Citizen Soldier

The Soloheadbeg Ambush was and remains a controversial action. Over the years—indeed over the last few days and no doubt in the days ahead—much debate and discussion has taken place and will continue. The motives, and ultimately the ethics of the ambush, are usually the focus. The following blog examines what happened. I have looked at many different sources and accounts, but my main focus is on Séumas Robinson and his actual role and contribution.

Before delving into the details of Soloheadbeg it is important to present some context. Séumas Robinson was the first and only democratically elected Officer Commanding the Third Tipperary Brigade of the Irish Republican Army. He remained in this position throughout the period of the Tan War. He was succeeded by Dinny Lacey when Robinson was appointed OC of the Second Southern Divison. It is important to reiterate that Séumas Robinson was still an outsider in the close-knit environment that was South Tipperary. His Easter Week record, friendship with Éamon Ó Duibhir and his contribution to reorganising the Volunteers had garnered him a certain standing in the locality. His developing relationship with Seán Treacy who, fortunately for Robinson, had been elected Brigade Adjutant, would be of immense benefit. These two men held long debates and discussions about pushing a more militant policy in their area. Séumas Robinson maintained that the only person he ever discussed fully the plan of campaign with was Treacy. Both men were in full agreement that the military approach was playing second fiddle to the political. Focus, of late, had been placed on: a number of by-elections; the anti-conscription campaign all culminating with the 1918 General Election; the impending formation of Dáil Éireann and possible representations to the International Peace Conference in Paris where the rights of small nations were being pressed.

With the end of the First World War the threat of Conscription had receded. Numbers began to haemorrhage from the ranks of the Volunteers. With this context in mind, Treacy came to see Robinson shortly after Christmas 1918. Treacy informed Robinson about a consignment of gelignite that was due to arrive at Soloheadbeg Quarry in two or three weeks’ time. He could not find out the exact date, which was kept under sealed orders. In his Statement for the Bureau of Military History, Robinson recalled this meeting. Treacy wanted to know should they attempt capture it. Robinson’s response was simple – it would be treasonous not to:

When I looked surprised that anyone should ask for such an obvious answer, he [Treacy] added that there would be from two to six R.I.C. guarding the cart, that they would be armed and that there was the possibility of shooting. “Good”, said I, “Go ahead, but under the condition that you let me know in time to be there myself with a couple of men from the local Battalion”, men with whom I would go tiger hunting. Then Seán Treacy said “Will you get permission from G.H.Q.?” I looked inquiringly at Seán to see if he were serious, before I replied; “It will be unnecessary so long as we do not ask for their permission. If we ask, we must await their reply.” Transport was slow in those early days and it might take so long that the gelignite could easily arrive before permission was received. “Who will take responsibility?” he queried. I said “I will”. I have seldom seen anyone look so pleasantly relieved. When Seán was suddenly pleased with anything his quizzical eyes opened for a flash and the tip of his tongue licked the outside corner of his lips.

The Soloheadbeg Ambush would be, in Robinson’s own words, the accidental starting point of what became known later as The Tan War:

I have said ‘accidental’ because ‘providential’ might sound a bit presumptuous, tho’ in point of fact there is no such thing as an accident not known beforehand to, and not allowed by Providence; and because Volunteers all over the country were as prepared, as anxious and as wiling as we to see the ball started rolling and would have started it in similar circumstances; and we certainly would not have been able to carry on if the Army and the Country were not prepared to help us.

Robinson and Treacy realised the possible consequences to them, and indeed the probable consequences if the Army were not prepared to stand behind their action. Due consideration was given to what they were about to embark upon. They were conscious of the wider circumstances and context. Reflecting on the ambush, Robinson recorded that:

We did not rush in without thought of the consequences to the about-to-be-set-up Government and the Movement as a whole. I thought long, deeply and anxiously and I almost panicked when I saw the date of the Dáil meeting drawing near and no sign of the gelignite coming. I was most anxious not to compromise the Dáil by starting anything that might be tagged on to them. If we had the ball rolling before the existence of the Dáil had been fully promulgated the British authorities would be pleased to think that Soloheadbeg was the action of irresponsibles and the Dáil would be saved by righteous indignation speeches of dyed-in-the-wood pacifist members. I knew that our Gallican clergy would help unconsciously in the delusion that we were pariahs.

