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Policing and Combating Terrorism in Northern Ireland
Neil Southern
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Patrick Mulroe is a teacher in Monaghan with a PhD in Politics; living and working in the border area, he has an extensive knowledge of all aspects of border life.
‘This is the most important study of how the conflict in the North impacted on the security of the southern Border counties. By trawling state archives, local newspapers and contemporary accounts, Mulroe has skilfully brought to life a period many would like to forget.’
Dr Brian Hanley, historian, lecturer and writer
‘The role of the Irish state has become an issue of prime importance in current debates over the legacy of the Troubles. Patrick Mulroe provides us with a detailed, comprehensive and forensic analysis of the challenge posed by republican and loyalist terrorists to successive Irish governments during the worst years of the Troubles. He reveals the dilemma faced by successive Irish governments of responding to a direct challenge by the Provisional IRA without leaving themselves open to charges of “collaboration” with the British. This critical but sympathetic account will be indispensable for an understanding of the evolution of the IRA’s “long war” and the spiky history of Anglo-Irish relations in this crucial period.’
Professor Henry Patterson, Emeritus Professor of Politics, University of Ulster, Jordanstown
‘Patrick Mulroe’s book shines a penetrating light on the under-studied role of the Irish government’s security policy during the early years of the Troubles. This volume uncovers and illuminates the complexities that the Irish Republic faced in its vexed border relationship with Northern Ireland and the rest of the United Kingdom. The results might surprise even seasoned analysts of contemporary Irish history, revealing that even during the worst of times in the Northern crisis there was often, in fact, far more empathy and understanding of the mutual security dilemmas each state faced than hitherto might have been presupposed.’
M.L.R. Smith, Department of War Studies, King’s College, University London
‘This important book, based on extensive archival research in both London and Dublin, examines the contentious subject of security relations between the British and Irish governments in the first decade of the recent Troubles. Its great strength is the author’s forensic examination of the delicate political line which Irish governments had to tread between popular nationalist sentiment and their responsibility to negate threats to the
Republic’s stability. Not only does Mulroe make an original contribution to our knowledge of the history and politics of this period, he also adds to our understanding of contemporary problems of border security.’
Professor Cathy Gormley-Heenan, Pro-Vice-Chancellor, Research & Impact, University of Ulster
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1.‘Almost Like Talking Dirty’: Interpretations of Irish Security Policy, 1969–1978
2.More Cliché than Conspiracy: Security Policy from August 1969 until the Arms Trial
3.‘There is a lot to be said for trying to hold refugees in the North’: Security Policy, December 1970–December 1972
4.‘There are times you may have to be rough with citizens’: Coalition Clampdown on Republicans, 1973–1975
5.‘They will hammer the IRA in their own way for their own reasons’: Border Security, 1976–1978
6.‘The state might not be able to hold the line’: Conclusion
Endnotes
Bibliography
Index
Acknowledgements
This book examines a deeply troubled time in Irish history. There have been excellent works written on the impact of the Troubles on the northern border counties but the focus of this work is on the southern border counties, and while events that take place in Northern Ireland are covered, these are not the primary focus.
I owe a sincere debt of gratitude to my supervisors Professors Henry Patterson, Arthur Aughey and Cillian McGrattan and my examiners Professor Cathy Gormley-Heenan and Professor Michael Rainsboroug. The support I was given at University of Ulster was second to none. Proofreaders Petrina Mulroe, Michelle Dowling, Michael Treanor and Sinead McDermott provided feedback at crucial times. Two fellow teachers, Finbarr Brohan and Joe Hanratty, did Trojan work further tidying up the text and are among the many outstanding colleagues at Our Lady’s Secondary School who continually encouraged me to complete my studies. I also received invaluable feedback from Dr Brian Hanley. At Irish Academic Press, Conor Graham and Fiona Dunne have both been a pleasure to work with. Mark Dawson in AnPhoblachtand Derek Speirs did great work helping me source pictures and the staff the Military Archives and the National Photographic Archive were extremely helpful.
I am particularly grateful to those who supported me on a personal level: my sisters Eibhlin, Teresa, Petrina and Jacinta; brother-in-law, Mark; and parents provided great support. Sincere thanks are also due to Margaret Gillespie, Fiona McManus, Niall Treanor, Barry McDonald, Darren McArdle and Niall McCarville. Other friends also helped at key times: Tom and Margaret Treanor, John
Coggins, Colin Colleran, Marco Conte, Brian O’Neill, Gerard McArdle, Damian Lawlor, Micky Morgan, Mick Pierse, Declan McKenna, Mark Daffy, Fra Agnew, Patricia McDermott, and Paul and Aidan McDonald. Finally, I would like to thank my students, who have been a constant source of inspiration. I like to think I have helped some of them through the years but they have given me much more: their friendship, good humour and respect speak volumes for them as individuals, their families and the wider community in Castleblayney, Co. Monaghan.
‘The
mystique of the unified nationstate’: Introduction
Looking at newspaper coverage of the Troubles over a few random days in June 1974 is illuminating. The Irish Times reported on 26 June that British soldier Eugene Patton had managed to escape from his IRA kidnappers and was back at home with his family in St Johnson, Co. Donegal.1 Patton was from south of the border but a member of the British Army. The same day the paper also reported that Dr Rose Dugdale had been sentenced to nine years in jail by the Special Criminal Court for her role in a republican robbery. Dugdale was described as the daughter of a millionaire head of an insurance syndicate in London who grew up on a 500-acre farm in Devon.2
The previous day, the Irish Press reported that two young IRA men had been killed when their own device exploded prematurely in Derry. One of the dead men was David Russell.3 Unusually, Russell was a Protestant. The same issue of the Irish Press carried an account of how an IRA ‘bomb expert’ defused a loyalist bomb in Clones, Co. Monaghan.4 It has been speculated that the bomb and subsequent ‘bomb expert’ appearance may have been an elaborate publicity stunt by the IRA in the town.5 These news stories were not untypical of the times and they illustrate a range of points about the Irish border in the 1970s. Firstly, and quite obviously, it could be dangerous. Secondly, the situation was complex and simplistic assumptions about individuals and events should be avoided. Finally, the full truth of certain events may never be known.
The Northern Ireland conflict has received extensive academic and journalistic coverage dealing with almost every aspect of the situation, and the increased availability of archive material and firsthand accounts of combatants has added to this trend. One aspect of the conflict that has received little attention is the role played by southern security forces. Obviously, the Garda and Irish Army’s response was not as high profile as that of the British Army and RUC, as the overwhelming majority of casualties took place on the northern side of the border. Nevertheless, there was constant discourse throughout the Troubles on the extent to which violent incidents emanated south of the border. In some respects, the security response of the Irish state is more interesting than that of the UK government: although there was a low-intensity war raging over the border, the Irish Republic was remarkably stable. This book explores the Irish state’s security services’ response to the violence that erupted in border areas. Others, notably Henry Patterson in Ireland’s Violent Frontier: The Border and Anglo-Irish Relations
During the Troubles,6 have looked at the impact of violence on the Northern side of the border. This work aims to see how the southern state dealt with the threats, real and perceived, that it faced.
The official British Army report on the conflict, Operation Banner, noted that in the early years of the Troubles ‘it was widely believed in the North that the Garda colluded or at least turned a blind eye; as long as IRA men did not break the law in the Republic’.7 Indeed, related sentiments were made public in 1978. A UK Ministry of Defence document, NorthernIreland:Future Terrorist Trends, was found and leaked by the IRA, causing embarrassment for the British government. Among the points made in this document were: ‘Republican sentiment and the IRA tradition emanate from the South’; ‘the Gardaí, although cooperating with the RUC more than in the past, is still rather less than wholehearted in its pursuit of terrorists’; and ‘the Republic provides many of the facilities of the classic safe haven so essential to any successful terrorist movement’.8
More general media reports painted a similar picture. The Belfast Newsletter carried a front-page article on 11 March 1978 headlined ‘Dundalk is Murder HQ’:
The current wave of Provisional IRA murder attacks on soldiers and police on patrol in Belfast is being masterminded from Dundalk … Neighbouring towns like Castleblayney and Monaghan are also known to house wanted Provisionals – men whom the RUC are anxious to interview in connection with murders and explosions in the North.9
The Irish government strongly suspected that this and other similar reports were heavily influenced by off-the-record British Army security briefings to journalists, but to apportion the bulk of the blame for border violence to lax security on the Irish side is too simplistic an analysis, as we will see.
