STORIES OF OTHER V.C.’S, INCLUDING MICHAEL O’LEARY, WHO UPHELD IRELAND’S TRADITION OF GALLANTRY

In order to be able rightly to appreciate the honour and glory of the Victoria Cross, it is necessary to know the conditions regulating its bestowal. A tradition has been established in the Services, though there is nothing in the institution of the Victoria Cross really to warrant it, that the decoration is to be given only for a deed not done under orders. The deed must be a signal one in every respect exceptionally daring, and difficult, of the highest military value, particularly in the saving of life, and, with all this, absolutely voluntary.

Nevertheless, it will be noticed that in none of the deeds of all these bold, brave, and intrepid Irishmen is there the slightest suggestion of seeking fame and glory at the cannon’s mouth. “I almost gasped,” said Private Dwyer, “when I was told I was awarded the V.C.” Each of the others appears to have been likewise unconscious of his heroism. He did not go and do what he did, thinking of being mentioned in despatches or decorated. He was concerned only about doing what at the moment he felt to be his duty. Fame and glory were probably never farther from his thoughts than at the very time he was winning them for ever. For the roll of the Victoria Cross, on which his name and deed are commemorated, is imperishable; and his glorious memory will shine as long as Great Britain and Ireland endure.

For sheer daring, contempt of risks, resourcefulness, and extraordinary physical powers, a high place must be given to the action by which Corporal William Cosgrave, 1st Royal Munster Fusiliers, won the Victoria Cross in Gallipoli. It took place on April 26th, 1915, the day after the famous landing of the Dublins and Munsters at “Beach V,” when the survivors of these battalions were advancing to the attack on the Turkish positions on the heights of Sedd-el-Bahr. The first defensive obstacles encountered were barbed wire entanglements of exceptional strength and intricacy, behind which was a trench of enemy riflemen and machine-guns. “Those entanglements,” says Sir Ian Hamilton, “were made of heavier metal and longer barbs than I have ever seen elsewhere.” A party of the Munsters were sent forward to cut them down, but the men’s pliers had not strength and sharpness enough to snip the wires. Then it was that Cosgrave, a giant in stature and vigour 6 f in. in height and only twenty-three years of age “pulled down the posts of the enemy’s high wire entanglements single-handed, notwithstanding a terrific fire from both front and flanks thereby greatly contributing to the successful clearing of the heights,” to quote the official record. The deed has a distinction peculiarly its own, for it is the only thing of the kind to be found in the long roll of the Victoria Cross.

Cosgrave was wounded in the bayonet charge which subsequently carried the trench. A bullet struck him in the side, and passing clear through him splintered his backbone. He was invalided home to Aghada, a little fishing hamlet in County Cork, where he was born and reared and worked as a farm boy until he enlisted in 1910. Seen there, he told the story of his exploit, as one of the party of fifty Munsters ordered to rush forward and remove the entanglements:

“Sergeant-Major Bennett led us, but just as we made a dash a storm of lead was concentrated on us; Sergeant-Major Bennett was killed with a bullet through his brain. I then took charge and shouted to the boys to come on. The dash was quite one hundred yards, and I don’t know whether I ran or prayed the faster. I wanted to succeed in my work, and I also wanted to have the benefit of dying with a prayer in my mind. Some of us having got up to the wires we started to cut them with the pliers, but you might as well try to cut the round tower at Cloyne with a pair of lady’s scissors. The wire was of great strength, strained like fiddle strings, and so full of spikes that you could not get the pliers between. Heavens! I thought we were done; I threw the pliers from me. ‘Pull them up!’ I roared to the fellows; and I dashed at one of the upright posts, put my arms round it, and heaved and strained at it until it came up in my arms, the same as you would lift a child.

“I believe there was great cheering when they saw what I was at, but I only heard the scream of bullets and saw dust rising all round me. Where they hit I do not know, or how many posts I pulled up. I did my best, and the boys that were with me did every bit as good as myself.

“When the wire was down the rest of the lads came through like devils and reached the trenches. We won about 200 yards’ length by twenty yards deep and 700 yards from the shore. We met a brave, honourable foe in the Turks, and I am sorry that such decent fighting men were brought into the row by such dirty tricksters as the Germans.”

