When Liam Lynch was killed in County Waterford in the early spring of 1923, Austin Stack, Frank Barrett, David Kent, Sean Gaynor, Maurice Walsh, George Power, and several others of us who were together in the neighbourhood decided to make our way to the Nire Valley to attend an important meeting that had been called to discuss certain peace proposals. We reached Melleray at 1 o’clock next morning, and had a much needed rest and some food. At 5 o’clock we resumed our journey towards Cappoquin, and after an hour’s march we crossed the road, for we were anxious to keep to the fields as much as possible. Just after we had crossed the road, and were advancing up a hill heavy fire was opened on us from three sides. We at once took cover, but as the firing became more intense we decided to get away as best we could. In the confusion we became scattered. I never met Austin Stack from that day until I met him four months later in Mountjoy, where we were both prisoners.
I fell in with Maurice Walsh and Andy Kennedy, and we decided to face for Newcastle, near Clonmel. When we arrived there we found to our amazement that the place was held by a strong party of Free Staters.
We had to remain for two days on the hills, as the Free State troops had brought up huge reinforcements to sweep the district. There was heavy snow on the ground, but we could not venture into any place of shelter.
After two days we slipped through the lines, and I headed for my old haunt, the Glen of Aherlow. I reached a dug-out on the Glen and almost collapsed from exhaustion and hunger. I slept almost as soon as I lay down.
From that sleep I was wakened by the heavy tramp of marching men above. I jumped out and looked into the barrels of several Free State rifles. I had no option but to surrender.
I am not a soft-hearted man. I have gone through too much to feel it an easy job to weep; but my pride alone kept me from crying like a child that day.
For five years I had defied England’s garrison in Ireland. Everything I had suffered willingly for my country and my countrymen. And now in my native county I was a prisoner in the hands of my own countrymen.
I was first taken to Galbally where I met my old friend of Knocklong, Ned O’Brien, his brother John Joe, and James Scanlan. I think they felt the situation as keenly as I did, but they tried to cheer me up.
From Galbally I was taken under escort to my native town, Tipperary, where I was put through some form of trial. Next day I was taken from the Free State Headquarters, the Abbey School, and marched to the railway station. The humiliation and agony I endured during that short march I shall never forget. May the reader never know what it is to be marched a prisoner through his native town for doing what he believed to be his duty and serving his country.