After the Pogrom: the bereaved, the broken and the bitter

(L) Annie McNamara, killed in Belfast on 29 November 1921 (photo courtesy of Aisling Heath and Pat McGuinness); (R) front cover of “A Very Hard Struggle” (image reproduced courtesy of Military Archives)

My thanks to Cécile Chemin, Project Director – Military Service (1916-1923) Pensions Collection at the Military Archives, for her valuable guidance in referencing documents from this vast, unique resource.

Estimated reading time: 40 minutes.

“Had he been killed while in the British Army she would have been provided for”

On 25 September 1920, Constable Thomas Leonard became the first policeman to be killed by the IRA in Belfast since the start of the Pogrom – he was shot dead during an attempt to disarm him and another policeman at the junction of the Falls Road and Broadway. That night marked the first appearance of what came to be known as the police “murder gang” – the homes of three republicans were visited by masked men and a resident killed in each as a reprisal for the killing of Constable Turner.

One of those killed was widower Ned Trodden, who had joined the Irish Volunteers on their foundation, was still in the IRA in 1920 and owned a hairdressers on the Falls Road. He was dragged into the back yard of his home and shot dead by his assailants.

Ned Trodden (R) in front of his hairdresser’s shop (photo courtesy of Jimmy McDermott)

She told the minister that the police were still hounding the surviving family members, nearly four years after Trodden’s killing:

Whether the compensation awarded was adequate was immaterial;  whether it had been awarded to the person making the claim was also immaterial; all that mattered was whether some compensation had been awarded to anyone.

Therefore, the intent of Section 13 of the 1923 Act was not to prevent double-payment on principle, but to specifically debar those who had already gone running to the British for financial assistance.

The claim brought by Elizabeth’s nephews in 1922 was to prove her undoing. She was asked to provide a copy of the court’s decision, which she did in September 1924:

She, too, was referred back to the rejection letter previously sent to her. After this fourth such rebuff, she stopped writing.

Rioting in the Marrowbone, where Owen Moan was killed (Illustrated London News, 9 October 1920)

Closing dates were not only enforced in relation to the receipt of applications, as Ellen Walker discovered. Her son, John, was killed in Short Strand on 20 April 1922, but in the early legislation, there was also a closing date for deaths and he was killed too late to qualify:

The gratuities paid to the bereaved certainly appear modest, to put it mildly, and applicants who were successful still struggled to make ends meet with what they were given.

Within five years, that money had run out, so he appealed directly to W.T. Cosgrave, President of the Free State’s Executive Council, or government, pleading for additional help:

“It’s only the workhouse for me now as the money I got is all finished”

The various Army Pensions Acts specified that payments could only be made to members or the dependents of members of combatant organisations. As a result, applications relating to civilians who had been killed or wounded were routinely rejected on the basis that the victim “was not a member of any of the organisations.”

Over the course of the Pogrom, 88% of the nationalists killed in Belfast were non-combatants. Although they were ultimately unsuccessful, applications by the families of these dead civilians still provide useful insights into what all those left mourning went through, irrespective of whether their loved ones had been combatants or not.

Effigies hung on the Newtownards Road in Ballymacarrett (Illustrated London News, 4 September 1920)

Francis McCann was killed in Seaforde St in Ballymacarrett on 26 August 1920 – according to his sister, Catherine McGovern, he had been helping to stop an attack on the area by loyalists. She herself had been wounded a few days earlier but was concerned for her brother’s safety:

Although her brother had been killed by the British Army, local loyalists inflicted more psychological violence on her after the killing:

Alexander Hamilton’s father was not the only grieving relative to die of a broken heart.

On the night of 29 November 1921, there was a thud at the door of Annie McNamara’s house in Keegan St in the Market. When she opened the door to investigate, a bomb which had been thrown by loyalists from behind a nearby railway wall exploded, fatally wounding her.

