and medication.

The British propaganda went into full swing stating that ‘the attackers numbered 200'. Sergeant Shea and Constable Bowles were killed, having ‘put up a most sturdy defence. The ‘attackers carried away their dead and wounded'.
[14]

Encouragement came in the form of a letter from Michael Collins in GHQ:

Óglaigh na hÉireann
(The Army of Ireland)
7/4/1921

To: The Brigade Adjutant,
Cork 3 Brigade.

I have just received report of the Rosscarbery fight. It was a splendid performance and, as I know the position of the place so well, I appreciate it all the more. I hope some time shortly to make the acquaintance of the officer who arranged this encounter and carried it out with such gallantry and efficiency.

D/I.
[15]

Michael Collins and the GHQ men were now appreciating Tom Barry's worth, which had been recognised by the men of the flying column.

Revenge for Rosscarbery was taken by burning Michael Collins' former homestead, then owned by his brother, Seán. If the intention was to divide the opinion of Collins and Barry, and cause anguish, on the contrary it bonded their association.

Throughout Ireland the IRA was almost entirely dependent upon captured arms, and GHQ was constantly being petitioned to try to import arms by some means.

Michael Collins, a close friend of the Hales family of Bandon, was frequently in touch with Donal Hales who was in Italy and writing sympathetically in Italian newspapers about the Irish cause. Through him arrangements were made to send a shipment of arms to the seaside village of Squince, near Union Hall. The earlier part of April was taken up with brigade and battalion council meetings in connection with the proposed largescale landing. Barry would have preferred to use a port in another part of the county because he felt that this part of West Cork was the section of the country most ‘steam-rolled' by the British forces.

GHQ had invited the County Cork brigades to nominate an officer with sea-going experience to travel to Italy and return with the consignment. Michael Leahy, second-in-command of Cork No. 1 Brigade, was chosen for the mission. Now, in mid-April, GHQ informed No. 3 Brigade that Leahy's return on an Italian ship carrying 20,000 rifles, 500 machine-guns and 5,000,000 rounds of ammunition could be expected shortly.
[16]

Tom, Liam Deasy and other officers had been working on plans for mobilising the column to ensure the safety of the arms. They organised dumps in Cork and Kerry, drew up transport maps and arranged for the commandeering of lorries and other motor transport. During the last week, using only trusted local men for security reasons, they worked to perfect a plan that would leave little or nothing to chance. They examined charts to be sure how far the Italian ship could sail into Union Hall harbour. Trawlers and small boats onto which the cargo would be transferred were listed, drivers chosen and routes worked out. They arranged for the destruction of the other roads and bridges and for parties of IRA rifle-men to delay any enemy moving in any potentially obstructive direction. Barry said, ‘we had given much thought during the early months of the year to this landing of arms, and the responsibility weighed heavily on the few of us who knew of it. We had many headaches, and because of the absolute necessity for complete secrecy, we could not delegate inquiries or any part of the work to any but a few specially selected officers.'
[17]

The IRA's movements were being slightly hindered by British military involved in a round up in the Union Hall district. One April night Barry and four officers, after a local battalion and brigade council meeting had been held, were sleeping in a house near Union Hall when scouts woke them at 4 a.m. with the news that British troops were approaching. Pausing only to pull on trousers, grab guns and equipment, they fled. But Seán Buckley, IO, had the post that had been stolen the previous morning. It was in a heap on the table. He jumped, bundled them up, grabbed his coat, ran and hid it in a good spot in the yard and followed the others into the haggard. Soon they heard soldiers hammering at the front door with the butts of their rifles. In the pitch darkness, they held on to each other's guns so that they could stay together. Carefully edging each step they reached a small field some distance up the hill. Buckley was unarmed, but Barry had two revolvers and a rifle. He gave Buckley a revolver and some ammunition. The five freezing cold officers took up positions, one at each ditch with Barry ready to make for wherever the attack came from. The sounds of enemy were all around. Barry had left his socks, pullover, cap, trench coat and leggings behind. In the April night coldness they could only wait, hope and shiver. Buckley had been at a meeting in Baltimore the previous day, on instructions from Michael Collins, to check up on the position of Baltimore Co-op Fishery, which had been set up with the help of a Republican government loan. He had been respectably dressed and took his detachable white collar and tie from his pocket and began to put them on, believing if caught, respectability would win. ‘I always had more faith in wits than weapons'. When Barry vaulted towards him and saw a soldier dressed like he was, in the face of an enemy, he left fly at Seán in language that was ‘hot enough to set the heather ablaze.'

Believing they were surrounded, they remained silent in the cold for some hours until eventually the dogs were silent. Before leaving the troops arrested the owner of the house when they found the beds warm and the men's clothing strewn of the floor. After the owner pleaded with them, saying the IRA had guns and so he had no alternative, he was released. But the patrol carried away two trench coats belonging to Seán and Tom.

Col Hudson and men from the Skibbereen garrison had conducted the raid. Later, Barry wrote a letter to Col Hudson de-manding the return of the trench coats, pointing out that they were ‘not contraband of war'. He put it in an invoice from the raided mail, and apologised ‘for the unavoidable interference with his private correspondence, regretting that he was unable to wait to receive his men when they called and hoped to be better prepared next time and promising them a warm welcome.'

