Dan Breen and the IRA (13 page)

‘Rumours of peace revived around Christmas 1922,' an tAthair Colmcille noted, ‘and again Breen's name was mentioned in press reports claiming that negotiations were being conducted with him.'

Breen was interviewed for the 8 January, 1923 edition of the
Chicago Tribune
and said: ‘I am agreeable to the expressed will of the people and to accept the decision of a general election … we do not want to prolong this struggle one moment longer than is necessary.'

The Observer
sent an incredulous journalist to meet him and to find out about the peace moves he was supposed to be involved in. He reported: ‘The fact is and I learn it from Breen himself, that while he is as much in favour of peace as anyone else could be, his business is to fight. He leaves peace-making to others. Indeed, when I saw him, Breen was panoplied for war rather than for peace. He carried, slung from his shoulder, a formidable machine-gun and his companion was similarly accoutred. Sufficient to say that for three hours he talked peace and at the end of that time we had got no further than the pious expression from Breen that he and his associates wanted peace as much as everyone else and they would not prolong the struggle one moment longer than necessary.'

In another communiqué to the people Breen articulated his faith in a general election. He meant an election for the entire island, including the northern counties: ‘I would insist on the whole of Ireland coming in, even if we had to fight them in. The six counties could have been got in but for the weakness of the delegation which was sent to London and accepted the Treaty … The plain people of this country seem to think that we are not out for peace and that we do not want peace. This is a mistake. Let them remember that we who have fought for five years, under conditions that are known only to ourselves, are only human.'

It was difficult for the people of south Tipperary to believe that the Irregulars, as the IRA were now sometimes known, had their best interests at heart. By January, eleven of the thirteen bridges over the River Suir in south Tipperary were blown up or put out of action. Food was being sent into Clonmel by boat but was intercepted by the IRA. Looting had been noted in Ballingarry, with some shopkeepers forced to provide the IRA with supplies.

Liam Deasy, one of Liam Lynch's closest right hand men, was arrested and it seemed likely that he would be executed. Dinny Lacey ordered the detention of five farmers who were the brothers of the Free State army commander in his district. In the event of Deasy's death, he let it be known, the five brothers would be executed.

Thomas Ryan, who had known Lacey well since their flying column days, knew how to put pressure on his old friend. It was all getting very personal: ‘I knew that it was possible to contact Lacey urgently through a sweetheart – Miss Cooney, a flying column comrade of mine pre-Truce who became Irregular and was at this time one of Lacey's key personnel. She was at business in Clonmel and was known to be doing Irregular work. I called to her address and gave her a dispatch to be delivered in haste to Lacey. The wording of the dispatch was as follows: “I understand that Liam Deasy will be executed tomorrow. Should you, following the event, carry out your threat to execute the five prisoners now held, inside twenty-four hours of execution confirmation – every male member of the Lacey family in south Tipperary will be wiped out. Signed, Tom Ryan, Vice Brigadier, National Army”.'

As luck would have it, Liam Deasy, having made an honourable deal with his captors, was not executed.

In February, Breen managed the last of his Dan Breen-style getaways when he and Jerry Kiely were moving around together in the Glen of Aherlow. The house they were sleeping in was attacked by one of the many Free State units now combing the area
ad infinitum
. The Free State captain was killed by gunfire coming from within the house.

Breen and Kiely had arranged between themselves that, if attacked, they'd retreat by the back door. When Kiely saw a soldier fall down dead right in front of the house, he decided to attempt an escape through the front door. As he made to do this his gun jammed, the soldiers fired on him and he died by the roadside. While this was happening Breen made good his escape through the nearby woods.

Dinny Lacey died during a shoot-out in the Glen of Aherlow on 18 February. He'd grown in prominence during the Tan War and had become an outstanding leader during the Civil War. He'd organised the counter-attack when Prout took Waterford, was in charge of the defence of Carrick-on-Suir and, when the republicans held no other towns, instigated numerous ambushes in the Knockmealdowns.

On 10 April, Liam Lynch was shot during a search-and-sweep operation in the Knockmealdowns. J. T. Prout personally accompanied the ambulance from Clonmel to the scene of the shooting. Lynch was removed to the hospital in Clonmel where he died. He had resisted all talk of a ceasefire though the IRA position had long been hopeless. With his death, the Civil War approached its end.