Soloheadbeg in today’s parlance would maybe get described as a well-timed event. Tadgh Crowe, a participant in the ambush, recalled that it was probably around the second week in January 1919 when Seán Treacy told him of the intention to seize the consignment of gelignite. Treacy informed Crowe that he was one of the men selected to carry out the operation. The Quarry was worked by the County Council who had it on lease from the owners. Time and again, it was emphasised that the date on which the gelignite would be delivered from Tipperary Military Barracks and the strength of the RIC escort which would accompany it were uncertain.

In accordance with Treacy’s instructions, Crowe reported to Mrs. Breen’s (Dan’s mother) cottage at Donohill on 14 January. There he met Breen and Treacy and the three of them went to a place called the “Tin Hut” at Greenane, which was an unoccupied house on some farmland. They were joined there during the night by Séumas Robinson and Seán Hogan. Maurice Crowe, Patrick McCormack, Paddy O’Dwyer, Michael Ryan, Arthur Barlow and Con Power reported next day. During the days that followed there were some changes in the personnel, so there were days when Brian Shanahan, Ned O’Reilly, Dinny Lacey and Sean O’Meara were part of the ambush party.

Their plans were simple enough. Each morning, two of the party left to scout for the coming of the County Council employees and the police escort with the gelignite. The remainder of the party went to the ambush position which was about 150 yards from the entrance to the quarry. There was reasonable cover behind a whitethorn hedge at a place known locally as Cranitch’s field. Here there was also located a gate that gave easy access on to the road.

Wednesday came, Thursday came, Friday too and nothing. Saturday, Sunday and Monday mornings all passed with the same routine, but nothing unusual happened. The Volunteers returned each evening to the “Tin Hut”, lit a fire and spent the night there. In the participants’ recollections about their conversations around the fire, there were divergent views as to what the strength of the escort would be. They all assumed that the police would surrender when called upon to halt and put up their hands, and Tadgh Crowe was adamant ‘that none of us contemplated that the venture would end in bloodshed and loss of life.’

Séumas Robinson too recalled that some general instructions which he, as OC, issued had a bearing on the ethics of the ambush. It was laid down as an order that if only two RIC should accompany the cart they were to be challenged, but if there were six then they were to be met with a volley as the cart reached the gate. According to Robinson:

The reason for the difference was that there would be so little danger to us if only two appeared that it would be inhuman not to give them an opportunity of surrendering, but if six police turned up they, with their rifles, would be too great a danger to the eight of us to take any such risk as to challenge them and thus hand over our initiative. We had only one Winchester Repeater rifle and an agglomeration of small-arms.

About midday on Tuesday, 21 January 1919, roughly the same time Dáil Éireann was meeting for the first time in Dublin, Paddy O’Dwyer cycled back along the Donohill Road from Tipperary, where he had been scouting, with the news that the gelignite, had left Tipperary Military Barracks. It was accompanied by James Godfrey, driver of the horse and cart and another County Council employee named Patrick Flynn along with two RIC men, Constables O’Connell and McDonnell. The ambush party moved into their prearranged positions.

After long days consisting of boredom and anxious waiting for the gelignite to arrive, the moment was almost upon them. Séumas Robinson recorded that:

Naturally we had already discussed the plan of attack. I had encouraged everyone to give his views in order to size-up his ingenuity, common sense and judgment. The final consensus of their opinion was that we should lie concealed on either side of the gate, rush out with a yell, overawe and overwhelm them the moment the cart reached the gate. In summing up I suggested that I thought that that would resemble ‘gorilla’ warfare rather than guerrilla tactics, that it would betray an unsoldierly lack of discipline and self-control, and would create a false impression of headstrong, headlong hardihood.

