Upon the closure of the Irish Civil War in the summer of 1923, the vanquished republicans were far from receptive to the notion of forgiveness. A notable figure of their resentment was Kevin O’Higgins, the Free State’s minister for justice. He was particularly known for his strong aversion towards Erskine Childers, who while hiding from government forces, managed to disseminate the IRA propaganda publication War News. Childers was subsequently deemed a serious risk by O’Higgins to the budding government.
As fate would have it, Childers was eventually discovered by Free State soldiers at his cousin Robert Barton’s residence. Prepared to defend himself with a revolver, he refrained from firing since there were women present. Childers was keenly aware of O’Higgins’ hostility towards him. He understood that O’Higgins had singled him out in the Dáil, apparently blaming him for the imminent death sentence.
A reprieve was possible for the captive, with president WT Cosgrave under great societal pressure. On the eve of the execution, a message was delivered to Childers stating that if he pledged to abandon any future resistance to the Free State, his death penalty would be rescinded. Childers requested to speak to his wife before reaching a decision. Later in the night, he denied to comply with the stipulated conditions.
The next morning, Childers penned his last letter to his wife Molly: “It is 6am. You will be pleased to see how imperturbably tranquil and normal I have been this night and a.m. It all seems perfectly simple and inevitable, like lying down after a long day’s work.” As daybreak loomed, Childers was calm during his breakfast. Shortly, he was led outside to the edge of a shed. Part of the shed’s roof had been dismantled, allowing the light to shine on the condemned while the firing squad remained concealed in the darkness.
During the final moments of Childers, his close associate who witnessed the scene described it. He was standing, his hands bound loosely behind him with a cloth that he could have taken off if he wanted. Facing the firing squad calmly, he was only blindfolded due to the officials’ request – he not having a preference for it. As a senior officer commanded, he fell before the echo of the gunfire arrived. The death was swift and immediate. His resolute bravery deeply touched everyone, and an eminent Free State officer honoured him with the plain words, ‘he was a man of courage’.
In July 1927, Bill Gannon, Timothy Coughlan, and Archie Doyle, all republicans, were en-route to a Gaelic football match in Wicklow in a hijacked vehicle. It was in Booterstown, Dublin when they noticed a gentleman, whom they referred to as an “old man”, despite him being just 35, probably ravaged by the Civil War ordeal. The man, Kevin O’Higgins, was nonchalantly sauntering on the roadside, hands in pockets, heading towards noon Mass. The republicans initially passed the man, uncertain if it was the same individual referred to as “the murderous beast thirsty for Erskine Childers’ blood” by the republican newspaper Éire. Following a brief discussion, they decided to turn around. When they sighted the single figure yet again, proceeding to Mass, they halted the vehicle and unleashed a barrage of gunfire. The gravely injured man tried to move across the road, but the assault continued, eventually settling seven bullets into his body. Afterward, the attackers made their escape.
Eoin MacNeill, a colleague of O’Higgins from the cabinet, was amongst the first to reach the site of the incident. MacNeill had seen the shooting occur but did not immediately recognise the victim. He had also set off to attend the midday mass in Booterstown. The assailants, while making their escape, continued to fire. MacNeill remembered, “One of them pointed his firearm towards me, then, inexplicably, shifted his aim and the bullet whizzed past me.” MacNeill rushed over to O’Higgins to lend a hand, kneeling by his side. The shot had hit O’Higgins squarely in the head, blinding him, but he was still conscious.
The wounded man was in such a dire condition that the chances of his survival appeared negligible. Therefore, he was transported to his nearby residence in an ambulance, where his wife, Birdie, anxiously awaited his return. She had heard the gunfire from her home. As they undressed him, a bullet fell from his jacket sleeve. They then laid him out on a mattress in the living room. He whispered to Birdie, “I couldn’t avoid it, I gave it my all.”
The house started filling up with friends and associates, one of whom was the surgeon and senator Henry Barniville. Barniville noted, surprisingly, that despite suffering multiple gunshot wounds, O’Higgins did not seem to be in any pain. The surgeon hypothesised that a bullet had sliced through his spinal cord, leading to this lack of pain.
As O’Higgins’s life was ebbing away, he thanked everyone present for their company and expressed his regret for having put them all in such a worrying situation.
Noticing that Barniville was still holding his hat, O’Higgins asked him,
“Barney, is it you who’s leaving… or is it my time?” In the most gentle manner possible, Barniville replied, “It’s you, Kevin.”
A doctor checked O’Higgins’s pulse at just before five o’clock. Upon finding none, he declared that O’Higgins had unfortunately passed away.
A .32 Spanish automatic, originally belonging to Childers, found itself in the hands of Cahir Davitt, the judge advocate general of the Free State forces. Post a dance at the newly inaugurated Metropole Hotel, Davitt was apprehended by Free State soldiers with the firearm on his person. Considering he could meet a similar fate to Childers’, Davitt was quick to reveal his identity when taken to a closeby Army barracks. There, he hoped to be recognised by an officer he knew, Casey. However, Davitt then reconsidered, recalling Casey’s knack for practical jokes and fearing that Casey might deny knowing him. Fortunately, another officer not inclined towards mischief confirmed that Davitt was a Free State officer. The gun was discharged on two separate occasions unintentionally by Davitt – once in a cab, and once at the members’ bar at Lansdowne Road rugby ground after the final of the Leinster Schools Senior Cup. On the latter occasion, Davitt ended up wounding his toe. The gun was finally given to Erskine Childers jnr, Childers’ son and future president of Ireland, at a meal at the Stephen’s Green club, with Robert Barton also present.
Archie Doyle’s Webley revolver, different from Childers’ Spanish automatic, remained functional for many more years. Archie Doyle, the murderer of O’Higgins, was pleased with his act and gifted the weapon to a republican named Harry White. It was later exploited by the IRA in the 1970s Troubles. The firearm may still exist somewhere.
Arthur Mathews, the co-creator of Fr Ted and author of many TV comedies, has published ‘Walled in by Hate: The Friends and Enemies of Kevin O’Higgins.’ Mathews’s grandfather, also called Arthur Mathews, was a Cumann na nGaedheal TD for Meath.