A meeting of republican military leaders was held in the Knockmealdowns shortly after Lynch's death. Breen, Austin Stack and Todd Andrews were amongst those attending. Stack prepared a handwritten statement of despair: ‘Realising the gravity of the situation of the army of the Republic owing to the great odds now facing them and the losses lately sustained and being of the opinion that further military efforts would be futile and would cause only injury to our country without obtaining advantage and being convinced that the defensive war which has been waged by our army for the past nine or ten months has made it impossible that the Irish people will ever accept less than their full national rights and fearing it would cause too much delay to await the summoning and holding of a full meeting of the army council or executive, we, the undersigned members of the army council and of the executive and other officers of the army, do hereby call upon and authorise the president of the Republic to order an immediate cessation of hostilities.'

Breen, having given the document some thought, rejected it. At daybreak, the men went on their separate ways with very little fight left in them. Stack headed towards Lismore, was captured on 14 April and went sullenly into captivity.

For two days Breen remained in the hills living on little more than snow. His party eventually reached the Glen of Aherlow where he went into a dugout and fell into a deep sleep. While he slept he was surrounded by Free State soldiers. When he woke he was imprisoned for the first time in his life.

My Fight for Irish Freedom
, for once, eloquently captured the authentic dreadfulness of his situation:
‘
From Galbally I was taken under escort to my native town, Tipperary, where I was put through some sort of trial. Next day I was taken from the Free State headquarters and marched to the railway station. The humiliation and agony which I endured during this short march I shall never forget. May the reader never know what it is to be marched, a prisoner, through his native town for doing what he believed to be his duty in the cause of his country.'

The Civil War came to an end on 24 May when Frank Aiken, the new IRA chief-of-staff, announced a ceasefire.

A general election was called for 27 August. This time Breen stood as a republican candidate. He was in Mountjoy Prison when he was elected on the first count. He was finished with fighting. He was just twenty-nine years of age.

After the Civil War Dan Breen, like the ideals he embodied, slowly faded from the scene. He was still a young man when he got out of prison but circumstances – and his chosen political party – conspired to marginalise him. His approach, up until then, had been ground-breaking and radical. Subsequently, a lot of time seems to have been passed in the bar-room and at the racetrack. There were madcap schemes for making money and lofty dreams of doing great things for Ireland, sandwiched in between sporadic (and contradictory) political flurries.

His later life was a lost opportunity for Ireland and for himself but, before his slow fade began, he had one more turbulent adventure to undertake and one more significant political contribution to make.

Late in 1923 he was an elected member of the Free State dáil but, since republican/Sinn Féin deputies refused to recognise that assembly or to take their seats, he didn't make a politician's living. The innate austerity of 1920s Ireland was exacerbated for those who'd lost the Civil War. They frequently found themselves barred from state employment; to the victors went the spoils.

Mike Flannery, a Tipperary IRA footsoldier, had gotten to know Breen well in America. Flannery was rising fast through the ranks of Irish America. He would, in the long run, found the Noraid organisation which channelled American funds towards the Provos when their campaign was in full swing. Flannery knew exactly what befell the likes of Breen when they got out of prison and had to come to terms with an unsympathetic new Ireland: ‘In Ireland following the Civil War we became what is known as redundant. After our release from prison we found ourselves without money or even a suit of clothes to our name. We were harassed by the Free State government.

‘The Free Staters would break up our republican meetings no matter what our conduct was like. Those who opposed the new regime were labelled and watched. The government instituted a pension plan for the soldiers who fought in the War of Independence and those who opposed the Treaty were denied that right to a pension. It was a nice amount, £700 or something. Nevertheless, those who risked their lives during the war and then voted against the Treaty were left out of it.

‘Dan Breen wasn't eligible for a pension. Tom Barry got a rotten deal, having to go to Scotland to find work and live in peace. As a result of the social and economic injustices of the new government, there was a wave of IRA men who left Ireland, many for a few years but most for good. Dan Breen's health was badly impaired by wounds he'd received during the war and he went to his grave carrying bullets that were too precarious to remove. After the Civil War he had his bad health to contend with and unemployment with a family to support.'

The penniless Breen – his thoughts turning to America – started corresponding with his old US supporter, Joe McGarrity, in November 1923. He'd heard allegations that he'd pocketed money given to him for the republican cause during his Truce-era stay in America. He'd been told that the accusations came from McGarrity and from Luke Dillon, an old fenian who'd been jailed for English bombing plots in the 1880s. Habitual rumours of financial sleaze would circle around Breen for much of his life. He wrote angrily to McGarrity: ‘I am sure you will be surprised to hear from me after so long a time. I had intended writing you since my release but was collecting information regarding the slanderous attacks that were made on me after I leaving the States.