Significant security operations against the IRA took place throughout the Republic during the period under consideration. Often, the impetus for the more vigorous actions was a violent incident in the South rather than across the border. There was a period when some Gardaí may have ‘turned a blind eye’ to republican activities, but the phase during which the Irish authorities generally took an ambiguous approach to republicans was quite short. In fact, there was a significant level of antagonism between Gardaí and republicans from quite early on. The emphasis of Irish security policy was maintenance of domestic security, which required subtlety in dealings with republicans. To be seen to act at the behest of the British government could threaten internal security and in cooperating with counterparts over the border, the emphasis was on discretion. From 1972 until 1978, both Fianna Fáil- and Fine Gael-led governments emphasised the need for close but discreet security cooperation.
Other authors identified a similar emphasis on discreet security co-operation during the Second World War. A British official in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office in 1973 noted that ‘Their [Irish]
troops will sweep areas if we ask them to, but some at least prefer this to appear to be coincidental, and do not wish to be thanked in public. Good is thus done by stealth.’10
The ‘discreet’ aspect of security co-operation remains one of the unknown aspects of security policy. A Northern Ireland Office briefing in 1980 noted:
Cross border security cooperation has improved since Charles Haughey became Taoiseach on December 11, 1979. It is difficult to persuade the public of this without simultaneously publishing the methods of cooperation about which not only the Irish government but also the police forces remain understandably sensitive – and, by doing so, jeopardising the very process which we all want to see develop and flourish.11
While noting that cross-border co-operation did occur, it has also been found that considerable antagonism existed between the respective security forces on either side of the border. Suspicion of republican infiltration of the Garda and Army caused some disquiet on the British side. Meanwhile, allegations of collusion, illegal incursions and covert security operations heightened southern distrust of the British security services. Gardaí investigating loyalist attacks relied on RUC goodwill but this did not occur in some instances.
Material for the study has been gathered from a number of archival sources. Local newspapers have been reviewed to gather detailed accounts of day-to-day activities on the border. The Irish Timesand periodicals such as Magilland Hiberniawere examined to get a national perspective. To gain the views of the contending parties, the magazines of the Gardaí – TheGardaReviewand Garda News – were studied, as well as republican publications such as An Phoblachtand TheUnitedIrishman.
The most useful source has been official state archives in Dublin and London. Archival research gives a unique insight into what motivates states to behave in certain ways and the internal
discussions taking place within parts of the state apparatus. For instance, access to the archives of former Eastern Bloc countries has enabled International Relations theorists to reconsider the motivations of the USSR at certain key junctures during the Cold War. New evidence from the archives in Moscow, for example, indicates that the Soviet crushing of Czechoslovakia in 1968 was not so much the behaviour of a ruthless superpower as the reaction of a nervous power fearing a loss of control in eastern and central Europe and pressurised into action.12
Much of the material quoted from the Irish and UK archives has not previously been referenced. It must be noted, however, that the archive material included is an incomplete record. Much of the bureaucratic material associated with the Troubles remains redacted or withheld.
Although the National Archives and Military Archives in Dublin contain useful information, the National Archive in London has more detail. One caveat to this latter point is that there are still significant files in the UK archive that are restricted. Freedom of Information requests were made for such files but they were denied. Therefore, while the archive material cited is useful, it is not the full picture from the respective bureaucracies and there may be an inadvertent reliance on the UK archive in places as it is the more comprehensive and user-friendly.
At this point it is worth making some brief comments on the concept of security itself. Most commentators agree that security is a ‘contested concept’.13 Several theses could be completed discussing the term ‘security’ conceptually. It is not the purpose here to digress significantly into this area. Rather it is intended to build an argument based on the theoretical ideas of security associated with Barry Buzan and others in what has become known as the ‘Copenhagen School’.14 Another recent political-science work on the subject, Michael Mulqueen’s Re-evaluating IrishNationalSecurity: Affordable Threats,15 adopted a similar approach. Buzan identifies three component parts to the state: its physical base, its institutional expression and the idea that establishes the legitimacy of the state
in the eyes of its people.16 It is argued that the ‘idea of the state’ is the most abstract component of the model but also the most central. Buzan argues that a state can be ‘strong’ or ‘weak’, not just in military terms but in terms of internal socio-political cohesion related to this ‘idea’. A state can be as much threatened by the manipulation of ideas as by military powers.17
The IRA was as much a threat to the southern government on this level as it was militarily. Partition left the Dublin government especially vulnerable. Buzan categories some states as ‘part nation states’ whereby a nation is divided up among two or more states. For such states, he argues,
The mystique of the unified nation-state frequently exercises a strong hold on part nation-states, and can easily become obsessive and overriding security issue. Rival part nation states like East and West Germany, and North and South Korea almost automatically undermine each other’s legitimacy and the imperative for unification is widely assumed to be an immutable factor that will reemerge whenever opportunity beckons … Part nation states, then, can represent a severe source of insecurity both to themselves and to others. Their case offers the maximum level of contradiction in the idea of national security as applied to states, for it is precisely the nation that makes the idea of the state insecure.18
The Irish state was the classic ‘part nation state’ with the ‘idea’ of national unity central to official thinking – this was even stated explicitly in the constitution. There remained a danger for those in power in Dublin that republicans could emerge to challenge the state’s record in this area, which created significant internal weakness.
Individual political decision-makers and security personnel genuinely feared that the institutions of state could be over-run if violence spread south. At times, there was an exaggerated
perception of the internal threat. Such an obsession with internal threats is not unique. It is a characteristic of weak states generally:
Whatever the reasons for the existence of weak states, their principal distinguishing feature is their high level of concern with domestically generated threats to the security of the government; in other words, weak states either do not have, or failed to create, a domestic political and societal consensus of sufficient strength to eliminate the large-scale use of force as a major and continuing element in the domestic political life of the nation. This indicator connects back to the internal security dimension of the relationship between the state and its citizens.19
Regardless of which Irish political party was in power in the 1970s, it will be shown that there was a primary emphasis on the domestic security threat. Of course, the issues that the Fine Gael–Labour coalition saw as security matters were not necessarily the same as those identified by Fianna Fáil. Therefore, for the coalition government, relatively minor issues, such as graffiti and parades, became a ‘security’ matter, whereas Fianna Fáil in office did not place the same emphasis on these matters. On the broader point of how to deal with the security threat, both parties had a remarkably similar approach. The binding ‘idea’ of the state had to be seen to be maintained while at the same time the domestic security threat had to be curtailed. Put simply, the IRA had to be defeated while the nationalist image of the state had to be maintained. Of course, there were occasions when these two aims conflicted. To avoid such divergence, successive Irish governments emphasised the necessity of discreet cross-border security co-operation. Dublin governments also made stances that were seen as very anti-British so as to ensure that they could be seen to have remained loyal to the state’s nationalist heritage. Even rank-and-file security operatives grew attuned to this policy.
With the exception of Chapter 1, each chapter begins with a discussion of the political environment examining both domestic
politics and Anglo-Irish relations, followed by an examination of the role of the Gardaí and the Army before a general discussion of the security situation along the border.
The book opens with a discussion of available existing material on Irish security policy. There is a general lack of academic work covering the topic and the reasons for this will be discussed. Existing literature highlights the high degree of political control exercised over the Gardaí and, by extension, security policy. This chapter provides background information on the Irish security debate and, significantly, observes that there was precedent for discreet security co-operation with British forces during the Second World War.
The third chapter considers the first two years of the Troubles, 1969–1970, a period dominated by the controversy associated with the ‘Arms Trials’. There was speculation at the time and subsequently about possible Irish military intervention in Northern Ireland, but archive material shows that this was never a realistic option, not least because of the weakness of the Irish Army. The response to the outbreak of violence is considered and it is concluded that there was no overarching security policy, just a series of ad hoc responses to given events with an emphasis on containing the violence in Northern Ireland. The border itself was very quiet, with the focus of violence being in urban centres, particularly Belfast and Derry. However, there was a visible sign of the ‘Troubles’ in the form of the arrival of a significant number of ‘refugees’, as they were known, into border areas. The experience and treatment of these refugees between 1969 and 1972 provides an interesting insight into the official attitude towards northern nationalists.