In Sir Ian Hamilton’s despatch describing the storming of “Beach W” close to “Beach V” by the Lancashire Fusiliers, there are some striking passages relating to men of the battalion who rushed forward to cut passages through the entanglements. “Again the heroic wire-cutters came out. Through glasses they could be seen quietly snipping away under a hellish fire, as if they were pruning a vineyard.” For his gallantry in this undertaking Private William Keneally, one of the many Irishmen in the Lancashires, got the Victoria Cross. The distinction is greatly enhanced by the fact that Keneally was selected by his comrades in the ranks as the one among them best entitled to it. The official record says:

“On April 25th, 1915, three companies and the Headquarters of the 1st Battalion Lancashire Fusiliers, in effecting a landing on the Gallipoli Peninsula to the west of Cape Helles, were met by a very deadly fire from hidden machine-guns which caused a great number of casualties. The survivors, however, rushed up to and cut the wire entanglements, notwithstanding the terrific fire from the enemy, and, after overcoming supreme difficulties, the cliffs were gained and the position maintained. Amongst the many very gallant officers and men engaged in this most hazardous undertaking, Captain Willis, Sergeant Richards, and Private Keneally have been selected by their comrades as having performed the most signal arts of bravery and devotion to duty.”

Precedents for the choice of a comrade by his fellows to wear the V.C. on their behalf are to be found in the records of the Indian Mutiny, and it is an interesting fact that in each case the man chosen was an Irishman serving in an English or Scottish regiment. In September, 1857, the Cross was awarded to Private John Divane, of the 60th King’s Royal Rifles, for successfully heading a charge against the trenches at Delhi. Divane was elected by the privates of his regiment for the distinction. In November of the same year Lance-Corporal J. Dunley, 93rd Highlanders, the first man of the regiment to enter the Secundra Bagh with Captain Burroughs, whom he supported against heavy odds, was similarly chosen by his comrades for the V.C., and likewise Lieutenant A.K. French, 53rd Regiment, who showed distinguished gallantry on the same occasion, was elected by his brother officers to wear the decoration.

Keneally was born in Parnell Street, Wexford, in 1886. His father, Colour-Sergeant John Stephen Keneally, served for twenty-four years in the Royal Irish Regiment. In 1890 Keneally’s parents removed to Wigan. The father got work as a miner in the Wigan coalfield, and the son, at the age of thirteen, started in the same life as a pit-boy. William afterwards joined the Army, served for six years, and on returning to civil life worked again in the pits. On the outbreak of war he rejoined his old regiment, the Lancashire Fusiliers, and was then one of five brothers serving with the Colours. The brave fellow did not survive to enjoy the honour of having the V.C. pinned to his breast by the King. He was wounded on July 29th, 1915, in the course of an attack on a Turkish position, which was repulsed, and was never seen afterwards. “It is a matter of sincere regret to me,” says the King in a kindly letter to the hero’s father, “that the death of Private Keneally deprived me of the pride of personally conferring on him the Victoria Cross the greatest of all military distinctions.”

For quite a different achievement the Victoria Cross was awarded to Sergeant John Hogan, 2nd Battalion Manchester Regiment, an Irish lad who was brought up at Oldham, Lancashire. On October 29th, 1914, Hogan and Second Lieutenant Leach (who also got the V.C.) recaptured unassisted a trench that had been lost by the regiment. Two attempts to retake the trench in force having been repulsed, Leach and Hogan voluntarily set out one morning to try to recover it themselves. The trench was about sixty yards’ distance from the nearest German trench. It did not run in a straight line, but took a zig-zag course, consisting of a number of traverses.

Though it was held by the Germans, its connection with the other British trenches was not cut off. Starting at one end of the trench, Leach and Hogan drove the Germans out of each traverse, one after the other, by putting their right hands round each corner and firing their revolvers, while they kept their bodies concealed. It happened that the Germans were armed only with rifles, and those weapons they could not use without exposing themselves to the revolver fire of their attackers. Thus favoured, Leach and Hogan advanced by crawling on their stomachs, capturing corner after corner, and section after section, until they got near to the other end of the trench, when they heard a voice exclaiming in English, “Don’t shoot; the Germans want to surrender.” The speaker was one of their own men, who had been taken prisoner by the Germans when they captured the trench. Altogether Leach and Hogan killed eight Germans, wounded twenty, and took sixteen prisoners. It was a peculiar exploit, cleverly planned, and daringly executed. The story of how Private John Lynn, 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers, a County Tyrone man, won the V.C., is inspiring for its bravery and endurance. Near Ypres on May 2nd, 1915, as the Germans were advancing behind their wave of asphyxiating gas, Private Lynn, although almost overcome by the deadly fumes, handled his machine-gun with very great effect against the enemy, and when he could not see them he moved his gun higher up on the parapet, which enabled him to bring even more effective fire to bear, and eventually checked any further advance. The great courage displayed by this soldier had a fine effect on his comrades in the very trying circumstances. He died the following day from the effects of gas poisoning.