‘I was first charged with obtaining money from Luke Dillon to buy arms and I turned it to my own use. The second was a statement by Miss Kearns that I was not to be trusted and should be kept out of things.

‘I want Luke Dillon and yourself to come forward and prove the charge. I admit getting certain sums of money and can account for them all but deny ever getting money for arms from Luke or any other body.'

McGarrity clearly mollified Breen, whose next – less abrupt – missive contained news of a literary project which would make Dan Breen famous for generations to come: ‘Your letter received and I am very sorry if my previous upset you. When I wrote that letter I was very upset over reports that were being circulated by both enemies and some of our own that would be doing better work for the cause if they let me alone. I am after writing you about a book that I have written. I hope you will push it in every way possible. It will do a lot of good for the cause if it is well circulated among the Irish over your side. Also, if it could be published in the leading papers in serial form … but I will hold the book rights for myself.

‘I will now give you my ideas on the situation over here. The country is in an awful state with unemployment, no work to be got for the men that are getting released; even the soldiers that are getting demobbed are walking around idle. This state of things is having a bad effect in general. The people are getting into a state of apathy and unless something is done soon I feel our cause will not get along as we would wish it. You will note from past history that our people will not look or fight for freedom.'

The book he mentioned became
My Fight for Irish Freedom
. McGarrity subsequently wrote the introduction for its first edition. Like many an eminent man before him, he decided that writing a book would help put his finances in order. His cash-flow was non-existent. During his two wars he had floated along on a wave of safe houses, supportive sponsors, free drinks and pots of tea. Now he was a married man with a young son living in a country where the recently installed political elite frowned on him. The likes of Richard Mulcahy, conceivably, got in their revenge for the erstwhile arrogance of the Third Tipperary Brigade, now in disarray and, for the first time, eliminated from the body politic.

He got a book contract from the Talbot Press, a stylish literary imprint closely associated with the writings of the dead 1916 leaders. The Talbot Press was a properly organised and funded imprint; its books were elegantly designed, well bound and well printed.

One of the most consistently heard rumours about Breen is the one which suggests that he was illiterate or semi-literate and, therefore, incapable of writing his own book. Breen, in reality, was an inveterate correspondent and book reader who wrote vigorous letters full of rich turns of phrase and potently argued points of view. The literary voice in those letters is the same one which suffuses
My Fight for Irish Freedom
, his many press interviews and his ‘Statement to the Bureau of Military History'.

That he needed assistance in completing an entire book is without a doubt – most non-writers need help with their memoirs. Whether
My Fight
is an accurate account of the Tan War in Tipperary is another matter.

While being essentially true, it does support a somewhat lopsided Breen-friendly version of what really went on. People whose roles should have been acknowledged are often ignored, while narratives concerning exactly when and where and how things happened are simplified for verisimilitude. A crude simplicity lends it a universal appeal which survives to this day – the ‘myth' of the Third Tipperary Brigade comes directly from
My Fight for Irish Freedom
.

Katherine Doherty, known to all as Mrs Séamus O'Doherty, is generally credited with the writing and invisible mending which brought about the original 1924 version. The O'Doherty clan provided Breen with one of his many safe houses during the Tan War and later saw a lot of him in Chicago, where they were Sinn Féin fundraisers. Rumour had it that Mrs O'Doherty smuggled American money into Ireland for the IRA.

Once his book came out in 1924 Breen was perpetually demanding royalty payments from the Talbot Press. Eventually his exasperated editor wrote to him, patiently pointing out the fact that Mrs O'Doherty was still waiting to be paid – by Breen – for her work on the project. According to Mrs O'Doherty's family, she fell out with Breen because she disapproved of his persistent gambling.

Others mentioned in connection with the authorship of this very powerful and significant war chronicle include Sam Fahy, a one-time teacher in Tipperary town who was instrumental in Breen meeting his wife, and Fr Maurice ‘Moss' Browne, a republican fellow traveller-cum-writer who played some part in revising and enlarging the 1964 paperback edition.

Denis Ireland, a Belfast intellectual of unionist background, wrote in his 1936 book,
From the Irish Shore
: ‘Reading, somewhat belatedly, Dan Breen's
My Fight for Irish Freedom
and still wondering if Mr Breen wrote it himself. But then if a man really masters the art of firing a revolver, there is no
a priori
reason why he should not master the art of narrative writing … This is war as Homer might have seen it, with the single exception that the Mauser automatic and the stick of gelignite have been substituted for the javelin and the crashing boulder. And the army is as heavily outnumbered as was ever any hero of the
Iliad
.'