The following chapter considers the period from 1971 until 1972, detailing how violence along the border went from being an occasional isolated incident to a daily occurrence. It was during this period that lawlessness along the border was at its most pronounced. Initially, the violence involved non-fatal shootings and stone-throwing often associated with ‘cratering’ operations on border roads but as time went on there were more fatalities and serious incidents. There were also significant street disturbances in border towns, particularly Monaghan, Ballyshannon and Dundalk. It is
argued that the effect of the violence led the Irish government to begin to take greater steps to combat the IRA domestically. Evidence is also presented of some covert cross-border security co-operation. The response to ‘Bloody Sunday’ is also dealt with and it is revealed that public and political anger in the South dissipated remarkably quickly after the events in Derry. During this period the state’s ambiguity in relation to the IRA waned with the setting-up of the Special Criminal Court in 1972 was a decisive action.
Chapter 4 looks at the Fine Gael–Labour coalition’s first years in office. The possibility of a British withdrawal features heavily in the political discussion of the period. Again, evidence will be cited that illustrates covert cross-border security co-operation. The activities of loyalist paramilitaries and allegations of security-force collusion in incidents south of the border are all considered. Evidence will be presented that there was significant mutual distrust between the respective security forces. As co-operation became formalised, it will be noted that, from a British perspective, the Gardaí were not trusted with sensitive information due to fears of IRA infiltration. Meanwhile, there were significant problems from the Garda’s viewpoint too. British covert operations south of the border, alleged links with loyalists and a perception that British forces still maintained a ‘colonial’-style attitude all contributed to ill feeling. The emergence of South Armagh as the main trouble spot is evident at this stage but the reasons for the decline in violence in places like Lifford and Clones is also considered.
The penultimate chapter covers the period 1976–8. The Fine Gael–Labour coalition’s last year’s in office are examined, with particular attention paid to the allegations of a ‘heavy gang’ within the Gardaí. It is argued that the return to office of Fianna Fáil in 1977 did not significantly alter security policy but some of the antirepublican rhetoric was toned down. Particular attention is again given to the situation in South Armagh. Security co-operation appeared to be better in Donegal than elsewhere and potential reasons for this are offered. The growing animosity between Gardaí and republicans is discussed and the security implications assessed. More broadly, the general organisational malaise within the Irish
security forces is considered further. It is again argued that steps taken to combat the IRA domestically did not equate to greater cross-border security co-operation. Meanwhile, the failure of the southern security forces to deal with the loyalist threat is highlighted and reasons why this threat was downplayed are presented. The general impact of the Troubles on day-to-day life along the border is also considered.
The final chapter concludes with key findings, notably that the Irish state took substantial action to deal with the IRA within the boundaries of the twenty-six counties. The IRA threat was perceived as the main danger to the long-term stability of the southern state so other threats, such as those from loyalists, were downplayed. Domestic security took precedence, so action against republicans was not necessarily accompanied by security co-operation with UK forces. The degree and intensity of violence along the border varied according to area and over time, and significant limitations in terms of resources and structures inhibited the Irish security forces.
CHAPTER 1
‘Almost Like Talking Dirty’: Interpretations of Irish Security Policy, 1969–1978
In a seminal work on Anglo-Irish relations in 1972, Conor Cruise O’Brien noted: ‘Neither judges, nor the police, nor the army, nor the ordinary citizens who make up juries knew quite where they were expected to stand on this question [IRA activities] – and for anyone who did not know, the most prudent and convenient thing was not to annoy the IRA.’1 Whether judges, the police or army did adopt such an approach to the IRA is debatable. A less controversial statement is that there has been a dearth of literature examining what exactly Irish security forces did do in response to the Troubles and what policy decisions informed such action/inaction. It could be argued that Irish security has become something of a taboo for discussion; one work on the subject was entitled ‘Almost Like Talking Dirty: Irish Security Policy in Post-Cold War Europe’.2 Meanwhile, a recent academic work on the topic began by stating ‘Irish national security has been largely overlooked as a subject for scholarly attention.’3
The limited literature that does exist can loosely be divided into several categories. Firstly, there are the works that look at particular dimensions of Irish security policy in an academic context, such as O’Halpin’s Defending Ireland: The Irish State and its Enemies Since 1922,4 Mulqueen’s Re-evaluating Irish National Security: Affordable
threats,5 and Vicky Conway’s Policing Twentieth Century Ireland: A HistoryofanGardaSíochána.6 There are other academic works that touch on the subject indirectly as part of analysis of the Troubles generally. The most significant of these is Henry Patterson’s Ireland’s Violent Frontier: The Border and Anglo-Irish Relations During the Troubles.7 Other examples include Talking to Terrorists: Making PeaceinNorthernIrelandandtheBasqueCountry8 and Craig’s Crisis of Confidence: Anglo-Irish Relations in the Early Troubles 1966–1974.9 Although security is only a peripheral aspect to some of these works, they nonetheless merit mention as they provide a context for framing the discussion and understanding the nature of the Irish state. A further category of literature focuses directly on the functions of particular Irish security services. Brady’s Guardians of the Peace10 and The Guarding of Ireland: The Garda Síochána and the Irish State 1960–2014,11 as well as Walshe’s The Irish Police,12 provide invaluable insights into the workings and history of the Gardaí.
A fourth source of material that merits mention is what could broadly be described as journalistic works dealing with Troublesrelated issues. Examples include McArdle’s The Secret War: An Account of the Sinister Activitiesalong the Border involving Gardaí, RUC, British Army and the SAS,13 which provides an interesting account of cross-border security co-operation. In a similar vein, Dunne and Kerrigan’s Round Up the Usual Suspects14 discusses allegations of a ‘heavy gang’ operating within the Gardaí. Before examining each of these categories, however, it is worth considering why there are so few works specifically focusing on Irish security. There are several reasons for the lack of literature on the subject. A lack of access to appropriate archive material is cited by several authors, including O’Halpin.15 More recently, Craig claimed ‘historians have only seen a portion of what documentation was generated but this is enough to demonstrate that security cooperation remains the missing dimension’.16
The lack of archive material is compounded by the sensitive and sometimes informal nature of Anglo-Irish contact. In terms of contacts between North and South, for instance, it has been noted that ‘These cross-border contacts were extremely sensitive and had the power to arouse hostility on both sides of the border. The use of secret channels allowed Dublin and Belfast to be kept informed of the progress of North-South contacts whilst keeping government ministers one step removed from the actual contacts.’17
An even more obvious reason for the lack of research on the subject is the fact that the southern security response was not as high profile, or indeed as interesting, to the outside observer. The bulk of casualties took place north of the border and that was obviously the main theatre of operations for paramilitary groups. More generally, there has been a tendency in studies of the northern conflict to concentrate on activities in the urban centres. Patterson notes:
Most of the existing research on the IRA, like most research on the Troubles, is heavily dominated by studies that either focus on the main urban centres of Belfast and Derry, or treat Northern Ireland as a single unit for analysis. This has meant that the distinct experiences of rural and border areas, apart from the city of Derry, have been neglected.18
Obviously, the southern security forces have only limited relevance in the context of discussions focusing primarily on Belfast.
A further dimension has been a lack of public comment by those involved in security south of the border. This may in some respects be part of a broader phenomenon whereby the Troubles are dismissed as something that ‘happened up there’. The British Army, RUC personnel and paramilitaries have been given various platforms to discuss their experiences of the Troubles. Crawford’s Inside the UDA: Volunteers and Violence19 and Alonso’s The IRA and Armed Struggle,20 for example, draw almost exclusively from the experiences of former loyalist and republican combatants
respectively. A further indication of this trend has been accounts by former RUC/British Army personnel detailing their role in combating subversives. Examples of this genre include Barker’s Shadows: Inside Northern Ireland’s Special Branch,21 Phoenix: Policing the Shadows,22 Clarke’s BorderCrossing:TrueStoriesoftheRUCSpecial Branch,theGardaSpecialBranchandIRAMoles23 and Holroyd and Burbridge’s War withoutHonour.24 With the exception of Courtney’s It Was Murder,25 there are few equivalents by either Garda or Irish Army personnel. With the changed political climate, there is some evidence that this trend may change: Mulqueen and Conway both based their work in part on interviews with individuals involved in the security sphere, while a recent oral history project, ‘Green and Blue’, included interviews with some Gardaí who served along the border.26
O’Halpin’s Defending Ireland: The Irish Free State and its Enemies since 1922 represents a good starting point for any discussion of Irish security. It provides an excellent historical account of the evolution of the Irish defence and security apparatus. The historian’s influence is evident from the outset, where it is argued that ‘the curious position occupied by the Irish Defence Forces can only be understood by reference to the state’s perpetual internal security problem’.27 There follows detailed historical discussions of the various aspects of the Irish security problem. Episodes that shaped defence and security policy are examined in detail, including the Army mutiny of 1924, the origins of the Gardaí, the civil war and the implications of the Second World War. Drawing extensively on archive material, there is a particularly interesting discussion of the Irish security response to the Second World War. It is noted that ‘The generally effective liaison which evolved between MI5 and G2 [Irish military intelligence] naturally remained highly secret. Consequently, it could not be publicly adduced to counter the claims frequently aired in the British and American press that the IRA was running amok and that Dublin was a nest of axis spies.’28
This covert UK–Irish co-operation in the Second World War is dealt with in the most thorough manner and raises many questions
about later periods. The discussion in subsequent chapters will show that the Irish security services similarly maintained an emphasis on covert co-operation as the Troubles developed.
