Gianluca Boccia
Looking back on the achievements of the man who won the war
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| Michael Collins at Portobello Barracks |
‘He's no Big Fella to me!’ - Austin Stack
During the Treaty debates, Arthur Griffith hailed Collins as ‘the man who won the war’ and stated: ‘if my name is to go down in history, I want it associated with the name of Michael Collins’. [1] This flattering portrait of the ‘Big Fellow’ infuriated Cathal Brugha, then Minister for Defence, who riposted by enquiring whether Collins ‘had ever fired a shot at an enemy of Ireland?’ Brugha's rhetorical question insinuated that Collins had not actually been instrumental in defeating the British. Tom Barry once expressed a similar view, claiming that Collins was ‘no good’ as ‘he never shot a man in his life’. [2] His detractors clearly deemed him to be a pen-pusher, thus failing to realise that pulling the strings was Collins' greatest ability. The ‘Big Fellow’ was not a man of action, but neither was Winston Churchill, whose charisma inspired Great Britain in its darkest hours.
‘Well shoot him so’ - Michael Collins
According to Éamon de Valera, Brugha's animosity towards Collins stemmed from simple jealousy. [3] The ‘Big Fellow’ openly usurped his superior's powers and even countermanded some of his orders. When the Minister for Defence devised a new scheme to assassinate members of the British cabinet, Collins blocked it, fearing that an attack of this kind would have been unpopular. [4] The two revolutionaries inevitably came to blows on several occasions. Brugha, who continued to run his candle-making business during the war, was out of touch with the grim realities of the conflict, so much so that his subordinates often defied him and turned to Collins instead. Brugha's demand for documentary proof of guilt before sanctioning the execution of alleged spies was a case in point. Collecting evidence and relaying it to GHQ would have been a bureaucratic and impractical procedure for rank-and-file volunteers, who complained to Collins. The ‘Big Fellow’ agreed with them: so long as they were sure of their ground, they had his permission to use lethal force. [5] Once again, the Minister for Defence had to swallow his pride and relent. In spite of these clashes, however, Collins' admiration for Brugha never wavered. ‘The organisation (IRB) would lose its prestige by expelling a man like Brugha,’ he argued. [6]
‘There was no burden too big to put on Mick's shoulders’ - Dan Breen
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| The note that Collins wrote at the funeral of McKee and Clancy. ‘In memory of two great friends - Dick and Peadar - two of Ireland's best soldiers’ |
Collins was calculating and pragmatic. The IRA could not use conventional tactics against the well-equipped, numerically superior British forces. While interned in Frongoch for his involvement in the Easter Rising, he accused the rebellion's leaders - whom he deeply admired - of incompetence. ‘On the whole, I think the Rising was bungled terribly, costing many a good life. (...) It became subjected to panic decisions and a great lack of very essential organisation and co-operation,’ he wrote. [7] Indeed, strategic blunders had been made, and Collins knew exactly how to avoid them.
The Irish Republican Army became a formidable guerrilla force - a far cry from MacNeill's Irish Volunteers, who had been conceived to ensure the implementation of Home Rule. [8] Even though Collins was not the IRA's Chief-of-Staff, as has been claimed, (Richard Mulcahy was chosen due to his superior knowledge of Dublin), much of this development was a direct result of the choices he had made while Director of Organisation of the IV.
The ‘Big Fellow’ had little or no control over local units, hence Brugha's biting remark, but he did whatever was in his power to assist them. Collins was responsible for numerous initiatives, including the setting-up of a bomb-making factory and two underground newspapers. He also oversaw several gun-running operations. [9]
‘People who are very busy are never so busy that they cannot do something extra.’ Collins certainly adhered to his motto. T.R. Dwyer described him as ‘the model of efficiency’. [10] A demanding leader, he bitterly criticised those he considered slouches, such as Austin Stack, who ‘did no work’. ‘Your department, Austin, is nothing but a bloody joke,’ Collins bluntly told him.
Even some of his trusted aides had to endure a great deal of harassment. Joe O'Reilly, in particular, was picked on by Collins, who had a habit of baiting him. Unnerved, the young man always threatened to leave, only to bite the bullet and show up at work the following day. [11]
Deep down, however, the ‘Big Fellow’ was a caring and loving man. ‘He never failed to visit sick friends or their relatives, or to pay the doctor's bill if necessary.’ [12] At times, Collins' attachment to his brothers-in-arms clouded his judgement: the ‘most wanted man in Ireland’ attended the funeral of McKee and Clancy, a rash decision to say the least.
‘We struck at individuals’ - Michael Collins
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| Members of the Squad: Mick McDonnell, Tom Keogh, Vinny Byrne, Paddy O'Daly, Jim Slattery. Source: Museum of Ireland. |
Without Collins' intelligence department, the British would have succeeded in wiping out the IRA's leadership. As clandestine armies rely upon secrecy, a well-placed spy could deal more damage than a regiment of Auxiliaries. Collins was aware of this, so he set about creating an apparatus that focused on exposing undercover agents. Friendly detectives were recruited: Joe Kavanagh, Ned Broy, James McNamara and David Neligan were the principal ones, according to Piaras Béaslaí. [13]
Lily Mernin, known as ‘Lt. G’ or ‘Little Gentleman’, was one of Collins' greatest allies. She worked as a typist in Dublin Castle and provided him with with invaluable information. Mernin was also tasked with identifying enemy agents for Cullen or Saurin - two of Collins' intelligence men. [14]
Of course, identifying them was not enough, which is why the ‘Big Fellow’ asked Dick McKee to handpick a number of volunteers for his ‘Squad’. The initial nucleus was soon extended to twelve men, who received a weekly compensation and took orders directly from the ‘Big Fellow’.
