It's a Long Way to Tipperary
- Lex Knowlton
- 5 days ago
- 10 min read
Jo Couche was an Irish-born Australian Nursing Sister who served with distinction in the Middle East during the Second World War. When she was just eight years old, her Protestant loyalist family fled their home in Tipperary as refugees after Republicans burned not one, but two of their houses to the ground. This article traces her early life, leading up to the Couche family’s emigration from Ireland to Australia.
Josephine Winifred Couche was born on the Castlereagh Estate, Clonbeg, Glen of Arlow, Ireland, on the 30th of January 1914 to Richard George Couche (1882-1947) and Sarah Georgiana Clarke (c.1879-1958). The third child of the family, with two more siblings coming after her:
Dorothy Jane Couch | 28th of October 1909
Alice Margaret Couche | 22nd of February 1911
Jospehine Winifred Couch | 30th of January 1914
Aphra Valentine Couch | 14th of February 1915
Noel Jeffrey Crone Couche | 25th of December 1921
Her father, Richard, was born in Mitchelstown, County Cork, on the 20th of May 1882 and worked as a photographer. Her mother, Sarah, is less straightforward to trace. Despite extensive searching, no birth registration for her has been found. The 1911 Ireland Census lists her as 30 years old, suggesting a birth year of around 1881, and records her place of birth as Killaloe, County Tipperary.
Her grandfather, Richard Couche Senior, was an auctioneer in Mitchelstown, which may explain how at least two of his sons entered the field of photography, a profession requiring both technical skill and business acumen. Based on the occupations recorded for the men in the family, it’s reasonable to place the Couches within the Protestant middle class: literate, skilled, and economically independent, but not part of the landowning elite. This class often found itself caught in the crosshairs. Viewed with suspicion by Catholic Republicans for their loyalty to the Crown, yet never fully embraced by the old-guard Anglo-Irish Protestant landed gentry. In the turbulence of revolutionary Ireland, they were both too British to be safe and too common to be protected.
Her parents married in St Flannan's Church of Ireland Cathedral in Killaloe on January 8th 1908. Sarah's sister and brother, Alice and James, were the witnesses.
The couple moved into the residence Richard had been occupying, number 3 Davis Street, Tipperary Town. They would be right in the middle of the hustle and bustle. It is here in 1909 and 1911 that they would welcome their first two daughters, Margaret and Alice.
But Tipperary Town wasn’t a paradise. The early decades of the twentieth century saw a sharp escalation in political unrest, sectarian tension, and armed resistance. Resentments that had simmered beneath the surface for generations were now boiling over into the open.
Violent outbursts and increasingly militant displays of strength became common. For Protestant families, particularly those associated with the Crown or English culture, the atmosphere grew increasingly fraught.
In 1916, a failed Republican uprising known as the Easter Rising erupted into a week of armed conflict, confined mainly to Dublin. British forces eventually regained control and executed the ringleaders. But the cracks in the façade of British authority in Ireland were already visible. Rather than quelling dissent, the harsh response only deepened nationalist sentiment and intensified support for the Republican cause.
But the roots of this division ran deep, and evidence of institutional preference is found well before Jo’s time in the early 20th century. In a July 1869 edition of the Yass Tribune, a newspaper printed in New South Wales, Australia, an article recounts testimony from a visitor to Tipperary. He remarks that it was common knowledge Lord Derby (a prominent English landowner in the region) gave “a decided and marked preference to Protestants and Englishmen over Roman Catholics and Irishmen.”
“There may be no injustice in this,” the author writes carefully, “but it would not be made a subject of comment if it were not a source of irritation.”
It’s a telling reflection of how land, religion, and identity were tightly entangled, and of how this hierarchy was recognised not only by locals but also by outsiders.
Move to Castlerea Estate
By 1914, the family had relocated to the Castlerea Estate in the Glen of Aherlow, about ten kilometres south of Tipperary Town. While in today’s world 10 kilometres might seem just around the corner, in the early 20th century, it represented a significant move, especially for a working family without motor transport.
Castlerea and the surrounding Clonbeg parish were made up of tenant farms, estate lands, wooded glens, and scattered cottages. Nestled at the base of the Galtee Mountains, the area had poor road access and minimal infrastructure beyond estate houses and parish buildings. In the 1910s and 1920s, it was a world away from the rhythm and reach of town life.
We can’t know for certain what prompted the move, but there are several likely reasons. The most immediate and compelling is that they may have been seeking distance from the increasingly open violence in Tipperary Town. The area had become a known hotbed of Republican activity, and Protestant families, particularly those with known loyalist ties, were often subject to intimidation. It wasn’t uncommon for bricks to be thrown through windows or for homes and businesses to be set alight.
