New in print: What a history this is

The news of an uncle, aunt or other relative dying in the States is nothing new in the Kerry hills, but in 1990, when we heard that Jeremiah Murphy of Barraduff had passed on to his eternal reward, there was widespread regret outside his circle of family and friends. And quite rightly so.

Jer was 88 when he died and had left Ireland at the age of 23. He had played a full part in the First Defence of the Republic and in the Second Defence he was under arms from the start of the so-called Civil War to the ``dump arms'' and end of that phase of the campaign.

Jer had a fine funeral by all accounts. A piper played a lament as his flag-draped coffin was taken to its last resting place. It was over three thousand miles away, and light years away in time, from when the same Jeremiah raised gun to shoulder three times in Kilquane graveyard, as IRA rifles barked a salute to a fallen comrade buried at midnight to the light of carbine lamps.

Jer had a story to tell all right, of stirring and momentous times, but now it had gone into the grave with him, or so it seemed.

As in Ireland family and friends went back to the house after the funeral. Somebody went to the attic to get old photo albums, saw some papers written in what he knew to be Jer's hand and the rest is history.

And what a history this is. Of course we have had plenty of accounts of the Tan War - Tom Barry's and Dan Breen's, to name but two, are classics, but these are by and large the records of the movers and shapers, the people that make things happen.

Such records, while important, tend to occupy themselves with the command view: getting flying columns from A to B, planning ambushes, arranging brigade staffs etc. And collectively from these we can get a reasonably coherent picture of the state of play in the country as a whole.

The Tom Barrys, the Dan Breens and the ``Jimmy the Masters'' may have been the leaders that made things happen, but the Jer Murphys were of the people without whom nothing could have happened. These were the volunteers who stood sentry while the ASUs slept, who were on guard as the column moved and who secured the perimiters while ambushes took place. Their contribution was vital and indispensable.

This is not to say that they did not see action. In most of Cork and Kerry volunteers such as Jer took part in more fighting than battalion ASUs in other areas, a fact not lost on Collins when some officers from such a barely active area went to him trying for guns. ``What the f...ing hell do you lot want guns for?'' he demanded, ``Why don't you go and get them off the f...ing British like the Cork and Kerry lads are doing?''

This is what makes Jer's account so remarkable. It is an account of an ordinary local lad - in as much as any of that fine generation can be described as ordinary, no less than the era itself can.

As we now celebrate the bi-centenary of 1798, conventional history records that all armed resistance ceased with Emmet's Rising of 1803. That would have been strange news to our lads of the day - in 1815 British Army intelligence estimated that there were over 15,000 armed men in the greater Sliabh Luachra area. And they did not go away, you know!

In 1819 there was a full scale battle involving cavalry troops and artillery around Rathmore, but no stand like that at Vinegar Hill. That lesson had been well learned in the Geraldine Wars two hundred years earlier. It was hit and run until nightfall, when the retreating troops were systematically picked off.

No Brit casualties naturally (according to offical accounts that is) but needless to say they did not come back. A parliamentary commission was set up and the Crown Lands taken in the 1690 wars were systematically developed from 1829 onwards.

Speaking of 1690, one local Murphy family sent twelve sons to fight for ``Seamus the Shit'' and Ireland. Only one returned. However, that individual, having done his bit for his country in the battlefield, then apparently did it in bed also, as he left a prolific branch of the Murphys behind, and few who were not a thorn in the side of the crown in subsequent generations.

The lads and lasses of Jer's generation of Sliabh Luachra did not have to be taught freedom and revolution. It was as intrinsic to the hills they lived in as the air they breathed.

What makes Jer's account so unique and enthralling is that it was written in mid-life, from outside the state, and uninfluenced by any of the politics and compromises that had gone on at home, and so is imbued with the source thinking that led to Sinn Féin and resistance. It resonates with true Sinn Féin philosophy and ideals.

Jer outlines the local command that drew from the Moonlighting and Whiteboy traditions, rather than GHQ or battalion structures. Referring to the leadership he writes, ``it was a loose combination but the hard core was composed of a few dedicated men who rarely made themselves conspicuous. They belonged to an inside circle which only themselves were acquainted with. This took very delicate manoeuvering, which the average volunteer did not understand. Many moves were made which were beyond his comprehension, but he had taken an oath of secrecy and lived up to it''.

How this age old Sinn Féin policy was implemented at a cultural, social and military level is well documented here, as are the reactions of those directly involved in revolutionary activity, and those of the people they lived and worked among.

Almost uniquely, the Second Defence of the Republic is well covered here too. Almost 100 pages full of local detail, including the capture of Kenmare and other significant actions.

The personal deprivations are mentioned as well, like prior to the Treaty, when Jer woke up in a local cemetery to find his Company OC had likewise spent the night asleep there. There are also accounts of mountain dug-outs, with the air so foul that candles would only burn at the entrances, yet there the ASUs had to hole up from the ``Staters'' for days at a time.

When Youth Was Mine is a clear, lucid, well written book. It is a story told in unvarnished, factual detail without sentimentality or heroics, yet, as of its content, it cannot but be an heroic account of heroic times and people.

This is a book coming at a most appropriate time. The sufferings and sacrifices of Jeremiah Murphy and his generation cannot be forgotten and his story is a reminder to us all of what we should be about.

As I am writing of my own place and people this review is hardly detached or impartial. Nevertheless, this book is a valuable social document for republicans, historians and general readers alike. I heartily recommend it.

By Donal O Siodhacháin

Donal O Siodhacháin is a poet, writer and publisher living in the Sliabh Luachra area. He has been involved in republican politics since the late 60s.