Robinson was the only member of the assembled Volunteers who had seen action. His experiences during Easter Week had taught him a lot and he knew that remaining cool, calm and collected was essential to success. He continued:

Then there was the danger of men keyed up with excitement not knowing when to shoot, (orders would not be heard above the din), triggers would be pulled instead of pressed to the grave danger of our own men bunched together and milling around. Then it was suggested that we spread along the hedge with two to do the rushing out at the gate, the rest to cover off the retreat and the advance of the R.I.C. But they all wanted to be one of the two at the gate which warmed my heart because I could see that those “cocks” would fight tho’ not one of them had been in a fight under fire before. I insisted that no one should risk life or limb, that all were to remain behind the hedge tho’ only two police were reported coming. Seán Treacy and Dan Breen, at the last exciting moment, started to insist that they should be allowed to rush out. Breen seemed to have lost control of himself declaring with grinding teeth and a very high-pitched excited voice that he’d go out and face them. I gave an upward nod of my head which meant “cui bono” [who benefits], but I made a mental note that that man should never be put in charge of a fight. I did not want any Balaclava-like heroics, which, as the French Military Attaché declared, “is not war”.

There were eight in the ambush party that day, namely Séumas Robinson, Seán Treacy, Dan Breen, Paddy O’Dwyer, Michael Ryan, Seán Hogan, Patrick McCormack and Tadgh Crowe.

Robinson asked Treacy to remain behind the hedge at the left of the gate where there was a very convenient arm-rest. Treacy had a small-calibre Winchester repeating rifle and Robinson felt that a rifle is comparatively cumbersome in a hold-up of this nature unless firing from an arm-rest. He also felt that the hot-headed tension of Breen made it even more vitally important that Treacy should be composed and have oversight of the scene in order to be able to deal with any emergency. Robinson stated:

One could depend on cool riflemen. Small arms in the hands of men in their first fight, no matter how cool those men may be, are almost useless at a range of more than two yards. There was nothing for it but to walk over to Seán and say quietly: “Seán you must take that as an order”. Seán grimaced and with a little shrug of one shoulder got down on one knee and cocked his rifle ‘at the ready’. The rumbling of the cart was drawing near; I walked quickly the five or six yards to the left where Paddy O’Dwyer was waiting for me. Our job was to spring over the hedge the moment the challenge ‘hands up’ was given, and seize the horse while the R.I.C. were covered. A few yards farther back the R.I.C. had unslung their carbines, but it was clearly just routine. Still, it meant they were ready. The R.I.C. were behind the cart, and, as they appeared opposite the gate, the high-pitched challenge “Hands Up” rang out. Before the first sound had time to re-echo O’Dwyer and I were over the ditch and grabbing the reins. The R.I.C. seemed to be at first amused at the sight of Dan Breen’s burly figure with nose and mouth covered with a handkerchief; but with a sweeping glance they saw his revolver and O’Dwyer and me, they could see only three of us. In a flash their rifles were brought up, the bolts worked and triggers pressed two shots rang out, but not from the carbines, the cut-off had been overlooked. The two shots came from Treacy and Tim [Tadhg] Crowe. Those shots were the signal for general firing. At the inquest the fatal wounds were “caused by small-calibre bullets”.

Paddy O’Dwyer also put on record that ‘I distinctly remember seeing one of the R.I.C. men bringing his carbine to the aiming position and working the bolt, and the impression I got was that he was aiming at either Robinson or myself…After the long wait, the whole thing happened very suddenly, in less, perhaps, than half a minute, and in much less time than it takes to relate.’ Caught unawares the RIC men instinctively, in line with their military training, raised their weapons to fire but, according to the surviving participants, the safety catches ensured that their efforts were futile but demonstrated that their intent was deadly. With equal deadly intent came the shots from the Volunteers and the two RIC Constables lay dead on the road. The first shots had been fired and indeed the first causalities had now fallen in what would turn into a renewal of hostilities between the forces of Irish Republicanism and those of the British Empire.

