‘When my son sits down in Paradise, I pray that the Turk who killed him may sit down beside him.’
So said the father of Capt. Paddy Tobin, Dr Richard Francis Tobin, in 1915.
The following article was first written by Mr. Paul G Murphy and was printed in the Journal of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers Associaton “The Blue Caps” Volume 20. December 2015 and is republished here with the kind permission of Mr Thomas Burke, Chairman of the RDFA.
Introduction
This story started for me in 1990 when my mother sent me an article that Kevin Myers had written in The Irish Times recounting a visit to Suvla Bay and featuring both a photo and reference to her uncle, Paddy Tobin and the Pals ‘D’ Company of the 7th Battalion Royal Dublin Fusiliers. I had known vaguely about Paddy Tobin, my grandmother’s beloved only brother who had been killed in the Gallipoli campaign. I never heard my grandmother speak about what happened, though my mother later told me that she never did – to anyone, having been utterly devastated at the loss of her only sibling.
Today, understanding more about our country’s difficult path to self-determination and more particularly, the way huge elements of our past were effectively removed from both the history books and acceptable discussion; I think I have a better appreciation of my grandmother’s reticence to express more. I just wish I had taken an interest sooner.
As I learnt more about Paddy’s story, I often wonder how she must have felt when both her own children, Patrick and Biddy, got on a train to Belfast in early 1940, aged just 21 and 19 respectively, in order to enlist in the British Army at the outbreak of World War Two. Paddy had been a twenty-year-old medical student when he joined the army in 1914.
In 2009, I received a copy of The Pals at Suvla Bay by Henry Hanna. This book was such an engrossing and revealing read, I was determined that I would finally find out more. In passing, I noticed that Paddy and his sister Sheelagh’s father, Dr Richard Tobin, were Committee members behind the establishment of the RDF Pals Battalion.
There are a few remarkable letters written in August 1915 from Suvla Bay before Paddy’s death. Extracts from his last letter home (held in the RDF archives) have featured widely in various books and most recently have been quoted at the Commonwealth Commemoration at Gallipoli which was attended by President Higgins and Prince Charles in April 2015.
Early years
Paddy was born on 6 August 1894 in Wicklow and I think spent many of his early years in the locality of Greystones. The family home however was at 60 Merrion Square, Dublin, adjacent to the old St Vincent’s Hospital where Richard Francis Tobin was Head Surgeon. He was born in 1843 in Waterford and qualified as a Doctor with the Royal College of Surgeon’s in Ireland (RCSI). He joined the British Army in 1866 and served as Field Surgeon on the Suakin Expedition to the Sudan in 1878. He published several papers in medical journals on his experiences. When he left the army after twenty years, he held the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel.
Paddy studied medicine at Trinity College Dublin. He played rugby for Lansdowne RFC where a number of other future RDF Pals also was members. Having entered Trinity in 1912, for the 1913/14 season, Paddy switched to playing there. He was Hon Secretary of the Dublin University Dramatic Society (DRAMSOC) and in February 1914 performed in George Bernard Shaw’s You never can tell presented at the Gaiety Theatre in Dublin.
Paddy, who had been in the Officers Training Corps in Trinity, was one of the early recruits to Frank Browning’s Pals Company of the 7th RDF. Hanna’s book makes the following reference to Paddy at this time, quoting Colonel Downing: [1]
Captain Paddy Tobin, his (Captain Harrison’s) second in command was one of the most splendid young officers I have ever known. His work seemed to come to him naturally and he was brave and fearless to a degree. The Pals Company set sail from Exeter for Gallipoli on 10 July 1915, stopping in Valetta, Alexandria and then Myteline, from where Paddy wrote to Sheelagh on 6 August 1915.[2]
My dear Sheelagh,
Last night we had a great dinner on board H.M.S. ———–. Eight of us were the official guests of the ship. We dined on the quarter-deck which was all lit up with fairy lights and decorated with flags. This of course is a great honour, and has only been done a few times in the ship’s history. I celebrated my 21st birthday consequently in great form.
Well, we’re off now to do the real work, and have in about two hours to get into trawlers to pull us up to the shore. Everyone is in a great state of excitement and fuss, but all are delighted to get away from here. My next letter will probably be from the trenches – please God it will anyhow. I’m still keeping as fit as a fiddle.
Give my love to everyone.
Your loving brother,
Paddy.
