Scoláire Staire - History Scholar Magazine

The Free Online Irish History Magazine

Volume 2, Issue 3. July 2012

Articles - Reviews - Opinion - Diary - News

De Valera & Franco: Parallel Lives

open access: should

migration: the

academic journals be

gaeltacht colonies of

freely available ?

ScolĂĄire Staire JULY 2012

co. meath

review:

100

years

of ireland’s

labour party1

Available Autumn 2012 See www.fourcourtspress.com for more details 2

Scolรกire Staire JULY 2012

Contents Volume 2, Issue 3, July 2012

4 Editorial 5 News 19 PhD Diary

32 Reviews

Artist of the

Revolution; 100

years of the Labour Party

REGULARS f

IN THIS ISSUE i Biography : De Valera & Franco

Barry Whelan compares the lives of two giant political figures,

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Eamon de Valera in Ireland and Francisco Franco in Spain.

Land : A Gaeltacht Colony in Meath

12

Barry Sheppard looks at the establishment of the Ráthcairn Gaeltacht and the political and social issues that resulted.

Open Access: Irish Historical Research Seán Byers makes the case for open access journals and questions are raised

20

about the need for open access in Irish historical research.

1798 Rebellion: Napper Tandy in Burtonport

27 Patrick Campbell questions James Napper Tandy’s reputation after a brief

encounter in Donegal.

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Editorial The summer is upon is once more and Scoláire Staire has reached its fourth issue. We have been publishing the magazine and keeping you up to date with the latest news throughout the academic year. With a successful first year behind us, we plan to continue and further develop the magazine and website. But, outside of this, we also plan to host a number of events in 2012 and 2013. Keep an eye on our website and social media outlets to find out what we’re up to between issues.

Our main objective for the coming twelve months will be to promote the idea of establishing an open access, fully peer-reviewed, Irish history journal. Such a journal would be available completely free of charge to everyone on a website and on open access directories.

The only associated costs would be the small hosting and domain name charges that come with operating a website.

This costing assumes that the vast majority of the work will be carried out voluntarily by a team of editors and an editorial board. There is also the possible need to appoint a managing editor who will oversee production and ensure that each issue meets a high technical standard. The initial task will be to create a group that will appoint the managing editor, editors and editorial board. Scoláire Staire will promote the idea of organising a meeting to create this group over the summer. If the will is there to continue with the idea we will host a meeting in October to create the new group and appoint the people tasked with bringing the journal to fruition.

This journal will need to have a strong team of academics involved in its management from the outset. If a few well established academics put their names to the idea then we’ll be given a massive boost. We will also need someone with strong technical capabilities, who knows how to keep costs down, and a strong editorial team.

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We have been to the forefront of promoting technological advances in historical research and we continue in this issue with an article by Seán Byers on the open access debate. If you’re not too familiar with the concept, this article and the links provided at the end should allow you to get up to speed with the issues.

If you would like to get involved in this project, please do not hesitate to get in contact with us.

The more support we can muster at the beginning of this process, the more likely we are to succeed. Contact details are below.

Back to matters at hand, we have some excellent articles in this issue. Barry Whelan looks at the lives of de Valera and Franco side by side, Barry Sheppard shows that all was not so rosy when a Gaeltacht colony was established in Meath, and Patrick Campbell delves into Napper Tandy’s brief sojourn in Donegal during 1798. Also, our PhD diarist comes up against his first major hurdle - the dreaded transfer viva!

As always, we are looking for contributors to write articles, reviews or any other pieces that fit within our remit. Remember you can also send letters to the editor that we will publish in the next issue and you can now comment on some of our material online. Go to www. scolairestaire.com or click on the links in the magazine.

We hope you enjoy the fourth issue. We have learned a lot during the last year and we will learn more as we go. Thank you for your support, for reading and for sharing the magazine.

Onwards and upwards!

Dr Adrian Grant Editor

11 Oakfield Court Buncrana Donegal scolairestaire@gmail.com

Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

News

The Boston College Tapes The First US District Court of Appeal has back an earlier District Court ruling that the Boston College recordings with former IRA bomber Marian Price are to be handed over to the PSNI. Price was one of several former paramilitaries who gave interviews as part of a Boston College oral history project. The recordings, carried out by former IRA prisoner Anthony McIntyre, were supposed to remain secret until the deaths of the interviewees. The book and documentary film, Voices from the Grave, made use of two of the recordings in 2010 after the deaths of David Ervine and Brendan Hughes.

Police are investigating Price’s involvement in the disappearance of Jean McConville in 1972 and believe the tapes will help the investigation. McIntyre and the project director, Ed Moloney, are currently fighting to retain the tapes.

Should these tapes be handed over, or will these developments damage the prospects of similar projects taking place again?

Send your opinions to editor@scolairestaire.com for publication in our letters section.

Call for Papers: The Irish diaspora and revolution, 1845-1945 The Department of History at National University of Ireland, Maynooth, invites submissions for a major international academic conference entitled ‘The Irish diaspora and revolution, 1845 – 1945’ to be held at NUI Maynooth, 30 October-1 November 2012.

We invite submission of abstracts which address the conference title from any relevant historical period, geographical perspective or disciplinary approach. Papers are to be no longer than twenty minutes in duration. Panel proposals are welcome in addition to individual papers. Postgraduates are also encouraged to register an interest in participating. Proposals for papers and panels should include a title, an abstract of no more than 250 words and a brief biographical summary (including institutional affiliation and contact details).

Applications with these particulars attached are to be submitted to any of the conference convenors Dr. Darragh Gannon, Dr. Gerard Moran and Dr. Ciaran Reilly by 15 August at the email addresses below.

Contact details Dr. Darragh Gannon: Darragh.J.Gannon@nuim.ie Dr. Gerard Moran: Gerard.Moran@nuim.ie Dr. Ciaran Reilly: Ciaran.J.Reilly@nuim.ie Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

5

De Valera Paralle

It could be argued that both E Franco attempted to mould th in their own images. Do the si Here, Barry Whelan traces from childhood through civi leadership positions in t ner strengths. He learned Irish and engrossed himself in the nation’s Gaelic heritage. Growing up in Limerick he believed the ordinary people represented the ideal meaning of what it was to be Irish. Their simplicity, religiousness and honesty embodied the essence of the Irish people. This was another key element in his thinking that would be used in later years to form his economic policies.