The RIC were viewed by Robinson and Treacy as the glue that held Britain’s occupation of Ireland together. Their presence was visible in every parish across the country with a network of barracks that ensured they were the eyes and ears in every locality. They felt that as a police force their focus was not on ‘ordinary’ crime but rather on ensuring that everything national was monitored and if needed, suppressed. Indeed, the force were armed and there was a long history of animosity and distrust of ‘Peelers’. They were seen as obtrusive spies who had evicted people from their farms during the ‘Land War’ and suppressed previous rebellions, earning the title ‘Royal’ as a reward for their role.

Both men concluded that if any war of national liberation was to be successful then the RIC needed to be rendered ineffective. They were to be systematically targeted and boycotted. As we will see later Robinson and Treacy concentrated on driving out of the RIC from the smaller barracks in towns and villages across Tipperary.

The dead policemen were stripped of their weapons and equipment as the Volunteers made haste to make their escape. Paddy O’Dwyer recalled that ‘Michael Ryan and Paddy McCormack remained on the road with Séumas Robinson guarding Godfrey and Flynn until such time as the gelignite was a safe distance away. Tadhg Crowe and I took the two carbines with us and hid them at a spot on the railway line about half a mile from the scene of the ambush and where it was convenient for Tadhg to collect them later. We then parted and I went home to Hollyford on foot.’

Seán Treacy had made all the arrangements for dumping the gelignite in a secure location. Dan Breen and Seán Hogan mounted the cart. Breen, standing up with the reins, whipped the horse and away they went clattering along on the rough road.  

It had been arranged beforehand that Treacy, Breen and Hogan should meet and go ‘on the run’ and stay at a ‘safe house’ belonging to Mrs. Tobin of Tincurry. This arrangement became even more prudent now given that the two RIC men were dead. Large scale search operations would follow. The raids and searches became so intense in the area that the locals soon called Robinson, Treacy, Breen and Hogan ‘The Big Four’.

In subsequent blogs I will examine the reactions and consequences of Soloheadbeg. A state of war was not necessarily provoked by this action at this stage but it might well be categorised as being the ‘Premier Coup’. Circumstances in the ‘Premier County’ would be radically altered in the months following.

Almost one hundred years ago, about midday on Tuesday 21 January 1919 Paddy O’Dwyer cycled furiously along the Donohill Road towards Soloheadbeg Quarry in South Tipperary. It was bitterly cold and raining, but his exertions on the bicycle had insulated him from the worst excesses of the winter weather. He was on high alert, adrenaline was pumping fast through his veins; he was a man on a mission.

As a member of the newly formed Third Tipperary Brigade of the Irish Republican Army, O’Dwyer had been assigned to scout the route to the Quarry from Tipperary Town Military Barracks. For days he had been watching and waiting to no avail. The fledgling IRA unit had garnered some loose intelligence that a consignment of explosives was to be transported, under armed guard, to the Quarry. It was decided by the Brigade leadership that the explosives would be seized and so the first operation, of what would become one of the most famous fighting units during the struggle for Irish Independence, was instigated. It would be the first time that the men would engage an armed enemy. There was, however, one notable exception. The Brigade Commandant, Séumas Robinson, was a veteran of the 1916 Rising. He fought with the O’Connell Street Garrison in Dublin during that momentous week. Not a Tipperary native, he was, nonetheless, now laying in ambush awaiting the consignment of gelignite on an isolated country road far from where he was born. How did he make the journey from Sevastopol Street, just off the Falls Road in Belfast, to the rural hinterland of South Tipperary?

My Grandfather, Alex Robinson, had always spoken of a relative who had taken part in the Easter Rising and subsequently led the Tipperary IRA during the period spanning 1917-1923. Indeed, my Grandfather remembered as a young child meeting this relative. His abiding memory was of a man with a small black travelling bag staying in his family home situated in the Clonard area. The relative to whom he referred was Séumas Robinson and he was born at number 22 Sevastopol Street on 6 January 1890. He was the third child born to James Robinson and his wife Sarah, both of whom were, interestingly, born in France. A plaque has now been erected in the street to mark Robinson’s historical linkage to the locality. His family moved a short distance to the newly built houses on Benares Street in Clonard. He attended school locally with the De La Salle Brothers and eventually ended up starting a technical education with the Christian Brothers. Robinson would later become an engineer.

