In Dublin’s Kildare Street and University Club’s snooker room, a rich and variegated conversation takes place with historian John O’Beirne Ranelagh, an expert on the Irish Revolutionary Brotherhood (IRB). Our talk soon diverges into fascinating topics such as the cryptic cues concealed within a yellow vehicle concerning Michael Collins and Éamon de Valera, or how Georg Ritter von Trapp’s submarine was influenced by the IRB, and the intriguing lifestyle of Tom Maguire, the final remaining member of the second Dáil.
O’Beirne Ranelagh, often wittily referring to himself as “O’Beirne in Ireland, Ranelagh in England, and both in the title of a book”, has recently authored “The Irish Republican Brotherhood – 1914-1924” published by Merrion Press.
O’Beirne Ranelagh’s birth in a family with a strong republican history, including a father known for his prominent role in the Old IRA during the War of Independence and later in the Civil War, meant that he was surrounded by history from the moment he was born.
In the 1970s, during the peak of the Northern Ireland Troubles, O’Beirne Ranelagh, armed with his father’s contacts and blessings, managed to interview 100 elderly ex-IRB members. Some of that resourceful yield was employed towards his doctorate, however, a considerable portion remained untapped. The historian recollects how during that period, the fresh scars of the civil war made certain disclosures too sensitive to print.
Today, O’Beirne Ranelagh, who is based in Cambridge, considers the IRB, once an exclusive and high-ranking group, a forgotten chapter in Ireland’s revolutionary narrative despite its critical role in shaping the period’s history.
The United States’ branch of the Irish Republican Brotherhood (IRB) not only invaded Canada, but also backed the creation of the first submarine which subsequently got entangled in a cost disagreement and was absconded with. Interestingly, this initial foray into naval technology played an influential role in forming all subsequent fleets, including those of Von Trapp’s Austro-Hungarian reign pre-World War I.
This ambitious spirit routed through the IRB in the form of creativity and staunch methodology, ultimately manifesting as the prolific Irish revolutionary – Michael Collins.
Nevertheless, narratives of lore and fable bring about some complications. The speaker posits that Ireland’s perception of history entails a unique blending of tales, mythology, and fact, unlike England’s more factual approach.
Irish culture and nationalism, intertwined as they are, allow for myths to hold just as much sway as historical facts in shaping the populace’s consciousness. This phenomenon, though often underappreciated, serves as a repository of innate wisdom.
Having served as a key figure in the production of Ireland: a television history, an influential late 1970s to early 1980s series by Robert Kee, the narrator harbours regrets despite years of research. Traditional republicans, when not staging successful rebellions, had always held a torch for succeeding generations. The IRB exemplified this role prior to the 1867 Fenian Rising and right up to 1916.
However, modern dissident republican groups now lay claim to this mantle. The speaker expresses confusion at such a concept, stating bluntly that it involves harm and death, which he argues is an inherently flawed approach.
The speaker mentions Old IRA volunteer Sean Fitzpatrick from Tipperary and Cork’s Liam Deasy (signatory of the republican forces’ surrender order during the Civil War) as instances of persons whose dreams were decimated by the Civil War. The two, he believes, simply existed post-war, their hopes shattered.
O’Beirne Ranelagh has an evident admiration for Deasy, a man who defiantly endured decades of acid critics without fleeing to America. Despite the lingering divisions brought by the Civil War, Ranelagh recalls the unity forged by his senior interviewees, most over 80 years, in their reminiscences about their days in the IRB, before their worlds were robbed of their innocence.
In their recollections, Ranelagh recognises an admirable time of decisive idealism among them, despite the eventual divisions that arose. Contemplating these remnants of their shared history led him to learn valuable insights.
Ranelagh suggests older people, armed with their life wisdom and fatigue, mostly outwardly embraced the notion that “We defeated the most powerful empire in the world.” Yet he perceives many did not truly believe this? However, rarely publicly dispute this sentiment.
Pondering over his next point, O’Beirne Ranelagh articulates in deeply considered, unhurried words: “Ireland’s liberty wasn’t seized; it was granted.”
This truth might be hard to accept, he believes, nonetheless true. Acknowledging this could pave the way for improved harmony because coercive victories in these islands are a thing of the past. Now, accord and amity are the keys to future triumphs.
