While working on a biography of Tom Barry I realised that he did not always see eye to eye with Liam Lynch. Both men were strong-minded Republicans, and though initially Barry’s attitude was more radical than Lynch’s, he was, during the closing stages of the Civil War, much more flexible. At various periods during the Civil War both men belonged to separate divisions of the same ‘divide’ often voting in opposition to one another.
Through working on a biography of Barry, I considered that I had come to understand the man, and, because of Barry’s close links with Lynch, I felt compelled to get an insight into Lynch – the man. It was the clash of personalities, which first attracted me towards investigating the life of Liam Lynch. When I discussed the matter with Seán Feehan of Mercier Press, this compulsion crystallised and led to this biography.
Fortunately my research was aided by original material, especially the personal letters which Liam Lynch had written to his mother, his family and others. The personal correspondence (now held by Liam’s niece, Biddy O’Callaghan) was invaluable, as, in his letters, he often expressed his very private thoughts. It was only possible to use a fraction of the material in these letters, but I hope that in doing so his strength of character, together with the vision, which Lynch possessed, emerges. From his letters, as well as his responses to misrepresentation of him in newspapers, it is obvious that he wanted his ideas and his intentions to be honestly interpreted. ‘I do hope I shall live through this,’ he wrote in a letter to his brother Tom during the Civil War, ‘that future generations will have written for them the full details of all the traitorous acts.’ But such was not to be; he was killed at the age of twenty-nine.
His dislike of hypocrisy is evident in both his words and actions. He always followed his beliefs and never acted through a desire for notoriety. ‘Through the war I have got to understand so much of the human being,’ he wrote to his mother during the truce, ‘that when peace comes, I would wish for nothing more than hide myself away from all the people that know me, or even follow my dead comrades.’
During my early research I wrote to Jim Kearney, an IRA veteran, in connection with a point which I wanted clarified. In doing so I used the word ‘Irregulars’. I quote from his reply: ‘Irregulars! Where did you get that dirty word?’ Later, I discovered Liam Lynch also detested the term, saying it was coined by pro-treatyites as a derogatory label. I have not therefore used ‘Irregulars’ or ‘Staters’ except as part of a quotation. Liam Lynch was known as ‘The Chief’ among Republicans, particularly in the First Southern Division. Siobhán Creedon tells a story of how Margaret Mackin came with dispatches by boat from Dublin to Cork and on to the Creedon hotel near Mallow during the Civil War. ‘I have messages for the Chief,’ she said. Siobhán’s brother, Michael, drove the two women to headquarters where they knew an important meeting was being held. Upon arrival, Margaret had to first go into a side room to undo the dispatches, which she had stitched to her dress. Liam Deasy came out of the meeting saying that the Chief was very busy but would speak to them as soon as possible. Shortly afterwards Liam Lynch emerged, and according to Siobhán, ‘Margaret stared at him in complete surprise.’ Seeing that they did not appear to know each other she introduced them. ‘But,’ stammered Margaret, ‘it was Mr de Valera I wanted!’ Liam Lynch explained that De Valera was in West Cork but would be along in a few days, and that, meanwhile, he would see that the dispatches were delivered. Later, when Margaret explained her dilemma upon seeing Lynch, Siobhán responded, ‘We call Liam Lynch “the Chief” – he is the real Chief! Chief of the IRA.’
In most historical books, references to Liam Lynch’s death merely state that he was fatally wounded in the Knockmealdown mountains; while I accepted the straight-forward view that he died from a Free State force bullet, it was not until I began my research that I discovered a question mark hung over his death.
On 7 April 1935, Maurice Twomey (who was with Liam on the morning he was shot in the Knockmealdowns) unveiled a watch-tower memorial to him close to the spot where he fell. Since 1935 a ceremony, organised by Sinn Féin, is held there each year. And in Kilcrumper graveyard where he is buried, since 1956 another ceremony takes place on an annual basis in which some Fianna Fáil members participate. On the Sunday nearest 7 September (to commemorate the Fermoy raid in 1919) at all venues ‘old IRA’ veterans, together with interested members of the public, attend the organised ceremonies each year. So it has been said, ‘There are two different Lynchs buried!’ – ostensibly two different interpretations of the Republican vision portrayed by the one man.
It is ironic that the grand-daughter of Éamon de Valera, Síle de Valera TD in 1979, at a Liam Lynch commemorative ceremony, hastened the early resignation of the then leader of the Fianna Fáil party, Jack Lynch, when she called on him ‘to demonstrate his Republicanism’: but as John Bowman pointed out in his book De Valera and the Ulster Question 1917–1973, that, while De Valera, during the last meeting with Liam tried ‘to persuade him to abandon military resistance to the Free State, Liam Lynch was concerned lest the decision reached fell short of fundamental Republicanism.’
In a letter to his brother dated 26 October 1917, Liam had expressed his opinion that it was through armed resistance that Ireland ‘would achieve its Nationhood.’ It was his belief that the ‘army has to hew the way for politics to follow.’
Many of his comrades have wondered why Liam Lynch did not get the recognition which they felt he deserved, even though he had been offered the position as commander-in-chief of the army in December 1921; the consensus amongst his compatriots was that, in the documentation of history, De Valera overshadowed him. There is no doubt that Liam’s insistence in holding out to the end, for nothing less than ‘an Irish Republic’ when victory for that cause was becoming increasingly remote, meant that he was alienating himself from other members of the Republican Executive. However, Liam reiterated his viewpoint in a letter to his brother, dated 12 December 1921, ‘As you stated, De Valera was the first to rebel.’ But rebelling as a mere protest was not sufficient: ‘Speeches and fine talk do not go far these days ... what we want is a definite line of action, and in going along that, to use the most effective means at our disposal.’ Because of the firm stand which he took in holding out for a Republic, his deeds of bravery, especially previous to the Civil War, appear to have been downgraded, so much so that he is often mentioned as if in passing.
Yet, historically, Liam Lynch is an extremely important figure because of the part he played in gaining Irish independence – first as commander of Cork No. 2 brigade and later as commander of the First Southern Division. The part he played with Michael Collins, Richard Mulcahy, Liam Deasy, Tom Barry and others, in endeavouring to avoid Civil War, and his efforts to achieve a thirty-two county Republic for Ireland rather than a partitioned state, should not be underestimated. During the Civil War period, as chief-of-staff of the Republican forces, he was the major driving power and spokesman for that section. I believe therefore, that this is a necessary biography.
Meda Ryan