WHEN COMRADES BECA ME ENEMIES
As our decade of centenaries plays out, we will hear, no doubt, many unpalatable stories about our recent revolutionary past. Even as early as 1924, when in the national consciousness the horrors of the Civil War were being hidden away neatly in a box in the national attic, PS Hegarty, in his book The Victory Of Sinn Féin, suggested: ‘Our deeprooted belief that there was something in us finer than, more spiritual than, anything in other people, was sheer illusion, and that we were really an uncivilised people with savage instincts. And the shock of that plunge from the heights to the depths staggered the nation.’
The Civil War began on June 28, 1922, when the new National Army, under orders from the Provisional Government, opened fire on the buildings of the Four Courts, which had been taken over and occupied by the anti-Treaty IRA. Leaders of the IRA who had rejected the Treaty had established the Óglaigh na hÉireann HQ in the courts, together with a munitions factory, in preparation for a resumption of hostilities with Britain.
The government had turned a blind eye to the occupation of the courts, as it did to the many other illegal activities that had been carried out by the anti-Treaty forces since the beginning of 1922. It did not want to undermine the ongoing negotiations Michael Collins was having with the anti-Treaty leadership in an attempt to achieve unity in the wake of the political and military split that had occurred after the signing of the Treaty. Also, for the first months of 1922 at least, it was thought that the National Army was inadequate in numbers and insufficiently trained to take on the numerically superior antiTreaty IRA. By June, however, the Provisional Government was losing patience, and the kidnapping by men from the Four Courts of the National Army deputy chief-of-staff, General JJ (Ginger) O’Connell, on June 26, tipped the balance. With the British government threatening military action over the Treaty being ‘formally violated’ by what seemed to be the Provisional Government’s disinclination to deal with the Four Courts matter, Collins didn’t object when it was decided to oust the occupants. Before dawn on June 28, the courts were surrounded by a large force of troops, and the leaders of the garrison there were called upon to evacuate the premises – or else the buildings would be taken by force.
The split that had occurred in the Dáil between those who stood by the Treaty and those who rejected it created a chasm between many former comrades, friends and family members.
Many of the young men who had fought through the War of Independence, and had suffered imprisonment and seen comrades die, found it hard to accept an agreement that fell far short of the fully-fledged and independent republic that they had fought for. Others, exhausted by the years of conflict, were relieved that it might come to an end. While some were adamant about their loyalty to one side or the other, many were conflicted. After waiting for some four weeks at Beggars Bush Barracks to be commissioned into the new army, for instance, an aspiring recruit called Hughie Early gave up, walked to the Four Courts, and threw in his lot with the anti-Treaty faction.
Pádraig O’Connor, aged 21, was a commandant in the National Army, having joined the Volunteers at the age of 14. Since 1920 he had taken part in many urban guerrilla actions against British forces as a member of the Dublin Brigade. He had joined the National Army in January 1922, although many of
‘Collins didn’t object when it was decided to oust the occupiers of the Four Courts’
his former comrades had aligned themselves with the anti-Treaty faction. He still hadn’t entirely made up his mind whether to remain in the army or join his comrades when, on Tuesday, June 27, 1922, he was ordered to prepare his men for an assault on the Four Courts.
The leaders in the Four Courts made no reply to the demand to leave the Four Courts, and when the appointed hour came, the besieging forces opened fire with an 18-pounder field gun. The garrison quickly returned fire. Despite the gunfire being exchanged, the strong bonds of comradeship felt by the men on both sides remained.
Although enormous amounts of ammunition were expended during the 60 hours of the siege that followed, indications are that many of the combatants on both sides made considerable attempts to avoid causing casualties. Even the field guns that the National Army brought to bear on the Four Courts were not intended to cause injury.
Major General Emmet Dalton of the National Army, who had seen action in the Great War and who initially suggested using field guns, believed that the impact and noise of shells bursting against the walls of the courts would swiftly flush out the garrison, leading to an early surrender. Although it appears that one of the 18-pounders used fired 375 shells, artillery fire was responsible for giving one man shell shock and for wounding three others, not one member of the garrison was recorded as being killed by shell fire.
One of the Four Courts garrison, Simon Donnelly, was so unimpressed at the lack of destructive power of the shells being fired at them he remarked to Dr Jim Ryan that the guns must have been bought at Woolworths. It seems that Ryan agreed; he wrote a series of notes to his wife, Máirín – on tiny scraps of paper which were taken out by Cumann na mBan women – telling her not to worry about the big guns, which were no use and harmless, adding that many on the opposite side were not trying to shoot to kill.
During the fighting a British officer in plain clothes, managed to get into the Bridewell Police Station, which was occupied by the National Army. There, he watched a National Army soldier exchanging shots from a window with one of the garrison not more than 150 yards away. The soldier was clearly having no success with his new Lee Enfield, and the officer, wishing to show him how to fire it properly, said: ‘Here, give me your rifle.’ ‘Indeed I will not,’ the man said, ‘you might kill the boy!’
Inside the courts, Liam Mellows told his comrades to spare the ammunition since it was needed for the one and only ancient enemy, England, and not for ‘the misguided dopes outside.’
This and other contemporary accounts suggest that, for the early part of the siege particularly, there was an almost universal disinclination to cause any injury to opponents.
Throughout the siege, nurses and members of Cumann na mBan were allowed in and out through the military cordon around the courts. Cumann na mBan were greatly admired by the men on both sides, and the National Army troops would not have dreamt of obstructing them. They must have been aware, however, that the women were at least carrying messages and dispatches to and from anti-Treaty forces in the rest of the city, but there was only one instance of women being stopped and detained.
After the Four Courts garrison surrendered, the troops were locked up in the nearby Jameson’s Distillery, until they could be removed to Mountjoy Jail. Commandant O’Connor who had been very active in the fighting, was given command of their detention. Among the prisoners, he found and chatted with many of his former comrades, including Paddy Rigney. He did not want to see his friend Rigney in Mountjoy Jail, so he removed the guard from a door leading to the distillery manager’s garden, allowing Rigney, Ernie O’Malley, Seán Lemass and Joe Griffin slip through it and escape.
There are differing accounts of the numbers of combatant fatalities that occurred during the Battle of the Four Courts. It seems that about 10 combatants died, three on the anti-Treaty side, and seven on the National Army side. Half of the fatalities occurred in the heat and terror of two brief periods of close combat.
Whatever about remarkably low casualties from gunfire, it was nothing short of a miracle that no one was killed when a store of explosives in the solicitors’ building behind the Four Courts, was set off by a fire, causing the ‘great explosion’ that sent up that iconic mushroom cloud that symbolises the beginning of the Civil War.
By the end of the siege, the friendly relations between members of the two sides had begun to erode.
The commander of the attacking National Army soldiers, General Paddy O’Daly, was in an ugly humour when he saw the surrendered garrison lined up on the quays and talked of shooting all the prisoners. Before many months were past, the lines that WB Yeats had written about the men of 1916 were again to become appropriate: ‘Too long a sacrifice Can make a stone of the heart.’
‘There was an almost universal disinclination to cause injury to opponents ’