A

lthough there exists a wide range of biographies and histories of these two men, no one, so far as I am aware, has placed their lives alongside each other and followed them together from beginning to end. It is the aim of this article to examine and compare the private and public lives of these two towering individuals who shaped and moulded their nations in their own image and who left a legacy that still touches us from beyond the grave.

From Childhood to Celebrity De Valera 1882-1916; Franco 1892-1916 Born a decade apart both men grew up far from the centres 6

of power they would come to command. De Valera was born in New York to an Irish mother and Spanish father. He never knew his father and although this left a life-long yearning to trace his paternal ancestry, de Valera never displayed classic emotional instability and poor educational development that normally affect children in such cases. His American birth played an important part in fostering a hyper-sense of Irishness. As an outsider, the young Éamon had to appear to be more Irish than his classmates in order to prove his nationalist credentials. He turned these weaknesses into strengths and would, in time, dominate the Irish political scene by virtue of his in-

Like de Valera, Franco was born far from the nation’s capital, Madrid, in a sleepy fishing town called El Ferrol. His provincial upbringing forced him to develop a similar hyper-Spanishness in order to fit in with his peers.

He too came from a broken family. His father’s womanising and liberal attitudes clashed with his mother’s upright character. When his father left the family home, the young Franco never forgave him for dishonouring his mother by moving in with another woman. His close bond with his mother shaped the future dictator’s attitude towards women and family. As with de Valera, he believed that any woman should act and behave like his own mother – look after the family and the home.

One also sees similarities in Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

Biography

& Franco: el Lives

Eamon de Valera an Francisco he Irish and Spanish nations imilarities end there though? the lives of the two leaders il war and the attainment of their respective nations. how both men viewed the role of family within society. They modelled the unit of society on the family and would, as a consequence, forbid anything that undermined its sanctity – divorce, abortion and contraception. Whilst de Valera had to endure taunts from classmates because of his gangly and awkward appearance, Franco earned the nickname ‘Little Frank’ due to his short stature.

These supposed weaknesses served only to reinforce and strengthen the inner resolve of both men to rise to the heights of their chosen professions – professions they never realised.

All his life Franco wanted to be a naval officer but due to Spain’s shrinking empire he was forced to enter the army. Even at the height of his power, his longing for a naval career was clear when he ordered an admiral’s uniform to be made and artists summoned to his palace to draw him in full ceremonial dress. De Valera never developed such a taste for lavish living and flamboyant attire, preferring instead to wear a simple black suit and hat in public. In the army it became clear that the young Franco was eager for combat and was rewarded with Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

a transfer to Spanish Morocco, where the army was involved in large military campaigns against native tribes. It was in armed combat that Franco’s name became nationally recognised.

After studying in secondary school, de Valera intended to join the teaching profession as a mathematician. Even in his last years as Taoiseach he loved to be asked complex maths questions. Similarly with Franco, it was in armed combat that de Valera became a household name. For both men, the defining year was 1916. At the age of just twenty-three Franco was seriously wounded at the battle of El Biutz. Doctors gave him little chance for survival especially as his injury was a stomach wound.

His rapid recovery and patriotic sacrifice was detailed by the leading newspapers. From now on his rise to the top would be rapid and the army was to provide the means to achieving this goal. In comparison with the unpopular war in Morocco, in 1916 de Valera commanded a battalion in Boland’s Mill in an equally unpopular conflict at the time. He successfully defended his position against numerically superior British troops and weapons and inflicted heavy casualties on them until ordered to surrender by his superiors.

As with Franco then, de Valera was aware that he faced death on the battlefield and as a prisoner if caught. His subsequent imprisonment and reasons for 7

Guard of honour: De Valera, in trademark dark suit, walks (off the carpet) with his hat in his hand as a mark of respect to the accompanying bishop.

his stay of execution have conjured up all sorts of theories, most of which are unfounded.

lessons to reconcile the nation.

Through his new political party Fianna Fáil he re-entered the Dáil and held the government to account from across the opposition benches. In 1932 he became political leader of the nation thanks to parliamentary democracy.

Tragedy and Triumph; Triumph and Tragedy De Valera 1917-1937; Franco 1926-1936

that war finally ceased by way of a truce between the IRA and the British Army in July 1921, de Valera, at the age of just thirtyeight, stood at the pinnacle of his career. However, in little over a year Ireland was engulfed in a brutal civil war.

Now household names, both men spent the next decade acquiring notoriety but for different reasons. Franco rose through the army ranks and at the age of just thirty-three became the youngest general in Europe. His personal life was also fulfilling. He married Carmen Polo and in 1926 his only child was born. The 1920s were years of personal and professional success for Franco. For de Valera in contrast, these were years of triumph and tragedy.

Circumstances helped de Valera to rise to the top of the Irish revolutionary movement but by his own merits, skill and tact he came to symbolise the national struggle for independence and won over the majority of public opinion to the cause. As President of the Irish Parliament (Dáil) he travelled to the United States and secured American financial assistance to support the growing war with Britain. When

De Valera’s part in failing to prevent the civil war has been well documented. What is important to learn from this time is how it shaped his character. Regardless of his motives, he did go against the majority vote of the Dáil and the Irish people which voted in favour of the treaty. He lost the support of the Catholic Church and was seen at that time as a radical and negative influence on Irish politics. His speeches inflamed the conflict rather than calmed the tension. But in spite of this, these years undoubtedly made de Valera’s subsequent career. He learned never again to side with the minority over the majority, he understood that only by placating and supporting the Catholic Church could he enjoy widespread public support and he knew that diplomacy was the best solution to disputes rather than armed conflict. Despite the bitter legacy of the civil war, he would use these

8

In marked contrast to de Valera’s rise, fall and gradual rise again to the summit of power, Franco never learned to accept democracy or opposing views. When the new Republican government took office in 1931 and the king was forced to live in exile, Franco’s world imploded. Now he was faced with a democratic government with a mandate from the people to stop the war in Morocco, to promote female participation in employment, to curb the power of the church, to breakup the old feudal order in Spain that rested on rich land magnates and to bring liberal ideas to a nation still stuck in the nineteenth century. Like de Valera had done during Ireland’s civil war, Franco ignored the majority vote and opposed the government. In 1936 he plunged Spain into a civil war.

He feared that Spain was losing its essence. He defined that essence, as much as de Valera did, in his childhood environment – a frugal, rustic and antiquated way of living that prioritised the rural way of life over the urban.

