SEARC'S WEB GUIDE - Frank Ryan (1902-1944)

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20th Century Ireland - Frank Ryan (1902-1944)

Frank Ryan was born in Elton, County Limerick and educated at UCD where he was a prominent member of the Gaelic League and the IRA Officers Training Corp. Ryan opposed the 1921 Anglo-Irish Treaty and joined the East Limerick Brigade of the IRA in 1922. He fought on the republican side in the Civil War until June, 1923 when he was wounded and interned in Hare Park Camp where he edited An Giorrfhiodh. Ryan was released in November, 1923 and graduated from UCD in 1925. He became editor of An Réult and the IRA's internal journal An t-Óglach. In 1926 he became Adjutant of the Dublin Brigade of the IRA in which capacity he attended an Anti-Imperialist Congress in Paris. In 1929 Ryan became editor of An Phoblacht and was elected to the IRA Army Council. The following year he represented the IRA at a Clann na Gael Convention in America.
In 1931 Ryan was imprisoned for two months for publishing 'seditious' articles in An Phoblacht and in the same year he was imprisoned for three months for contempt of court at his trial on charges of IRA membership of which he was acquitted. In 1933 Ryan became national organiser of Fianna Éireann. At the 1934 IRA Army Convention there was a split between socialist and non-socialist republicans afterwhich Ryan, Peadar O'Donnell and George Gilmore founded Republican Congress.
In 1935, in response to increasing state censorship, Ryan founded The Co-Op Press and the Liberty Press to publish left-wing newspapers in Ireland. When the Spanish Civil War broke out Ryan commanded the Irish Brigade who joined the International Brigade in their fight against Franco in Spain. He fought until March, 1937 when he returned briefly to Ireland and founded the Irish Democrat and an new edition of An Phoblacht. Later that year Ryan returned to Spain and on March 31st, 1938 he was captured and imprisoned by Italian fascists at Calaceite until his court-martial on June 15th, 1938 when he was found guilty of alleged war crimes and sentenced to death. Ryan was imprisoned in Burgos Prison awaiting execution when, in January, 1940, he was informed that his sentence had been commuted to thirty years penal servitude. On July 14th, 1940 Ryan's prison escape was effected by German Intelligence Officers operating in collusion with the Spanish Government. Ryan was brought to Paris by the German Abwehr who believed his IRA connections would make him useful to the German war effort. From Paris Ryan was taken to Germany where he met fellow Irish republicans Francis Stuart and Sean Russell. Russell and Ryan were then sent to Ireland on a German U-Boat but Russell died on route and Ryan was brought back to Germany, a virtual prisoner of Hitler's Reich. In January, 1943 Ryan suffered a stroke and died in Dresden on June 10th, 1944. He was buried in Loschwitz and his remains were re-interred in Glasnevin Cemetery, Dublin in 1979. This extract is from Ryan's The Book of the 15th Brigade (1938).©

Frank Ryan (1902-1944)

On the road from Chinchón to Madrid, the road along which we had marched to the attack three days before, were now scattered all who survived - a few hundred Britons, Irish and Spaniards. Dispirited by heavy casualties, by defeat, by lack of food, worn out by three days of gruelling fighting, our men appeared to have reached the end of their resistance.
Some were still straggling down the slopes from what had been up to an hour ago, the front line. And now, there was no line, nothing between the Madrid road and the Fascists but disorganized groups, of weary, war-wrecked men. After three days of terrific struggle, the superior numbers, the superior armament of the Fascists had routed them. All, as they came back, had similar stories to tell: of comrades dead, of conditions that were more than flesh and blood could stand, of weariness they found hard to resist.
I recognised the young Commissar of the Spanish Company. His hand bloody where a bullet had grazed the palm, he was fumbling nevertheless with his automatic, in turn threatening and pleading with his men. I got Manuel to calm him, and to tell him we would rally everyone in a moment. As I walked along the road to see how many men we had, I found myself deciding that we should go back up the line of the road to San Martín de la Vega, and take the Moors on their left flank. Groups were lying about on the roadside, hungrily eating oranges that had been thrown to them by a passing lorry. This was no time to sort them into units. I noted with satisfaction that some had brought down spare rifles. I found my eyes straying always to the hills we had vacated. I hitched a rifle to my shoulder.
They stumbled to their feet. No time for barrack-square drill. One line of four. 'Fall in behind us.' A few were still on the grass bank beside the road, adjusting helmets and rifles. 'Hurry up!' came the cry from the ranks. Up the road towards the Cook-House I saw Jock Cunningham assembling another crowd. We hurried up, joined forces. Together we two marched at the head. Whatever popular writers may say, neither your Briton nor your Irishman is an exuberant type. Demonstrativeness is not his dominating trait. The crowd behind us was marching silently. The thoughts in their minds could not be inspiring ones. I remembered a trick of the old days when we were holding banned demonstrations. I jerked my head back: 'Sing up, ye sons o'guns!'
Quaveringly at first, then more lustily, then in one resounding chant the song rose from the ranks. Bent heads straightened; tired legs thumped sturdily: what had been a routed rabble marched to battle again as proudly as they had done three days before. And the valley resounded to their singing:
Then comrades, come rally,
And the last fight let us face;
The Internationale
United the human race.
On we marched, back up the road, nearer and nearer to the front. Stragglers still in retreat down the slopes stopped in amazement, changed direction and ran to join us; men lying exhausted on the roadside jumped up, cheered, and joined the ranks. I looked back. Beneath the forest of upraised fists, what a strange band. Unshaven, unkempt; bloodstained, grimy. But, full of fight again, and 'marching on the road back'. © Searc's Web Guide 1997-2008

20th Century Ireland (1924-1939)
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