In terms of policy formation, meanwhile, the mechanics of decision-making are discussed. It is noted that ‘During the emergency security policy was made and decisions were taken almost entirely at administrative levels within the Garda, the Army, Justice, and External affairs. There is nothing to indicate that ministers played a decisive part in the implementation of security policy.’29
The issue of cross-border police co-operation is addressed but the discussion of the mechanics of its operation is typically vague: ‘The RUC kept up its headquarters links [after the Second World War] with the Garda just as MI5 did with G2, individual officers maintained local understandings with their Garda counterparts in border counties and the force undoubtedly continued to attempt to penetrate the IRA and republican bodies on both sides of the border.’30
The post-1969 northern conflict is examined, but the discussion does not benefit from the extensive archive material available to support the investigation of the ‘Emergency’ period and is hence shorter and less detailed. That said, IRA activities south of the border, legislative and security developments, the role of the Gardaí and cross-border co-operation, particularly in relation to extradition, are all adequately discussed. More recent work from O’Halpin has benefited from archive material releases and examines aspects of security policy in more detail.31
While O’Halpin’s work is very much written from the point of view of the historian and lacks any significant political theory foundation, Mulqueen’s Re-evaluating Irish National Security Policy: AffordableThreatsprovides the fullest and most recent examination of Irish security policy. The focus is on the post-9/11 security situation and Ireland’s role in combating global terror but the historical and theoretical discussion of Irish security policy is nonetheless highly relevant. For the historical overview, the work of
O’Halpin is drawn upon heavily. Meanwhile, the ideas of international relations theorist Barry Buzan strongly influence the theoretical discussion.32 Included is a fairly rare discussion on the operations of the Irish Special Branch.33 Another significant aspect of the discussion relates to the unseen role of the Department of Finance in shaping security policy, particularly in relation to the Army. The discussion of the Irish security forces’ role in the Troubles is well informed, if not particularly novel:
Operationally, because the conflict was mostly played out within the borders of Northern Ireland, the primary task of policy implementation for the Irish security forces was to close off republican supply lines. Operationally this translated into duties such as the uncovering of arms dumps, watching safe houses, suspects and sympathisers and preventing easy access to cash through bank raids and extortion. A continuous watch was kept on the border for terrorists about to launch or escaping from an attack.34
Despite the lack of detail in relation to the Troubles, the thorough account of the bureaucratic functioning of the Irish security system is especially valuable.
Henry Patterson’s Ireland’s Violent Frontier: The Border and Anglo-Irish Relations During the Troubles is perhaps the most important work on border security to date. Patterson details the relationship between the two governments throughout the years of the Troubles and also documents many of the violent incidents that occurred. The description of the experience of Protestant communities in border areas is especially interesting. A compelling argument is presented that ‘while successive Irish governments proclaimed their abhorrence of Provisional violence, their refusal, with the partial exception of the Fine Gael–Labour coalition of 1973–77, to take the issue of Provisional IRA exploitation of their territory seriously, objectively facilitated the organisation’s ability to carry on its “long war” into the 1990s’.35
Patterson’s conclusions are nuanced and do not imply that the Gardaí collectively colluded with the IRA. Nor does the study discount the steps taken within the twenty-six counties to deal with IRA. Nonetheless, Patterson’s work focuses primarily on the experience on the northern side of the border. In contrast, this study focuses on south of the border and therefore utilises different valuable sources, notably material from official inquiries into the Dublin and Monaghan bombing.
Craig’s Crisis of Confidence: Anglo-Irish Relations in the Early Troubles 1966–1974 offers a similarly prescient insight, drawing heavily upon recently released archives. Dealing with the early years of the Troubles, Craig is very measured in approach, refuting evidence offered by O’Brien’s The Arms Trial36 of Taoiseach Jack Lynch’s complicity in the illegal arms importation of 1969/1970.37 Furthermore, he supports the view of O’Halpin38 and FitzGerald39 that the Irish government never seriously contemplated military action and had a deep-seated fear of British withdrawal.40
Another recent work that broadly examines Anglo-Irish relations is Bew, Frampton and Gurruchaga’s study, entitled Talking to Terrorists: making peace in Northern Ireland and the Basque Country, which examines the various sets of talks that took place between the respective governments and paramilitary groups during the Troubles. Like Craig, recent archive releases help inform the discussion considerably. The work emphasises the dilemma IRA actions posed for the southern state and how deeply threatened the southern state felt. One Foreign Office memo, for instance, maintained that it was in UK’s selfish interest to stay in Northern Ireland to avoid a left-wing takeover in the Republic: ‘Herein lay an irreducible problem, which had often been ignored during [Harold] Wilson’s periodic flirtation with the idea of withdrawal. The fact was the IRA was as much, if not more, of a danger to the integrity of the Irish state, than it was to British sovereignty.’41
The argument in the work is that ‘it is not always good to talk to terrorists’. Certainly this view seems to be in line with the policies
pursued by successive Irish governments which viewed poorly timed contacts as providing a stimulus for violence.42
Of works covering the security services directly, Conway (2014), Brady (2000) and Walshe (1998) are the most rigorous. Vicky Conway’s Policing TwentiethCentury Ireland: AHistory ofAn Garda Síochána builds on Conway’s previous offering, The Blue Wall of Silence: The Morris Tribunal and Police Accountability, which examined the fallout of the investigation into Garda malpractice in Donegal. In The Blue Wall of Silence, the degree of freedom afforded the Gardaí as a result of their battle against subversives is dealt with in terms of discussions of the first Morris Tribunal report into fraudulent explosive finds in Donegal.43 Significantly, Conway argues that ‘when it came to policing the IRA, An Garda Síochána have been supported and … were given a degree of leeway’.44 The overriding view presented is that politics impinges on policing significantly in the Republic. What distinguishes Conway’s more recent work is the incorporation of forty-two interviews with retired Gardaí.45 These interviews provide a rare insight into grass-root thinking among Garda members, particularly those serving along the border. Conway emphasises that the development of the force has been heavily influenced by Ireland’s colonial and post-colonial history. It is argued that Garda history has been idealised by a constructed narrative whereby the unarmed force represented a radical departure from the discredited RIC. Conway disputes this: ‘Practically speaking, the Gardaí Síochána was not in any fundamental way different from the previous colonial force. Efforts to differentiate policing focused on image and rhetoric … A myth was created at this time that the Gardaí were different from the RIC, while in reality many of the core problems with the RIC remained.’46
A range of important topics are addressed, including the experience of Gardaí serving along the border, the role of Special Branch, the impact of the ongoing violence on the attitude towards republicans, and allegations of a ‘heavy gang’ within the Gardaí. Walshe’s TheIrishPoliceis a legalistic examination of the role of Gardaí, providing interesting views on democratic accountability, the
role of the Gardaí as the state’s secret service, and the connection between political institutions and the force. Significantly, Walshe views the promotion procedure as reflecting a strong government influence and desire to influence more specific operational activities.47 In terms of explicit interference, it is stated:
Neither the Minister nor any political authority possess a specific statutory power to direct the force on general or individual operational matters. However, powers to issue regulations on duties of several ranks of the force and to direct how the force shall be distributed and stationed throughout the state at least hold the potential for the Minister to influence contents of operational policies and practices.48
Some examples of direct political interference over a specified period are cited as evidence of political control. Indeed, Michael Noonan, former Minister for Justice, is quoted stating ‘that during times of crisis the Minister of Justice in effect becomes CEO and he is asked for decisions’.49 Compelling evidence is presented in support of the view that policing the Irish state is highly politicised.