Whilst the Taoiseach drafted his constitution in 1937 and enshrined human rights as inalienable under Irish law, Franco was killing his opponents and enemies without any legal restraints or accountability to anybody. Democracy was marking out the Irish leader, dictatorship the Spanish leader.

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Leadership in a World at War De Valera and Franco 1939-1945

It was during the Second World War that both leaders cemented their places in their respective histories. Both men exercised complete power over their states to an extent not witnessed either before or since that time in either country. Although de Valera was no tyrant and held elections during the war, he used wartime censorship and the country’s isolation to cast a long shadow over Irish life that remained for decades. On 8 November 1942, the day Allied troops landed on the western coast of North Africa, the Tánaiste, Seán Lemass, coined what historians now term ‘de Valera’s Ireland’ in a radio broadcast. The Taoiseach believed he personified his people and knew their selves better than they did. He was able to act in such a way in part because he had so aligned himself with the church. Franco likewise exercised complete power over Spain which he used to destroy all opposition and eliminate his supposed enemies. In all his actions he was supported by the Spanish hierarchy. Privately both men shared a deep attachment to Catholicism and they were awarded the Supreme Order of Christ by the Pope. They expected their colleagues to refrain from alcohol and affairs as they did and in Franco’s case, he was not averse to sacking a minister if he was found to be unfaithful to his wife. Such was the fate of his brother-in-law Ramón Serrano Súñer.

As political leaders both men inspired their close followers.

The Taoiseach was known affectionately as ‘Dev’ or the ‘Chief ’ Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

Above and below: Star of the Supreme order of Christ. The papal honour, which is the highest honour of chivalry awarded by the Pope, was enjoyed by both de Valera and Franco.

whilst Franco was known as the ‘Leader’. Both opted to keep their countries neutral during the conflict and the strain of war visibly affected their health.

Certainly the Irish leader was by far the more industrious holding the portfolios of Taoiseach, minister for external affairs and education at one stage. Franco preferred to delegate authority, yet, like de Valera, he kept a firm grip on power and always presided over any official meeting. Both men were constantly pressured by each warring side

to abandon neutrality and faced the threat of invasion from either side. Yet they also sought to take advantage of the ebb and flow of the war to satisfy lifelong political aims. Franco wanted to drive the British out of Gibraltar as much as de Valera wanted them out of Ulster. Similarly, neither man seemed to care for the rights of minorities who did not share in these resettlement theories – Gibraltarians, Catalans and Basques in Franco’s case, the Ulster Protestant community in de Valera’s case. Both men also mirrored each other in their suspicion of Britain, communism and capitalism.

Post-War Societies 1945-1959 Although both leaders managed to keep their countries out of the Second World War and in the process solidify their hold on power, neither man had the answers to post-war problems.

Spain and Ireland emerged isolated and ostracised on the international stage. Both leaders abhorred communism, Franco had sent a division to fight on the Eastern Front, yet neither were they content with the western bloc and the emerging liberal forces that would come in time to be known as globalisation. As a consequence both nations remained in a state of limbo. The two leaders believed that they could somehow insulate their peoples from external events and factors by maintaining the antediluvian and theocratic fortresses they had helped to construct. They also feared that opening up their societies to western influences would corrupt the moral fibre of society and allow pornography and other harmful evils to alter the 9

Franco in a typically grandiose military pose

true essence of their nations – symbolised in their minds in the simple, rural peasant farmer. More than any other factor, historians have condemned ‘de Valera’s Ireland’ and ‘first Francoism’ in this period because both leaders failed to meet the urgent needs of their peoples to jump from the nineteenth century into the twentieth century.

Yet to make such an enormous leap was against the very conservative nature of de Valera and Franco. Many of the parallels between Ireland and Spain at this time were directly linked to both men. Bilateral trade was non-existent, as was cultural interaction. If two countries that shared such close historical ties failed to have any appreciable 10

trade links between each other how did both leaders expect their societies to develop on a broader level?

The answer lies in self-sufficiency or autarchy. For de Valera, this policy would build up Irish industry to a strong level from where it could then compete with international competitors.

He also favoured a decentralised industrial program where every village in the country would have a small factory and thus stop the exodus from the country to the cities. Franco’s knowledge of economics was as limited as de Valera’s. He also modelled Spain’s economy on self-sufficiency and the results were catastrophic financially

and in terms of human lives.

But for the regime’s restrictions on the movement of people, thousands would have emigrated from Spain year on year as thousands did in Ireland. But neither politician could escape the idealistic vision they held in their minds and so they placed agriculture above industry at a time when every other developing country in Europe was doing the opposite. Ironically it was Franco who came to abandon self-sufficiency before de Valera. By 1956 Spain’s economy had collapsed, the country was broke and owed enormous sums of money to the United States.

Against his will he was forced to liberalise the Spanish economy and so paved the way for the Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

1960s economic miracle.

Only with de Valera’s departure from power in 1959 could Ireland follow the same path and enjoy a period of prosperity under the leadership of Seán Lemass.

Perspective Judging both men from our time it seems that their contribution and impact was unconstructive. Impoverishment, inequality, poor health care provision, mass unemployment and cultural wastelands are all words and descriptions one could use to denote Ireland and Spain under their leadership. These criticisms can easily be supported with statistics yet statistics do not record how both men inspired and shaped the lives of their peoples. Whilst Franco was seen by many as the instigator of Spain’s civil war and a brutal tyrant and de Valera similarly seen also in a negative light by many concerning Ireland’s civil war and the death of his former colleague Michael Collins, both men were admired in time by large sections of the population. The ‘Chief ’ could never have lasted politically as long as he did unless he had the complete support of his party colleagues and the majority of public opinion.

Likewise, Franco would never Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

have survived until the 1970s without a large degree of popular support, even in a dictatorship which by that time was a shadow of its former authoritarian self. Probably what they symbolised more than what they achieved defined why they enjoyed such support. De Valera stood up to the ‘auld enemy’ in his response to Churchill’s victory speech in 1945 and Franco stood up to Stalin on more than one occasion. Both men never achieved their lifelong goals – a united Ireland speaking entirely Irish and a unified Spain speaking entirely Spanish yet they came closer than any subsequent leaders have to achieving these ephemeral desires.

died and were buried in sacred ground – the republican plot in Glasnevin, Dublin and the Valley of the Fallen in Cuelgamuros Madrid. There they still lie and their legacy still draws and attracts historians, researchers and students many of whom were born long after they died.

