Our story begins, strangely enough, across the Atlantic, where on a bright May morning, a young man from south Kerry, Michael O'Sullivan, Aghatubrid, Waterville and his bride to be, Nora Kennedy from Ashdee, Ballylongford, sail from New York to be married, and to settle down in Kerry. In due course, all their dreams came true and they found themselves proud owners of a farm on the North bank of the river Inney, immediately east of the Waterville - Cahirciveen Road. They had in all nine children, of whom Timothy (the eldest boy) was born third in 1900. But their happy home was shattered by the sudden illness and death of the breadwinner. His widow, realising the impossibility of running a farm without a man's hand, sold her holding and came back to their native place where she bought a house, 44, William Street, Listowel. There Timothy grew up in a thriving market town, and after leaving the local National School, he was employed in Gibsons (now Walshes) drapery store. There he met an ardent patriot, James Sugrue, who, by a happy accident, was an old family friend, born and reared near the old O'Sullivan farm in South Kerry. These were the days in which the bright buds of the National movement were showing great promise all over the country, and Listowel was no exception. Too young to join the Volunteers, Timothy showed where his heart lay by attending the Gaelic classes, held in the Carnegie Library (then situated in the Bridge Road) by Thomas O'Donoghe. And we may he sure that the insight he got there into the ancient glories of his motherland, merely served to redouble his determination to play a man's part in her service, should the call ever come to him. Not that we are to picture him a boy aloof or apart from his fellows - far from it. Nobody enjoyed a days hunting as he did, even if the only quarry were lowly rabbits and hares. Very few had better dogs than he had. Kerry Blue terriers and Airdales, all bred by himself, and few boys of his age were better judges of cage birds, canaries, linnets and finches. A story told of him in these days will show what a warm and tender heart beat under his unassuming exterior. One day, he chanced to come upon two dogs fighting in the waters of the river. Though the animals were not his own, he waded in up to the waist to separate them, totally oblivious of the harm he was doing to his best suit. His deepest satisfaction, however, was to watch the local Volunteers at their weekly drill and manoeuvres in the Island, in the Market or in the Furry Glen. How he must have longed for the day when he would be old enough to join their ranks. To his ardent and boyish mind, the dawn of victory could not be long delayed, when men like these were preparing to affirm in deeds their country's claim to freedom. Then came World War One. Young Timothy listened eagerly to the endless arguments of his elders. One party held fast to Redmond, who appeared to be well on the way towards achieving a glorious and peaceful Home Rule, but the blood of Easter Week washed out all such hopes from their hearts. Tim's eyes were opened wide, and never again did he believe that any concessions could be won, except at the point of a gun. At last his time came, and he was enrolled in the Irish Volunteers, soon after attaining the rank of section commander. Before he was accepted for active service, there came the years of the Black-and-Tans, and naturally this rising young Volunteer did not escape their attention. On one occasion, he was severely beaten by Raymond and Cahill, two names who need no introduction to the people of Listowel. Nobody can say what the final outcome of this murderous assault would have been, were it not for the intervention of some plucky women among the neighbours. He was 'on the run' for some time, escaped without being wounded or captured, and of course returned home when the Truce was declared. Part of the summer was spent in the Volunteer training camp. Although Collins and Liam Lynch differed on other matters, they were in entire agreement that every help should be given where it was so badly needed. And so, the little band from North Kerry made their decision and early in March, 1922, they found themselves leaving Kerry. |