Annie had evidently been the glue holding the family together before her killing. Two other sons, John and Francis, had been members of the IRA – both emigrated to the USA:

Annie McNamara was killed by a loyalist bomb on 29 November 1921 (photo courtesy of Aisling Heath and Pat McGuinness)

Daniel Rogan was a bystander fatally wounded in crossfire when the IRA killed a member of the police “murder gang,” Sergeant Christy Clarke, on 13 March 1922. His brother, Thomas, made a blatantly dishonest attempt to benefit financially from the killing.

Sergeant Christy Clarke: when the IRA killed him on 13 March 1922, Daniel Rogan was fatally wounded by crossfire

“He was anointed for death before leaving”

Some of the bereaved had the additional emotional turmoil of seeing their relatives die slowly as they watched – these were the families of internees who had developed severe illnesses while imprisoned.

The internment ship SS Argenta

Hugh Hennon was another internee: arrested on 31 May 1922 and interned on the Argenta from June 1922 to January 1924, he was then transferred to the internment camp at Larne Workhouse in January 1924 and released the following month. He died nine months later on 21 September.

“I took a pleurisy and was hovering between life and death for a week”

While the killing of Constable Leonard in September 1920 led directly to the reprisal attack in which Ned Trodden was killed, it also had dire, though not fatal, consequences for Lizzie Lowe.

She was the Cumann na mBan member tasked with bringing the dead policeman’s rifle three miles over Black Mountain to an IRA arms dump in Hannahstown.

Constable Thomas Leonard, killed by the IRA on 25 September 1920

This marked the beginning of her decades-long battle with both sickness and the Department of Defence.

She had asked the doctor who was her GP throughout the 1920s for a supporting statement but he, being a unionist, had refused:

The former Central Tuberculosis Institute, Durham St, where Lizzie Lowe was treated

In September 1946, she and her sister applied for 1917-1921 Service Medals; Lizzie’s was issued to her the following January – there had never been any question regarding her membership of Cumann na mBan, in fact, their house in Cawnpore St in Clonard had been used as the headquarters and arms dump for B Company, 1st Battalion throughout the Pogrom.

Bernard Mullen was severely wounded when attempting to attack a Special Constabulary armoured car on 26 March 1922

According to Bernard:

Along with his pension, the department had sanctioned the supply of two artificial hands to him. In May 1929, he wrote to them,

Compared to either Lizzie Lowe or Bernard Mullen, Rose Black arguably paid an even heavier physical price in later years for her Cumann na mBan activism.

Armagh Gaol, where Rose Black was imprisoned and later interned

Her problems had begun when she was first sent to Armagh Gaol:

The problem returned after she was interned:

After her release on medical grounds in July 1923, she went to Dublin, where she was prescribed glasses. However, her visual problems returned the following January; after treatment in the Eye & Ear Hospital in Belfast, her right eye recovered, but that recovery only lasted three years:

“I suppose I am just one of Ireland’s fools”

As well as the Army Pensions Acts, which provided for payments in respect of deaths, wounds and disabilities, there was also a series of Military Service Pensions Acts, under which veterans could claim pensions in respect of the activities in which they had been involved.

A critical issue confronting both applicants and those in charge of administering the process was that there was no legal definition of what constituted “military service:”

In practice, establishing an applicant’s membership of one of the qualifying organisations and the extent of the service they had rendered was usually done by referring to officers from the unit in question: in theory, they would be able to verify the claims made by applicants.

However, this did not prevent applications being rejected on grounds that veterans found perplexing, frustrating or insulting.

A 1917-21 Service Medal

However, qualification for a medal was more straightforward than the byzantine requirements needed to qualify for a pension – all that was needed for the former was to be able to demonstrate membership of one of the republican organisations in the three months prior to the Truce. But given the similarity in terminology, the distinction between qualifying for a Service Medal and qualifying for a service pension was probably lost on many applicants.

Some veterans were deeply hurt by the rejection of their claim for military service as it seemed a negation of all their previous efforts. After being told “you are not a person to whom the Act applies”, Daniel Megran wrote:

The Military Service Pensions (Amendment) Act 1949 made provision for unsuccessful applicants to request a re-investigation of previous claims, so in 1950, Daniel applied for a review of his case; as part of this process, he was interviewed, but that interview only served to further antagonise him:

Although, like Bernard Mullen, he was granted a 1917-21 Service Medal, the department remained unmoved in relation to a pension.

