By 1920, the conflict between the IRA and the British government was turning nasty and bloody on both sides. In October, the British home secretary informed the House of Commons that between January 1919 and October 1920, 64 Irish courthouses had been destroyed along with 492 abandoned RIC barracks, 21 occupied barracks and 148 private residences belonging to citizens loyal to the crown. A further 114 RIC barracks had been damaged; there had been 741 raids on the mail; 40 raids on coastguard stations and lighthouses; 117 policemen and 23 soldiers had been killed; 185 policemen and 71 soldiers had been wounded; 32 civilians had been killed and 83 wounded.
The terrorising Black and Tans were introduced and major republican figures such as Tomás MacCurtain, Terence MacSwiney, Kevin Barry and Seán Treacy died. The first three deaths evoked public sympathy and, therefore, hardened nationalist resolve. The death of Treacy tangibly affected the conduct of the war in Tipperary and took some of the wind out of Dan Breen’s sails.
Early in the year the moderate Dublin republican leadership, which had sought in 1919 to curtail rogue elements like the Third Tipperary Brigade, changed their attitude. They’d invested their hopes in gaining recognition for Ireland at the Versailles Peace Conference, naively believing that the ostensibly self-evident justice of their cause would be recognised by the embryonic ‘International Community’. When this improbable strategy failed and when IRA activists in Cork and Dublin began to follow Tipperary’s lead, GHQ dedicated itself to an armed struggle. For the rest of the Tan War, however, they sought to turn the IRA on and off like water coming out of a tap. The conflict between the Dublin-based revolutionaries’ exclusively political aspirations and the IRA’s more rugged approach to self-emancipation remained unresolved until Ireland endured a Civil War and witnessed the emergence of Fianna Fáil.
In 1920, regional IRA leaders came together for important jobs and, encouraged by GHQ, got to know one another. Meda Ryan found that Cork IRA leader Liam Lynch, in Dublin for a few months early in that year, was in continuous contact with GHQ staff like Collins and Mulcahy. While in town he also met up with Breen and Treacy. With them he discussed plans for developing the war and, says Ryan, they concluded there was no turning back at that stage: ‘Liam’s most frequent contacts were with Cork No. 1 and Tipperary No. 3 brigades which bordered his own area. Dan Breen, Seán Treacy and Denis Lacey visited him a number of times. A visit by Dan Breen towards the end of 1920 resulted in an informal conference to discuss the general situation … They sent their recommendations and a summary of their decisions to GHQ.’
The major IRA development of 1920 – the emergence of well organised attacks on RIC barracks – took on board this new spirit of inter-brigade collaboration. These fights were often sanctioned by GHQ and were usually led and planned by enthusiastic GHQ fighter-organisers like Ernie O’Malley or Thomas Malone (also known by his revolutionary political name, Seán Forde).
The plethora of copycat mini-Soloheadbegs happening all over the country had resulted in the closure of numerous minor RIC outposts, often no more than two-room cottages in isolated communities. RIC strength was now concentrated inside proper barracks, sometimes semi-fortified structures which held large numbers of men and were less easy to attack. These fortresses might house RIC, Black and Tan, British army and intelligence members.
An RIC rookie stationed in Waterford in 1920 recalled: ‘We were basically looking for the IRA. No still of poteen, no light on your bike, no tail lamp, no anything, nobody bothered. The police didn’t bother.’ He was given one very basic piece of advice by his new colleagues: ‘First take cover. Take cover and shoot after.’
Tipperary Volunteers were among the first to mount barracks’ attacks and they were the most enthusiastic of attackers. In other regions, men were nervous about confronting, directly, heavily armed and protected buildings.
‘A pattern to these attacks was soon established,’ Joost Augusteijn said of the evolving Tipperary situation. ‘The local brigade officer, together with the local battalion commandant and Ernie O’Malley, a GHQ organiser, stood in the centre of its organisation and execution. These men, who were engaged on a full-time basis in Volunteer work, were aided by the most active Volunteers of surrounding battalions. Some local companies were involved in manning blockades on the roads leading to the barracks and in dispatch riding. Those involved in the attack took up positions around the barracks, while the main assault was centred on the roof in an attempt to set the barracks alight.’