Meanwhile, two works by former IrishTimes and GardaReview editor Conor Brady further detail the history of the force. Guardians ofthePeacecovers the history of the force up until the early 1970s. An insight into the nature of political influence and the culture within the Gardaí is given in a discussion relating to the 1930s. It is noted that when Fianna Fáil came to power, Garda attitudes to the IRA changed: ‘There were of course no official circulars to that effect, no orders, written or verbal, but the moral was drawn very swiftly from one or two instances in which the guards were either foolish or principled enough to try to continue their prosecutions against members of the movement.’50
It is argued that the politicised nature of policing seems to have stemmed naturally from the institutional setup, which mirrored that of the RIC. As is the case in Conway’s work, the absence of an
independent police authority is cited as being significant: ‘what was to be really significant for the future development of the force and its relations with the various governments under which it was to serve was the recommendation of the committee that the Commissioner should be directly responsible to the government rather than to a police authority as was the case with British forces’.51
A more recent publication from Brady, TheGuardingofIreland: The Garda Síochána and the Irish State 1960–2014, discusses the more recent history of force. Drawing on content from Garda and political sources, a thorough discussion of the period is presented and many of the themes explored by Conway are addressed. The impact of the Troubles is discussed, but the distinct experience of Gardaí policing the border is not dealt with as thoroughly as by Conway. Significantly, the autonomy of Gardaí in border areas during the Troubles is again cited as a contributory factor in the controversies that engulfed the force in Donegal in the 1990s.52 Other significant works on the Gardaí include Gregory Allen’s The Garda Síochána: Policing Independent Ireland 1922–8253 and Liam McNiffe’s A History of the Garda Síochána: A Social History of the Force 1922–52 with an Overview of the Years 1952–1997.54 These provide more of a social history of the force and contain only limited political insights.
The Irish Army has received less attention from writers. Duggan’s The Irish Army55 is something of an exception, but the Defence Forces’ role in the northern Troubles is somewhat glossed over. The Irish Army officer at the centre of the Arms Trial, Captain James Kelly, has also written on his role56 but obviously these works represent a particular perspective on events.
Academics have not focused to a significant extent on security policy so it is worth noting some journalistic works that have addressed the topic. The range stretches from the well-informed and balanced contributions of O’Brien or Dunne and Kerrigan to the fringes of conspiracy theory, such as Ó Cuinneaghain’s Monaghan, CountyofIntrigue.57
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The water for our own consumption was drawn daily from the Moorish aqueduct just outside the town, and brought to us by the aguador, an old fellow who wore a rusty black velvet turban hat stuck full of cigarettes, besides having one always in his mouth. He would pour the water from his wooden barrels into a large butt which stood in the kitchen; but as we discovered that he (together with all who felt so inclined) dipped his glass, with the fingers that held it, into the reservoir whenever he wished to quench his thirst, we speedily invested in a filter.
We soon found that it was utterly impossible to infuse any ideas of cookery or housework into the head of the fair Antonia. If we showed her how to lay the tablecloth and place the dishes, she eyed us with surprise, bordering on contempt, that ladies should perform such menial offices; and the next day all our instructions were as though they had never been. It was the same with everything, until we decided that it was far less trouble to wait on ourselves, and our life at Utrera resolved itself into a picnic without an end.
Nevertheless, when we arose one morning to find that Antonia (wearied perhaps of English suggestions) had quietly walked off and left us to shift entirely for ourselves, we felt inclined to think that we had undervalued her. But she had received her wages on the day before, and we learned afterward that under those circumstances it is a common thing for Spanish servants to quit their places without any warning, and return home for a while to live at their ease on the produce of their labour.
Our next attendant was Pepa, a bright, dark-eyed girl, who always looked so picturesque, with a spray of starry jessamine or scarlet verbena coquettishly placed in her black hair, that it was impossible not to overlook her misdemeanours. She had such an arch way of tossing her head and shaking her long gold earrings that there was no resisting her; and indeed Pepa was but too well aware of the fact herself, and made the best use of her knowledge.
But the dinners were still our bêtes noirs, and in these, notwithstanding all her prettiness, she could help us little better than her predecessor. The meat which we procured was simply
uneatable, but happily animal food is little needed in those southern climes, and we had plenty of game. Hares, partridges, and wild ducks were most abundant; and a woman used constantly to call on us with live quails for sale, which she would despatch by sticking one of their own feathers into their brains.
Of course, everything was more or less spoiled which we entrusted to the tender mercies of our handmaid; but fortunately there were no epicures amongst us, and we generally received the goods the gods provided with contentment if not gratitude, and had many resources to turn to in order to eke out a distasteful meal. The bread was excellent, and we always had an abundance of oranges, chestnuts, melons, and pomegranates; so that, under the circumstances, we were not to be pitied.
But one day Pepa, disheartened by her repeated failures, begged to be allowed to serve us a Spanish dinner, after tasting which, she affirmed, we should never desire to eat any other; and having received the permission of her mistress, she set to work, and at the usual hour triumphantly placed the national dish of ‘puchero’ upon the table. We gathered round it rather doubtfully, but after the first timid trial pronounced it ‘not so bad, though rather rich.’ It seemed to contain a little of everything—beef, lard, garlic, garbanzos (or small, hard beans), lettuce, pepper, potatoes, and I know not what besides; and the mixture had been kept simmering in an earthenware pot for hours. The next dish served by Pepa was ‘gaspacho,’ or a Spanish salad, which is mixed quite differently from an English one, and to most tastes not so palatable. And then she placed before us a large dish of rice, profusely sprinkled with cinnamon, and various small cakes fried in oil; and Pepa’s Spanish dinner (which, by the way, was only a sample, I suppose, of the most ordinary national fare) was concluded.
We were thankful that it had been sufficiently good to enable us to praise it enough to give her satisfaction, though we were compelled to adopt more than one ruse in order, without hurting her feelings, to escape having the same feast repeated every day.
There are not many ‘lions’ in Utrera, but, such as they are, of course we visited them. The principal one perhaps is in the vaults beneath the church of Santiago, but we were scarcely prepared for the ghastly spectacle which met our gaze there. It appears that, many years ago, while digging for some purpose round the church, the workmen found several bodies, which, owing to some peculiar quality of the soil in which they had been buried, were in a wonderful state of preservation; and, by order of the authorities, they were placed in upright positions against the walls of the church vaults. The old sacristan, who acted as our cicerone, pointed out the bodies to us with his lighted torch, and directed our attention especially to one, evidently that of a very stout woman, which had still a jacket and skirt clinging to it. Strange to say, the bodies were all clothed, although in most cases it had become difficult to distinguish the garments from the remains, for all seemed to partake of the same hue and texture. It is a humbling sight to look upon the dead after they have turned again to their dust, and with but a semblance of the human frame left clinging to them, as though in mockery of our mortality. We could not bear to see the idlers who had followed our party down into the vaults jeering at the appearance of these poor carcases, and touching them in a careless and irreverent manner. Had we had our way, they should all have been tenderly consigned again to the bosom of their mother earth, and we experienced a strange sensation of relief as we turned our backs upon them and emerged once more into the open air.
The principal object of a stroll in Utrera is a visit to the Church of Consolation, which stands on the outskirts of the town, at the end of a long walk bordered with lines of olive trees. At intervals along the way benches are placed, and here on Sundays and feast-days the inhabitants congregate as they come to and from the church. The latter is an interesting edifice, though its architecture is unpretending enough.
Its nave is lofty, and on the whitewashed walls hang hundreds of little waxen and silver limbs, and effigies, with articles of children’s clothing and an endless assortment of plaited tails of hair. These are all offerings made to ‘Our Lady of Consolation,’ in fulfilment of vows
or as tokens of thanksgiving for recovery from sickness; and there is something very touching in the idea of these women giving up their most cherished possessions (for every one knows how justly proud the Spanish are of their magnificent hair) as tributes of gratitude to her from whom they have received the favours.
The walls near the western door of the Church of Consolation are hung with innumerable pictures, each bearing so strong a resemblance to the other, both in style and subject, that they might have been drawn by the same hand. As works of art they are valueless, for even the rules of perspective are ignored in a most comical manner, and with slight variations they all represent the same subject. On one hand is an invalid man, woman or child, as the case may be, and on the other a kneeling figure imploring aid for them of the ‘Virgin of Consolation,’ who is also portrayed appearing to the suppliant, and encircled by a golden halo. Beneath the painting is inscribed the name of the patient, the nature of his disease, and the date of his recovery.
