Sins of ministers were not to be visited on their families during the Civil War, but this order was not respected
It was a time of tit-for-tat in the Civil War, and in Laois the local doctor, a father of 16, celebrated what would be his last Christmas with his children, for shortly afterwards gunmen from the anti-Treaty side came knocking on his door.
“They never found out who murdered the doctor,” I said to an acquaintance who lived in the area. Her reply surprised me, for she said: “Sure, it was Paddy the Shooter.”
The woman was in her late 80s, but her reply and the way she nodded to somewhere up the road indicated that while 100 years had elapsed and the world outside still didn’t know the assassin’s name, it was part of the collective memory of the local community.
Who was Paddy the Shooter? And who was the doctor? If any of the thousands who attended Electric Picnic or the Ploughing Championships had paused on their way through Stradbally in Co Laois to look at a short, obelisk-shaped memorial, they would have seen from an inscription on one side that it had been erected in memory of “A brave father and two worthy sons”.
On another side they would have read: “Dr Thomas F O’Higgins, FRCSI, Coroner and Medical Officer, Stradbally, 1888-1923. Died February 11, 1923.”
However, it doesn’t say how he died.
He was assassinated on his way to mass in revenge for the execution of members of the anti-Treaty side
On the third side of the memorial they would have found an inscription that read: “In memory of Kevin O’Higgins TD, Born June 7, 1892. Died July 10, 1927. Vice President of the Executive Council of Saorstát Éireann and Minister for Justice.”
It doesn’t say how he died either, but any passersby familiar with recent Irish history would instantly have recognised the name Kevin O’Higgins. He was assassinated on his way to mass in Booterstown, Dublin, in 1927 in revenge for the execution of members of the anti-Treaty side.
Seeking further information, passersby would have found a fourth inscription in memory of another Dr Thomas F O’Higgins, who was a junior minister in the 1940s and 1950s.
But only when they went home and looked up their history books would they have learnt that the first Dr Thomas F O’Higgins was the father of the other two and, like Kevin, was also murdered by political opponents.
The assassination of 35-year-old Kevin O’Higgins has been well-documented, and the names of those who did it are well-known, but lesser-known are the names of those who killed his 64-year-old father.
Kevin O’Higgins addressing a gathering from the back of a truck, February, 1923. Photo: Getty
When I joined The Irish Times as a young reporter, the literary editor was Terence de Vere White. He was the author of a number of books, including one on the life of Kevin O’Higgins. It was first published in 1948 — 21 years after his assassination — and my local library sourced a copy for me so I could refresh my memory of what it said about his father.
As part of their campaign, anti-Treaty forces were burning the houses of prominent supporters of the government, and Dr O’Higgins had received threats that his house would be burnt too, even though, according to Terence, a paper captured by the military in the locality purported to be an order from the commander of the anti-Treaty forces notifying members that “the sins of ministers are not to be visited on their families”.
However, the doctor had not been afraid to speak his mind. When two Free State soldiers were shot dead by anti-Treaty forces after the white flag had been shown and they had come forward to surrender, he had only one word for it.
As coroner, Terence wrote, he selected a jury that would be sure to return a verdict of murder, and as he left the courthouse, people in the street were heard to shout: “It will be your inquest next.” How prophetic that turned out to be.
The doctor fell, and one of his daughters cried out: ‘He is killed. You need not fire again.’
On Sunday evening, February 11, 1923, three members of the anti-Treaty forces went to his house and told him they had orders to burn it.
“He stood at the door,” wrote Terence, “with his foot in it, trying to keep the raiders out, and, thinking he recognised one of them, he remonstrated with him and called him by name.”
He then agreed to let the men in while he went in search of the paper that promised immunity to families of ministers.
Two of the men, said in other accounts to have been armed with rifles, then took up position in the hall and the third followed the doctor into the dining room.
“What happened next is not quite clear,” wrote Terence, “but it appears that the doctor seized a revolver from the man he was talking to in the dining room and tried to shake the ammunition out of it. The raider ran out of the room, shouting “Fire”, an order his companions promptly obeyed.
The doctor fell, and as he did so, one of his daughters, who had come into the hall, cried out: “He is killed. You need not fire again.”
“He’s not killed yet,” said the raider, taking aim. As he fired, the girl struck the gun and the bullet went through the ceiling. However, by this time Dr O’Higgins was dead.
Shortly afterwards, 18-year-old Martin Byrne, from the Fallowbeg-Luggacurren area of Laois, was arrested by Free State soldiers and charged with the murder, which he denied. Accounts indicate he was beaten, tried and sentenced to death, cleared at a retrial, held in military custody and then escaped.
Did the doctor grab the gun from him, fearing he was going to be shot?
Over the years, I have wondered who the local woman was referring to when she told me Dr O’Higgins had been killed by Paddy the Shooter. Unfortunately, she turned to talk to someone else and I didn’t get the opportunity to ask her.
Was he the leader of the group? A local man already known as Paddy the Shooter because of his activities in the anti-Treaty forces? Could he have been the one the doctor recognised?
Knowing his reputation, did the doctor grab the gun from him, fearing he was going to be shot? And was it because he had recognised him that they tried to finish him off? So many questions, so few answers. But if the woman knew, she didn’t say. She’s dead now, and I don’t suppose I will ever know.
Some years ago, I discussed the murder with a man from the area — an acquaintance in his 70s — and he claimed the three raiders went to considerable lengths to establish an alibi. According to him, they attended a function held by two Church of Ireland ladies and made sure they were seen going in. They then went out a back window and went to the doctor’s house.
That’s as far as his story went. However, the doctor’s daughter, 17-year-old Patricia, was quoted at the inquest as saying she asked the raiders if she could fetch a priest, and as they led her outside she saw four other men setting fire to a hayrick.
Could they have supplied the weapons to the three gunmen, then collected them, setting fire to the hay as a distraction while the three returned to the function to copper-fasten their alibi? Assuming, of course, the story was true. I will leave it to the historians to decide.
