Kieran’s Our City, Our Town– 9 September 2010

In the Footsteps of St. Finbarre (Part 227)

A Politics of Remembering

 “Every week that passes make the prospect of a satisfactory settlement more difficult, and anger, instead of being appeased, appears to grow and become more acute. This desperate situation is rendered all the more deplorable by the fact that no light appears on the horizon to indicate the coming of a brighter day” (Cork Examiner, Thursday, 24 March, 1921).

The Cork Examiner gives just one lens to explore the Irish War of Independence. Through the newspaper, one cannot help seeing terms such as instability, struggle, tragedy, sacrifice, devotion, reverence, loss, truth, destruction, justice, anger, hurt, national identity, the call for peace all making headlines. However, the researcher also has to be careful of this source. It did report what happened and on occasion one can see the relevant journalist also did not have or perhaps was not given the full story or just one side of the story was presented. However, as noted last week, reading the newspapers at the time do give an insight into a frightening world but also a world where you begin to question right and wrong.

From the perspective of 2010, it’s easy to go with just one side of the story of the Ballycannon experience. It is perhaps too easy to bypass a number of levels of remembering – the eye witness accounts, the Irish government perspective that declared its own independence, the nature of the proclaimed war against Britain, the story of the young Ballycannon people and their role as Volunteers in Guerilla warfare, the story of the British soldier whose job was to track down these young men, apprehend them or kill them, the negotiation that went on in the yard at the Kerrypike farmstead before the six Volunteers were shot, the story of the persons who gave the orders to fire on them, the coroner’s report, the perspective of the families left behind on the deceased side (some still living on Blarney Street), the story of the making of the memorial and its unveiling in 1945 to the story of the current O’Regan family who maintain the memorial in Kerrypike. In truth, each of the above contested levels of remembering require multiple articles if one is digging for the truth of the event.

However, for me the Ballycannon killings of 23 March 1921 seem to represent a tragedy. The memories of the event have spread through the decades through continuous telling of the killing of the six young men. The memorial was also part of a number of memorials invested in by the Irish government and smaller groups to create a memory of the War of Independence, a memory of the foundation of the Irish Free State. Even with that, there is a politics to what is remembered and what memories are invested in. I think what strikes me is how complex the politics of remembering is and how complex its construction is especially in light of the Irish War of Independence. How it is difficult to gauge the mentality of multiple sides of the argument without offending those who have a vested interest in the narrative and memory of the six young men killed.

The Ballycannon tragedy must also be viewed in the broader context of what was happening elsewhere. During the eight months leading up until the Truce of July 1921, there was a spiralling of the death toll in the conflict, with 1,000 people including the RIC police, British military, IRA volunteers and civilians, being killed in the months between January and July 1921 alone. This represents about 70% of the total casualties for the entire three-year conflict. In addition, 4,500 IRA personnel (or suspected sympathisers) were interned in this time. In the middle of this violence, the Dáil formally declared war on Britain in March 1921. Between 1 November 1920 and 7 June 1921 twenty four men were executed by the British. On 19 March 1921, four days before the Kerrypike incident Tom Barry’s 100-strong West Cork IRA unit fought a large-scale action against 1,200 British troops – the Crossbarry Ambush. Barry’s men narrowly avoided being trapped by converging British columns and inflicted between ten and thirty killed on the British side. About 100 Irish Republican Army (IRA) volunteers escaped an attempt by over 1,300 British forces to encircle them. During the hour-long battle three to six IRA volunteers were killed.

However, with all this in mind, standing at the Ballycannon memorial on a recent sunny Sunday evening I had the newspaper accounts in my hand and a number of books on eyewitness accounts. I sat, paused and reflected on these times. At that point in time, the memorial for me became a place which engendered a feeling of loss somewhere in me for the past of the region. In truth, for me, the memorial seemed to try to induce me to remember and confront the tragic memories represented by the memorial. It is indeed a place where the history of Ireland is played out over and over again to those who stop to find out about the narrative. How Ireland comes to terms with such tragedies seems to boil down to time and healing and what should one remember and forget in moving Ireland’s identity forward.

To be continued…

Captions:

556a. Kerrypike Road to Cork, Ballycannon memorial on left (picture: Kieran McCarthy, August 2010)

556b. Unveiling of Ballycannon memorial in 1945 (source: Cork City Library)

 Kieran’s Our City, Our Town Article,

Cork Independent, 2 September 2010

In the Footsteps of St. Finbarre (Part 226)

A Tragedy of Ireland

Leaving Currikippane, the journey along the River Lee valley to Cork City seems to bring one through the history of twentieth century Ireland. Near Currykippane at Kerrypike lies a memorial erected in 1945 to the memory of six young men that were killed near the spot on 23 March 1921.