There was a physical force tradition in the family. His Grandfather, also called James, had to flee Ireland for the safety of France for his involvement with revolutionary movements of previous generations. James Robinson returned to Ireland in the 1870s and settled in Belfast. As an engineer he installed the machinery in many of the linen mills around the Falls. He is listed in the street directories of the time as being a ‘Machine Master’ living in Odessa Street. According to family tradition, he refused to shave again until Ireland was free and had a flowing white beard by the time of his death in 1894.

Séumas had an older brother called Joseph who through Irish-Ireland Groups such as the Gaelic League and GAA had become involved in the secret oath-bound revolutionary group called the Irish Republican Brotherhood. The IRB had the avowed purpose of achieving Irish Independence through force of arms. By the early 1900s the group had become moribund but a new leadership of younger men were revitalising the organisation. They began to recruit and directed their members to join other groups to influence them in favour of supporting Irish Independence. Joseph was instrumental in these activities and assisted Bulmer Hobson in founding the original Republican Youth Organisation, Fianna Éireann in 1902. This group was confined to Belfast but soon faltered due to a lack of funds. It did, however, serve as a forerunner to the national organisation founded in 1909 by Countess Markievicz. Joseph Robinson was involved and served on the first national officer board. He subsequently became an organiser for the Fianna, setting up units all over Ireland and in Irish Communities throughout Britain.

The Robinson family moved to Glasgow in 1903. Séumas continued his education here. He considered taking a vocation and joining a religious community but opted instead to pursue an engineering career. His brother Joseph now began to use the Fianna in the quest for arms and explosives. Their caches would be processed through Glasgow and imported to Ireland and distributed via Belfast. Raids for weapons and explosives were constant and a steady stream flowed. The Irish Volunteers, an open militant organisation, were established in 1913 and a branch was set up in Glasgow with Joseph Robinson at its helm. Séumas also joined the Volunteers and was also sworn into the IRB at this time.

With the outbreak of the First World War the IRB saw an opportunity to strike against Britain and soon plans for a Rising were instigated. The quest for arms and explosives intensified. Glasgow Republicans worked in the shipyards and munition factories and began to sabotage the production of war materials and supplies. The Scottish Police along with Scotland Yard and the Political Detectives from Dublin began to zero in on Republican Activists as the culprits. They were to take drastic actions to curtail these activities. After a raid for explosives on a Lanarkshire Quarry evidence was planted implicating Joseph Robinson and a number of others. Arrests were made. Séumas Robinson had no choice but to go ‘on the run’.

Sanctuary was found in Dublin where Séumas joined other men from Britain who wanted to fight for Ireland. They lived in what became known as the Kimmage Garrison, part of the Plunkett estate, and under the direction of Joseph Plunkett, later executed for his part in the coming Rising, and his brothers they prepared weapons and explosives for combat.

Easter 1916 was the projected date for the Rising but after a series of mishaps the intended nationwide Rebellion dwindled to one in Dublin and a few other areas. Séumas Robinson was to have a particularly hazardous role in the fight. He was in charge of an outpost to protect the Headquarters of the Insurgents based at the General Post Office in O’Connell Street. Robinson and his small band of brothers were under constant rifle, machine gun and eventually artillery fire. Their outpost was engulfed in flames and under terrific gunfire they made their way to the GPO to continue in the fight.

While in the GPO Robinson came under the spell of Commandant General James Connolly. Obviously wounded, Connolly kept urging the members of the garrison to continue the fight. Robinson would have a lifelong admiration for Connolly and his ideals for the reconquest of Ireland. The GPO was abandoned and Robinson was captured leading a party of Volunteers as they tried to break through the British Cordon. He was subsequently imprisoned in Stafford and Reading Gaols and Frongoch Camp. In prison Séumas Robinson gained the reputation of as a non-conformist, refusing to do prison work nor sign any documentation. He became a thorn in the side of any administration.

