Brighid arrived in the district on the Sunday before the wedding. It was seven months since we had seen each other, so that our reunion was not only romantic but delightful. It is not easy to appreciate the risk she had taken.
Meantime I had sent word from Brigade Headquarters to all our columns, telling them of the event that was coming off. During the early morning of 12th June all our columns converged on Glenagat, felled trees across the roads, and posted armed guards at all the approaches. Glenagat that day was as impregnable as the South Tipperary Brigade could make it, and if the British forces attempted to visit the area they would get a reception such as they had never before experienced. Never were our men so eager, so determined, or so excited. The night before Sean Hogan, Dinny Lacey, Mick Sheehan, Con Moloney, Sean Fitzpatrick and several other officers slept with me in a tent near by. I think I should have said spent the night, for we slept very little, much to my regret. The boys would insist on talking all through the night and giving me all the advice that bachelors usually give to one who is going to become a benedict. If ever I was the target for rapid and sustained fire it was that night—though fortunately it was not of a dangerous kind.
Early in the morning we arrived at Glenagat House. Father Murphy, of New Inn, Cashel, who was to perform the ceremony, had already arrived, and Brighid was there too. Father Murphy said Mass in the house, and both Brighid and myself received Holy Communion. Sean Hogan was my “best man,” and Miss Annie Malone was bridesmaid.
When the ceremony was over we sat down to breakfast, and a right merry party we were. Father Ferdinand O’Leary, Sean Cooney and Miss Cooney arrived on the scene just as the breakfast began.
At Jack Luby’s, of Milltown House, we had a real country wedding. All through the evening and night the boys and girls of the neighbourhood danced and sang and enjoyed themselves as if there was no war on. All the time our outposts were on the alert, though each party was relieved from time to time to have their share in the merriment. And even while the boys danced and laughed their guns were ever at hand in case of need. We had grown used to the war. No terrorism could ever kill the spirit of the people.
From Glenagat district we went across to Donohill, back to my native parish, beside Soloheadbeg. Larry Power, who was Captain of my old company, saw that we had nothing to fear, and I knew my old comrades could be trusted to the death.
Here we spent our honeymoon, moving from the house of one friend to another, for they were all anxious to entertain us. John Quirke, Paddy O’Dwyer, James Ryan and Jack O’Brien, of Ballinvassa, were each in turn our host, and spared no pains to make us happy and safe.
Truly, it was a strange wedding and a strange honeymoon. No wedding marches, crossed swords, confetti or rice or trips to the continent, but the love and welcome of trusted friends with generous warm hearts. And I do not believe that either my wife or I would have it otherwise, if we had our choice again.