CHAPTER XIV

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ON THE TRAIL OF LORD FRENCH.

When we got to Dublin in the Autumn of 1919, there were many signs that the war with the British was soon to develop. Any good judge of the situation at the time could have foreseen the intensive guerilla struggle that was to ensue for a year and a half. Raids for arms were becoming more numerous, and attacks on police patrols were by no means rare. But open warfare had not yet developed. British soldiers and police could go about with comparative safety. Our great danger while in Dublin was from the “G” men, Dublin’s Scotland Yard. These were the detective branch of the Dublin Metropolitan Police, paid by the ratepayers of Dublin to track down criminals, but now mainly employed on political or military work. So far from devoting their attentions to the criminal classes we knew that many of them actually made use of criminals as “touts” or “spotters” to shadow men, or to get information. In the Autumn of 1919 the “G” men, of whom there were a few score all told, were principally engaged in assisting and guiding the British military in midnight raids on the homes of Sinn Feiners, or in raids to seize Sinn Fein literature. They even made their way into Sinn Fein gatherings to take a note of the speeches, and though many of them were known by appearance to almost every person in Dublin they were not afraid, for at that time they seldom got more than a hiding if identified. Day after day one read in the papers of raids on the houses of inoffensive people who never handled firearms in their lives. It was this form of petty tyranny that goaded many into

## action. Boys and girls, not to speak of men and women, were imprisoned

for such offences as having a copy of an Irish song. It was more than flesh and blood could stand.

Towards the end of the year several notoriously obnoxious “G” men were shot dead or wounded in the streets, and in every case their assailants got safely away. Every other means of bringing these men to their senses, or making them realise that they were playing the part of spies and traitors had been tried but failed. As a result of the wholesale attacks made upon them it was in the end found impossible for them to live in their homes, or even to venture on the streets, and they took up their abode in Dublin Castle, whence they issued forth now and again to accompany raiding parties of armed troops. Many of them too resigned when things became too hot for them. I must say, however that a small number who did not resign were never molested, because they confined themselves solely to their ordinary work of arresting criminals. These men had an understanding with our side that they could go about their work provided they never indulged in political activities, or assisted the military. A few others, who remained in the force, afterwards joined our Secret Service, and gave invaluable assistance in the way of official documents and information that they were in a position to obtain. For obvious reasons I cannot go into details on these matters.

When the four of us from Tipperary had become almost settled down in Dublin, and knew the city well, we were soon kept busy, as we wanted to be. Now and again a “G” man got on our track, but we soon dealt with him. We walked about Dublin quite freely and without any disguise. It was a common trick on the part of the R.I.C. to send a man who knew us up from County Tipperary for a few days in the hope of seeing us. These men soon learned sense. They returned home as quickly as they could, for it would not serve their health to get too close on our heels. Probably too a few of them who may have chanced to see us from time to time had wisdom enough not to know us.

We had many good friends in Dublin. Phil Shanahan’s was a great haunt of ours, and one of the most amusing recollections I have of that time is a conversation I had there one evening with a D.M.P. man who, of course, had no notion who I was. He discussed the political situation with me very confidentially, even the Soloheadbeg and Knocklong affairs. He was in complete agreement with the Sinn Feiners—he guessed I was one—but he couldn’t agree to the taking of life. I think I gave the poor man the impression that my views were the same as his own.

Ryan’s, of the Monument Creamery, in Parnell street, and Seumas Kirwan’s were also open houses to us, besides many others that I will mention in the course of my narrative. Of course we frequently met kindred spirits like Dick McKee and Peadar Clancy and Tom Keogh, for at that time the number of active gunmen ready for any risk in the country’s cause was small. Many of those who later proved their mettle did not get the chance at that time, principally because those who were in favour of active measures were few and far between. The attitude of the Headquarters’ Staff of the I.R.A. I shall have occasion to refer to very soon.

In the autumn my comrades and I had long and serious discussions about the policy of shooting policemen and soldiers. We felt it was not enough in itself. They, we argued, were but the tools of higher men. Their loss did not trouble England very much, for she could always get more dupes. Why, we asked ourselves, should we not strike at the very heads of the British Government in Ireland? It would arouse the world more to take an interest in Ireland’s case; it would strike terror into the hearts of English statesmen, and it would prove more effective in helping to make British Rule in Ireland impossible. England could carry on all right with a few policemen less; it would be more difficult to carry on without a Lord Lieutenant. Besides, there were thousands of policemen; but there were only a few who might become Lord Lieutenant, and they would think twice of taking the job if they had to risk being shot.

As a result of these discussions we finally decided to make preparations for an attack on Lord French, the Lord Lieutenant himself. Brave and trusted men to whom we communicated our plans readily agreed.

For three long months we watched, planned and waited for him. We suffered many bitter disappointments waiting. He was very rarely seen about now and was always accompanied by a heavy escort. Great secrecy was observed about his movements, though our Secret Service kept us well posted. Even the public functions usually patronised by Viceroys were rarely attended by Lord French. There were many reasons for that, which do not concern my story.

He little knew what narrow escapes he had during these three months. Twice or three times we missed him by a street—the altering of his route by one corner. That, by the way, was a frequent plan of his—to change his journey from the original programme. It was a trick to upset any plans made against him on the strength of information supplied from inside. It showed what little trust he had in those around him. On one occasion we missed him by barely one minute.

During those three months, the last months of 1919, we had no less than twelve different ambushes planned to intercept him. But on each one of the twelve occasions he either failed to come or arrived too late or too early for our purpose. These plans were connected with affairs of the city—public functions, or visits to private houses. We were naturally hampered, because we could not afford to hang around a particular spot too long—our movements would lead to suspicion, and probably to a sudden swoop by the military.