The event was part of the Irish War of Independence that had been ongoing since January 1919 and which ended in a truce in July 1921. Hence the tragedy at Kerrypike came in the last four months of the guerilla war headed up by Michael Collins against British forces. Much has been written about this era in Ireland’s history. During the final number of months of the war until the Truce of 11 July 1921, there was a spiralling of the death toll in the conflict, with 1,000 people including the RIC police, British military, IRA volunteers and civilians, being killed in the months between January and July 1921 alone.

Entering the newspapers from the perspective of a peaceful 2010 reveals a very unstable county and frightening atmosphere in late March 1921. Ambushes, deaths and the word tragedy appears regularly across its headlines and columns. The official report for the Kerrypike tragedy, as appearing in the Cork Examiner on Thursday  24 March 1921, outlined that six-armed civilians were killed during a hand to hand fight with the Royal Irish Constabulary in the townland of Ballycannon, four miles from Cork.  The police, the report stated, were searching for three known “murderers” who were in hiding in the neighbourhood of a farm at Ballycannon, kept by a man called Cornelius O’Keeffe.

The three wanted men, together with three others, were discovered hiding in a shed on the farm, which was surrounded. The occupants became aware of the cordon and opened fire with revolvers and both sides engaged in a shoot-out. The occupants, the report outlined, finding the outhouse untenable, made a dash for the open and ran right into the police cordon. A number of hand-to-hand combats took place and all six men were killed. The report notes that the young men carried no rifles, but were armed with bombs and revolvers, together with supplies of dum-dum ammunition (several types of modified ammunition for firearms), all of which were captured. The six men killed were Jeremiah O’Mullane of 227 Blarney Street (aged 23), Daniel Crowley of 171 Blarney Street (aged 22), William Deasy of Mount Desert, Blarney Road (aged 20 years), Thomas Dennehy of 104 Blarney Street (aged 21 years), Daniel Murphy of Urrey Hill (aged 24 years) and Michael O’Sullivan of 261 Blarney Street (aged 20 years).

Mrs. O’Keeffe, who lived at the farm in a conversation with a Cork Examiner, told of a number of men in police uniform knocking loudly at her door after four o’clock in the morning. As her husband and herself reached their broken in front door they were met by uniformed men, who stated that they were to search the house. They did so “with courtesy”, Mrs. O’Keeffe noted. They then ordered them all, the household, back to bed, and left taking Mr. O’Keeffe with them. A few minutes apsed and the noise of much firing was heard. At this time, there were seven or eight lorries of crown forces in the neighbourhood. They moved off with Mr. O’Keeffe for questioning and the dead bodies towards Cork.

The funeral of the six men took place on Sunday 27 March 1921. Newspaper reports in the Cork Examiner on the following day revealed that the remains of the deceased lay in the mortuary attached to the North Cathedral after being removed from the military barracks. Their remains were visited by “thousands of mourners”. The following notice was served by the military on the Bishop of Cork Dr. Cohalan and on Canon O’Sullivan the local administrator:

“Headquarters 17^th Infantry Brigade, 27^th March, 1921; Dear Sir – in accordance with instructions issued by the Irish Government concerning the restrictions to be placed on the persons allowed to attend funerals. This Military Government has decided that not than 150 persons will be permitted to take part in the funeral procession of Jeremiah Mullane and others today. These persons will be required to conform to the following regulations: (a) they will not be allowed to march in military formation or allowed to carry out any military exercise, (b) no demonstrations of a kind likely to cause a disturbance will be allowed, (c) no republican flags or I.R.A. badges will be displayed. The republican flag will not be permitted on the coffins. The funeral procession is to proceed via Washington Street and Patrick Street. It is requested that you inform all concerned and do all in your power to see these orders are carried out. A copy of this letter has been sent to the Lord Bishop of Cork – yours truly, B.L. Montgomery, Major, Brigade Major, 17^th Infantry Brigade”.

The notification was duly communicated to those in charge but none of the procession conformed to the regulations. It was not until 2 o’clock after the funeral masss that the first of the coffins were borne from the Cathedral mortuary on the shoulders of the deceased’s companions and preceded to St. Finbarr’s Cemetery.

