On the occasion of the centenary of the death of Michael Collins at just 31 years of age during an ambush at Béal na Bláth on the evening of August 22, 1922, it is hard to escape the conclusion that his downfall was an utterly avoidable tragedy.
His killing, 10 days after the demise of Arthur Griffith, represented a double blow to the fragile Irish Free State which was seeking to bed in despite the refusal of the IRA irregulars to accept the will of the majority of the Irish people who backed the Treaty.
Despite a kidney infection, a heavy cold and a lucky escape at Stillorgan on August 17 when his car was fired upon, Collins insisted on a tour of the south and south west of the country.
At Stillorgan on his way into town from Greystones, an ambush was laid. His car was hit with 30 bullets and a grenade was flung in its direction. A minor skirmish ensued and while the self-appointed Commander-in-Chief of the National Army was not in the car, it was a stark reminder of the risks he faced 52 days into the Civil War.
With the fall of the cities of Dublin and Cork into the hands of the Free State army, IRA forces retreated into more rural areas and under its new commander, Liam Lynch, its forces returned to the tactics of guerrilla warfare.
Attempts at arriving at a ceasefire had so far come to nothing with captured republicans refusing to pledge allegiance to the 3rd Dáil or commit to not re-taking up arms against the Free State were they to be released. Indeed, Lynch had insisted that the IRA was “finished with a policy of compromise and negotiation unless based on recognition of the Republic”.
Also, the response of IRA leaders to news that Collins was in Cork to the effect of establishing ambushes illustrates the appetite for peace was low at that point.
Despite his poor medical condition, Collins who had been in Cork since August 20, had insisted on travelling throughout West Cork on the premise of inspecting army outposts. It was planned that he would travel from the Free State headquarters in Cork City to Skibbereen and back again, despite the area being heavily populated with IRA forces.
The dangers of such an enterprise was pointed out to Collins by his brother Johnny, but he replied: “They’ll never shoot me in my own county”. General Emmet Dalton, who had led the Free State Forces in the capturing of Cork, would accompany the Commander-in-Chief on his tour.
But, a major question has to be asked about the strength of the convoy which accompanied Collins on such a dangerous mission. It consisted of a motorcycle outrider, a Crossley Tender (armoured truck), with 10 men on board, including two machine-gunners, a Leyland Touring Car with two drivers, carrying Collins and Major General Dalton.
It was not a military car and its hood was down, leaving Collins vulnerable to attack. In the rear, there was a Rolls Royce armoured car, Sliabh na mBan, carrying six men including John McPeak, who later defected to the IRA amid accusations he shot Collins.
On the way west, the convoy pulled in at Long's Public House at the small village of Béal na Bláth to ask directions. Collins was spotted in the back of the Leyland by an IRA lookout, Denis Long, who immediately informed IRA officers and men retreating from the fighting in Limerick and Buttevant who had arrived at Béal na Bláth the night before.
The rebel group had taken up station at a nearby farmhouse and once they heard the news, an ambush was planned in case Collins would return later that day.
A short while later Eamon de Valera and Lynch’s deputy chief-of-staff, Liam Deasy, arrived at Béal na Bláth and were informed that the small convoy had gone through a short time before. De Valera is said to have remarked on seeing the ambush laid that “it would be a great pity if Collins were killed because he might be succeeded by a weaker man”.
No doubt knowing that the area around Béal na Bláth was, as historian T Ryle Dwyer described it, a “hotbed” of republican activity, it is madness to think the convoy did not choose a different route of return to Cork.
Alternative routes were open to them, notwithstanding roads and bridges being blown up or blocked by republican forces. It is also startling that no one in the convoy had a proper knowledge of the area, requiring them to ask locals to guide them along the way.
Despite slow progress, the convoy stopped at Bandon, Clonakilty, Rosscarbery and Skibbereen before heading back toward Cork city. They stopped at Sam’s Cross, Collins’ homestead where at his cousin Jeremiah’s pub, Collins bought two pints of Clonakilty Wrastler for each man in his party.
Here he met his brother Johnny and other members of his family. Johnny later recalled that Collins appeared in good spirits, perhaps buoyed by seeing family and friends and “not to mention that he had consumed a fair bit of alcohol that day” as Dwyer wrote in his book ‘Michael Collins and the Civil War’.
He noted that interviews with Dalton, stored in University College Cork’s archives, record his stating: ‘We were all pissed at the time’.
In Béal na Bláth at 7pm in the belief the convoy was not returning, the IRA brigade began dismantling the ambush. But shortly before 7.15pm, the convoy approached the ambush site. As gunfire began to ring out in the narrow valley, Dalton sitting beside Collins shouted “drive like hell” but Collins overruled him shouting “Stop, and we’ll fight them”.
The Free State army were on the road with the IRA making their way to higher ground trading gunfire. Spotting the movement of the irregulars, Collins left the shelter of the ditch and took up position behind the armoured car. By this point, he was now out of site of Dalton and the other officers around the corner.
Collins’ next move was foolhardy and fatal. He left the protection of the armoured car and took up position out in the open and was struck in the head.
Dalton says he heard Collins say: “Emmet, I’m hit”. Collins was left with a gaping hole in the back of his head. He died on the side of the road but his body was taken to Cork for examination before being removed to Dublin.
The absence of an autopsy has fuelled a centenary of conspiracy theories about who killed Collins. Was it Dalton acting on behalf of the British who had wanted Collins dead for so long?
Was it McPeak acting for the IRA undercover from the armoured car? Was it IRA man Sonny O’Neill, long believed to have been Collins’ killer? Was it a ricochet bullet or a dum-dum bullet?
Whatever the truth of who killed Collins, the succession of dubious decisions by Collins himself and those with him, placed him in mortal danger and that is the true tragedy of what happened at Béal na Bláth on August 22, 1922.