In public speeches both men used carefully prepared words to describe the other. De Valera never let his true feelings for Franco be known publicly or in private conversations with successive Spanish ambassadors.

On birthdays and official events to mark important occasions, both men sent telegrams to each other couched in formal and standard wording common between heads of states. The closest they came to meeting was in September 1953 when de Valera visited Spain for the first time with his family on a four day private holiday to see the Basque country and the religious sites of Loyola. Franco was holidaying in his summer retreat and invited the Taoiseach to visit him. De Valera turned down the request on the grounds of the private nature of his trip and his busy schedule. His subsequent meeting with the Portuguese dictator Oliveira Salazar shows that he would have had no objections meeting Franco if he had had the time. In 1975 both men

T. Garvin, Preventing the Future: Why was Ireland so Poor for so Long? (Dublin, 2005).

Further Reading R. Carr, Spain: A History (Oxford, 2000).

T.P. Coogan, De Valera: Long Fellow, Long Shadow (London, 1993).

D. Ferriter, Judging Dev (Dublin, 2007).

D. Gilmour, The Transformation of Spain: From Franco to the Constitutional Monarchy (London, 1985).

P. Preston, Franco (London, 1993).

G. Tremlett, Ghosts of Spain: Travels Through a Country’s Hidden Past (London, 2006).

Barry Whelan completed his undergraduate studies in History & Spanish at UCD before proceeding to complete his PhD in History at NUI Maynooth in March 2012. He is currently editing his thesis, which examined IrishSpanish relations during the Second World War and post-war period, to be published as a monograph. He is also working on a biography of the Irish diplomat Leopold Kerney. Barry works as a lecturer at Maynooth teaching contemporary Spanish history.

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‘It was not the El Dorado that they thought it would be’: Opposition to the Meath Gaeltacht Colonies in the 1930s.

An Ghaeltacht road sign on the outskirts of Ráthcairn, Co. Meath.

Land redivision was one of the most emotive political topics during the early years of the Free State. Barry Sheppard shows how the establishment of a Gaeltacht colony in Meath caused tensions between locals and migrants from the west, and how as always, politics had its part to play.

I

t was generally assumed after the signing of the AngloIrish treaty in 1921 that the land question in Ireland had been settled. However, when W. T. Cosgrave’s Cumann na nGaedheal party formed a government in 1922 it became apparent that the task was still to be finished. Land reform had been on the Irish agenda since the latter part of the nineteenth 12

century. This difficult task had previously been taken up by the Ecclesiastical Commissioners, which conducted the disposal of Church lands after disestablishment under the 1869 Church Act. This was followed by The Congested Districts Board which was instituted under the 1891 Land Act. The Congested Districts Board remained active until 1923 when it was replaced

by the Land Commission under the Land Act of that year.

Legislation passed as part of the Land Acts of 1923 and 1933 gave the Land Commission the power to purchase large estates for division and redistribution to the landless. In keeping with issues regarding land in Ireland, the two Land Acts proved controversial. Terence Dooley described the issue of land diScoláire Staire JULY 2012

Land vision and its consequences in this period as ‘the lost politics of independent Ireland’.

Another large, although not entirely separate, problem facing the new government was the revival of the native language in the face of large scale decline. The Government recognised that this issue was of high importance, especially in the Irish-speaking Gaeltacht areas. The government set up the Gaeltacht Commission to tackle the ongoing problem of linguistic and social decline of these areas. Headed by a body of men who had lifelong commitments to the revival of the Irish language, most notably, General Richard Mulcahy, it conducted investigations in the designated Gaeltacht areas between 7 August and 10 October 1925. The Commission’s findings were then published on 23 August 1926. The report strongly urged that expenditure on works of improvement now be undertaken urgently for almost the whole Irish-speaking and partly Irish-speaking districts from the point of view of both language and social improvement. It stressed that it was a matter of vital importance for the preservation and development of the Irish language that the geographical area where Irish speaking families were prevalent should be extended as far as possible, and at the earliest possible moment. While the majority of the Commission’s recommendations were not implemented, the urgent need for land reform in this part of the country could not be ignored.

Under the Cosgrave administration, the resettling of families from congested districts in the Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

Fine Gael made its position on migration to Meath clear in this election poster from 1938 (Irishelectionliterature.org).

west consisted of a small scale resettlement programme. By 1930, the government had constructed seventeen farms ranging in size between 100 and 200 acres, which were allotted to migrant families from the west.

However, this small number was still met with resentment from some, perhaps due to the size of the plots and the fact that there were many landless local Meath families, whom it was thought should have first preference on any available land within the county. During April 1927, at the height of this phase of migration, Meath Labour Party TD, David Hall, told the Dáil he had no problem with migrants but did have a problem with them coming in such numbers to ‘scrooge’ on the people of Meath. He said it was unfair that migrants were coming in ‘every day of the week’ and being ‘hawked in and thrown in on the people of Meath’.

In fact, the policy of the Land Commission was to give first preference to local congests. According to the Meath Chronicle there were many congested ar-

eas within the county of Meath.

Fianna Fail, at this stage now in official opposition, had publicly agreed with the position of the Land Commission. However, by the time they were in government during the 1930s, their position had altered to such an extent that they surpassed Cumann na nGaedheal’s figures for land division within the State by some distance. According to the Irish Press, reporting in May 1937, in the five years since Fianna Fáil came to power the Land Commission had divided ten times as much land as their opponents had in the previous ten years. Fianna Fáil’s plans for extensive land distribution were set out at their inaugural meeting in April 1926, a month before the Party’s formal launch.

A draft list of the party’s stated aims listed at number 5: ‘To establish as many families as practicable on the land’.

Pressure groups Chronic unemployment caused by the world wide depression of the 1930s had led to a substantial fall in Irish emigration, and 13

Below: Mairtin O’ Cathain. Right: ‘The journey east’.

in some cases people who had immigrated to the United States were actually making their way back to Ireland due to its effects. This brought the need for living space and workable land to the fore. Several Gaeltacht pressure groups came to prominence during the early years of the 1930s. They demanded action to save the Gaeltacht from decline after what was viewed as the failure of the previous administration to implement the majority of the Gaeltacht Commission’s recommendations.

