Michael Collins and the Women Who Spied For Ireland Page 2

  Michael’s eldest sister Margaret and her husband P. J. O’Driscoll ran the West Cork People newspaper in Clonakilty. They offered him a home from home during weekdays but weekends found him cycling back to Woodfield in search of the outdoor life of farming and sport.

  With absolute dedication Michael applied himself to his studies; in his spare time he learned to typewrite and wrote reports of minor football matches and bowling contests for P. J.’s paper. He was fifteen-and-a-half when he sat and passed the British Post Office examination, which offered him a position and a new life in London. The morning he said goodbye to Mama he knew it was unlikely that he would ever see her again.

  Early on the morning of 19 July 1906 at Woodfield, as the sun brightened the farmyard, the new dwelling house, the valley and river beneath, Michael hugged his tearful mother, who was quite ill – so ill, in fact, that she had already bought material to make her own shroud. Sitting in the pony trap with his elder brother Johnny, he also bid a long farewell to the west Cork countryside. With money scarce and travel difficult, he knew it would be a long time before he would return. At Clonakilty he parted with his brother and his link with home, went by train to Cork, by boat to London and took up a position as a temporary boy-clerk in West Kensington Post Office Savings Bank.

  Notes

  1 Helena Collins, Memoir, 4 /9/1970.

  2 Helena Collins, 4/9/1970. (Ellen Collins, a cousin, was head teacher of the girls’ school).

  3 Michael O’Brien to author, 15/12/73.

  4 Helena Collins, op. cit., 4/9/1970.

  5 Michael Collins to Kevin O’Brien, 16/10/1916, q. Rex Taylor, Michael Collins, pp. 25, 26.

  Friendships and Organisations

  London was an awesome place for the young lad from Woodfield but Michael was fortunate that his sister Hannie had been working as a clerk for some years in West Kensington Post Office Savings Bank. Her quarters at 5 Netherwood Road, West Kensington were ‘destined to be his home for nine of the most impressionable years of his life.’1

  Michael made no secret of his longing for home during the early days in London or of his wish that he could fish in the river, throw a bowl along the west Cork roads or do little jobs for his mother. ‘Loneliness can be of two sorts,’ he said to a friend, ‘the delighted loneliness of the traveller in the country; and the desperate loneliness of the stranger to a city’. 2 For many weeks he was miserable but his letters to his mother did not reveal this; rather they reflected his concern for her welfare and his desire that she would take care of herself.

  With his aptitude for figures he easily mastered his job, and was a diligent, reliable worker. The routine of office methods and clerical work would be of immense benefit in later life. He had the ability to make friends easily and was soon ‘at home’ with many of the Irish boys and girls who worked in the Post Office. With a view to promotion within the civil service, Michael successfully pursued evening classes at King’s College.

  His mother’s letters became fewer, her health worsened, and just six months after Michael had left home he got word of her death. He bitterly mourned her loss. Although lack of money, distance and the demands of work were great, he managed to come home for her funeral.

  As time passed Michael grew more involved in activities in London. He became an active member of the Gaelic League and the GAA. As a member of the local Sinn Féin branch he continued to follow the writings of one of its founders, Arthur Griffith.

  By 1909 he had grown to a height of five foot eleven inches, with a firm physique, strong will and a need to channel his restless energy. In November 1909, fellow west Cork man and GAA enthusiast Sam Maguire introduced him (Pat Belton swore him in) to the Irish Republican Brotherhood (IRB) – the secret oath-bound society which favoured physical force to achieve Irish independence. He formed enduring friendships with other members. In just over a year he became section master and by 1914 he was treasurer of the coordinating body for the IRB in London and the south of England. At around this time he went through an ‘anti-clerical’ stage, as mentioned by his sister Mary, but later in his life he was a devout practising Catholic.

  By this time Michael was spending every spare moment reading; his wide-ranging excursions through history and literature, guided by his sister Hannie, substituted for any gaps in his formal education. The nearby Carnegie Library became one of his favourite haunts. In addition Hannie introduced him to her English friends so that he would become familiar with their way of life. Her influence on him was immense. Her love of drama, literature and poetry became his love also. Teasingly he would greet his friend, Belfast-born journalist Robert Lynd, who at this time wrote for the Daily News, ‘And how’s the non-conformist today?’