There are, of course, simpler and more practical possibilities too. With a growing family, the Couches may have needed more space. Or Richard might have secured better-paying or more stable work on the Castlerea estate.
We’ll likely never know for certain what precipitated the move —whether it was driven by fear, opportunity, or a combination of both —but by 1914, the family had traded the bustle of Davis Street for the isolation of a loyalist estate at the edge of the Galtees.
But life in rural Clonbeg would not mean an escape from the rising tide of nationalism.
Growing Unrest
One incident in 1918 highlights just how far-reaching and provocative nationalist activity had become, even in remote areas like Clonbeg.
That year, the Gaelic League organised a major cultural excursion and celebration in the Glen of Aherlow. Hundreds gathered for a rosary recited in Irish at the churchyard, believed to be St. Sedna’s, a Church of Ireland parish church. This was followed by speeches promoting Irish nationalism, also delivered in Irish.
Afterwards, attendees moved to the village hall at Lisveruane for music, dancing, and what was described as a “concert.” But this wasn’t simply a community celebration. According to reports, a group of men had marched back from the churchyard to the hall in military formation, a clear show of strength and discipline by local Sinn Féin supporters or Irish Volunteers.
In the early hours of the next morning, police and military forces surrounded the hall. Women and children were directed to leave. The remaining 112 men were questioned, searched, and asked for identification. No one stepped forward as the organiser, and when pressed, one man, James Scanlon, reportedly told the others: “Pay no attention and obey no orders, in the name of the Irish Republic.” Eight men who refused to give their names (several doing so in Irish) were arrested and later sentenced at a special court in Tipperary.
The Dublin press, likely under scrutiny from the Crown, emphasised the presence of “evil disposed persons” and portrayed the scene as a threat to public order. In contrast, the Catholic diaspora press in New South Wales described it simply as a Gaelic League outing, a peaceful cultural gathering interrupted by the authorities.
The contrast between these two accounts is telling. And for Protestant loyalist families like the Couches, the message was clear: there was no longer any safe place. Even in the wooded hills and quiet glens of Clonbeg, the republic was rising. The following year, everything would change forever.
On January 21st 1919, Sinn Féin, after their landslide victory, assembled in Dublin. They established an independent parliament, called Dáil Éireann, and declared independence from the United Kingdom.
That very same day, the Soloheadbeg ambush would take place. Several men from the Irish Volunteers ambushed Royal Irish Constabulary officers who were escorting a cart of gelignite from the Army Barracks to Soloheadbeg. Two officers were shot dead, and the explosives they were escorting were stolen. This act is considered by most as the beginning of the Irish War of Independence.
Following the incident, the British government declared all of South Tipperary (including Clonbeg) a Special Military Area under the Defence of the Realm Act. Ireland was now at war.
From newspaper articles, we can infer that a military outpost was established in Clonbeg around the time of the Soloheadbeg ambush. The Yorkshire Regiment, originally 46 men—later reduced to 25 —occupied part of the Clonbeg school and the Couche residence as their command station, likely in an effort to quell the rising tide of nationalism and assert control, even in rural areas.
But the Irish Republicans weren’t about to lie down and give up. At least one violent skirmish occurred between the two groups. In March 1921, shots were exchanged between civilians and the Yorkshire Regiment as the regiment made its way from Clonbeg to Tipperary.
Two differing accounts were reported. The first claimed that the regiment was fired upon by men positioned in a field. The second asserted that the civilians were ordered to “halt” but refused to comply, at which point the soldiers opened fire. A firefight ensued, and the military pursued the group through the field. Whatever the truth, one soldier was wounded by a gunshot to the arm. Arrests were made.
Eight months later, the military withdrew from Clonbeg, and the Clonmel Chronicle made sure all of Tipperary knew it. In its report, the paper noted that the regiment had used the local school and, by name, Richard Couche’s residence as their command station. For a Protestant loyalist family in a deeply divided region, being publicly associated with British forces may well have sealed their fate.
There were many more incidents like those I’ve described above —examples of heavy-handed policing by British forces in Ireland during this time. I could write an entire book based solely on the articles I came across from just one small region of the country. One can easily understand the deep resentment and hatred the Irish people had begun to feel toward this occupying force.
I imagine the crackdown on nationalist displays was driven, at least in part, by fear - fear of losing control. But in reality, all it did was stoke the flames and turn anger into white-hot rage. And when people are pushed to their limits, that kind of rage can turn ugly.