This “seized/granted” debate, he posits, was more acknowledged back in the day when Lloyd George seemingly threatened endless war. His preparedness to deluge Ireland with British military forces was not lost on Collins. Furthermore, Ranelagh emphasises that both Lloyd George and Collins likely believed that the Border Commission, established under the Anglo-Irish Treaty, would ensure the eventual demise of the existing border.
Aware of the controversy of his viewpoint, he concedes: “I might be derogatorily branded an East Irelander or even a West Brit. No joy is found in contradicting the British, but it is critical to put things in perspective.”
“Honesty is key. Confronting it offers a chance to build a brighter future rather than falsely glorifying the past”, he continues.
Despite not aligning with Maguire’s perspectives, O’Beirne Ranelagh, a historian, continues to respect individuals like him. Maguire, standing as a beacon for republicans post-1969, was a fervently nationalistic figure who refused to utilise anything but English pounds or pay taxes. Sharing his encounter with Maguire, O’Beirne Ranelagh noted the man’s butler, Irish flag backdrop, and his surprising freedom from tax interventions.
On the other hand, O’Beirne Ranelagh voiced scathing criticisms of Tom Barry, branding him as an obsessive individual with a sole focus on outshining others. This drive was emphasised through stories such as Barry seeking out Shinners to assert his dominance in Bandon during 1919. All the while, his later spitefulness and ego were clearly comprehended by his peers.
O’Beirne Ranelagh then divulges his possession of a colourised snapshot of Collins on the day of his passing in West Cork, which features an unexpected yellow car. This radiant vehicle was likely a unique occurrence within Ireland during that time, giving rise to suspicions it was deliberately painted.
The prominent display of yellow is vital since Collins used the yellow sunburst as the IRB symbol; arguably expressing a desire to fortify the bonds uniting IRB members. However, unacquainted with these longstanding connections, the majority of the individuals Collins encountered during his ill-fated trip to Sliabh na mBan were new IRA recruits, known as “Trucileers”.
In the 1970s, O’Beirne Ranelagh embarked on a quest for historical documents. With only a 1936 telephone directory to guide him, he set out towards the North Circular Road in Dublin. His aim was to find Martin Conlan, the last secretary of the supreme council of the IRB. Upon knocking on Conlan’s door, he learned the late secretary had passed away years prior. However, he wisely inquired if any paperwork had been left behind before he departed. As it turns out, there were indeed papers left behind which he obtained from the deceased’s former housekeeper for a £10 note, a hefty sum at the time. These papers, stored in a tea chest in the loft, comprised of IRB membership rosters, contributions to Circles lists, and official correspondences – a veritable treasure chest of historical artefacts.
O’Beirne Ranelagh’s own father rest in the republican plot of St Finbarr’s Cemetery in Cork, and was a staunch republican till his last breath. The patriarch was so steadfast in his convictions that he refused to associate with the Irish State in any capacity. Following a nearly fatal gunshot wound by a friend, he was forced to seek asylum off the Emerald Isle in 1924 due to suspicions of his involvement in the army mutiny. After spending two decades in America, he found himself back home, attempting to run a failing farm in Kildare.
Although he turned down attempts to appoint him as a senator, he eventually put some money into the formation of Clann na Poblachta. “He held great admiration for Noël Browne, on the other hand, he was decidedly against De Valera and Fianna Fáil,” O’Beirne Ranelagh fondly reminisces about his late father, who passed away in 1979.
Interestingly enough, his father showed some preference for Fine Gael, a seemingly inexplicable stance that stems from his experiences during the Spanish civil war, and his position within the American Abraham Lincoln Brigade fighting for the republic.
A historian recounts that during the siege of Madrid, he was saved by the Blueshirts. Even though they were aware of his identity, they provided him shelter. As the Blueshirts left Spain, he was en route to Malaga, and their departure facilitated his escape.
In contrast, his father was a vehement critic of the Provisional IRA’s choice to adopt violence as a tactic in 1969. He utilised his influence in republican circles in 1968 and 1969, striving persistently to persuade them that this course of action amounted to an error that had to be avoided at all costs. His criticisms were met with a bomb delivered to his mailbox.
The choice of violence wasn’t a compulsory one. In 1964, the IRA renounced the use of violence, long before the division between the Officials and the Provisionals. He cautions that the real peril is that new generations may become entranced by the romance of old illusions and secrets.