chapter I

have already told how I first met my future wife, Brighid Malone, in September, 1919, and how she and her sister served us and our cause when sympathisers were few. From the day of our first visit to the home of the Malone’s, our friendship began and soon developed into a deeper feeling. I knew it was to Brighid’s constant care and nursing that I owed my speedy recovery from the wounds I received at Ashtown. During the months that I spent in her mother’s house after that encounter our attachment became stronger, and in 1920 we became formally engaged.

After the fight at Drumcondra in October, 1920, Brighid came to see me whenever it was safe. We decided to get married as soon as I would be completely recovered. I knew well the risks I was asking her to take for my sake; but she never hesitated in taking them. To be known as a friend of mine involved all the petty tyranny and torture of which the British were capable. What then would it mean for the girl against whom the terrible crime could be laid that she was my fiancee or my wife?

I knew that spies would forever after dog her steps, that her home would be raided night and day, and she herself insulted, and perhaps tortured for information. But she never flinched. She was willing to take her chance, and I, for my part, felt I could be still as good a soldier of Ireland.

Early in 1921 we agreed that the marriage would take place in June. Brighid would have her holidays at that time, and therefore her journey to the country, if noticed, might not arouse so much suspicion.

At the end of May we had completed all arrangements. To have the ceremony in a church was out of the question. Churches were constantly being raided and searched, and even sacrilege was of little concern to the Auxiliaries. Besides, a marriage ceremony in a local church arouses the curiosity of the neighbourhood.

We decided to have the marriage at Michael Purcell’s, of Glenagat House. Glenagat is six miles from Clonmel, and four miles from each of the towns of Cahir, Cashel and Fethard. All of these towns were held by strong enemy forces who every day and night sent out heavy columns to scour the district in search of our units. Our chosen spot was, therefore, in the midst of the enemy.

The Purcells were a great family, and did everything in their power to help in completing the arrangements. They had a long record of service in the country’s cause, and both Mr. Purcell and his wife had seen the inside of a prison cell during the “Land War” of the last generation. They had been ruthlessly evicted from their homestead, but at this time they had won back their farm.

The fight was now more intense than ever. Each side was suffering heavy casualties every day, and the crimes of the Black and Tans were daily becoming more fiendish and revolting.

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.

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