Organisations operating under the names of the Gaeltacht Defence League and Cumann na Gaeltachta were formed. The Irish Press reported in November 1933 that a group named ‘Gaedheal’ had been formed with over ‘one thousand eager Gaels’ dedicated to the hastening of ‘Ireland, Free and Gaelic’ among their ranks. Their mission was the same; the regeneration of the Gaeltacht and the preservation of the language. However, it is argued that it was the radical left wing group Muintir na Gaeltachta, led by Máirtin O Cadhain, which made the most impact. In a headlining publicity stunt, a convoy of bicycles set out from Connemara to Dublin on 29 March 1934 with the intention of confronting the Minister for Land and Agriculture, and ultimately Eamon de Valera himself on the issues facing the Gaeltacht regions. They presented a petition highlighting a number of issues, one of which was supporting land acquisition outside of the recognised Gaeltacht areas for inhabitants affected by the world wide depression. Although the delegation received a typically non-committal response from de Valera, 14

this event, known as ‘an turas anair’ (the journey east) was seen by many as the catalyst for the formation of the first ‘Gaeltacht Colony’.

The first real sign of a new large scale settlement came from Land Commission officer Michael Deegan on 15 June 1934. An area of suitable size near Athboy, Co. Meath had been found for the purposes of resettling a colony of migrants from the Gaeltacht. The townland of Rathcarron (now known as Ráthcairn) was chosen and later further colonies were to be established in the nearby townlands of Gibbstown and Kilbride.

The new plots were to be, on average, 22 acres each, much smaller than the holdings set aside under Cumann na nGaedheal and indicative of Fianna Fail’s policy of establishing as many families as practicable on the land. At a meeting of the Athboy Fianna Fáil cumann in April 1935 the incoming migrants were wished every success and happiness. It was stated they were quite sure there was nobody in Athboy or the surrounding district that would not make every endeavour to make their lives happy and prosperous. Before the successful migrants, all of whom were from Connemara, were due to take ownership of their new holdings, representatives of Muintir na Gaeltachta arrived to inspect the sites. During this visit they were welcomed by a deputation

from the Old IRA. One of the migrants’ leaders assured them that only Gaeltacht migrants ‘with sound Republican views and outlook’ would be accommodated. While this meeting

‘This land is not for C it is for Mea was extremely cordial, not everyone was enamoured with the project.

Opposition In the early years of the Fianna Fáil migrations, opposition came from many TDs within Fine Gael. It was described by Martin Roddy as ‘a mad policy’, however, this language was quite tempered compared to other members of his party.

Capt. Patrick Giles TD was vociferous in his condemnation of the scheme. In one of his various outbursts he stated that disgraceful things had been happening since the establishment of the Gaeltacht colony, with members acting as tinkers and tramps who threatened the lives of local residents.

On 2 November 1936, the Irish Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

Press reported that Giles had accused the migrants of being ‘fish out of water’. He stated that they had the best land in Meath, yet they were to be found at the labour exchange every day. He further accused the scheme of having little to do with the spread of the Irish language and more to do with ensuring an increase in the Fianna Fáil vote in the area. He was not alone in this appraisal. Patrick Hogan, TD for Galway and former Cumann na nGaedheal Minister for Lands and Agriculture, had accused Fianna Fáil of ‘pandering to the small-farmer and labouring classes in an attempt to secure votes’. Furthermore,

Connemara people ath men’ accusations of favouritism towards members of Fianna Fáil in relation to acquisition of land were made. However, accusations such as these were nothing new, Cumann na nGaedheal had been levelled with a similar charge from opposition members after the 1923 Land Act. Another vocal opponent of the project who caused much controversy among migrants was Patrick Belton TD, a man described by the broadcaster and founder member of Cumann na nGaedheal, Séamus Hughes, as an able but erratic individual with no use for discretion. Belton was a man of many interests.

Besides being a former Land Commission officer, he was also a founder member of the Irish Christian Front, a fervent anti-Communist and one time Blueshirt. He had many propScoláire Staire JULY 2012

erty interests; in the 1920s he built houses in the Drumcondra, Donnycarney and Santry areas, including the modestly named Belton Park. Belton accused the Minister for Land of presiding over a ‘shocking waste of public money’ and that he ‘was simply trying to find homes for imbeciles on the land’. Perhaps his most slanderous outburst occurred when he accused the migrant population of being adverse to honest work, sleeping in until one in the afternoon and making poitín the rest of the time.

Vocal opposition to the colony project from some politicians was reflected on the ground by a small but noticeable section of the local Meath community, which on several occasions resulted in acts of intimidation towards the migrant community. Soon after the initial influx of migrants had arrived, some of the houses which were due shortly to be occupied were attacked. Shots were fired into several houses while one was broken into and items stolen.

Among the items stolen were paint and brushes which were used to paint inscriptions on the doors of the houses. The inscriptions read: ‘No more migrants wanted here’, and ‘This land is not for Connemara people – it is for Meath men’. A number of men were arrested in relation to the incident but were released without charge. Another incident saw an attempt to burn down a house built for migrants in the Gibbstown colony.

Problems relating to the influx of Gaeltacht migrants also

spread beyond the immediate Athboy area. In Killeaney near the Kildare border, 36 kilometres away from Ráthcairn, six men were arrested for unlawful assembly on 25 April 1938 at the Braine estate, which had recently been acquired by the Land Commission. The Irish Press reported that there had been some local agitation over the supposed intention of introducing Gaeltacht migrants to the estate, resulting in a large number of

Gárdai being assigned to protect the property. The paper also reported that local Land Commission employees were jeered and booed by a crowd of local people as they tried to carry out their work. It was clear that feelings ran high among local people over this issue. A more sinister incident was reported by the Meath Chronicle on 27 April 1935 when a local Meath resident was arrested for threatening the life of Land Commission employee, Michael Lynam, after he was overlooked for a plot of land by the Commission in favour of a migrant. There were also reports of migrant women being hassled by ‘gangs’ and told ‘to quit talking that gibberish here’.

Locals who were involved in the intimidation of migrants and Land Commission officials felt justified because many of them 15

had found themselves unemployed since the Land Commission had taken over the running of their employers’ lands. After the Land Commission allocated migrant families their new land, local landless men were settled on similar plots. Locals who obtained these plots felt, with some justification, that they were given less favourable treatment by the Land Commission than their neighbouring migrants.

The plots were the same size, however, local ‘allottees’ were not entitled to the same add-ons as migrants had been entitled to, such as equipment, stock and additional payments. According to a Dáil debate on 27 April 1937, almost £300 more was spent on each migrant holding than on holdings allotted to local families.

