Crossbarry: 100 Years Ago Tonight
18th Mar 2021
From the comfort of the 21st century, looking
back on the events of one hundred years ago, the small but hugely significant
individual battles for independence in Cork appear like something from an old
late-night war movie on TG4 or some dusty old book you happened upon in a quiet
corner of the city library.
It can be hard to relate modern, high-tech Cork with those violent, tumultuous
times. Back then news of killings might take days to make the newspapers and
the facts were often massaged and controlled - the Burning of Cork producing
one of the Brits’ best known attempts at misinformation.
Fake news is a new term, but far from a new concept (as you may have noticed, we
do our best to try to counter the narrative from the oppressive Dublin
government on this page every week, despite being continually denied the
Pulitzer Prize for heroic journalism – as the name says, it sounds like you
need ‘pull’ to win it).
These days footage is streamed live from protests, battles, and the aftermath
of guerrilla warfare, often with little or no context or verification. One
hundred years later, instead of a trickle of controlled news from a tiny number
of sources, we are now bombarded with a deluge of unfiltered, unverified
content followed by a tsunami of vociferous opinions within minutes of breaking
news.
Reading about Crossbarry and other War of Independence stories makes you wonder
about how it would unfold if it was happening today.
If Tom Barry and his men were being surrounded right now by British troops in
west Cork – how would it be reported to us and how would we take the news?
What would the reaction be on the Echo’s Facebook page from Mary in Mallow
whose ‘lovely brother joined the Essex Regiment to stop rogues like #TomTheTerrorist’
or Liam from Liscarroll whose ‘son joined #TomTheHero after his brother was
shot by the Brits for no reason’?
Would the British feel the need to shut down the internet like the army have in
Myanmar for “the safety of the general population” or perhaps a squad of
heavily armed members of the infamous, Essex Regiment would be walking into
Echo’s office in Blackpool right now shouting “Roight, you bunch of Paddies!
Type this ‘eadline out roight naaaoow!”.
“VICTORY AS IRA TERRORISTS SMASHED AT CROSSBARRY”
Cork city and county was under martial law in March 1921 leading to a severe
curtailment in personal freedoms for Corkonians. There are, of course, some
parallels with the current public health restrictions.
Imagine, if it wasn’t a transmissible virus, but the army of a foreign power
that was enforcing social distancing, restricted movement, no household visits,
along with business and school closures.
It’s one thing to be told by a polite Garda from Donoughmore, that you should
really heed the, now notorious, 5km distance from your gaf.
It would be another thing entirely if you were barked at by some half-drunk,
half-mad cockney Black and Tan, pointing a loaded gun at your head who wants to
know “a lot more” about your so-called “essential reason” for travelling
outside your 5km. And be sure look at the ground and not at him while you’re
talking or you could get a rifle butt across the head!
When you walk away, sufficiently humiliated by your
aggressive colonial masters, would you vent your anger with an angry tweet
about your terrible checkpoint experience like a moany trip advisor reviewer or
would you be so enraged that you’d log on to irish-volunteers.ie secure website
to fill out the online membership application form?
You might find yourself lashing through it enthusiastically until it comes to
the bit that says “By checking this box, I understand I may have to shoot
people in the head if I am ordered to do so and that not doing so may result in
my own execution after being court martialled”.
Yeah, might leave that browser window open for a bit there and have a think
about that one, eh ‘soldier’?
Thankfully none of us will ever have to make those awful choices.
Despite being encircled by hundreds of British troops, Tom Barry and his men
managed to break out and escape – denying the British a major victory that
might well have tipped the balance of the War of Independence in their favour.
One of several strokes of luck for Tom Barry that night, was
that the Essex Regiment who were supposed to join the operation, got lost on
their way from the city to Crossbarry and were delayed. A hundred years later,
a simple smartphone would have ensured that didn’t happen.
It’s mad to think that such little things might have been the difference
between us being paying for our Tanora in euros rather than sterling in 2021 or
the sight of Boris Johnson guffawing behind Pat Horgan in Croke Park when he
lifts the Liam McCarthy Cup later this year.
Tonight, exactly one hundred years on from the Crossbarry ambush, pause the
Netflix, put down the TikTok, look up at the stars and spare a thought for the
bauld Tom Barry and his gallant men who made those awful decisions so that
future generations of Corkonians, like ours, wouldn’t have to.
Thanks, Tom.
Up the Rebels.