At the back of the church is a large garden belonging to one of the richest proprietors in the neighbourhood of Utrera, and as the midday heat became more oppressive it was a favourite haunt of ours during the cool of the evening, when the air was laden with the perfume of orange blossoms and other sweet-smelling flowers. The owners of the garden permitted it to grow wild, but that circumstance only enhanced its beauty. The orange trees were laden with golden fruit, of which we were courteously invited to gather as much as we pleased. But our visits to this charming retreat were necessarily short, for, as in most southern latitudes, there was scarcely any twilight in Utrera, and it always seemed as though the ringing of the Angelus were a signal for the nights immediately to set in. But what glorious nights they were! The dingy oil-lamps in the streets (for gas is an innovation which had not yet found its way there) were little needed, as the sky always seemed to be one bright blaze of beautiful stars.
The cemetery at Utrera is a quiet spot, surrounded by a high white wall and thickly planted with cypress trees, which give it a most solemn and melancholy appearance. They have the custom there (I
am not sure it is not prevalent in other parts of Spain) of burying the dead in recesses in the walls, which are built expressly of an immense thickness; the coffins are shoved into these large pigeonholes, and the opening is closed with a marble slab, which bears the inscription usual in such cases, somewhat after the fashion of openair catacombs. But little respect seemed to be shown to the dead.
One day I met some children bearing a bier, upon which was stretched the corpse of a little girl clothed in white garments, and with a wreath of flowers placed upon the placid brow. The children, apparently quite unaware of the reverence due to their sacred burden, carelessly laughed and chatted as they bore it along the highway, sometimes sitting down to rest, and then hurrying forward with unseemly haste, as though to make up for lost time. A tall man, wrapped in a huge cloak, and who evidently belonged to the little cortège, followed at a distance, but he too performed the duty at his leisure, and seemed to find nothing extraordinary or out of the way in the children’s want of decorum.
With the exception of periodical visits to the Church of Consolation before mentioned, the people of Utrera rarely seemed to leave their houses. To walk for the sake of walking is an idea which finds little favour with a Spanish lady, and my friends and myself were looked upon as very strange beings for taking so much exercise and caring to explore the surrounding country.
But to our English taste it was pleasant to stroll up the Cadiz road until we reached a small mound situated thereon, which was belted with shady trees and amply provided with stone seats. This elevation commanded the view of a vast extent of country, with the grand frowning hills of the Sierra Nevada in the far distance, which the gorgeous sunsets always invested with a strange, unearthly beauty. The intense solitude of the scene, too, was not without its own peculiar charm. At intervals the silence would be broken by the approach of a picturesque-looking peasant bestriding a mule, the silvery jangle of whose bells had been heard in the calm atmosphere for some time before he made his personal appearance. These muleteers never failed to interrupt the monotonous chants they are so fond of singing, to wish us a friendly ‘Buenas tardes’ (‘Good
evening’) while proceeding on their way, and then we would listen to the sound of the mule’s bells and the low rich voice of his master until both died away in the distance, and the scene resumed its normal condition of undisturbed tranquility.
We made an expedition once, by the new railroad, to Moron, a very old town perched on an almost perpendicular rock and visible for miles distant. The heat was intense, but we toiled manfully up the steep and execrably-paved street from the station, and, weary and footsore, were thankful to find ourselves within the cool walls of the fine old church. It possesses some valuable Murillos—one of which, representing the head of our Blessed Lord, is especially beautiful. The altar-rails, screen and reredos are all richly gilt, and the sacristan, taking us into the vestry, unlocked several massively carved chests, which disclosed some valuable plate and precious stones; referring to which, he boasted, with pardonable pride, that Utrera could not produce anything half so handsome. And indeed the inhabitants of Moron may well congratulate themselves on these treasures having escaped the grasp of the French during the war, for the sacristan related to us how everything had been hidden away and miraculously preserved from the hands of the spoiler.
But my chit-chat is drawing to a close. It was not without a certain regret that we bade farewell to Utrera, for during the whole of our stay there we had experienced nothing but kindness from all with whom we had come in contact, and the memory of our sojourn in that little out-of-the-way Andalusian town, if not fraught with brilliant recollections, will, at all events take its rank with that portion of the past which has been too peaceful to rise up again to trouble us. And it were well if we could say the same for every part of our stormridden lives.
THE
END.
THE SECRET OF ECONOMY.
Apparently, there has been much to say and write lately upon domestic economy. From the time, indeed, that the question of the possibility of marriage upon three hundred a-year was mooted, the subject has never fairly been dropped.
Men with incomes of less than three hundred a-year do not seem to like the idea, that they are bound in consequence to renounce all thoughts of matrimony, and inquiries respecting the matter from aggrieved bachelors are constantly cropping up in those corners of the weekly papers devoted to correspondence. They have even gone so far lately as to suggest, since it seems impossible in this century of riots and rinderpest to curtail one’s expenses, whether it may not be both lawful and feasible to curtail one’s family.
The question of, on how much, or on how little, a certain number of persons can exist, is certainly one which affects the mass, but which, to be answered with fairness, must be put individually. There are women and women. What one housekeeper can accomplish on three hundred a-year, another cannot effect on three thousand, for it is not incompatible with many luxuries to possess very little comfort; and comfort is, after all, the essence of domestic felicity.
Yet, it is not fair to lay the whole blame of the impossibility of marriage in these days upon a moderate income, on the extravagance of women, for the difficulty is just as often attributable to the disinclination of men to resign the luxuries to which they have been accustomed. For every really extravagantly disposed female mind there may be found two thriftily disposed ones; and had such
minds but been endued with the proper knowledge to carry out their efforts to do well, existence might not be found so difficult a matter as it appears to be at present.
It is true that the ‘girl of the period’ (not the Saturday Reviewer’s ‘girl’ by any manner of means), is, generally, better dressed and more accustomed to luxury than her mother was before her. But it must be remembered that the expenses of a girl before marriage are regulated by the wishes of her parents, and because they like to see her sail about in the last Parisian fashion, it by no means follows that she will always expect to be dressed the same, or that she will not cheerfully resign some of the luxuries she has been accustomed to, to meet the means of the man who has taken it upon himself to support her.
Apropos of which I have far oftener been called upon to remonstrate with newly-married female friends on their folly in stripping the trousseaux, which had been prepared for them with such care, of all their pretty trimmings of lace and ribbon and embroidery, in order to adorn the little frocks and caps which are scarcely ever noticed but by the mother herself, than to blame them for outrunning their husbands’ means in order to procure such vanities.
Various reasons may combine to make the parent, who can afford it, take pleasure in seeing her daughter well dressed. A true mother is naturally proud of a girl’s good looks; and anxious to show them off to the best advantage; or the feeling that her child may not long be with her may make her desirous to please her to the utmost whilst she remains. Of course, the indulgence may arise from lower and more mercenary motives, such as have been attributed for many a long year to the stereotyped ‘Belgravian mother;’ but even in such a case it does not follow that the girl will never be able contentedly to accommodate herself to a lower range of comfort. It is not to be expected that, single-handed, she should put away from her the luxuries which her parents’ income can command; but it remains to be proved whether she will not willingly exchange them to become the mistress of a house of her own, even though it may be smaller than the one to which she has been accustomed. Naturally parents
wish to see the children, for whom perhaps they have worked and slaved, comfortably settled in life; and it is folly for men with barely sufficient money to keep themselves to rave against fathers who refuse to sanction their daughters’ starving with them.
But the idea as to what constitutes starvation has risen with the times. A little while ago, it used to be the clergyman with a large family on eighty pounds a-year: a twelvemonth back it rose to the celebrated ‘three hundred;’ and but a few weeks since I heard a lady gravely affirm that any one who contemplated marriage now-a-days with an income of less than two thousand, must be either a madman or a fool.
Knowing my incompetence for the task, I have no intention in this paper of trying to decide on how small a sum it is possible to maintain a family in this luxurious age. I only wish to say a few words upon what I consider to be the secret of the economy which has need to be exercised in these days in the largest household as well as in the smallest.