Calming the waters In July 1938 a large event aimed at breaking down the barriers between the communities was organised in Gibbstown and was attended by de Valera, Minister for Education Thomas Derrig and Senator Peadar O’Maille among others. According to the Meath Chronicle: ‘Through the medium of that which both loved, the Irish language, the migrant found that the Meath man was not out for his blood and the native discovered that the colonist was a human being like himself, not a humourless, suspicious individual, but a cheerful, friendly fellow anxious to live amicably with his neighbours’.

Addressing the crowd, O’Maille recognised there was some hostility towards the migrants but he was confident that the time 16

The Gaeltacht Colonies In the period following independence the state was concerned with promoting a distinct Irish identity. The Irish language was seen as a major factor in a distinct Irish identity. Land reform was also a problem which the new state had to tackle to resolve overcrowding and poverty in the west. It was concluded that a programme of state sponsored internal migration was the best solution for the problem of overcrowding.

It was believed that the resettlement of people from areas which were designated Irish speaking by the 1926 Gaeltacht Commission Report, would facilitate the spread of the language to areas where it had long since fallen out of use.

In the 1930s a number of families from the Irish speaking regions in the west of the country were resettled in the area around Athboy, Co. Meath. Initially the migrants came from the Connemara area. However, as the colony expanded, migrants from Donegal, Mayo and Kerry among other regions were resettled in the area. While they were initially welcomed by some locals, particularly the clergy and Gaelic League members, not all of the local population were in favour of this programme of resettlement. In the early years of the scheme there were a number of reports of intimidation by discontented members of the local population directed at the Gaeltacht migrants. A number of politicians were also opposed to the programme which may have heightened tensions between the local and migrant communities. It has been suggested that these tensions lasted for several decades after the establishment of the colony.

The establishment of the colonies by the Land Commission were hugely expensive and proved to be a massive undertaking by the state.

Despite the attention to detail there were many flaws in the process.

However, the colony known as Ráthcairn is still in existence today and two years ago celebrated 75 years in existence. would come when they would appreciate the fact that they had at their own doors an opportunity of learning the Irish language, and of helping in the great work of making Ireland Irish. The Chronicle reported that the day was a success in which ‘barriers

were broken down and a new spirit pervaded’. Despite the apparent success of this event, tensions between the communities continued, although incidents of intimidation directed at migrants were rare. What is perhaps more surprising is Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

Below: Land division was still central to the Fianna Fáil programme in the 1960s. Left: The townloand of Athboy, where the colony was established.

the notion of local hostilities being carried outside the confines of Ireland. In his exiles diary, An Irish Navvy, Donail MacAmhlaigh describes an incident outside an English dancehall where a Meath Gaeltacht exile is goaded into a fight with another Irish exile over where he was from.

MacAmhlaigh states: ‘There is enmity between those who were given new holdings in County Meath and those who had been there a long time - even in this country!’

Fanning the flames Press coverage of the project, on the whole, was fairly balanced and besides a few articles in which drunken disturbances involving young migrant men were reported, the Meath Chronicle was generally supportive of the migrants. On occasions the paper reminded its readership of the benefits the migrants would bring to the area, particularly in reviving the native tongue. While it may be wrong to suggest that the tone of reporting from the Chronicle contributed to a decline in friction between the communities, the mainly level-headed reporting would certainly not have inflamed tensions. However, similar commendations cannot be given to the Drogheda Independent, which took a wholly different stance. Under the sensationalist headline ‘Reign of terror in part of Meath’ on Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

31 August 1946 it produced a report which compared the migrants to Corsican bandits and red Indians descending on peaceful people and disrupting their idyllic village life. It further denigrated the migrants as ‘poor advertisements’ for Gaelic culture and called upon whoever inflicted these colonists upon the law-abiding people of Meath to deal decisively with the situation.

Friction with locals was not the only negative experience migrant families were faced with in these early years. Some felt that despite their resettlement to better land they had in some ways been let down by the Land Commission. Part of their resettlement package entitled them to the communal use of equipment and livestock, however, there were complaints that the equipment needed to work the land arrived too late. Some 17

complained that a horse and plough only arrived six months after them, leaving it too late to successfully farm the land that season. It was also reported that a donkey and cart which had been promised by the Land Commission failed to arrive, although the harness had! Some soon found themselves in financial difficulty and in some cases ended up appearing in court over rates arrears. One case which came before Meath District Court in 1936 heard that the defendants had been waiting for fourteen months on some vital farming equipment. They also claimed they had been promised that the rates in Meath would be much lower than were now being asked, leaving it difficult to make ends meet. A defence lawyer for fifteen migrants who were prosecuted by the County Council for rates arrears told the court that his clients had found out that Co. Meath ‘was not the El Dorado that they thought it would be’.

Results This phase of colony migration only lasted for a short period with the government calling for a rethink in strategy in 1939, citing the problem of spiralling costs. Under Fianna Fáil from 1935 to 1939 it was estimated that 660 people had been resettled to the Ráthcairn and Gibbstown areas from western Gaeltacht regions. The Land Commission report for the period 1 April 1938 to 31 March 1939 stated: ‘we are satisfied that the experiment, though somewhat costly, has been justified by the results obtained’. The Commission also suggested that one to four uneconomic holdings in the west were improved for eve18

ry family that moved east under the scheme. Therefore it may be argued from the point of view of regeneration within western Gaeltacht areas that the ‘experiment’ was a success. Moreover, the fact that there is still a Gaeltacht region in the Meath area with an estimated population of 1,591 over seventy years after the first Fianna Fáil sponsored migrations may also be seen as vindication for the Land Commission’s statement.

On the whole it was clear that there were a number of problems with the colony project, not least of which was the tensions which arose between the local population and the migrant community. Fuelled by the sometimes ill-informed speeches of politicians and newspaper reports, it contributed to divisions between the communities which lasted for years. Speaking in 2010, on the 75th anniversary of the first migrant arrivals, one member of the Ráthcairn Gaeltacht claimed that tensions between the communities were noticeable up until the 1970s.

The migrant community had been accused of being a disruptive influence upon a local way of life by bringing in what almost amounted to alien cultural practices to the area.

