Michael Collins and the Women Who Spied For Ireland (2 page)

Michael Collins was born on 16 October 1890 in the family's stone farmhouse at Woodfield outside Clonakilty.

He was the eighth child and third son of Michael (Mike) John Collins and Mary Anne (Marianne) O'Brien. According to the memoirs of two of the Collins sisters, Mary and Helena, the night prior to the birth Marianne, always energetic and resourceful, had milked the cows and strained the fresh milk. The baby, christened Michael Patrick a few days later, in Rosscarbery Church, had a father who was seventy-five years old, but ‘age did not make him old'. His father had married in 1875 when Marianne was only twenty-three and he a few months short of his sixtieth birthday.

Despite the big difference in age, their children remembered the marriage as a happy one. Since her early teens Marianne O'Brien had been used to responsibility and hard work and in this respect was to become an important role model for her cherished youngest son. She had to assist in the rearing of her many brothers and sisters because her father was killed and her mother injured when their horse shied as they returned from a funeral. And when she married Michael John Collins and came to Woodfield she had to care for his three brothers during her early years there. Her eight children were born in close succession, but she accepted her responsibilities as ‘God's will'.

Michael, being the youngest of eight children, had a special place in family life. Although he was into mischief and adventure from an early age, his sister, Mary notes:

To say that we loved this baby would be an understatement – we simply adored him. Old Uncle Paddy said as soon as he saw him, ‘Be careful of this child for he will be a great and mighty man when we are all forgotten.'
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During the long winter evenings Michael would listen as neighbours gathered to tell stories around the turf fire of the Woodfield kitchen. The women, who often included his mother's mother, Granny O'Brien, would sew, knit or crochet. Embedded in Granny O'Brien's memory was an incident from the potato famine of 1848. While returning from Clonakilty she saw people on the roadside who had starved to death. They had been too weak to reach the Clonakilty workhouse.

Michael's father would recall hardships in his household during that period, when his own mother often did not have enough food for even a meagre meal to her family. Though the economy had improved by the 1890s, shortages still prevailed and conditions were ‘primitive' at Woodfield. Despite disadvantages the Collinses were happy, according to Michael's sister, Helena. The farm was self-supporting. Grain grown on their farm was ground, made into flour and used by Mama for baking. Therefore, even young Michael's contribution was accepted with praise when he helped his sisters to pick blackberries for jam, took a turn at churning the cream into butter or lent his mother a hand at spinning the wool from their own sheep.

Papa ‘idolised' his youngest son and namesake, and Michael became his regular companion when he worked in the fields. The five-year-old would listen to Papa's recollection of an evening in 1850 when Uncle Paddy and Uncle Tom discovered two landlord's agents on horseback who were trespassing and destroying the crops on the Collins' paid-up rented farm. The encounter which ensued resulted in the men being jailed for a year. This type of occurrence and other agrarian injustices soon influenced Papa and his brothers to join the secret ranks of the Irish Republican (Fenian) Brotherhood – an organisation which was dedicated to physical force to secure the independence of Ireland.

Michael, like the other members of his family, went to Lissavaird National School. Under the influence of the headmaster, Denis Lyons, this ‘avid pupil' absorbed the history of the island of Ireland and the portrayal of ‘patriotism' which was ‘in the forefront of his teaching'.
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Michael was just six when Papa got very ill. A heavy burden of work fell on all members of the family so one Saturday in December Mama sent Michael to Clonakilty with the £4/6/8 weekly rent to the landlord's agent. On his way to the agent's house he saw a football, marked one shilling, in a shop window. He hoped that the agent would give him the shilling discount – something that was occasionally done for prompt payment. The agent's response was abrupt: ‘Tell your father he's a fool to trust such a small lad with so much money.' The imprint of this episode lasted; Michael would recall it on his last visit home on the last day of his life.
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Young Michael had reason to remember the agent's rebuff because Papa never again took him to the fields. On a cold December night in 1896 Mama called her eldest son Seán (Johnny) to go for the priest. Papa had got a heart attack. The priest came and administered the Last Sacraments. As the days passed Papa's health improved but he would never again venture outdoors. Then on the night of 7 March, 1897, Helena said, ‘Mama called us all at about 10 pm'. Mike-John, his favourite nephew, and the household's occupants gathered round Papa's bed. Though he knew he was dying, he had a message for family members and was lucid. Helena remembers: ‘He was quite conscious when he spoke'.

He bade goodbye to young Michael, told Mama to ‘Mind that child, he'll be a great man yet, and will do great things for Ireland'. Then shortly after midnight ‘darling old Papa died'.
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Michael was reared in a district influenced by patriotic zeal. Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, the famous Fenian leader, had been born in nearby Rosscarbery and had once paid a cherished visit to his school. After his introduction to the Fenian movement by his father and grandmother, Michael was further tutored by teacher Denis Lyons and the local blacksmith, James Santry. When Michael was twelve his teacher found him:

Exceptionally intelligent in observation and at figures. A certain restlessness in temperament. Character: Good. Able and willing to adjust himself to all circumstances. A good reader. Displays more than a normal interest in things appertaining to the welfare of his country. A youthful, but nevertheless striking, interest in politics. Coupled with the above is a determination to become an engineer. A good sportsman, though often temperamental.
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As well as the fiction of the day, such as Kickham, Michael read O'Donovan Rossa's
Prison Life
and other political writings, including those of Arthur Griffith, a founder of Sinn Féin.

The older members of the Collins family were moving away from home. Tears had already been shed when Patrick sailed from Ireland ‘for ever' for America. For most of his early days Michael's home life was dominated by women who loved and nurtured him. He helped to lighten the burden of Mama's work on their ninety-acre Woodfield farm. When he had fed the calves and completed the farmyard chores he could often be found kicking football, playing hurley with the local lads or having a go at bowling. But most of all he loved to wrestle, and would challenge older lads. His strength and firm build often gained him an upper hand.

Mama managed to build a new four-bedroomed house to replace the old house which had become draughty with many broken slates. The house, one of the finest in the locality, was later burned to the ground by British forces as a reprisal for a local ambush. Books, sent from London by his sister Hannie, or given to him by his sister Margaret and also Mary, formed the main decoration of Michael's new bedroom at Christmas 1900.

Michael was very close to his sister Helena but they had to part when she left home to become a nun. On 22 August 1901 Mama and Margaret sat waiting in the pony trap while Helena gave her ten-year-old brother a warm hug. Though his mother was still relatively young, her health began to deteriorate, probably due, at least in part, to the strain of work and responsibility. But the education of Michael, her youngest, required some thought. She was determined that he should have secure employment. Though his bent was for engineering and mathematics, and he was developing an adventurous enterprising spirit, Mama prized the security of a civil service position. When Michael was thirteen and a half she booked him into the civil service class in Clonakilty under John Crowley and John Blewett.

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

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.'
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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'.
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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.
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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.
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Michael 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'.
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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'.
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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.'
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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.
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Notes