The first Dáil Éireann assembled in the Mansion House, Dublin, on 21 January 1919. Every elected representative was invited to be present but only the Republicans attended. Of the seventy-three, thirty-four, including De Valera and Griffith, were ‘absent’ in jail. The Dáil was declared an illegal assembly; prohibition by the British parliament necessitated its members holding meetings in secret.
On 21 January also Séamus Robinson, Dan Breen and the other volunteers from Tipperary ambushed some council men who, escorted by police, were taking gelignite to a quarry. Two policemen were shot and the cargo secured.
As the RIC (Royal Irish Constabulary) scoured the country and arrested volunteers and Sinn Féin members, it became obvious that the British government wanted these new-found ‘troublemakers’ in custody.
Soon Liam Lynch took the decision to recondition his brigade. With unswerving zeal, he visited his battalion every Sunday afternoon and made personal contact with almost every officer under his command, and also with the large numbers of volunteers in all parts of his area. Wherever he went, men were impressed by his dignified soldierly stature, his sincerity, his understanding and above all his enthusiasm. His outlook was positive and he tended to think highly of most people. He had a stubborn strength and determination, which was not apparent at first sight. This helped him to forge ahead and give himself unreservedly to the service and the cause of freedom. Fluent in speech he would on occasion, when angry, stutter over a word, but this was balanced by his foresight and original, constructive opinions; men felt it an honour to serve under him. He was adaptable, quick-witted and shrewd, with a broad vision and balanced judgement.
Liam Lynch was now twenty-five. A man with a creative mind, imagination and foresight, he could accurately sum up a situation and be relied on to use sound judgement when faced with the unexpected. His approach was always thorough and methodical. He was alert to the many problems his battalion might encounter when involved in open combat. One of his comrades Paddy O’Brien described him as ‘an able, active, unselfish worker for the cause; his heart and soul was in everything he did. He was in all respects, a true leader, a born leader’. As time progressed, his leadership qualities became more evident despite his shyness. ‘His dynamic personality was the driving force which compelled all of us in the volunteers to get things done, and done effectively,’ said Matt Flood, who had been on active service in the British army and whose expertise Liam sought to coach the members of the battalion in the correct use of weaponry.
At council meetings he was always careful to listen to all opinions and to take notes; those present found that he never interrupted the programme but would discuss whatever had arisen before the meeting closed. Though often ready to make allowances, he was intolerant of slackness or negligence. He initiated a unique system of asking for improvement with suggestions in writing from volunteers, so that the organisation could develop its fitness for battle and work in an all-round spirit of friendliness. He was quick to give credit for useful suggestions and would put them into operation when possible. At conferences he tried to express the importance of a resumption of the armed conflict.
His life was now dedicated to his volunteer work to the exclusion of all other interests. He attended every meeting and every parade. ‘Sometimes he would wake one of us in the middle of the night to discuss a problem. He used to say that his brain appeared to be on fire and he couldn’t sleep,’ Paddy O’Brien recalls.
From his earliest association with the volunteers he had thought of Ireland in terms of a nation as a whole. Taking a broad view, he made contacts and exchanged ideas with a neighbouring command. In the early days he made frequent visits to the brigade officers in the other Cork areas, also Limerick, Waterford and Tipperary; at great personal risk he continued to visit headquarters in Dublin. Some of his comrades said he had ‘a type of missionary zeal’ – a thinker who looked beyond the conflict of the day, and yet a soldier. ‘Thoughts of love and marriage he put aside so that nothing might stand between him and complete dedication in service to the duties he envisaged, although the love and prayers of a devoted lady went with him through all the days of strife, constant and faithful to the end he was not indifferent.’1
Bridie Keyes, a vibrant, dynamic young girl whom he met through Irish classes, would remain faithful to him. He had begun learning Irish seriously, and was making great progress, but because ‘the tempo’ of the movement had increased he couldn’t continue, but he did complete the first course. Seán Ó Tuama responding to his query on the best method of becoming fluent in Irish, suggested six months in the Gaeltacht when hostilities had ceased. Liam said he would do that. Later he told Siobhán Creedon that he had ‘done one thing anyway’, he had got Bridie Keyes to continue to attend these Irish classes in Fermoy.
During this period, Conradh na Gaeilge often ran ceilís and concerts in Mallow. At these, false names were always given by the men and the women who were in the ‘movement’. According to Siobhán Creedon (one of the organisers), ‘Liam was tall, handsome and very distinguished looking; we had many enquiries as to who he was.’ He was teased ‘relentlessly’ about this and George Power and Maurice Twomey who worked with him ‘got a lot of quiet fun about the ladies’ interest in him’. However, there was just the one girl to whom he was particularly attracted. ‘I am doing a great line these times,’ he wrote to his brother.2Periodically, he would meet her, and when he did, their courtship was often brief, though there were times when he talked ‘through his problems’ with her. These periods of intimacy went on for hours, eating into his time of sleep in one of his many hide-outs. Then as a precautionary measure they postponed seeing each other.
Some weeks after the course finished Liam told George Power that he wanted to meet Bridie Keyes again. George, with Siobhán Creedon, decided that they would get her to come to Creedon’s home, so they arranged for a visit one Sunday afternoon. George and Siobhán laid plans, checked railway time-tables and made contact with Liam’s friends in Fermoy. Then on ‘a fresh early autumn Sunday’ in 1919, George Power brought Bridie from Mallow station to the Creedon’s home in Mourne Abbey. Liam was there. Bridie was, according to Siobhán Creedon, a tall, attractive-looking girl, ‘very elegant in navy and white, and like Liam, gentle and quietly spoken. After lunch, she and Liam walked on the farm through our beloved Glen, while George and the family talked and told stories in the kitchen. When Liam and Bridie returned tea was ready. There was little talk during tea and when George left with Bridie for the train, Liam went to work on a pile of papers in the parlour. Somehow the bright, golden evening had lost its sparkle, and the feeling of deep sorrow stole over it. George returned and went straight away to work with Liam. In their usual fashion, they worked until suppertime.’
Speaking of marriage in a letter to Tom, his brother, Liam said, ‘my whole time is required by Old Ireland.’3
Siobhán and George never discussed that day again. ‘We both knew that these two wonderful people has postponed their happiness’ to serve Ireland’s need. ‘A lovely young girl had had to give her place to mother Ireland,’ according to Siobhán who believed that, ‘the sacrifice made by Bridie Keyes was total. She was never to know the fulfilment of her dream of happiness, but was to take her place with Sarah Curran, and with the generations of Irish women who stood aside for the cause of Roisín Dubh.’4
1 Paddy O’Brien, author interview, 6/8/75; Matt Flood, author interview, 28/3/80; Florence O’Donoghue, No Other Law, p. 40.
2 Letter to Tom 9/11/1917 (Lynch private family papers).
3 Letter to Tom 6/3/1922 (Lynch private family papers).
4 Interview with Siobhán Creedon Langford; also Siobhán Creedon Langford, The Hope and the Sadness.