They were accused of being merely pawns or willing co-conspirators in Fianna Fáil’s quest for a larger share of the vote in the area. Claims of Fianna Fáil voters being given preferential treatment in the allocation of land through the scheme were rife. While it is unclear if it was a widespread practice, the president of the Fianna Fáil cumann in Dunboyne Co. Meath admitted in 1937 that some Fianna

Fáil members may have gotten preferential treatment ‘because the local Cumann looked after the interests of its members’.

He also stressed that all allocations were submitted to the Land Commission in the proper manner. What does seem clear is that Irish speaking migrant applicants were given preferential treatment over local applicants with a lesser knowledge of the language. This did little to endear migrants to the local population. It would also suggest that in de Valera’s vision of ‘Irish Ireland’ there was a hierarchy of Irishman, and the Irish speaking migrants who populated Meath in the 1930s filled this criteria.

Further Reading T. Dooley, ‘Land and politics in Ireland, 1923-48: the case for reappraisal’, Irish Historical Studies, 34, 134 (Nov. 2004), pp.

175-97.

S. Pegley, The Land Commission and the Making of Ráthcairn (Dublin, 2011).

Coimisiun na Gaeltachta Report (Dublin, 1926).

Barry Sheppard is a part-time student at Queen’s University Belfast, studying History and Social Sciences. He is interested in social and cultural history, in particular the study of Irish cultural nationalist groups of the late 19th and early 20th Century. He is also interested in Irish language matters in post-independent Ireland. He has recently completed his dissertation on the relationship between the Gaelic League and the Cumann na nGaedheal and Fianna Fáil governments of the 1920s and 1930s.

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PhD Diary

SURVIVING THE VIVA Shay Kinsella

As the official end of my first year approached, I was glad when my supervisor suggested she get the ball rolling to arrange the confirmation procedure, or ‘mini-Viva’, to assess my suitability for transfer to the PhD proper next year. I knew it would be productive to gain the experience, and allow me to concentrate on research and writing over the summer, without the inquisition hanging over me. Given recent debates about the relevance of history as an academic subject in the news, it seemed a timely opportunity to articulate my own beliefs about the possible contributions to historical understanding that my research might make.

The reputation of the Viva, as gleaned from sympathetic, even pitiful survivors of the ordeal had assumed the proportions of an academic urban legend for this novice PhD student: a rite of passage that would undoubtedly bruise or produce a scar that could be worn as a badge of honour.

On the day itself, I was nervous but confident, and although I felt ready for the onslaught, the interview was very demanding. The overall experience was humbling if not deflating, as indeed I expected. I was not expecting, however, to have to fight so hard to justify the historiological relevance of my study of a gentry family, in the light of its veritable non-existence in local and national narratives to date. Many of the comments pointed out serious weaknesses in my work to date which I gladly accepted and appreciate but the interview was haunted by what I felt was disinterestedness, feigned or otherwise. The devil’s advocates were hard at work as I found myself debating against a frustrating ‘so what?’ attitude to the thesis of the work which surprisingly appeared to question the merits of a ‘local’ study (as used in a demotive, dismissive sense) in a PhD context.

It was an experience of opposites. Frustrating and satisfying in equal measure, exhausting yet energising. It was also a far more emotionally provocative experience than I had anticipated. While I can take – and welcome – criticism in a constructive way, I found my answers voiced an attachment to the project which had not been expressed before. I felt the need to rush to its defence and assertively argue the case for recovering the story from oblivion. However, the counter-argument ran that this wasn’t enough, Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

that because history had forgotten this family and their contributions, that the argument for historical relevance had effectively already been lost. This argument baffled me. While my passion, enthusiasm and original research on the topic to date was unanimously praised, and while I passed the interview with congratulations, I was left temporarily diffident as to the potential readership, and contribution my work could make to Irish history on either a local or national level.

It appears to me the local study is often sneered at or approached with caution by academics, possibly because of its narrow focus or perhaps the non-academic backgrounds of its authors. However, the threads of local insight which go into the tapestry of national understanding, are often unavailable to those working in a broader context. My aim is to bring all the scholarly resources, interrogations and assessments which I am learning on this course, to bear on a subject rooted in a specific locality. In other words, to eliminate the stigma of the poor relation attached to local studies, through historical research and writing of a high order. The acclaim garnered by the Maynooth Studies in Local History series serves as a benchmark and stimulus in this regard. Thankfully, time and healthy discussions with my supervisor have restored, even buttressed, my belief in the importance of this family history, and have fuelled my determination to bring it to the fore. By assessing how unique or normal the family were in a range of fields, I know the work will have the potential to inform and resource studies in a broader national context. So overall, the experience has made me even more emphatic about the claims in my thesis. With the generosity of hindsight, I can see that this was almost certainly the point.

And what of those readers, academics or commentators who express their failure to be inspired by the story and its details? Well, this hardened student will know next time to turn the missile around and send it back home. “So what?” indeed.

Shay Kinsella is currently engaged in research for a PhD thesis on the Alexander family of Carlow. You can comment on this article by clicking HERE 19

Irish Historical Research and the Open Access Debate With huge advances in technology and the availability of creative, user friendly software, expensive subscriptions to academic journals are becoming untenable. Seán Byers argues that open access publishing is the way forward for Irish and international academics.

I

n recent months, the Guardian newspaper has provided ample column space for contributors – mainly but not exclusively academics – to address the thorny issue of open access peer reviewed publishing. Broadly defined, open access journals are those which provide freely accessible literature on the internet, to be read, downloaded and distributed without financial, legal (copyright) or superfluous technical barriers. A combination of rapid technological advances on the one hand, and decades of awareness-raising by such estimable figures as Professor Peter Suber on the other, have ensured that a growing number of policy-makers, academics and university librarians now

20

consider open access publishing to be a viable alternative to subscription journals.

Efforts to promote open access in Britain and Ireland have arguably been more sporadic than in the US, particularly in comparison to the work of Professor Suber and others associated with the Open Access Project at Harvard University. However, the austerity programmes imposed by right-wing British and Irish coalition governments have created the conditions for a renewed debate on the possibilities of a more equitable approach to academic publishing.