Doran & Co.’s bonded spirits warehouse, the target of an IRA arson attack on 19 May 1922; Edward McCready said he took part in the attack

When writing to Edward to inform him of the rejection of this application, the department added insult to injury:

While it would be tempting to view this action as being linked to the 50th anniversary of the Easter Rising, it is more likely that she got the date wrong – O’Kelly’s term of office as President ended in 1959. Having fought for his country, suffered terrible injuries as a result and had two pension applications turned down, the most recent in 1955, Edward must have decided not long after the second rejection that he didn’t want the medal after all.

Summary and conclusions

So far, the Military Service Pensions Collection files of 221 people have been released which relate to the events in Belfast between 1920-22; these include members of the IRA, Cumann na mBan and Na Fianna, as well as civilians.

His reference to the dole highlights another feature of life after the Pogrom. With the post-Great War downturn in the economy, high levels of unemployment were already endemic in Northern Ireland in the 1920s, even before the arrival of the Great Depression. Applicants were driven by sheer need to turn their hopeful faces to Dublin in supplication, looking for a measure of relief from the grime and grind of their everyday lives; the prospect of at least some level of financial support offered a chance to partially alleviate their gruelling poverty.

So acute was their hunger that it is mainly in the correspondence of unsuccessful applicants that the miserable economic and social conditions which they had to navigate can be seen – they were the ones who, terrified of the consequences of their claims being rejected, pleaded the most: “its only workhouse for me now,” or “I have only 6/- disablement benefit to live on.”

Among the 67 unsuccessful applicants, some notable clusters can be seen.

There were 38 rejected applications for military service pensions, mainly due to pre-Truce or National Army service not being recognised for claims under the 1924 Act or the all-encompassing “you are not a person to whom the Act applies” dismissals of later applications.

Fourteen unsuccessful applications were made by dependents of those killed – nine of these related to civilians, who were not covered by the legislation, and five related to IRA or Fianna members, but were debarred by having already been compensated under the Criminal Injuries (Ireland) Acts.

In the case of Lizzie Lowe, tuberculosis didn’t kill her at all but she still had to endure it and its after-effects for the rest of her life. Rose Black never saw again for the rest of her life. Bernard Mullen had to go through the rest of his life with only one hand. Robert Copeland had to go through the rest of his life with shrapnel in his leg, the result of a bomb being thrown by Special Constabulary in Seaforde St, Ballymacarrett in March 1922. As late as 1970, he was still waging a futile effort to persuade the department to grant him a disability pension and was still incandescent in his rage at being refused:

Whether their claims were successful or not, these broken veterans had to carry their wounds or disabilities for the remainder of their lifetimes.

Those left bereaved by the killings of family members had to carry that loss for the remainder of their lifetimes. For some, like the father of Alexander Hamilton or the husband of Annie McNamara, the burden was simply intolerable and they soon “died from a broken heart.” Catherine McGovern had the added pain of being goaded by gloating loyalists, revelling in the killing of her brother; she was unlikely to have been unique in that regard.

For all of them, whether their claims were successful or not, whether their applications were stymied or not by payments under the Criminal Injuries (Ireland) Acts, apart from the loss of a loved one, they also had to face into the permanent loss of a key, if not only, breadwinner’s earnings.

Those who failed to have their military service recognised at all were understandably bitter, as it implied that a fraught, extremely violent period of their lives had not really happened, even though they remembered it vividly – “it was only in your imagination you fought.” Their erstwhile comrades in the south had fought and won some measure of independence, but they had fought and won nothing, so being written out of the officially-recognised history of the entire fight must have compounded their feelings of having been abandoned by the south.

The apparently contradictory award of Service Medals but denial of service pensions can only have deepened their frustration. Were these “prized medals” actually just worthless baubles, scattered about with abandon, or did they carry a hidden implicit criticism – that while the recipients whose pension claims were rejected had been members of the IRA, they hadn’t actually done anything of merit?

No wonder that Edward McCready decided that he wanted nothing more to do with a country that would give him a medal but not a bus pass.

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