While
My Fight
was selling briskly in 1924, Breen was busy on the fringes of what became known as the Curragh Mutiny, an event which turned out to be the last hurrah for the IRB.

Because of the aforementioned reduction in size of the National Army, many officers were scheduled for discharge in March 1924. Some of these demobilised men were ex-IRA and IRB members who'd half-heartedly taken the pro-Truce side in the Civil War out of loyalty to Michael Collins. Some of Collins' old Squad, including Breen's pal Liam Tobin, sent an ultimatum to the government on 6 March. They demanded an end to the cutbacks and that something meaningful should be done about advancing the Irish reunification cause.

Kevin O'Higgins – the acting president at the time – dismissed the rebel officers. Another of Breen's pals, Joe McGrath, resigned from the cabinet in solidarity with Tobin and his cohorts.

On 18 March, Richard Mulcahy, still minister for defence, led a raid on a Parnell Street pub where the mutinous officers were allegedly planning a rebellion. It seemed that Mulcahy acted on his own authority. O'Higgins believed that Mulcahy was linking up with his old IRB buddies to start a mutiny so he sent troops to surround the pub. Mulcahy resigned from the government.

‘I was very much in the mutiny with McGrath and Tobin,' said Breen. ‘I was a go-between. Mulcahy sent out his troops to round up Tobin and company in Parnell Street at Liam Devlin's public house. He sent out six lorries of troops. He had a drumhead courtmartial ready and had his firing squads picked. He was going to present the government with a
fait accompli
… but he failed to capture them and it was after that O'Higgins sent for him … A child was christened belonging to Mulcahy and the late Eoin O'Duffy* was godfather. They had a dinner that evening and Mulcahy had an appointment in Government Buildings at eight o'clock. So also had Eoin O'Duffy. Neither told the other who he was meeting, but they were both meeting Kevin O'Higgins. They didn't go together but they went in their separate cars. O'Duffy was shown into one room and Mulcahy was shown into O'Higgins' room. Mulcahy got his dismissal from O'Higgins and was told to get out and stay out. O'Duffy was appointed commander general of the army, or some term like that. You will also find that Mulcahy was out of power as a minister until after O'Higgins' death. Who shot O'Higgins?'

With a successful book under his belt Breen soon found out that, like many an author before and since, he was no better off afterwards than he had been in the first place. In January 1925, he wrote rather plaintively to Joe McGarrity: ‘I had intended writing to you for some time past but I was hoping from day to day to hear from you before doing so. My reason for writing you this is to know would you advise me to go out to the States, as I am still idle here. I am after putting a very hard winter behind me. My wounds came against me a great deal owing to heavy frost and rain and I could not get proper care when I had no work and no work spells no money. I have now given you my case; let me have your advice.

‘I am sure I would be able to pass coal on a boat for a few weeks if there is any reasonable chance of a job after getting out. Unless there is, it would not be worth the risk because if I had to work my way back it would kill me. Even the work going out may do so but nevertheless anything is better than trying to live on air. I don't much mind about myself only for the wife and little lad.'

An aspect of poor-mouth lamentation became part of the post-1923 Breen style. He
did
have indifferent health as a result of war wounds and he
did
suffer financially. Reading between the lines of his speeches and letters, however, one gets the feeling that he thought Ireland owed him a living. Alcohol may have fuelled a tendency towards self-pity and gambling can't have helped his cash flow. Restraint, of any kind, was unknown to him.

‘Breen at one time was led into a bar by the other fellows before he had to go off somewhere and speak or something,' said Mike Flannery. ‘They bought him enough drinks to keep him from going anywhere. That was his evil – drink.'

There was a little light at the end of the political tunnel. Breen was a founding member of a clearly significant new political party called Fianna Fáil which came into existence in March/April 1926. De Valera had resigned from Sinn Féin in protest at the party's policy of abstentionism. He took many of Sinn Féin's most prominent and talented TDs and supporters with him.

For a number of years De Valera's new party enjoyed the tacit support of the IRA but Fianna Fáil, significantly, was a stand-alone political party without a military wing. It bled the radical soul of the republican movement dry. Men of steel like Breen, Seán Moylan, Oscar Traynor and Paddy Ruttledge came in from the cold, dealing a fatal body blow to both Sinn Féin and the IRA. Seán Hogan and Séamus Robinson also signed up. Prominent republicans who didn't go for the Fianna Fáil formula included Austin Stack and Tom Barry.