Reamhr
T impeall cig bhliana shin agus m ar cuairt ar Reilig Fhionnbharra Naofa i gCorcaigh bhos i mo sheasamh os comhair uaigh muncail, Donnchadh de Barra. Thinig fear taobh liom agus dfhiafraigh s dom crbh an fear san.
Dinneas scal a bheatha d, ach nor mhr an t-eolas a bh agam le tabhairt d.
Ar fhilleadh abhaile dhom, thainig nire orm i dtaobh a laghad eolais a bh agam ar muncail.
Shocraos an l san go ndhanfainn mo dhcheall chun scal Dhonnchaidh a chur le cile. N raibh radharc na sl ar fnamh agam, ach bhraitheas mar sin fin go raibh dualgas orm an leabhar seo a scrobh. Thugas cuairt ar Iarsmalann Chorca agus ar Leabharlanna Chorca agus fuaireas blir eolais.
Diaidh ar ndiaidh bh an pictir ag teacht le chile. Bh a thuilleadh eolais le fil agam i seanphipeir nuachta agus Chumainn Iomnaochta Bhaile an Mhairtalaigh agus na Carraige Duibhe. Bh a thuilleadh pipar le fil i Leabharlann Chill Chainnigh freisin. Le cabhair na ln daoine is ea cuireadh an scal so le chile. Mheasas gurbh iomchu an brollach so a scriobh i nGaeilge in oms Dhonnchadh.
(Aistrithe ag Liam P. Murch, Roinn na Gaeilge, UCC)
Preface
A bout five years ago when I was visiting my parents grave in St Finbarrs Cemetery, Glasheen Road, Cork, I paused at the Republican Plot near the entrance to the cemetery. As I stood there, reading the plaques on the three grave mounds at the front of the Plot, a man nearby said to me, Do you know anything about that man, pointing at the mound on the left. I know about Terence MacSwiney and Toms MacCurtain but I never heard anything about him. He was referring to my uncle and namesake, Denis Barry, who was buried there in November 1923, having died in Newbridge Internment Camp after spending thirty-five days on hunger strike.
I told my inquirer as best I could about Denis and how he came to be buried in such a prominent position, but my knowledge was limited and sketchy and largely gleaned from stories told to me as a child by my elders.
When I returned home and reflected on what had transpired, I felt a certain shame that I did not know more about my uncle and his life and times. I resolved there and then to do something about it. I paid visits to the Cork Public Museum, Cork City Library and Cork Archives and found some information. More information was available in old newspapers and from the records of Ballymartle and Blackrock Hurling Clubs. From Kilkenny Library yet more information was received. Piece by piece a picture began to emerge. This little book is the result. I trust it will stand as a modest tribute to a man who played his full part in the fight for Irish freedom but about whom very little is written in the history books.
Foreword
A s we get nearer to the 100th anniversary of 1916 there is increasing interest in understanding the events that led to our freedom, and the foundation of our political institutions. Because it very much characterises who we are as a nation amongst the nations of the world it us understandable why this part of Irish history should be analysed, discussed, reviewed, reflected on, and celebrated.
However, writing history is difficult because the people who do so, whether they be professional or amateur historians, or writing family memoirs, bring their own personal and political biases to the task. Also, it is about resolving differing personal accounts about events that happened very quickly and under great stress.
As we all know, the Civil War overshadowed the War of Independence. Comrades became opponents, leaders died in suspicious circumstances, stories were told about people that only partially reflected the truth, and, in some cases, the stories were not told at all. This book is about one of these, Denis Barry, whose story is told here for the first time.
There are so many unanswered questions about this time, and so many stories yet unwritten. There is no authoritative history of the Irish Republican Police, of which Denis Barry was the first commandant in Cork. There is not even an authoritative history of the Irish Republican Brotherhood (IRB) during that critical time after Dil ireann had instituted its own government in January 1919. There has been no detailed study of the role of the IRB at a local level throughout the War of Independence, in terms of the chain of command in the army. What were the relationships between people who apparently had so much in common from early on and for so long, and ended up so far apart, as happened between Denis Barry and Dick Mulcahy, both senior members of the Volunteers from Munster who were interned together in Frongoch? One view is that going over old ground will be not a pretty sight, and will lead to family upsets. This was my fathers view. But that was some time ago when many of the following generation were still living, which is no longer the case.
Nature abhors a vacuum. We are faced now with the travesty where some Revisionist historians are trying to take what is known to be true and prove that white is black, i.e. to destroy the reputations of great heroes through selective joining together of unrepresentative reports. All historians should be revisionists (with a small r), i.e. constantly uncovering more evidence and refining what is known so as to get deeper insights into historical events. The challenge is how to respond to people who bring to their interest in history an emotionally based position that colours what they select to use as evidence and how to put it together into a story of the events. Our response to this challenge can only be to fight for the truth, even if it hurts some people.
Peoples fears in this regard have been exaggerated. The people who carried the burden of the War of Independence were great men and women. When they started the expectations were so low that fellow travellers and opportunists did not join. If some of these people did or said wrong things later, such as in the Civil War, there probably were reasons, in hindsight, not justifications. Now is the time to try to understand them, neither to condemn them nor to sweep them under the carpet.
In this biography of his uncle, Denis Barry has done a service to his namesake, to his family, and to us, because this is a story that had not been told, and that needed to be told. Denis (Denny) Barry holds the title of commandant because he was one of the officers on the Brigade Staff of the Cork No.1 Brigade of glaigh na hireann between 1914 and 1922, and also because he was Commandant of the Republican Police in Cork during the War of Independence. This was a significant position because he had to contend with the deterioration in the behaviour of the British forces in Cork city, the army, auxiliaries, black and tans, and RIC.
Some things make this story special, or at least unusual. The first is why Denis Barry should be described as the Unknown Commandant. Until recently the Department of Defence had not formally recognised Denis Barrys involvement in the War of Independence. As Denis had died in 1923, he had not sought a Military Service Pension or a Service Medal. Therefore there were no personal details of his participation in the War of Independence in official departmental records. Nonetheless, following a request from his nephew, the Department carried out a search of its records and found sufficient evidence to justify the posthumous award of a Service (19171921) Medal to Denis Barry.
Other reasons why he remained unknown were because he moved to Kilkenny in 1915, and so was not part of the main action in Cork, and because of the death of his commanding officers on the Cork No.1 Brigade staff, Lord Mayors MacCurtain and MacSwiney who, under normal circumstances, would have testified to his role.