“It’s a long, long way to Tipperary,” says the soldier’s favourite song. But, long as it is, Sergeant James Somers, 1st Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers, brought there the Victoria Cross from Gallipoli, when he came home invalided to stay with his parents at Cloughjordan, in September, 1915. Naturally, the Tipperary village was decorated, and the hero was received by Tipperary crowds, with bands and banners; and, better still, War Loan stock to the value of L240, subscribed for by as many as 1,500 of the local Tipperary community, was presented to him at a public meeting by Major-General Friend, Commander of the Forces in Ireland. At the meeting Mr. B. Trench, secretary to the reception committee, made the remarkable statement that out of a total of eighty Victoria Crosses then awarded for services in the war eighteen had been won by Irishmen. “If the people of Great Britain had done as well,” said Mr. Trench, “they ought, according to their population, to have received 220 Victoria Crosses.”

Sergeant Somers is a well-built, good-looking young fellow of twenty-one, full of high spirits, and was boyishly delighted with all the attention paid to him in Ireland. His father was for several years sexton in the parish church, Belturbet, county Cavan; and he himself was a footman in Bantry House, county Cork, before he joined the Inniskilling Fusiliers in 1912. Like Dwyer, of the East Surreys, he got the V.C. for a daring bombing exploit. The official record of the award is as follows:

“For most conspicuous bravery. On the night of July 1st-2nd, 1915, in the southern zone of the Gallipoli Peninsula, where, owing to hostile bombing, some of our troops had retired from a sap, Sergeant Somers remained alone on the spot until a party brought up bombs. He then climbed over into the Turkish trench, and bombed the Turks with great effect. Later he advanced into the open, under heavy fire, and held back the enemy by throwing bombs into their flank until a barricade had been established. During this period he frequently ran to and from our trenches to obtain fresh supplies of bombs. By his gallantry and coolness Sergeant Somers was largely instrumental in effecting the recapture of portion of our trench which had been lost.”

Recounting his experiences, Sergeant Somers said that the Turks advanced to the trenches and compelled the Gurkhas and the Inniskillings to retire. He alone stopped in the trench, refusing to leave. He shot many Turks with his revolver, killed about fifty with bombs, and forced them to retire. The enemy, however, rushed into a sap trench, and he commenced to bombard them out of it, but twice he failed. Just before dawn he stole away for the purpose of getting men up to the trench to occupy it. Some of the officers said it was impossible to put the Turks out; but Somers returned to the position, taking with him a supply of grenades, under rifle and Maxim-gun fire, and eventually succeeded in bombing the Turks out of the sap trench. He had one narrow escape on the morning of July 2nd a splinter struck him across the spine, but he rained in the bombs until he fell from loss of blood and fatigue in the afternoon. By that time, however, the trench had been recaptured. The Turks retreated crying, “Allah! Allah!” and “We gave them La La,” said Somers with great glee. Somers tells all about it with great enthusiasm, and constantly recurring in his stories is the phrase, “I did my duty,” or “General Sir Ian Hamilton told me when he made me King’s Sergeant on the field that I did my duty”; and again, “I want to get back to duty.” That was the main idea in this young Irishman’s mind.

“For helping to bring the guns into action under heavy fire at Nery, near Compiegne, on September 1st, 1914, and, while severely wounded, remaining with them until all ammunition was exhausted, although he had been ordered to retire to cover.”

This is the brief and cold official account of the thrilling deed for which the Victoria Cross was given to Sergeant David Nelson, L Battery, Royal Horse Artillery, a native of Derraghlands, Stranooden, county Monaghan. In all retreats the artillery is seriously handicapped, and it was so with the British artillery in the retreat from Mons. Still, they made many a gallant fight. One which stands out most conspicuously is that of L Battery, which fought for hours with one gun, and although outnumbered eight to one, succeeded in silencing the German artillery.