Some days later the colonel called on the editor and manager of the Southern Star, Dick Connolly, informing him of the letter he had received from Tom Barry. He said he agreed with the sentiments expressed and handed him the coats, requesting that they be returned to Tom Barry. Barry described Col Hudson as a kindly gentleman who didn't indulge in the torture of captured IRA. It was this man's garrison they had failed to draw into conflict in February and whose men had been given a good time. If Hudson had caught up with Barry on this occasion there is, of course, no doubt but that he would have done his duty. Barry admired a man whether enemy or friend for doing his job well, as long as he kept to civilised rules.

Years later, Barry with a wry smile, spoke of this man of principle, with whom he had dinner during the Truce. He became a brigadier later, went to India and wrote ‘several letters' to ‘General Tom Barry, Cork'. Barry was ‘in prison at the time'.
[18]

Barry found that generally the RIC ‘were a different type' to the Auxiliaries and the Tans. ‘You'd get a bad RIC man just as you'd get a bad saint in heaven. Sure you had a fellow called Lucifer up there, and he created hell, I believe! Many RIC resigned in mid 1920s as they didn't like what their “helpers” were doing and weren't prepared to stand for it!'
[19]

After Tom Barry and Liam Deasy were satisfied that they had attended to all arrangements for the importation of the arms, they cycled through the night. There were some hair-raising episodes when they heard the sound of military vehicles and had to hide in boreens. On two occasions they had to heave the bicycles over a wall and vault after them. They arrived by morning at O'Mahony's of Belrose, Upton. Because the house had been burned the family now lived in the barn.

Despite all the effort, their hard work and weeks of planning, the ship never arrived. Eventually (much later) Madge Hales returned from her visit to her brother, Donal, in Italy and went straight to Michael Collins with the details of the difficulties encountered in trying to secure the shipment. Their brother Seán Hales was also aware of the situation, but Barry never knew the facts regarding the shipment.
[20]
Apparently, he drew his own conclusions. In an interview with Raymond Smith he said that the British were helped by the refusal of other nations ‘to sell Ireland one rifle or a bandolier of ammunition. Ireland was refused a hearing at the Peace Conference. And tens of thousands of American veterans on demobilisation passed through Ireland on army leave, but not one offered to stay and lend a hand in Ireland's fight for freedom.'
[21]

With only a few hours sleep, Barry and Deasy left Belrose, for a meeting at Kippagh in the North Cork No. 2 Brigade area. It took them two days to walk cross-country. This, they felt was the safest method of travelling. On the first night they met up with Seán O'Hegarty and Florrie O'Donoghue of Cork No. 1 Brigade. They billeted in a friendly house and compared notes on activities. ‘I already knew those Cork 1 officers and liked them well', Barry wrote. He regarded Hegarty as a man of ‘fine character, keen brain and personality' who worked ‘tirelessly and efficiently' as commander, and O'Donoghue as ‘shrewd, calm and capable, an all round officer whose speciality was intelligence bracketed justly with Michael Collins.'
[22]

GHQ had issued an order to hold a meeting on 24 April 1921 at Lynch's farmhouse in Kippagh, near Millstreet. Delegates from nine brigades were to attend to establish the First Southern division in accordance with the Dublin directive. Because only five of the nine brigades were represented, Barry expressed disappointment.

‘Liam Deasy, Brigadier of West Cork, came over the mountains,' Ernie O'Malley a staff captain from Dublin wrote. ‘With him was Tom Barry who commanded the brigade column. His light bushy hair stood straight up like a wind-blown hedge. There were two guns in his belt; they touched almost when he stuck both hands in his trousers' pockets … he was fearless and very much admired by West Cork.'
[23]

The meeting opened, chaired and addressed by Ernie O'Malley who brought orders for the formation of the division. These he read aloud to the delegates with, according to Barry, ‘military terminology rolling off his tongue'. It certainly didn't appear to be the way to win the attention of men who had been through so much and who had practical experience of fighting. The men O'Malley was dealing with were shrewd and mentally alert. There were men like Liam Lynch, Deasy, Moylan, Cork No. 2 Brigade; Humphrey Murphy, Andy Cooney, Dan Breen, John Joe Rice, Kerry, and other well known IRA men. O'Malley continued to speak and the more he used words like ‘terrain' and ‘topography' the more he angered his listeners.

Seán O'Hegarty, commanding Cork No. 1 Brigade, began to shuffle. At the next mention of ‘terrain and topography' he jumped to his feet and told him to shut up. He voiced the bitter feelings that many of the IRA fighting officers now entertained towards GHQ. He asked why didn't a senior staff officer like Michael Collins or Richard Mulcahy come, or for that matter why didn't any of these ever think it worth their while to visit any of the active fighting units in the south?

When a break for food was announced Seán, went and located a bucket, soap and a towel. He asked Tom to go down to the stream with him. He scooped up buckets of water and ‘judging by the violent manner with which he splashed them over my soaped head and body he was still thinking of “terrain and topography”,' Barry wrote.
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