The order of her household is a true woman’s battle-field, and the better she can manage it, the more comforts she can command, and the more regularity she can enforce upon a small income and with few servants, the greater is the triumph of her victory If means are unlimited the triumph is lost; and the woman who has a thousand ayear for her housekeeping, and is content to let her husband enjoy no more luxury upon it than his friend who spends five hundred, allowing the surplus to be wasted for want of a little thought or supervision, is not a true woman or a good one. For if prodigality is not a sin in itself, it arises from the indulgence of a combination of sins, amongst which selfishness holds chief rank.
Take the care of her household out of a woman’s hands and what remains for her to do? As a generality she would sit in idleness, for these are not the days when mothers nurse and look after their own children, and, thanks to the sewing-machine, the toil of needlework is over, even in the poorest families.
She would probably take up a novel the first thing in the morning, thereby unfitting herself for any solid work for the remainder of the
day; or she would waste her time on fancy-work, or unnecessary letter-writing, or on anything but what sensible people who know they will be called to account hereafter for the use they have made of the brains God has given them would do.
And, as a rule, I believe few women would like to be lightened of their trouble in this respect. The sex is uncommonly fond of a ‘little brief authority,’ and even those who have every aid at their command, generally choose to dabble in their housekeeping affairs. And it is just this ‘dabbling’ which does harm, which often increases the expenses instead of lessening them.
I am not a second Mrs Warren; I have no ambition to try and teach my sex how to manage their husbands, houses and children on two hundred a-year, by wiping out the bread-pan every morning with a clean cloth; and making one stick of wood do the duty of two by placing it in the oven to dry the night before.
Mrs Warren’s plan of economy is the general one; or rather, she follows the general idea of what economy consists of, namely, in exercising a constant supervision over servants, and straining every nerve to make the leg of mutton last a day longer than it does with other people. And I for my part believe that the women of England will never know the secret of true economy until they have dropped all such petty interference with the kitchen, and learned to guard their husbands’ interests with their heads instead of their eyes. There is no doubt that in order to be thrifty it is necessary in a great measure to limit one’s expenses, and it is a good plan habitually to ask oneself before completing a purchase, ‘Can I do without it?’
In nine cases out of ten debts and difficulties are incurred unnecessarily, for articles which added neither to our respectability nor our comfort, and which, if seriously asked, we should have acknowledged we could have done just as well without. Take the generality of English families, cut off all the superfluities in which they indulge, all the things which are necessary neither to their existence nor their position as gentle-people, and, as a rule, it will be found that such absorb a third at least of their income.
It is not only men who have interested themselves in the questions which have lately sprung up respecting the general rise in prices, and the increasing difficulties which assail the householder. Women are constantly comparing notes with each other; wondering ‘where on earth’ the money can go to, and lamenting the exorbitant weekly bills they are called upon to pay.
Some have tried to meet their increased expenses by diminishing their number of servants; others by curtailing the kitchen fare (the worst and most unprofitable species of domestic economy); a few have gone another way to work, and simply tried with how many superfluities they could dispense; and I think these few have succeeded the best.
It was much the fashion a short time back for women to write to the papers complaining of the worthlessness of their servants, and it was not until more than one impertinent letter reflecting on their mistresses had been published from the pens (or the supposed pens) of servants themselves, that the correspondence was perceived to be infra dig., and dropped. We all know that we are very much in the power of our servants, both as regards comfort and economy; and to regulate their actions, we must sway themselves.
As a class, they are much what they have ever been; their characters varying with the authority placed over them. If ignorant, they are bigoted; if educated, presumptuous; they regard their superiors as their natural enemies, and not one in fifty of them is to be entirely trusted. They no longer look upon the house they enter as their home; they think of it more as a boarding-house which they can vacate at their convenience, and themselves as birds of passage, here to-day and gone to-morrow.
To deal with and to control such minds effectually, it needs to show them that ours is infinitely the superior. If we let them perceive that we have no means of keeping watch over them except we do it personally, we lower ourselves to their level, and fail to gain their respect.
Make your servants admire you; make them wonder at the clearness of your perception, the quickness of your calculations, and
the retentiveness of your memory, and inwardly they will acknowledge themselves the inferior, and be afraid to disobey.
You will always hear servants speak with admiration of a mistress who has (to quote their own phraseology) ‘eyes in her back;’ the fact being that it requires a mind not only educated in the popular sense of the word, but sharpened by friction with the world, to enable one to perceive without seeing; and that is a state to which the lumpish minds of the mass never attain, and which consequently commands their wonder and respect.
The ‘excellent housekeeper’ who trots round her kitchen every morning as a rule, opening each dresser-drawer, and uncovering the soup-tureen and vegetable-dishes, to see that no ‘perquisites’ are concealed therein, may occasionally light on a piece of unhallowed fat, but she loses a hundred-fold what she gains. While she imagines she has made a great discovery, her servants are laughing in their sleeves at her simplicity; for they have a hundred opportunities of concealing to her one of finding, and are doubtless as cunning as herself. And for such a mistress—for one who is for ever prying and trying to find out something—the lower classes have the greatest contempt; they will neither obey nor save for her; they will even go the length of wasting in order to annoy.
But, by this, I have not the least notion of maintaining that the members of that community, of whom I said, but a page before, that not one in fifty is to be trusted, are to be left to do the housekeeping by themselves.
A lady of my acquaintance, married to an extremely obstinate man, was asked how she managed to influence him as she did. ‘Because I never let him know I do it,’ was the reply. ‘I always have my own way, but I make him think my way is his.’
Something of the same sort of management is necessary with servants. Have your own way, but make them imagine that your way is theirs. They are truly but ‘children of a larger growth.’
But, in order to do this, you must prove yourself cleverer than they are.
Let no one grumble at the stir which has been made lately regarding the improved education of women, nor that public schools and colleges are being organised for their benefit. If the knowledge thus acquired is never needed for the female doctors, and lawyers, and members of Parliament, which, as fixed institutions, England may never see, it will be only too welcome in domestic life; for the usual style of conducting a woman’s education is sadly detrimental to her interests in housekeeping.
What is the use of their being able to play and sing and imperfectly splutter German and Italian, when they are puzzled by the simplest bookkeeping? Hardly a woman of modern times thoroughly understands arithmetic, either mental or otherwise; and many have forgotten, or never properly acquired, even the commonest rules of addition, subtraction, and division. How is it to be expected then that they are fit to be trusted with money, or having it in their hands to lay it out to the best advantage.
But to return to ‘head-economy,’ as it should be exercised with regard to servants.
We will suppose that a mistress, desirous of keeping within her allowance without curtailing the real comfort of her husband and children, has asked herself that simple question,—‘Can we do without it?’ on more than one occasion, and found it answer, in so far that, though several superfluities, such as dessert after dinner, and preserves and cakes for tea have disappeared, all the solid necessaries remain, and the weekly bills are no longer higher than they ought to be. How should she act in order to keep down her expenditure to a settled sum; to be sure that as much, but no more than is needful, is used in the kitchen, the dining-room, and the nursery; and yet to prevent her servants resenting her interference, or exclaiming at her meanness?
It is really very easy, far easier than the other plan, if women would only believe it to be so. It needs no store-room full of hoarded goods, with the key of which the servants are more familiar than yourself; no stated times for measuring out half-pounds of sugar and dispensing tea by ounces; no running down to the lower regions a dozen times a
day to give out what may have been forgotten; or to satisfy oneself whether they really do cut the joint at the kitchen supper, or revel in fresh butter when they should be eating salt.
But it does require the knowledge necessary to keep the housekeeping books properly. A thorough acquaintance with the prices of articles, and the different quantities which a household should consume; and above all, to have what is commonly called ‘one’s wits about one.’
If every tradesman with whom you deal has a running account with you; if nothing in his book is paid for but what you have written down yourself; if your cook has orders to receive no meat without a check; has proper scales for weighing the joints as they come in, and makes a note of any deficiency (the checks being afterwards compared with the butcher’s book); it is impossible that the tradespeople can cheat you, and if your money is wasted, you must waste it yourself.
It is an old-fashioned plan to pay one’s bills at the end of each week; but it is a very good one. Little things which should be noticed may slip the memory at a longer period. Besides, it is a useful reminder; it shows how the money is going, and if the tradesmen find you are careful, it makes them so.
Following this plan, a quarter of an hour every morning sees the housekeeping affairs settled for the day, leaving the mistress at leisure to pursue her own avocations, and the cook to do her business in the kitchen. It is simply a glance at the larder, and then to write down all that will be required until that time on the morrow; the dinner and breakfast orders on a slate, and the other articles in the books appropriated to them. After a little while it will be found that the labour is purely mechanical; in a quiet family the consumption is so regular that the weekly bills will scarcely vary, and the mistress’s eye will detect the least increase, and find out for what it has been incurred.