The Final Straw
On Tuesday, the 7th of February 1923, with the Yorkshire Regiment long gone, the Couche family came under attack. We’re fortunate enough to have Richard’s own words describing the events of that night, recorded in an interview he gave upon arriving in Australia.
He told the reporter that after British troops withdrew from the Glen of Aherlow, his family was “left to the mercy of the Republicans.” Their home had been used as a barracks and was consequently marked for destruction. When the order came, it was burned to the ground. The family fled to the nearby Clonbeg rectory, which had been vacant for some time, seeking shelter. But the Republicans followed. They demanded entry. Richard refused, prompting threats to burn the rectory down as well. That same night, the local state school was also set ablaze.
In Richard’s own words:
“I come from Tipperary, Ireland, where two homes in which I lived were burned down by the Republicans... Conditions are bad there; Tipperary is no place for a loyalist; in fact, it is absolutely impossible for loyalists.”
The family of seven was left homeless and abandoned in a country that no longer wanted them. We can’t know for certain what went through the minds of Richard and Sarah on that fateful night, or the depth of fear their five young children must have felt, one of them little more than a year old, huddled together in an abandoned building as their home burned to the ground.
Did Richard’s thoughts return to his sister-in-law’s visit the year prior, her urging that they join her in Australia? Or was it Sarah who, through tears and smoke, told her husband she’d had enough, that Ireland was no longer their home? I suppose we’ll never know.
The most likely route they would have taken in the days that followed was this: a train from Tipperary to Dublin, a ferry across to Holyhead, then another train through Wales and on to London. There, they purchased tickets aboard the SS Diogenes, bound for Brisbane, Australia.
Farewell to Ireland. For the Couche family, it would be farewell forever.
A new land awaited them, one filled with hope and trepidation… and though they escaped the wrath of the rising Republic, new challenges awaited them in the land down under.
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Sources & References
Primary Records & Civil Registrations:
Josephine Winifred Couche, Birth Registration. Registered in the district of Bansha, Superintendent Registrar's District of Tipperary.
Richard George Couche, Birth Registration. Registered 20 May 1882, Mitchelstown, Counties of Cork and Limerick.
Marriage Registration of Richard George Couche and Sarah Georgiana Clarke, 8 January 1908. St Flannan's Cathedral, Killaloe, County Clare. SOURCE: IrishGenealogy.ie
Ireland Census 1911. Household of Richard Couche. SOURCE: National Archives of Ireland.
Newspapers and Contemporary Reports:
Newry Reporter (Newry, Down, Northern Ireland), 16 January 1908. Marriage announcement of Richard and Sarah.
The Catholic Press (Sydney, NSW), 10 October 1918. Article: "The Crisis in Ireland: A Budget of News from Dublin."
Dublin Daily Express, 24 July 1918. Coverage of the Gaelic League gathering at Clonbeg.
Yass Tribune, 30 July 1869. Report on landowner Lord Derby's treatment of Protestant and Catholic tenants.
Halifax Daily Guardian, 15 March 1921. Account of military skirmish in Clonbeg.
Clonmel Chronicle, 16 March 1921 and 9 November 1921. Reports on Yorkshire Regiment's activity and departure from Clonbeg.
Photographs & Visual Sources (Creative Commons / Wikimedia Commons):
St Flannan's Cathedral, Killaloe, Ireland.
Clonbeg Church and Graveyard.
Birth of the Irish Republic, Painting by Walter Paget (1863 - 1935).
Soloheadbeg Wanted Poster (Dan Breen).
Sunset on Lyracappul, Galtee Mountains.
Government Legislation & Historical Context:
Defence of the Realm Act 1914 (UK).
Establishment of the First Dáil, 21 January 1919.
Easter Rising (1916) Overview – BBC Historyhttps://www.bbc.co.uk/history/easterrising
Irish War of Independence Summary – National Army Museum UKhttps://www.nam.ac.uk/explore/irish-war-independence
Castlerea & Tipperary Historical Context – AskAboutIreland.iehttp://www.askaboutireland.ie/reading-room/history-heritage
Representative Church Body Library (for Church of Ireland records)https://www.ireland.anglican.org/about/rcb-library
Transport and Immigration Records:
SS Diogenes, British India Steam Navigation Co. Route Records, 1923. Departure from London to Brisbane.
Historical Maps and Interpretation:
Tailte Éireann Historic Maps and Data. Route markers from Clonbeg Church to Lisvarrinane Village Hall.
Personal Accounts:
Interview with Richard George Couche upon arrival in Australia (source reproduced in article text).
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