The battery of six guns had camped for the night by a farmhouse. At dawn, as they were watering their horses before continuing the retirement, they were shelled by a German battery of eight guns posted on a height overlooking the farm, not 700 yards away. This hill had been evacuated during the night by French cavalry without having given notice to the British. So fierce and destructive was the fire of the Germans that four guns of the L Battery were disabled, and many of the men and officers were stricken down within a few minutes. The survivors rushed to the two other guns and brought them into action. The fifth gun was quickly silenced by the killing of its entire detachment. It was the sixth gun, served by Nelson and three other men Sergeant-Major Dornell, Gunner Derbyshire, and Driver Osborne that, despite all the painful and distracting incidents happening in the farmyard, was worked with such speed and cool and deadly accuracy that the Germans were compelled to depart. The British gun was crippled and almost completely shattered, but it was saved. All the heroic gunners were badly wounded, and all were decorated. Nelson had one of his ribs so crushed in that it pressed upon his right lung. On his recovery he was promoted to a second lieutenancy.

The official record of the services of the 1st Canadian Division in Flanders shows that the late Company Sergeant-Major William Hall, 8th Canadian Infantry, who won the Victoria Cross near Ypres, was a native of Belfast. Hall was awarded the coveted distinction in the following circumstances: “On April 24th, 1915, in the neighbourhood of Ypres, when a wounded man who was lying some fifteen yards from the trench called for help, Company Sergeant-Major Hall endeavoured to reach him in the face of a very heavy enfilade fire which was being poured in by the enemy. The first attempt failed, and a non-commissioned officer and a private soldier who were attempting to give assistance were both wounded. Company Sergeant-Major Hall then made a second most gallant attempt, and was in the act of lifting up the wounded man to bring him in when he fell mortally wounded in the head.” Sir Max Aitken, M.P., who has written the official record, states that Hall was originally from Belfast, but his Canadian home was in Winnipeg. He joined the 8th Battalion at Valcartier, Quebec, in August, 1914, as a private.

Finally we come to the epic of Michael O’Leary, of the Irish Guards, which remains the finest and most amazing feat of the war. I remember well that afternoon of Friday, February 19th, 1915, when the announcement of the award of the Victoria Cross to O’Leary was given to the public. It was sent out in the afternoon, so that it first appeared in the evening newspapers. The record was one of a dozen, each of which told a tale of thrilling adventure. Yet all the London evening papers with one accord seized upon the exploit of O’Leary’s capture, single-handed, of two enemy barricades thus saving his comrades from being mowed down by a machine-gun and killing eight Germans in the process, as the “splash” line for their contents bills. “How Michael O’Leary Won the V.C.” “How Michael O’Leary, V.C., Kills Eight Germans and Takes Two Barricades.” “The Wonderful Story of Michael O’Leary, V.C.” Thus the streets of London flashed and resounded with the name of Michael O’Leary that name which sounds so musically, and so irresistibly suggests the romance and dare-devildom of the Irish race, and under its spell people rushed to read the story of his deed. What appealed to the imagination was the touch of strangeness and fantasy in the exploit. How curious it all is, when one comes to think of it! As one is walking along a London street a name suddenly emerges out of the unknown, and lo! it is fixed in the memory with a halo for ever.

It was in the brickfields at Cuinchy, on February 1st, 1915, that Michael O’Leary won his enduring fame. Taken by surprise, the Coldstream Guards had lost a trench and failed to recapture it. The Irish Guards, who were in reserve, were told to have a try. N Company, in which O’Leary was Lance-Corporal, formed the storming party. They were only too glad of any excuse to get out of the mud and slush of their trenches. Before the main body advanced across the open ground a brickfield, with here and there a stack of bricks O’Leary, who, in fact, was off duty, and need not have joined in the attack at all, slipped away to the left towards a railway cutting. He had set out spontaneously on his own initiative to give the enemy a bit of a surprise. What would be the nature of the surprise, O’Leary himself did not quite know at the moment. It would all depend upon the development of the situation and the actual circumstances when the time came for him to decide. But for days before as he lay in the trenches he had brought his powers of observation into play, and having grasped all the essential details of the geographical situation and the military position, he reasoned out a plan with himself.