While imprisoned Robinson met Éamon Ó Duibhir from county Tipperary. Ó Duibhir invited Robinson to join him to reorganise his area for any renewal of fighting if they were released. Influenced by his experience in Easter Week, Robinson was keen to fight again on different terms. He witnessed the futility of having a stand-up fight against superior odds and so his idea was for the Volunteers to become a ‘Ghostly Army of sharp shooters’ that would engage the enemy with Guerrilla tactics. He also felt disabling the Royal Irish Constabulary, the eyes and ears of Britain’s occupation, would be a key factor in subsequent hostilities. His new mantra was ‘shoot them out when you can, burn them out when you can’t and be out when they expect to find you in!’

Released at Christmas 1916, Robinson would soon make his way to South Tipperary. Ó Duibhir recalled that Robinson arrived in the midst of a snow storm carrying a black travelling bag – something they would soon associate with him.

Robinson threw himself wholeheartedly into the work of reorganising the Volunteers in South Tipperary. Many locals credit him with creating a new dynamic. His Easter Week credentials stood him in good stead. He found a fertile soil for revolution and recalled that the Tipperary men were anxious to be in the forefront of any renewal of hostilities.

Robinson soon came under the notice of the RIC and was arrested in May 1918 for drilling and making seditious speeches. Refusing to recognise the court he sang his way through the proceedings and was sentenced to six months. Some of the locals quipped that he deserved the prison time for his awful singing.

Belfast Prison was to be his destination. Again, Robinson would be in the thick of a prison dispute over political status and a ‘mutiny’ occurred in the wings where the Republicans were held. Éamon Ó Duibhir recalled being dragged to the punishment cells after an intensive fight where the Fire Brigade were called in to hose out any particularly troublesome prisoners. While going past the cell lately occupied by Séumas Robinson he remembered seeing his famous black travelling bag floating in water.

Released in October 1918 Robinson stayed with relatives in Clonard before he made his way back to Tipperary. He was elected as the first Officer Commanding the newly formed Third Tipperary Brigade. His adjutant, Seán Treacy, soon approached him to say that a consignment of explosives would be transported to a County Council Quarry at an unspecified date towards the end of January and should they seize it? Robinson gave sanction for this move. Dáil Éireann, the new Irish Separatist Parliament was to meet for the first time on 21 January but Robinson was keen to proceed. He did not ask for permission from GHQ in Dublin. He believed that the Volunteers needed to be ‘autonomous freelancers’, acting on their own initiative within their own local circumstances.

The Soloheadbeg Ambush remains controversial to this day. It was one of the first actions since 1916 where there were causalities. Robinson stipulated as OC that if two RIC men accompanied the explosives then they should be asked to surrender but if there was any more then they should be fired upon. He empathised these orders and asked for cool heads and restraint. He did not want anyone keyed up with excitement rushing out and jeopardising the operation. He assigned Volunteers to their positions.

Word was brought by O’Dwyer that there were only two police. They were to be challenged and asked to surrender. Most of the Volunteers were armed with revolvers. Seán Treacy had a Winchester Repeating rifle. Participants remember that the entire encounter happened in less than a minute. As the cart containing the explosives drew alongside the ambush party a challenge was made to the police to drop their weapons. At the same Robinson and O’Dwyer stepped out on to the road to seize the reins of the horse while simultaneously the RIC raised their rifles towards these two visible Volunteers. A number of shots rang out fired by Seán Treacy and Tadgh Crowe. The two RIC men lay dead on the road, their equipment was taken and the explosives were whisked away.

The action was thoroughly condemned. Most of the participants went ‘on the run’ and the hunt for Séumas Robinson, Seán Treacy, Dan Breen and Seán Hogan became so intense that the locals called them ‘The Big Four’. Tipperary was proclaimed a ‘Special Military Area’. Had the War for Independence begun? Robinson claimed later that Soloheadbeg was the ‘accidental’ starting point but it would be another while before a state of war would erupt. Again, actions undertaken by Séumas Robinson and his comrades would play a part in bringing about a renewed armed struggle for Irish Freedom, but those are stories for another day.

This post hopefully has given a brief overview on Séumas Robinson. Over the weekend I will compile something that is specific to the armed action undertaken at Soloheadbeg.