On 28 April, Ballylanders barracks was attacked. On 10 May, Hollyford barracks was besieged by Tadgh Dwyer, Séamus Robinson and Seán Treacy; Robinson took a notable part in this action. The barracks at Kilmallock, Co. Limerick – a British intelligence hub in the Tipperary/Limerick border area – was burned down on 27 May. On 3 June, Drangan barracks, after a long battle involving O’Malley, Breen, Treacy and Robinson, surrendered to the IRA.
It was during these operations that the Soloheadbeg gelignite proved useful, as did rural ingenuity. ‘We had already experimented at Davins’ in Rosegreen with a dauby yellow clay which would adhere in a sloping or even to an upright surface when hurled,’ Ernie O’Malley wrote in Raids and Rallies. ‘Then we had tried this clay by wrapping it around a half-stick of gelignite with a detonator and fuse attached. When its fuse was ignited and the clay thrown, the attached glutinous material adhered to the roofs of deserted outhouses on which we had tried its force. As a result of the explosions, slates were blown from a large portion of roof. This solved one problem, that of making holes in a roof at a distance from the thrower. Through the holes, grenades would be lobbed and liquid or flaming paraffin thrust directly downwards into a room. In addition the mud bombs could be used against lorries or armoured cars, for with the use of a short fuse they could be exploded quickly. They could, therefore, be employed against the reinforcements in the early morning after an attack.’
The 27 May burning on Kilmallock barracks was a major overnight operation involving IRA men from east Clare, Cork, Tipperary and Limerick. The interesting thing about this action – the ultimate example of co-operation between brigades – was that many of those who attended, who travelled long distances to be there, came to watch and to learn how such an attack could be done. Thomas Malone said that the IRA had eighty men arranged at vantage points around the barracks. Among them were key people from neighbouring brigades like Treacy, Breen and Mick Brennan from Clare. According to Malone, they were ‘all anxious to see how it was done’.
East Limerick Volunteer, J. M. McCarthy, was put in charge of one of the distinguished visitors, Clare warlord, Mick Brennan: ‘How he came to be present at Kilmallock I do not know, but when we were assembling to open the attack he was on the spot and I was asked to include him in my section … I treated him as an ordinary Volunteer, to which unaccustomed role he readily adapted himself, apart from a tendency to be prolific in suggesting alternative courses of action.’
‘We had very elaborate plans in connection with the attack which provided for widespread activities in the surrounding area, including north Cork, mid Limerick, south Tipperary,’ noted Malone. ‘The local Volunteer companies all engaged in connection with the blocking of roads and the cutting of railway lines, because we guessed that it would take a good while to capture the barracks and that enemy reinforcements might be rushed to its relief. It was, I think, actually the biggest barracks attack that took place during the whole fighting in order of importance … I don’t think anyone ever found out how many there were there in all. There were some Tans there, whose names were never given nor whose presence was ever admitted and the names of some of the people who were killed there were never published. It was our first experience of meeting the Tans. It was the first time they had been seen around there.’
Kilmallock firmly established the pattern which was followed in subsequent attacks. A hole was made in the barracks roof and petrol was poured into it. The building was burned down but the RIC never surrendered. Instead they withdrew to an outhouse and kept on fighting. Three men died at Kilmallock: two RIC members and one IRA.
Brennan from Clare clearly didn’t learn all that he needed to know because, a few days later, he sought Tipperary assistance when he was planning his own barracks’ assault. Ernie O’Malley was busy masterminding the Drangan attack when Brennan sent for him. ‘A dispatch rider came to the back of our house,’ O’Malley wrote. ‘He brought us news from Mick Brennan who was brigadier of east Clare. With him, Breen, Treacy and Robinson had stayed for a while the previous year when they were being carefully sought by the British. There was to be an attack on Six Mile Bridge barracks. But Brennan needed a few men who had experience in the use of explosives to help him. Séamus Robinson and I decided that we would go on to Co. Clare and that Seán Treacy would make the necessary preliminary arrangements for the attack on Drangan with Tom Donovan.’ Donovan was the commandant of the Drangan brigade.