At the close of each month the debit and credit accounts should be balanced, and then, if the allowance is at any time exceeded, it will generally be proved that it has gone on the superfluities before
mentioned, and not on the actual expense of maintaining the household. When people talk of the difficulties of ‘living,’ the thoughts of their listeners invariably fly to the cost of bread and meat, and they unite in abusing the tradespeople, who send their children to fashionable schools on the profits which they extort from us. But there are various ways in which men and women can save, besides dispensing with unnecessary eatables.
What woman, for instance, in these days, buying a dress, does not pay twice as much for its being made and trimmed ready for her use as she did for the original material? And who that has feet and fingers, and a sewing-machine, could not sit down and make it in a few hours for herself?
But she will tell you, most likely, that she cannot cut out properly, that she has not the slightest taste for trimming, and that she was not brought up to dressmaking like a dressmaker. Ah, my dear sisters! are not these the days when we should all learn? Men may go through life with the knowledge but of one thing—for if they are acquainted with the duties of their profession, they succeed—but women need to know everything, from putting on a poultice to playing the piano; and from being able to hold a conversation with the Lord Chancellor, to clear-starching their husbands’ neckties.
I don’t say we must do it, but I maintain that we should know how.
Men are really needed but in one place, and that is, public life; but we are wanted everywhere. In public and in private, upstairs and downstairs, in the nursery and the drawing-room,—nothing can go on properly without us; and if it does, if our husbands and our servants and our children don’t need us, we cannot be doing our duty.
Above all, we have the training of the mistresses of future households, and the mothers of a coming generation—the bringing up, in fact, of the ‘girls of the next period.’
If we cannot amend the faults we see in ourselves (an assertion which should be paradoxical to anyone gifted with the least energy), if we think it is too late to sit down in our middle age, and learn to rub
the rust off our brains, and to work our heads with our fingers, we can rear them in a different fashion.
If we are wasteful and extravagant and useless—deserving of all the hard things which have been said of us lately, let us at least take heed that our daughters are not the same.
THE END.
‘MOTHER.’
It was close upon Easter. The long, dark days of Lent, with their melancholy ceremonials, were nearly over, and, as if in recognition of the event, the sun was shining brightly in the heavens. The hawthorn bushes had broken into bloom, and the wild birds were bursting their little throats in gratitude. The boys were almost as wild and joyous as the birds, as they rushed about the playground, knocking each other over in the exuberance of their glee, and forgetting to be angry in the remembrance that the next day would be Holy Thursday, when they should all go home to their fathers and mothers to spend the Easter holidays. I alone of the merry throng sat apart under the quick-set hedge, joining in neither game nor gaiety, as I wondered, with the dull, unreasoning perception of childhood, why I had been the one selected, out of all that crowd of boys, to have no part in their anticipation or their joy. Even poor, lame Jemmy, who had no remembrance of his father or his mother, and who had been, in a way, adopted by our schoolmaster, and lived all the year round, from January to December, in the same dull house and rooms, looked more cheerful than I did. He was incapacitated by his infirmity from taking part in any of the noisy games that were going on around us, yet he smiled pleasantly as he came limping up towards me on his crutches, and told me that Mrs Murray (who bestowed on him all the mother’s care he would ever know) had promised, if he were good, to give him a donkey ride during Easter week, and some seeds to plant in his strip of garden.
‘What’s the matter with you, Charlie?’ he asked presently; ‘aren’t you glad to be going home?’
‘Oh! I don’t care,’ I answered, listlessly
‘Don’t care about seeing your father and mother again?’
‘I haven’t got a mother,’ I rejoined, quickly.
‘Is your mother dead, like mine? Oh, I am sorry! But your father loves you for them both, perhaps.’
‘No, he doesn’t! He doesn’t care a bit about me. He never asks to see me when I do go home; and he frightens me. I wish I might stay all the holidays with Mrs Murray, like you do.’
‘That is bad,’ quoth the lame child. ‘Well, maybe they’ll forget to send for you, Charlie, and then we’ll have fine times together, you and I.’
I had not the same hope, however. I knew that if by any oversight my father forgot to send the servant for me, that my schoolmaster would take the initiative and despatch me home himself.
How I dreaded it. The gloomy, half-closed house, the garden paths, green with damp and thick with weeds, the servants acting entirely upon their own authority, and the master querulous, impatient, and unjust, either shut up in his own room brooding over the past and present, or freely distributing oaths, complaints, and sometimes even blows, amongst the unfortunate inmates of his household. As for myself, I seldom came within the range of his arm without being terrified away, and it had been a great relief to me when I returned home for the previous Christmas holidays to find that he was absent, and the term of my penance passed peacefully, if nothing else. But now he was at home again, so my master informed me, my father had never dreamt of writing to me, and I looked forward to the coming visit with dread. A strange, unnatural state of things for a child of eight years old, who had never known a mother’s love nor care, had never even heard her name mentioned by any one with whom he was connected.
‘What was your mother like?’ continued Jemmy, after a few minutes’ pause, during which we two unfortunates had been ruminating upon our lot. ‘Had she light-coloured hair, like Mrs Murray, or dark, like the cook?’
‘I don’t know,’ I answered, sadly. ‘I never saw her, that I remember.’
‘Haven’t you got a likeness of her at home?’ he demanded with surprise. ‘Wait till I show you mine.’
He fumbled about in his waistcoat, and produced a much faded daguerreotype of an ordinary-looking young woman in old-fashioned habiliments.
‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ he exclaimed, with weak enthusiasm as he pressed the miniature to his lips.
‘Oh, how I wish she hadn’t died! I know I should have loved her so much!’
I made no reply. Poor Jemmy’s imagination did not run so fast as mine. If my mother had lived to side with my father, where should I have been between them? I turned my face away, and sighed.
It was strange that I had no idea of what my mother had been like. I had never even formed one, neither had I any relation to whose memory I might have appealed on the subject. My father lived a solitary, aimless life in the old neglected house I have alluded to, seldom leaving his own apartments, except at meal times, and certainly never asking any friend to enter them to bear him company. The servants had their parents, or lovers, or brothers, to visit them by stealth in the kitchen, but the master sat by himself, gloomy and pre-occupied, and irritable almost to frenzy when provoked. No wonder I wished that I could have spent the Easter holidays with Mrs Murray. But a great surprise was in store for me. The boys had hardly concluded the game of football they had been carrying on during my colloquy with Jemmy, when Mrs Murray came smiling down the playground in search of me.
‘I’ve a piece of news for you, Master Vere,’ she exclaimed. ‘Some one is waiting to see you in the parlour.’
‘Not papa!’ I said, quickly
‘No; not your papa,’ replied Mrs Murray, laying her hand compassionately on my shoulder, ‘but a new friend—a lady whom you will like very much indeed.’
‘A lady!’ I repeated, in utter bewilderment, whilst my schoolmates crowded round Mrs Murray, with the question, ‘Is she come to take Vere home?’
‘Perhaps! most probably,’ was her answer, whilst exclamations of, ‘Oh, I say, that’s a jolly shame. It isn’t fair. School doesn’t break up till to-morrow. We sha’n’t get off to-day, try as hard as we may,’ greeted her supposition from every side, and I, trembling like a culprit, affirmed that I would much rather not be introduced to the pleasures of home one hour earlier than was needful.
‘Come into the parlour, dear, and see the lady,’ Mrs Murray replied, ‘and we will decide what to do afterwards.’
So my face and hair were hurriedly washed and arranged, and I sheepishly followed my master’s wife to the formal little apartment dedicated to the reception of visitors, where we found the lady she had alluded to.
Shall I ever forget her face as she rose to greet me, and drew me into her arms! Such a fair, sweet, fresh face as it was, but with an amount of sorrowful thought pictured in the serious eyes.
‘And so this is Charlie Vere,’ she said, as she gazed into my features. ‘I should have known you anywhere, my darling, from your likeness to your father! And now do you guess who I am?’
‘No!’ I answered, shyly; for Mrs Murray had slipped away and left me all alone with the stranger.
‘I am your mother, dear; your new mother who means to love you very dearly, and I have come to take you home!’
Mother and Home! How sweet the dear familiar words sounded in my ears; familiar alas! to everyone but me. The hawthorn blossoms in the playground seemed to smell sweeter than they had done