  He built up a strong rapport with Joe O’Reilly, a man destined to be his life-long friend, and also with his fellow west Cork man and cousin, Seán Hurley. Michael and Seán Hurley returned to west Cork for Michael’s first holiday at home since leaving for London, and spent summer evenings lofting a bowl, or playing hurley ‘in the field above the house’ with neighbouring lads. Seán’s sister, Kathy, had married Michael’s eldest brother, Johnny, who continued to work on the family farm at Woodfield, and Michael loved to play with their children. Mick renewed his friendship with Bob Hales of Knocknacurra, a world-champion runner, and through Bob he got to know the other Hales brothers – Seán, Tom, Dónal, Bill – and their sister Madge, who would later play a vital part in obtaining arms for the Irish cause.

  In April 1910 Michael took up a clerical position with the stockbroking firm of Horne & Company in Moorgate. At the weekly céilí he enjoyed his dances with the girls and his banter with the lads; his athletic build, dark-brown hair and boyish grin attracted the girls who were all ‘mad about him’. His cousin Nancy O’Brien, who worked in the Post Office, observed how he avoided getting involved with any one girl, preferring to win the friendship of several. Susan Killeen from County Clare and a Dublin girl named Dolly Brennan had also worked with him in the Post Office and they were sure of a dance from him. He had, however, a particular affection for Susan Killeen – a bright, intellectual girl who received her education with the aid of scholarships.

  Robert Lynd introduced Michael to London’s society people. He became a regular theatre-goer and soon rubbed shoulders with the famous and the rich. In late 1913 this brought him in contact with Crompton Llewelyn Davies and his wife Moya (O’Connor). Moya was the daughter of a former Nationalist MP, James O’Connor, who had been imprisoned for nine years because of his Fenian activities, and Crompton Llewelyn Davies was Lloyd George’s solicitor at this time, and solicitor general to the British Post Office. Crompton, who Bertrand Russell described in his autobiography as being ‘strikingly good looking with very fine blue eyes’ took a great interest in Irish affairs and was involved with his sister Sarah in the campaign for the advancement of women’s education and women’s suffrage. Through his friendship with the Davies Collins was introduced in 1913 to the Belfast-born painter Sir John Lavery and his attractive wife, Lady Hazel. Soon he took a keen interest in painting, and in his spare time could be found in the company of the Laverys at Cromwell Place, often staying for dinner or enjoying conversation with a select company during Saturday afternoon tea which was served in the gallery.

  Though Lady Hazel had been born in America, being of Irish ancestry she always felt an affiliation towards Ireland. Her ancestors were Martyns from Connemara who had settled, first in Boston and then in Chicago. She met John Lavery – a man over twenty years her senior – when he was giving a lecture tour in America. After their marriage and arrival in England, Sir John introduced Hazel to London society. An artist in her own right, she participated in a joint exhibition with Augustus John.3

  Hazel became friendly with a distant cousin, Elizabeth, Countess of Fingall. The countess was involved with Sir Horace Plunkett in founding the cooperative movement in Ireland, and belonged to the circle which included the writers George Bernard Shaw and AE (George Russell); she was also
a close friend of Edward Martyn (another relative) ‘one of the first men of his class and time to become a nationalist’ and a member of Sinn Féin.4Michael Collins was not the only Irishman to frequent this circle – Sam Maguire, Pádraig Ó Conaire and others who were conversant with literature and the arts often accompanied him.

  Michael’s rich west Cork accent and his love of storytelling pleased his hosts. Stories of his childhood enthralled Hazel Lavery, who was ‘beautiful, intelligent and a wonderful hostess’, and who ‘mixed her guests with gallant audacity’.5

  By 1914 Michael had changed jobs a few times. Now he worked with the Labour Exchange in Whitehall. He had become a skilled debater, with the ability to assimilate facts, and always liked to consign to paper a summary of details. The burning subject of discussion among Irish emigrants in early 1914 was the continuing failure of the British government to implement Home Rule. Already the Ulster Volunteer Company had been formed in Ulster in order to prevent its implementation, while in the south a separatist group had formed the Irish Volunteers.