The seven-hour fight which took place in Drangan followed the Kilmallock pattern. All roads leading into the village were blockaded and patrolled. Telegraph wires were cut. Volunteers occupied a house left unguarded by the police which was attached to one of the gables of the barracks. Treacy, Breen and Tom Donovan made mud bombs – a petrol pump and hosepipe was requisitioned in Cashel.
By 11.30 p.m. the barracks was surrounded and a relentless battle commenced. The RIC let off flares – their only means of letting the outside world know that they were beleaguered. All the while petrol was being poured onto the barracks and, eventually, it caught fire. When ammunition inside the building began to explode the RIC hoisted a white flag and surrendered.
On 21 July, an attack on Clerihan RIC barracks was called off at the last minute. Jerome Davin was one of the organisers: ‘I considered that the capture of the barracks itself was as easy as cracking a nutshell. Our main concern was to hold off the British troops if they came … thus it was that the intensive blocking of the roads and the manning of the road blocks was so important. On the appointed night we went to Clerihan just after dark. Every detail was fully organised. We had a pump capable of pumping oil and petrol up to a distance of 60 yards. A load of yellow clay was brought in a horse’s cart, as we intended to make the mud bombs as we required them. Milk churns were used as containers for the paraffin oil. The riflemen and shotgunmen actually went into positions around the barracks. Treacy and I then made a final check-up. Seán had a look at the barracks and at the house which I had decided we should occupy. He agreed that it was suitable as our key point of attack. It was at this point that Séamus Robinson, the brigade O/C, arrived on the scene. He had just returned from Dublin. We told him everything was ready to go ahead with the attack. He told us that, in view of a recent GHQ order, plans for major engagements, including attacks on barracks, would first have to be submitted to GHQ for sanction. There was no alternative but to call off the attack. He was very definite that this GHQ instruction should not be broken. Some of the officers present, including Ned O’Reilly and myself, were sorely disappointed, but Seán Treacy, in his cool, calm manner, gave us an example in discipline. He simply remarked: “All right Séamus, you are the boss”. Treacy and I then went to a position at the door of a public house, from where we covered the door of the barracks. We were both armed with long parabellum revolvers and we feared that the police might make a sortie out of the barracks whilst our men were being withdrawn, especially as we had learned that there was a British officer in the barracks that night. While we were there we saw an RIC man who had left the public house by a rear entrance crossing a wall into the barracks yard. Seán had him covered and I remarked that he had been in the pub for a pint and that he was harmless. This remark of mine must have been overheard by someone who knew me and who did not know Treacy, for later when this particular RIC man was stationed in Lisronagh he got in touch with me and thanked me for saving his life, saying that he understood that the strange man would have shot him when he was crossing the wall had it not been for my intervention. He also gave me some useful information from time to time afterwards. To finish with Clerihan, we had a bloodless victory, for the barracks was evacuated next day and we then destroyed it to prevent its reoccupation.’
The enthusiasm of Volunteers for attacking barracks took many forms and some IRA men were inebriated by more than the love of freedom, as Breen discovered when involved in an attempt to overrun Tipperary barracks: ‘They asked me to take charge of some men on the north side of the town. We had to move from three or four miles outside the town. At that time, when you made a big attack you would call all the local Volunteers. We came along near Soloheadbeg and there was a fellow called Dinny Leahy, a fireman in the local creamery. On a Saturday night, when the locals got a few bob, they’d go into the town and have their few pints of stout and Dinny, like the others, returned home this night but he was “magalore” [very drunk]. So we called out: “Din! Din!” but not a word, he was in a state of coma. The only answer we got was a semi-conscious grunt. “Come on, Din. You must get up! You are to block the roads!” Din, being now awake, exclaimed with the utmost feeling and sincerity, “I wish to Jesus Christ Ireland was free!”’