She was one of the Misses Meagher who had slipped out unnoticed by the police to give warning, knowing the road by which we would come.
From our point of vantage we waited until we saw the forces of the British law depart to their barracks. Then we proceeded on our way, and entered the house they had been raiding, where we enjoyed a pleasant tea.
From Meagher’s we came south again to Leahy’s of Boherlahan, the famous family of Tipperary hurlers. After that we went to Donnelly’s, of Nodstown, in the same district, where we held a meeting of our Brigade Council on a Sunday evening. With our colleagues we discussed plans for more active operations, and produced the proclamation we had drawn up ordering all British armed forces to leave South Tipperary under penalty of death. Although Headquarters had refused their sanction we decided to publish it. About the end of February it was posted up in several parts of the county. The newspapers published it with mocking headlines. It seemed a tall order no doubt at the time, but subsequent events showed that we saw further ahead than either the newspapers or our own Headquarters gave us credit for.
After that meeting we decided to return northwards towards Creany, sending word ahead as we always did. We sent a message to Patrick Kinnane to meet us with a car, and started our long tramp in the dismal night.
At Upperchurch we were met by Kinnane, Doherty and Patrick Dwyer, and we headed for Murphy’s house at Creany. It was three o’clock in the morning when we reached our destination. Seldom did we suffer more than that night from cold and exposure. The weather was harsh, even for February, and the district was wild and mountainous.
When we arrived at Murphy’s house we were ravenously hungry. Murphy was a great character. He was locally known as “the Stationmaster”—why, I don’t know, for the nearest railway station was fifteen miles from his house. He was preparing a great meal of smoked ham and eggs for us. So hungry was Hogan that instinctively, and half unconsciously, he began to eat the raw ham as it was being put on the frying pan. In a few minutes he was seriously ill, and we thought he was going to die. He soon revived, but for weeks afterwards he was far from well. His illness at this time was very unfortunate for us, because we had made up our minds, in spite of Headquarters’ orders, that we would try to get to Dublin, as we could no longer endure the misery of our existence.
With that purpose we went from Creany to the Falls of Donass, that most glorious and picturesque spot on the Shannon just across the Limerick border from North Tipperary. Then we parted with Robinson and Treacy, who started on their perilous journey to Dublin, while I remained behind with Hogan until he would be himself again. They arrived in Dublin safely, and were welcomed by a few sympathetic friends. A full and accurate description of each one of us, with the reward offered for information that might lead to our capture, appeared every week in the Hue and Cry, the official police gazette, and so it was no easy thing for them either to travel to the city, or to get about when they had arrived there.
Meantime Hogan and I could not stay long in the district round the Keeper Mountains. But Tommy McInerney came out from Limerick with a motor car, accompanied by Tim Ryan. McInerney was the man who drove the ill-fated motor car which went to meet Roger Casement on Good Friday of 1916, when the car ran over a cliff in Kerry, and two of the occupants were drowned, McInerney himself escaping.
Tim Ryan knew of a friendly priest in West Limerick who would give us shelter, and we started on our journey to meet one of the truest friends we ever made—a certain sagairt whose praises I should like to sound here, but who does not wish his name to be made known. Sean Hogan sat in front with McInerney, who was driving, Ryan and I being in the back.
For a time our journey was uneventful until we approached Limerick City. We were suddenly confronted by lorry loads of soldiers dashing along in the direction of Tipperary. We knew they were on some big round up. We did not know then, though we found out later, that they had received information that we were lying in a certain hiding place, and scores of troops with armoured cars were being rushed to the scene.