According to that plan, the first thing he had to do was to get into the railway cutting on his left. This he did with all speed, and very soon afterwards he re-ascended to the top of the embankment and found himself almost in a direct line with the first German barricade, one of the brick stacks, about twenty or thirty yards square, and about twenty feet high and solid. With five shots he killed as many of the German defenders. Then seeing the headlong and irresistible dash of his comrades across the field he came to the conclusion that the remaining Germans had no chance of escape. So he quickly disappeared down the railway cutting once more, and again came up to the top on the right front of the second German barricade. Here there was a machine-gun. In fact the officer in command had just slewed round the gun on the Irish Guards still busy at the first barricade, and had his finger on the button to let go the hail of lead upon them when he was dropped by a bullet from O’Leary’s rifle. Michael also shot two other Germans, and the remaining five surrendered by putting up their hands to the deadly, unerring marksman on the embankment.

Thus it happened that when the N Company of the Irish Guards got to the second barricade without a single casualty, instead of, as they had expected, serious loss of life, their surprise was turned into amazement on seeing O’Leary there before them in sole and complete possession of the place, with a German machine-gun and five prisoners as spoil. “How the divil did you get here, Mike!” Such was the exclamation of O’Leary’s intimate comrades. Mike only realised that he had done something of importance and value, as well as of splendid gallantry, when officers and men crowded round him to shake his hand. The commanding officer, Major the Hon. J.F. Trefusis, promoted him full sergeant on the field.

There must always be an element of chance or luck in such an abnormal achievement. But it is the man that is the thing. All the good fortune in the world would be without avail if the man were not of an exceptional type, possessed of perfect courage, marvellous self-confidence, and supreme resolution. Not less wonderful than what O’Leary did was the deliberate and efficient way in which he accomplished it. He knew that death might come at any moment. But he put the fear immediately aside lest it might in the least unnerve him in the pursuit of his purpose. Everything showed that he was in full possession of all his faculties.

What the United Kingdom thought of the deed was expressed by London in the tumultuous welcome which it gave to Sergeant Michael O’Leary, when, in his war-stained uniform, he drove through the streets with Mr. T.P. O’Connor, to speak in Hyde Park on Saturday afternoon, July 10th, 1915. There was terrific crushing and rushing on the part of hundreds of thousands of people eager to catch a glimpse of the hero a slim youth of twenty-five, in khaki, with fair hair, and a pleasant smile lighting up his blue eyes and freckled face. No wonder, indeed. As Conan Doyle, the novelist, remarked: “No writer of fiction would dare to fasten such an achievement on any of his characters.” And only a few years before Michael was helping to mind his father’s stock on a little farm at Inchigeela, County Cork. So they made him an officer, Lieutenant O’Leary, of one of the Tyneside Irish battalions of the Northumberland Fusiliers. And rightly so, for he proved himself to be possessed of all the qualities of a leader observation and reasoning, quick to receive impressions, and quick to act upon them resource, daring, and yet discretion, coolness and self-mastery in an enterprise of difficulty and danger. The two most damnable drawbacks on the field of battle are unpreparedness and slowness in officers, and stolidness and lack of initiative in men.

Well, Michael himself was never able fully to appreciate the gallantry of his action. What could be more modest than his letter to his father and mother on the subject:

“Dear Parents I know you will be glad to hear that I am awarded the Victoria Cross for conspicuous gallantry in the field. Hoping all are well, as I myself am in the best of health. From your fond son. Michael.”

There is the same simplicity, with a touch of humour, in the remark he made when being seen off at Victoria Station after all his glorification in London: “It’s glad I am to be going back to the trenches for a bit of a rest.” And the only man in the whole wide world to show any desire to disparage Michael’s exploit was Michael’s father himself. The old man was asked if he was surprised at his son’s bravery. “Surprised, is it!” he exclaimed. “What I am surprised at is that he didn’t do more. Sure often myself I laid out ten Irishmen with a stick coming from Macroom Fair when I was a gossoon like Mick Irishmen, mind you, an’ stout hearty lads at that same. An’ it was rather a bad fist Mick made of it that he could kill only eight Germans, and he having a rifle and bayonet.” How is that for the old Irish spirit?