‘We were merely told that we were to be given special duties,’ Jim Slattery recalled. [15] The ‘Twelve Apostles’ seldom acted as Collins' personal bodyguards: on one occasion, two Auxiliaries thought better of arresting Collins as soon as they realised that four menacing men were observing them. [16] However, this was never intended to be the Squad's main purpose, as Dwyer correctly pointed out. The Apostles comprised a feared and experienced assassination team.
Detective Sergeant Smith was the first victim. Smith did not heed the several warnings he had been given; as a result, he was fatally wounded in Drumcondra. Collins took no pleasure in killing. According to Frank O'Connor, ‘he did everything to avoid the necessity of it’. [17] Peter Hart came to the same conclusion: ‘In many ways Collins and his assistants were scrupulous (...) Collins himself may have prevented as many killings as he ordered’. The ‘Big Fellow’ has to be pitted against Republicans like Rory O'Connor, who ‘did not care about human life’. [18]
Many spies and political detectives (the G-Men) were shot dead on Collins' orders. Seven* of them were murdered on the morning of Bloody Sunday, a ruthless yet effective operation that crippled the British intelligence system. By picking out his targets one by one, the Irish revolutionary weaponised terror and chipped away at the enemy's morale.
‘We struck at individuals and by doing so we cut their lines of communication and we shook their morale,’ he explained.
*It is unclear whether some of those killed had undertaken intelligence work. Jane Leonard argued that six (possibly seven) were British intelligence officers, whereas J.B.E. Hittle, in a recent publication, concluded that all but two of those killed were connected to the intelligence system.
‘I am an accountant’ - Michael Collins
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| Michael Collins, Minister for Finance, signing Count Plunkett's bond |
Collins' immense contributions as Minister for Finance are often overshadowed by his success as a guerrilla leader. In 1919, the ‘Big Fellow’ took it upon himself to fund the revolution. While de Valera was raising money in the US, Collins organised the Dáil Loan, a twenty-year bond that nobody expected to succeed. The odds were stacked against him: British authorities censored the newspapers that advertised the scheme and employed increasingly stern measures to crush it. [19]
The British suffered a major setback when Alan Bell, the financial detective who had been following the money trail, was assassinated by the Squad. The investigations stopped there.
In the end, the loan raised some £370,000, much more than the £250,000 initial goal. Collins shrewdly concealed the funds in a large number of ordinary deposits (some fictitious) and even assembled a £20,000 gold reserve. [20]
‘Everybody is working fairly hard again,’ - Michael Collins
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| Tom Cullen, Michael Collins and Liam Tobin |
Collins could not have managed to achieve so much in his lifetime without his trusted aides. Had it not been for Liam Tobin, Collins would have been fooled by Jameson, Britain's ‘best secret service man’; and, without brave men and women like David Neligan and Lily Mernin, who risked their lives for him, his intelligence system would have crumbled into dust. [21] Collins surrounded himself with talented, industrious and loyal comrades, whose abilities he masterfully exploited. Conversely, it could also be argued that without Collins, the great organiser, the talents of these individuals would have gone to waste.
As the centenary of Collins' death approaches, we must reflect on Griffith's words. Is it fair to describe Collins as ‘the man who won the war?’ I am inclined to believe so. Griffith's statement does not discredit in any way those who fought alongside (and against) the ‘Big Fellow’; it merely extols the virtues of a man who lived and died for Ireland. It cannot be denied that every Irishman owes a debt of gratitude to Collins, one of the greatest, if not the greatest Irish revolutionary of all time.
References
[1] Houses of Oireachtas, Dáil Éireann Debate - Saturday, 7 Jan 1922
[2] Dolan, Anne and Murphy, William (2018). Michael Collins: the man and the revolution, p. 125
[3] Coogan, Tim Pat (2015). Michael Collins: a biography, p. 176
[4] Dwyer, Thomas Ryle (2009). Michael Collins: the man who won the war, p. 219
[5] Coogan, Tim Pat (2015). Michael Collins: a biography, pp. 141-142
[6] Ó Caoimh, Pádraig (2019). Richard Mulcahy: from the politics of war to the politics of peace, p. 48
[7] Mackay, James (1996). Michael Collins: a life, p. 70
[8] Coogan, Tim Pat (2005). 1916: The Easter Rising, p. 79
[9] Coogan, Tim Pat (2015). Michael Collins: a biography, p. 94
[10] Dwyer, Thomas Ryle (2009). Michael Collins: the man who won the war, p.81
[11] Dwyer, Thomas Ryle (2009). Michael Collins: the man who won the war, pp. 200-201
[12] Osborne, Chrissy (2003). Michael Collins, himself, p. 33
[13] Liam, Cathal (2011). Fear not the storm: the story of Tom Cullen, an Irish revolutionary, p. 174
[14] Ryan, Meda (2006). Michael Collins and the women who spied for Ireland, p. 48
[15] Dwyer, Thomas Ryle (2005). The Squad and the intelligence operations of Michael Collins, p. 46
[16] Gleeson, James (2004) Bloody Sunday: how Michael Collins's agents assassinated Britain's secret service in Dublin on November 21, 1920, p. 110.
[17] O'Connor, Frank (1979). The Big Fellow: Michael Collins and the Irish revolution, p. 74
[18] Hart, Peter (2006). Mick: the real Michael Collins, pp. 222-223
[19] O'Connor, Frank (1979). The Big Fellow: Michael Collins and the Irish revolution, p. 75
[20] Hart, Peter (2006). Mick: the real Michael Collins, pp. 194-195
[21] Dwyer, Thomas Ryle (2005). The Squad and the intelligence operations of Michael Collins, p. 110
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