The first occasion that we were lying in wait Mick Collins was with us. So was Tom MacCurtain, Commandant of the 1st Cork (City) Brigade, who, in March of the following year, when he was Lord Mayor of Cork, was murdered in his own home by the police. Poor Dick McKee was also there. He was then Commandant of the Dublin Brigade, and never believed in asking his men to take risks he was not prepared to take himself. Dick was murdered together with Peadar Clancy, while a prisoner in the hands of the British a year later.

On another occasion I remember vainly waiting with Peadar Clancy for two hours outside the door of a Merrion Square doctor whom French occasionally visited. On November 11th, the Anniversary of the Armistice, the Lord Lieutenant was to attend a banquet in Trinity College. We had every hope of intercepting him that night. Our plan was to bomb his car as he passed Grattan Bridge, for we knew the very hour he was due to travel along the quays from the Viceregal Lodge to the College.

So certain were we that everything would work out according to plan that some of our men in the vicinity of the Bridge, within a hundred yards of Dublin Castle, had actually drawn and thrown away the pins from their bombs. It was a bitterly cold night, and there they stood with their fingers pressed on the springs of the cold metal ready to release the bombs. But he never came. For almost two hours our men had to endure the agony of holding the springs of the bombs, and in the end they had to make their escape as best they could, still gripping the cold bombs.

A fortnight later French was expected at the Castle, and of course his journey would take him across the same bridge. We knew of the arrangements, and again took up our positions. The weather was bitterly cold. It was in the early forenoon, and suddenly snow began to fall. But we did not mind the snow. The job we were bent upon was too serious to be interfered with by such trifles. Some of us paced the bridge in the blinding snow, and wondered were we to be disappointed again, for the hour fixed for his arrival had passed. While we were on the bridge a friend who recognised us passed, and, evidently realising that we were on some job remarked with pointed sarcasm, “That’s a most convenient spot you are taking shelter from the snow!” His words brought us to a sense of our position. Anybody in the shops round the bridge would have suspected us at once. As there seemed no use in waiting any longer we went off. Five minutes later lorry loads of military swooped down on the bridge, and held up and searched everyone in the neighbourhood. Detectives who had been posted near the entrance to Dublin Castle had seen us on the bridge, and at once telephoned to the Viceregal Lodge, with the result that French cancelled his appointment, and the troops came instead. We had just got away in time. Another instance of our luck!

On all these occasions our information about Lord French’s arrangements was absolutely reliable. No doubt he often changed his plans at the last moment, fearing that our sources of knowledge were as sound as indeed they always proved.

Personal reasons, which do not concern me, also often caused his plans to be altered, while of course the advice of touts and spies had its effect. It certainly was an eloquent commentary on British rule in Ireland that the head of the Government carried his life in his hands whenever he ventured through the streets of the capital. As everybody knew, he was wise enough to venture out only as seldom as he could, even when accompanied by a huge escort; though I have no reason to think that personally he was not a brave man.

At last when our patience was almost exhausted, we got information that gave us hope of achieving our purpose. It was in December, 1919. The newspapers of these days seldom gave any information at all regarding the Viceroy’s movements. Even when he crossed to England occasionally the newspapers were not informed until he was safely back in Phoenix Park. They were not encouraged to trace his movements. Sometimes, however, the newspapers were supplied with information intended deliberately to mislead the public in general, and the I.R.A. in particular. At the time of which I speak the Irish newspapers had informed their readers that Lord French was away out of the country. I think they actually stated that he was cruising somewhere in the North Sea.

We knew better. He was, as a matter of fact, enjoying himself with a select house party of male and female intimates, at his country residence, French Park, Co. Roscommon. We knew a good deal more about Lord French’s life than the public ever suspected; but my purpose is not to give a history of the Viceroy’s private affairs, except in so far as they concern my narrative. Sufficient to say that on this occasion we knew every member of the select few at French Park, Boyle.

Frenchpark is a remote country district. While the Lord Lieutenant was in occupation the house was garrisoned by a strong force. But that garrison we felt we could easily overpower did we so desire. The situation of the house too would favour our escape when we had accomplished our object. We would have no difficulty in covering the journey from Dublin to Roscommon, and we believed we would get back almost as easily. We could readily go by roads which would avoid the towns, for it is a much easier matter for wanted men to go from Dublin to the West than it would be, say, to go South or North.

Why, then, it may be asked, with all the circumstances in our favour did we not attempt to shoot Lord French when he was in Roscommon?

The answer is simple. We knew he would be returning to Dublin on a

## particular date, and we decided to attack him almost at his own door, and

beside the city. Why? Because what we had in mind was the effect such an incident would create. Against the old soldier himself we had no personal spite, but he was the head of the alien Government that held our country in bondage, and we knew that his death would arouse the world to interest itself in our fight for freedom. His name was known throughout the world. The Phoenix Park was as well known to the world as Hyde Park. Think then of the sensation that would be created when this man, a Field Marshal of the British Army, and head of the Government in Ireland, was shot dead at the gate of the Phoenix Park, in the capital of the country he was supposed to rule, and within a stone’s throw of half a dozen of England’s military garrisons—at a spot where within five minutes could be mustered twenty thousand British troops, with every implement of modern warfare. The risk to ourselves was greater, but the moral effect would be worth the price. The world would sit up and say: “The men who have done this are no cowards; their country must have a grievance; what is it?” That is the result on which we reckoned, and our reasons for finally deciding to plan our coup for Ashtown. I shall describe (in the next chapter) our attack, and its many sequels.

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