To be continued…

Captions:

555a. Ballycannon Memorial, August 2010 (pictures: Kieran McCarthy)

555b. Descent from Clogheen into Kerry Pike; Boggeragh Mountains in the distance, August 2010

Kieran’s Our City, Our Town, Cork Independent,

In the Footsteps of St. Finbarre (Part 225)

Strangers and Shadows

“Outside of here, there must be a world. There’s other places and colours, and there must be cities and towns and villages with people, right? Stories must clash about and finish abruptly or start afresh and live for moments or maybe days even. And these stories must be shapeless and free and twist into new directions and possibilities….and people move from one story to the next, from a moment’s conversation to a whole life’s dialogue, maybe” (Enda Walsh, 2010, Penelope, p.49).

It began as an early day-a 5.30am family funeral. The family dog had died over night. In the early morning daylight and surrealness of being shocked and upset, the back garden unfolded as a funeral home. It became a place of mourning. The enclosing hedgerow and garden shed provided a setting for the grave of the 13 year old terrier, Sandy, who had been suffering from heart problems for a number of weeks. A grave was dug and the dog covered and laid to rest in a space she knew really well as her home turf.

However, in those early morning hours, it struck me that here was a private space in a sense invaded by death and its devastating wake. This place apart from being bounded by its history seems to be bound up with the mind as well. The meanings and memory of places can change according to circumstances. Currykippane which the column has discussed and its story been scratched at, has human emotion in abundance. Through the signs and symbols on gravestones, it is a place for memory to thrive. However, with such a place, not only is sincerity and loss very much present but also a form of playfulness with memory or some kind of rich power attempting to pull time and forgetting apart.

Hours later after the funeral, my planned holiday was upon me. Cork Airport is a place of coming and going and a place of beginnings of discoveries and explorations; a place that always seems to begin with one situating yourself  – whether that be looking at the clock, plane number or even finding the gate. The people waiting with me for my Paris flight were engaging with a range of activities. Ipods, Harry Potter books, newspapers all brought people to other worlds and imaginative destinations. The two kids on the floor in front of me, playing with ‘dinky’ cars had a whole racecourse set up complete with car crashes and adventure until their mum stepped in and crushed their story as passengers negotiated their race car track or maybe even town or city they had made.

An hour and twenty minutes later on a plane and a thirty minute underground spin, I emerged out the dark landscapes of travel in Paris City Centre. It is believed that a settlement on the present site of Paris was founded about 250 BC by a Celtic tribe called the Parisii, who established a fishing village near the river Seine. Through civil wars, revolutions, kings, emperors, Paris survived the test of time to become a multicultural capital of a modern European state and one of the world’s major global cities. However, what is impressive about the history of this great city is how its history is presented to the public for consumption, monument after monument, memorial after memorial across the city centre.

Reading into the meanings of these memorials reveal many aspects of how people remember them. Every evening of my stay I walked up from my nearby accommodation to the Arc de Triomphe to engage with some of the atmosphere. The Champs-Élysées boulevard, which leads to the monument, seemed to create a public interaction with place as it channels people to the lit up Arc at night. The Arc de Triomphe itself tends to act as both a memorial and an object of pilgrimage. The triumphal arch honours those who fought for France, particularly during the Napoleonic Wars. On the inside and the top of the arc there are all of the names of generals and wars fought. Every night of my visit, people made their way to stand under the structure, admire its height, its lines of architecture and also the most dominant feature the burning light of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier from World War I. The monument seems to be both personal and cultural. The monument provided some basis for self reflection as well as communication with others. 

The Arc de Triomphe also serves a space for coming together. It creates an emotionally charged place and is possessed by the ongoing public gaze and the life of its visitors. Perhaps the monumentality of life is also celebrated here. But the most interesting marker I encountered was on a faded message on a tomb in Père–Lachaise Cemetery, which was one of the first landscaped cemeteries in Europe and opened in 1804. It was here that for me another aspect of the power of symbolism and memory were revealed. The most interesting element though is that I saw a similar message at Currykippane in the lovely rural setting of the Lee Valley;“There are days that might outmeasure years that obliterate the past, and make the future, of the colour which they cast”.

Heritage Open Day, this Saturday 28^th , www.corkheritageopenday.ie

Captions:

554a. Arc de Triomphe, Paris (pictures: Kieran McCarthy)

554b. Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, Arc de Triomphe