My life with Tim Crowley: The West Cork farmer who built Ireland’s leading Michael Collins museum

The coachload of American visitors were oblivious to the fact that I had been milking cows just hours before meeting them at the gates of my museum.

The Michael Collins Centre is unusual in that respect. It was the year 2000, and my plan to build a museum on my farm had finally become a reality. However, there were still cows that needed to be milked. And so I rose at 5.30am each day to complete my work. Just three and a half hours later, I was greeting visitors to the museum with a wide smile.

The museum began as a family affair. We did a lot of the work ourselves. My brother was a builder, so he took care of a lot of the construction. I was farming as well, so we were juggling building a museum with the usual work and raising four children. We have come a long way since. What hasn’t changed are the reactions we get to the museum. At around 30 ft long by 20 ft wide, people don’t expect it to look so large inside. Many of them can’t get over the size.

Every day, I perform a stand-up history show, which is the first part of the presentation. I basically stand up in front of the audience and go through the full story of Michael Collins. It’s more or less a blend of history and theatre.

Tim Crowley outside the Michael Collins Centre Museum. Picture: Martin Walsh.

When you are dealing with such a complex period of history, and there is a lot of stuff going on, you have to dramatise it. It’s about entertaining people while educating them at the same time. When the lights go back on, we show visitors the pieces on display. I have amassed a serious collection over the years. You might say it’s on par with the National Museum at this stage. One of my most prized possessions is a briefcase belonging to Collins, which bears his signature on the inside lining. It has his sister Mary’s signature as well.

We also have the remains of the motorbike that was leading the convoy, the day Collins was shot. This was only identified about two years ago and was unveiled by the then Minister for Defence, Simon Harris last year. The man who was riding that bike was called Lieutenant John Joseph Smith. He was actually shot in the neck while lifting Michael Collins who was dying on the road at that stage.

They reckon that the man who shot Michael Collins also shot the motorcycle scout in the neck, but he survived. He lived the rest of his life with a scar on his neck and bullet fragments in his left collarbone.

Another piece is a brass candlestick holder gifted to us by a nun who visited the museum 20 years ago. She was from a convent in Hull that was closing down. The candlestick had been handed over as part of a nun’s dowry by the mother of Michael Collins. His sister had joined the convent in 1903. Inscribed on the base are the words “Pray for Michael John Collins, RIP.”

Items on display at the museum include pistols and handcuffs use in the War of Independence Picture: Martin Walsh.

Over the years, we have welcomed a few familiar faces to the museum. Our daughter Fionnuala must have only been about 10 or 11 when she told a visitor that he looked like the broadcaster Joe Duffy. She was taken by surprise when he replied “well, actually, I am Joe Duffy.”

One of the highlights of my work around Michael Collins happened outside of the museum. In 2002, we raised more than €100k to erect a statue of Michael Collins in Clonakilty. The icing on the cake was welcoming the actor Liam Neeson, who had come all the way from the states to unveil it.

Small statues of Michael Collins on display in the museum Picture: Martin Walsh.

He gave a speech that night where he referred to a motorbike accident he had been in. The actor admitted to feeling very sorry for himself while restricted to his hospital. However, he described hearing Michael Collins words in his head saying; “you were told to do one hour of physical therapy, you will do two and be grateful for it.”

A hand written letter from Gerneral Tom Barry in the Michael Collins Centre Museum. Picture: Martin Walsh.

My determination to keep the memory of Michael Collins alive doesn’t end there. I’ve penned a couple of books and written and edited a few Michael Collins magazines. I’ve written about ten plays, half of which have been staged in different venues. Documentary making is also a medium I am very passionate about. I made one in the early 2000s called Mick, that’s almost two hours long. My friend and I wrote a script for a documentary on the final journey of Michael Collins. RTÉ made a series called Great Irish Journeys about 13 years ago. One of the episodes was based on that script. I use any vehicle at my disposal to tell the story of Michael Collins.

One of the visitors to the museum summed it up well when he told me; “You’re not as good looking as Michael Collins. You’re not as intelligent as Michael Collins. You’re not as brave as Michael Collins. You’re now older than Michael Collins, but you have been telling his story for the best part of 30 years.”