On 7 August 1915, the Pals disembarked at Suvla Bay. They instantly went from what until then, had been like a Boy’s Own adventure, into the most horrendous and terrifying killing zone. On top of this, one can only begin to imagine the hardships associated with intense August sun, insects, bowel ailments and the severe dehydration due to lack of water. It was during this first engagement that Paddy played a critical role in the taking of Chocolate Hill. Paddy’s own letter refers as follows:[3]
On Monday I had my most trying experience so far. Our forces were attacking another hill, about 600 yards from here and of the same height and had just got to the top then they were driven back. I had to take 34 boxes of ammunition up to the firing line with 60 of D. Company. This time I was out from 6 a.m. till 9 p.m. I got up into the firing line under a hail of bullets and dumped along the ammunition but not without losing 6 more of the Company.
It is particularly poignant to also read this message to his father in the same letter:
Of course when I get back with the help of my maps, and this – if you’ll keep it – I will be able to explain the whole thing to you, as if you were there.
This letter to his father (post censorship) is reasonably candid. In contrast, the tone adopted in a letter the next day to his mother is full of good cheer: [4]
My Dearest Mother,
I sent Daddy pages yesterday so this is just an answer to all your letters received today. We are having a great time here, a hot sun, but a delightful breeze and no flies. We expect to be here till tomorrow when we go up to the firing line to relieve some other regiment. Our happiness was complete when after a good night’s sleep and a bath, our first mail (18 letters for me) came in.
I am going to a general confession and Holy Communion in the morning – I’ll send you another long letter in a week.
Best love to all.
Your loving son,
Paddy.
Even at just twenty one, the maturity and sensitivity to reassure an extremely anxious mother, while immersed in such a cauldron of human carnage, is remarkable. On 15 August, the 10th (Irish) Division attempted to take the strategic ridge of Kirtech Tepe Sirt (also known as Kizlar Dagh). It was here that Paddy lost his life. The letter of Ernest Hamilton, a fellow Trinity Medical Student, to Paddy’s father, best explains the circumstances: [5]
Rest Camp – 19th August 1915
From Ernest Hamilton, D. Company 7th Batt., R.D.F.
Dear Mr Tobin,
Since our battalion arrived here, I have been fighting side by side with your noble son. I have witnessed his gallantry, which no one could excel, and saddest of all, I stood fighting by his side when he fell.
Well we – ‘D’ Company – occupied the highest knoll of the hill against which the enemy made his main attack. They brought up a huge supply of bombs, and throwing them over amongst us caused huge damage. We were then ordered to charge – which we did. Alas, the enemy were in an inaccessible position and few of us came back. We lost Major Harrison, Captain Hickman, and nearly all the men who took part in the charge.
Your son now took command of the Company. Our men at this time were getting badly knocked down. Paddy and I took up a position on the top of the knoll from there he controlled the fire and steadied the men. Such gallantry and coolness I have never witnessed. We fought like demons against three times our numbers and held on too. Our knoll came in for at least six attacks. During one of these your son was killed, shot through the head. He caught me by the shoulder, and when I turned he had passed away. I carried him back some distance, and placed him under shelter, but had to get back to my position and try and follow his magnificent example.
His death affected the men so much that I thought all was finished, but spurred by his example they fought for another hour as they have never fought before.
Captain C B Hoey, acting Commanding Officer ,wrote to Paddy’s father on 20 August as follows: [6]
It would be impossible to describe the gallantry displayed by the officers and men of the Battalion….. Hamilton was beside Paddy when he fell; he was shot through the brain and died instantaneously. He died as he lived, a gallant Irish gentleman. A hero, if ever there was one.
..The Colonel sent both their names in for gallantry in the field. D Company, who have been splendid throughout and are stunned at the loss of both their Captains. They would have followed Paddy anywhere.
The aftermath.
Paddy’s death took a huge toll on his parents. His mother, Frances, literally never recovered. She had not been in good health and apparently just relinquished any attempt to live, passing away in 1916. Richard Tobin, like many men, channelled his grief into his work and also by determining to see the positive. His attitude is best illustrated in this moving poem, published by Katharine Tynan in 1916: [7]
The Father
Captain Patrick Tobin, R.D.F. Suvla, August 15th, 1915
Ever his eyes are fixed on a glorious sight.
A boy is leading, calls his men to come on:
Light as a deer he leaps, slender and bright,
Up the hill, irresistible: it is won!
Ever he sees the boy against the sky,
A slender Victory, light on his golden head.
