My fight for Irish freedom

by Dan Breen

Having taken these precautions to ensure that no assistance could arrive to the garrison we also cut the telegraph and telephone wires. Then we quietly occupied a few houses in the front or rear of the barracks and opened our attack, while some of our men perhaps attempted to fire the building by means of petrol. Very often too the first hint we gave of our presence was the exploding of a mine at the door or the gable of the barrack in order to blow up the building or to make a breach. Sometimes these plans succeeded, sometimes they failed.

The fight at Drangan was a prolonged affair. The officers who took part in the attack were Sean Treacy, Seumas Robinson, Ernie O’Malley, Sean Hogan and myself. Having first taken the usual steps of blocking the roads and cutting all wires, we quietly occupied a vacant house right in front of the barrack—why the police were so stupid as to leave it unguarded I cannot imagine. More of our men went to the back and took up positions for opening fire, while on the street in front we erected a small barricade. About midnight we opened the attack. After the first volley we ceased fire, and called on the defenders to surrender. We always did that, not only to spare their lives if possible, but also to spare our own supplies of ammunition which were never plentiful. But they refused to come out. We renewed the attack, with rifles, bombs, revolvers and shot-guns—our munitions were always necessarily of an assorted kind. The enemy replied hotly to our fire, but with no effect. Suddenly the sky was lighted up with Verey lights—rockets discharged by the garrison as a signal to neighbouring posts that they needed help. But we knew it would be long before assistance could pass our barriers. We continued the onslaught with renewed vigour from front and rear, and some of our men actually tore off the slates on the roof of the barrack. Daylight was breaking amidst cracking of rifles and the bursting of bombs when there was a sudden lull in the replying fire from the enemy. A moment later appeared from one of the windows a sharp blast of a whistle, and our men ceased fire. The order was shouted to the garrison to advance into the open. A minute later they were disarmed prisoners. We prepared for our return to safety before military reinforcements cut their way through. We marched our prisoners—two sergeants and six constables—to the outskirts of the village, released them and departed with our booty, not one of our men being wounded.

The same night Cappawhite police barrack, also in Tipperary, was attacked by another party of I.R.A. men, but the garrison held their own.

It was sometimes amusing to read the accounts of these attacks in the newspapers next day. Naturally none of our men ever told the true story, and the newspaper men had to rely mainly on the police version. The police, of course, had to make the best show possible in the eyes of their own superiors, and the newspaper men had to take their version, because they would need the information that friendly policemen could give them later on, and also because they might get a surprise midnight visit from the Black and Tan torturers if anything derogatory to the police was said. Hence it was that often when we had only 30 or 40 men on a job, with perhaps half a dozen rifles in all, the police would tell the public that the “number of attackers was estimated at 300, with several machine guns.” And often when not one of our men got a scratch it was reported that “several of the attackers were seen to fall, and it is believed three were shot dead.” There were times when we did suffer losses, but they never suspected it.

Our next operation of the kind was away on the north-western side of the county in the mountainous districts of Hollyford. This also was a complete success, the same body of us being in charge of the operation. It must be remembered that at this time the number of men on the run was comparatively small, and we often had to rely upon men who were never suspected of taking part in these attacks, and who returned to their work before morning.

Our next attack was not far from the same district—Rear Cross. Here we had a desperate battle, and were forced to retire without capturing the position. In this fight we had the assistance of some men from East Limerick Brigade, and the North Tipperary Brigade, but the South Tipperary boys carried out the main offensive under Sean Treacy and myself. The garrison, I must say, put up a brave defence, and used their hand-grenades with effect, Ernie O’Malley, Jim Gorman, Treacy and myself all being wounded by shrapnel. We succeeded in setting the building on fire, and I believe that several of the enemy were burned to death, while two others were shot.

It was about this time—to be exact, on the night of May 27th—that the famous Kilmallock attack took place. I was not engaged on the occasion. This attack, carried out by Sean Malone (alias “Forde”) created a big sensation at the time. It was a prolonged battle lasting from midnight until 7 o’clock in the morning. The barrack, which was regarded as being impregnable, was situated in the very heart of the town, and was occupied by one of the largest R.I.C. garrisons in the south. The I.R.A. occupied a hotel and several houses on the principal street, and actually pumped petrol from a hose on to the building. The barrack was burned to the ground, but our men had to cease the attack before the garrison was forced to surrender. One I.R.A. officer—Scully, of Kerry—was killed, two of the enemy were killed, and six of them wounded. The two policemen were burned to death in a room where they had been locked because they advised a surrender. The sergeant who commanded the garrison was promoted to the rank of District Inspector for his defence. He was shot dead in Listowel a few months later.

The next big engagement in which we took part was the famous fight at Oola, the day Brigadier-General Lucas escaped. This sensational incident I must relate in the next chapter.