  Michael Collins enrolled in the London/Irish Volunteer Number 1 Company on 25 April 1914 and acquired a rifle, with which he practised diligently. Around this time he contemplated going to live with his brother Pat in Chicago but first decided to visit IRB member Tom Clarke in Dublin. He told Clarke that he would become an active member of Clan na Gael in America but Clarke advised him to remain in London, as within a year there would be ‘something doing in Ireland’.6

  August 1914 saw the outbreak of the Great War, and the threat of conscription loomed for many citizens in England. Early in 1915 Michael, fearing conscription, took up a clerkship at the London branch of the Guarantee Trust Company of New York; if the worst occurred he could transfer to the parent company. He was reluctant to take up residence across the Atlantic and besides by now he had a regular girlfriend, Susan Killeen.

  The Home Rule Bill, though passed into law, was suspended for the duration of the war, until such time as parliament would again examine the Ulster question.

  In May 1915 Michael received information that the IRB were moving to take advantage of England’s difficulty abroad. ‘With all the impetuosity of twenty-five I went to Tom Clarke and told him I was ready to go home and do whatever he wanted me to do. But he was not ready for me to go.’7

  During this visit to Dublin with Seán Hurley Michael took the train to Bandon and walked to Knocknacurra for a chat with members of the Hales family. Young Madge’s eyes sparkled, according to Ned Barrett who watched her, as she hung the kettle to boil on the crane over the open hearth; she threw a few blocks on the fire because she knew that Mick’s arrival would mean a long night of debate. By the time day dawned all the company had determined that they would not fight for any country but Ireland.8

  Notes

  1 Piaras Béaslaí, Michael Collins, V. 1, p. 13.

  2 P. S. O’Hegarty, The Victory of Sinn Féin, p. 24.

  3 Elizabeth Countess of Finall, Seventy Years Young, pp. 50, 55. Telephone conversation (26 Sept. 1974) with Richard Llewelyn Davies (born 1912) confirm that Collins met Moya Llewelyn Davies first in late 1913.

  4 Ibid., pp. 50–55, 409.

  5 Ibid., pp. 50–55. 402, 403.

  6 Michael Collins to Hayden Talbot, q. Michael Collins’ Own Story, p. 26.

  7 Ibid.

  8 Ned Barrett to author, June 1974 (details of Knocknacurra visit); Michael Collins, The Proof of Success, p. 54.

  Easter 1916

  In late August 1915 Michael was summoned to Dublin. He and some of his friends were given a series of instructions, told to be ready for the call and to lay the foundations in the IRB London circle. For the rest of that year he was full of expectation and apprehension. Susan Killeen had lost her job in a London post office because she had refused to take the oath of allegiance and with Dolly Brennan and Nancy O’Brien she had returned to Dublin. But Susan was on holidays in Clare during his Dublin visit. He wrote to her: ‘I don’t remember ever being more disappointed in my life than I was on Saturday week.’ He blamed himself for not responding promptly to her letters. ‘But really I do hate letter-writing,’ he wrote, ‘and I’m not good at it and can’t write down the things I want to say – however don’t think that because I don’t write I forget.’ He was feeling ‘lonely and despondent’ and wondered would he feel better if he was back in Dublin. He poured out his unease about life in London, especially with the threat of conscription. ‘I’ll never be happy until I’m out of it and then mightn’t either,’ he wrote.1

  On the night of 15 January 1916, the night prior to the introduction of the Conscription Act, Michael bade a sad farewell to Hannie, who had been his counsellor, helper and friend for almost ten years. With fifteen of his friends he left London and sailed for Dublin.

  Through his IRB contacts he got his first job in Dublin. As ‘financial adviser to Count Plunkett’ he received £1 for a three-day week, plus lunch. During those early days of 1916, as he wrote to his sister Hannie, he was ‘not feeling at all happy, lonely you know’.2However the adjustment didn’t take long; at least he had Susan’s support and love. Mick had a romantic relationship with Susan during the 1914–1917 period. They shared common interests in politics, history, literature and poetry. He had danced with her at the céilís in London and would transcribe poems for her to learn ‘off’; she would recite them for him on their dates. They would discuss books, but above all they would discuss their shared interest in the Gaelic League and the future of Ireland.