Hardly the down on his lip he hath leaped so high,
His name is writ among the undying Dead.
Captain at one-and-twenty! Much was to come,
Great things yet to be done, heights to be scaled;
Love and comradeship, all fruition of bloom.
He has attained to the highest. Not he who failed!
The mother weeps her boy who comes not again.
The Father sees him, splendid and laughing still,
Leaping like a young deer, calling his men.
The glory dazzles! The boy’s keeping the hill!
Richard or Dick Tobin was by all accounts, not only an excellent Surgeon, but also quite an outspoken and engaging character. Although he had spent twenty years in the British Army and was a supporter of the Union with Britain, he also held Irish nationalist sentiments. Like many of his contemporaries, Dick believed that the 1916 Rising was wrong and a betrayal of those who had gone to war. There was however a further dimension to him only six months after Paddy was killed, when James Connolly, was assigned to his care following incarceration. Although holding very different political views, Tobin formed a positive relationship with Connolly. It seems that the respect was reciprocated as the following extract from a biography of Connolly notes: [8]
After some time, a military doctor and a civilian entered the room. The white-haired elderly man asked Connolly how he was. ‘As usual, Surgeon Tobin’, he replied. Surgeon Tobin drew the military officer and an army officer who had been seated in the room into the conversation. Nora Connolly saw the twinkle come back into her father’s eyes and heard him laugh. As Surgeon Tobin prepared to leave the room her father remarked: ‘Wonderful Man. Wonderful Man. Never met his like.’
Some final reflections and a visit to Gallipoli.
Gordon (my son) and I visited the Gallipoli Peninsula on 14 and 15 August 2015 to mark the centenary of Paddy’s death. As Kevin Myers said back in that original piece he wrote in An Irishman’s Diary; ‘Gallipoli is a sobering place, particularly around Suvla Bay’. [9]It was where we were, alone when we visited on the morning of 15 August. We also visited the Helles Memorial where Paddy’s name is inscribed, along with thousands of others who have no known graves. It was I think very fitting that on the very day I was in Gallipoli on Paddy’s centenary, an Irish Rugby team was in action at Lansdowne Road. I leave the last word to Mr Tom Burke Chairman of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers Association who in an article in the Irish Times published on the day. Tom wrote:[10]
When we sing Ireland’s Call, standing shoulder to shoulder, in a spirit of reconciliation, could we spare a thought for Paddy Tobin, Jasper Brett and the hundreds of young Turkish men who died defending their homeland in a war that should never have happened.
I conclude with two quotations. The first was spoken in 1915 by my Great Grandfather about Paddy:
‘When my son sits down in Paradise I pray that the Turk who killed him may sit down beside him.’
The second is the now very well-known statement attributed to Mustafa Kemal Atatürk in 1934, who had commanded the Turkish troops defending Gallipoli.
Those heroes who shed their blood and lost their lives on this land!
You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country.
Therefore rest in peace.
There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side now here in this country.
You the mothers who sent your sons from faraway countries!
Wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace.
After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.
While uttered many years apart, there is nice harmony in these two sentiments and this is also something that resonates on visiting the peninsula and seeing how the two sides have remembered their fallen. It took me a long time to get there, but I am very glad that I eventually did.
Paul G.J. Murphy
Howth,
Co. Dublin
May 2016
Many people have assisted me in various ways and I would particularly like to thank the following.
Kevin Myers
Myles Dungan
Ciaran O’Mara, Lansdowne FC
Sean Connolly, RDF Association
Tom Burke, RDF Association
Liam O’Callaghan, Liverpool Hope University
James Durney, Historian, Naas
Mary Clark, City Archivist, Dublin City Library, Pearse St.
[1] Hanna, Henry, The Pals at Suvla (Dublin: E. Ponsonby Ltd, 1916).p.23.
[2] Tobin, Capt. Paddy ‘D’ Co. 7th R D F. (Dublin: RDFA Archive).
[3] Ibid.
[4] Ibid.
[5] Ibid.
[6] Ibid.
[7] Tynan, Katherine, The Holy War (London: Sidgwick & Jackson Ltd, 1916).p.56.
[8] Nevin, Donal, James Connolly, a Full Life (Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 2005).Chapter 36.
[9] Editor, The Irish Times. 22 August 1990. Article by Kevin Myers.
[10] Ibid. ‘All of Dublin felt the horror of a single brutal weekend in Gallipoli.’ Article by Tom Burke.15 August 2015