  Soon he got into the swing of Dublin life, meeting new friends like Rory O’Connor and some of his ‘old associates’. Politically there was ‘no reason for despondency,’ he wrote to Hannie. ‘In fact there is every excuse for satisfaction.’3 He followed target practice with the Volunteers at Larkfield Manor, Kimmage, and before long got a new job in the office of accountants, Craig, Gardner and Company in Dame Street.

  In January 1916 the military council of the IRB had set Easter as the time to ‘declare the right of the people of Ireland to ownership of Ireland’.4Prior to Easter, Michael told Nancy O’Brien, Susan Killeen and Dolly Brennan – all three were staying together in Howth – that they should get out of town as things could get ‘too hot’. But they were adamant that they would be on standby in case their services were needed.

  On Easter Sunday a series of mishaps threw into disarray the initial plans for the Rising but by eight o’clock on Easter Monday morning ‘definite orders from Thomas MacDonagh’ to proceed with the arranged programme reached the Keating Branch of the Gaelic League, of which Collins was a member. Collins collected one of the organisers, Joseph Plunkett, from a private nursing home where he was recovering after an operation on his throat. He acted as his aide-de-camp throughout the Rising. During the week of the Rising, he had reason to admire the courage and steadfastness of Cumann na mBan members such as Winifred Carney, Elizabeth O’Farrell and Julia Grenan.

  By Saturday surrender was inevitable. Pearse and some of the other leaders consulted together and in the hope of saving lives agreed to an unconditional surrender. With bodies strewn everywhere, with buildings blazing, it was an apocalyptic sight. Seán Hurley, Mick’s friend and cousin who had come with him from London, was among the dead who lay at a barricade. The men who surrendered were herded into the green in front of the Rotunda Hospital, and surrounded by a ring of bayonets on the orders of Captain Lee Wilson. During the night many of them were mistreated and humiliated by Wilson. Michael was later penned off for deportation with a few hundred more of the insurgents. Over the following weeks sixteen of the leaders faced death before a firing squad. This in turn helped to sway public opinion in their favour.

  On 1 May 1916, Michael found himself a guest of the British government in Stafford Detention Centre as Irish Prisoner 48F. He wrote his first prison letter on 16 May, to his sister Hannie, and told her of ‘the heart-scalding eternal brooding on all sorts of things, thoughts of friends dead & living – especially those recently dead�
�.5 Because all his life Michael had been so active, it is small wonder that time dragged – ‘the horror of the way in which it refuses to pass,’ he wrote to Hannie. He turned to books for solace and asked Hannie for ‘a few good (& long) novels and for Heath’s Practical French Grammar’.6

  Towards the end of May he wrote a letter of thanks to his girlfriend Susan Killeen for her parcel containing ‘many delightful articles ... It was very kind and thoughtful of you’. In typical fashion he did not want to worry Susan. ‘Life here has not been so ghastly ... since we’ve been allowed reading matter and to write letters. Also we are allowed to smoke ...’

  He asked Susan to get in touch with Cumann na mBan, to ask them to ‘look up Mrs Kirwan of Maynooth whose husband is here [in Stafford]. They have five or six children who are not I am afraid being attended to at all. Also Mrs Little ... more or less similarly placed ... ’7

  Back in Ireland a big round-up was underway, with people being hauled in from all areas. To accommodate all the prisoners, internment camps were set up. Michael Collins was moved to Frongoch, north Wales, a disused distillery. Before the move he wrote to Susan and expressed his unease, especially about letter-writing restrictions. Things had certainly changed since he expressed his dislike of letter-writing the previous year. He anticipated that letters might be reduced to one a week. ‘Because,’ he told her, ‘you have no idea of the number of letters I’ve been writing ... some not fit to send anybody.’8Established in Hut 7, Upper Internment Camp, he was soon elected ‘hut leader’. His high spirits, his cheerfulness, his daring, his leadership and organisational ability led to the name ‘Michael’ being affectionately replaced by ‘Mick’. It was at this time in Frongoch that the nickname ‘The Big Fellow’ was first used about Michael.9