Indeed the decision of the universities and science minister, David Willets, to draft in Jimmy Wales, the co-founder of Wiki-

pedia, to help the British government devise a way of making all taxpayer-funded research available to anyone who wishes to use it, is one of many examples of the government giving with one hand and taking with the other. Universities face the prospect of substantial reductions in government funding for the foreseeable future, which has several negative implications for the standard of teaching and research. One almost inevitable consequence is that university libraries, already struggling – commendably – to cater for the needs of students and academic staff, will be forced to cut their subscriptions to academic journals. At the same time, employment opportunities for early career researchers are becoming Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

fewer. A Times Higher Education article published in April noted that an average of 300 PhD graduates are applying for each job and predicted that the situation is going to deteriorate even further. Hence, with academics, postgraduates and university subject librarians coming under intense pressure, the conditions may be ripe to explore new ways of ensuring that current and future researchers retain muchneeded access to the work of their peers.

Open Access There are many compelling arguments in favour of open access publishing. For example, it aims to ensure that authors no longer bear a disproportionate share of the production costs.

Under the present system postgraduates, whether from their own funds or with the support of public money, pay for the privilege of carrying out research at a given institution and are then required to pay additional subscription fees to gain access to the fruits of their labour. A fundamental revision of this approach would involve publishers reconsidering the profit motive for their work and authors recognising that the long-term value of a wider readership and increased visibility and impact far outweigh the short-term gains of royalty payments. This leads to a second main, and relatively straightforward, advantage, relating to the societal good generated by open access publishing. The overriding concern of researchers, universities and publishers should be to create a situation whereby access to newly-acquired knowledge is not constrained by certain privileges i.e. the ability to pay.

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Thus open access publishing puts students and citizens alike on a more equal footing, affording anyone with an interest in the literature and access to the internet the opportunity to read the results of publicly funded academic research, regardless of their socio-economic status.

Even those with no such interest are likely to benefit indirectly because governments and policy-makers would be in a position to utilise more retrievable findings to make better-informed decisions to the benefit of society. These arguments are Director of the Harvard Open Access Project, Peter Suber

with the arguments in turn, it is important to note that the peer review process involves the author, readers, and a given journal’s editorial team, with at least the first two out of these three actors carrying out their duties in a voluntary capacity and without remuneration. The work associated with bringing a journal article to fruition is therefore shared and certainly does not fall disproportionately on the shoulders of publishers, as I am sure many involved in the peer review process would testify. As long as prospective authors, readers and editors are prepared to devote their time to this process, it cannot be argued from any quarter that open access is incompatible with the publication of high quality peer reviewed articles.

Costs

borne out by a recent independent study on open access publishing, conducted by Professor Janet Finch at the behest of the British government, which concludes that case for making research freely accessible is ‘fundamentally unanswerable’.

The criticisms levied most often at open access proponents, usually by the very publishers who stand to lose out financially, are twofold. Firstly, they argue that the responsibility for editing articles weighs heavily on publishers; and secondly, it is asserted that publication costs are such that the only option is to operate in a business-like, profitdriven fashion. These criticisms are, however, fallacious and deliberately misleading. To deal

The arguments concerning high production costs and sources of funding also involve an obfuscation of the facts. It should be acknowledged that the production, administration and upkeep of an online journal incurs some costs. No one in favour of open access schemes would doubt that. Nor would they doubt that most journals will continue to depend, at least in the short-to-medium term, on both public and private revenue streams to safeguard their existence. However, the fact remains that the subscription prices for most journals have risen far and above the rate of inflation for decades, resulting in huge profits for monopolistic publishers such as Elsevier. It is estimated that British and Irish universities pay Elsevier, which specialises in medical and scientific literature, between £4m and £6m 21

per year. The rates for journals in the field of Arts and Humanities are considerably lower – around one third of the price of scientific journals – but the only way in which even these smaller publishers are not making sizeable profits is if they are highly inefficient. Of course, this is patently not the case: for 2010 alone, Elsevier reported 36 per cent profits on revenues of $3.2bn. Even if we choose to disregard these astonishing figures, there may still be some traction in the suggestion that if costly procedures such as marketing, subscription management and legal consultations (which have no bearing on open access publishing) were to be eradicated, then a journal could conceivably be produced on a shoestring budget.

The increasing availability of open-sourced software packages, which greatly enhance the experience of editing a journal at no cost, serves to make this an even more attractive proposition. As Professor Suber has argued, the question is not ‘whether scholarly literature can be made costless, but whether there are better ways to pay the bills than by charging readers and creating access barriers’. The object is not to put existing publishers out of business, for they are unquestionably providing a valuable service, but to present 22

the case for a more sustainable alternative that has at its heart the widespread dissemination of research at a minimal cost to all parties involved. The Finch report concurs with much of this reasoning and notes that a transition to open access publishing would see a substantial reduction in long term costs for universities, the taxpayer and, of course, the reader. We await the government response to Professor Finch’s proposals, which will doubtless demand further exploration of the financial implications. However, we can rest assured that it is no longer possible for critics to dismiss open access publishing as a utopian pipedream on account of its associated costs.

The commodification of something that is considered ‘nonrival’ in economic terms – that is, someone can benefit from access to information without directly making someone else worse off – is highly lamentable.

Yet this reflects a wider trend in which third level education has become commercialised and professionalised. And these concerns are not limited to the so-called ‘radical left’ milieu in academia. A recent article for the Irish Times by Tom Garvin, emeritus professor at University College Dublin, has identified the dangerous reorientation of research and education towards purely economic ends, and foresees an Orwellian dystopia in which the promotion of cultural and historical studies by freethinking intellectuals is subject to the whims of university bureaucrats and publishers with dollar signs (neither ‘pound sterling’ nor ‘Euro’ have the same ring) in their eyes:

Knowledge being an end itself is disregarded, and the further central idea that knowledge is a public good is lost. The further proposition that free research encourages detached, honest and penetrating thinking about very practical matters is also in danger of being lost.

The open access movement therefore needs to be placed within a broader campaign to arrest the retreat of universities from their original and central purpose – purveyors of knowledge.

Attitudes to research In his book Defending Politics, written in tribute to the late great Bernard Crick’s In Defence of Politics, published some fifty years ago, Professor Matt Flinders has made a vital contribution to the debate on the future of academia. He argues, quite rightly, that there is a problem with jargon in academic writing and an underlying culture of snobbery in relation to publications. More specifically, he suggests that the conditions laid out by research assessment exercises and the concept of ‘impact’ have forced many universities to adopt a rather one-dimensional view in how they prepare earlycareer researchers for employment and indeed how they determine the selection criteria when hiring a new member of academic staff.

Professor Flinders proposes that universities collectively arrive at a different balance of priorities, whereby students and researchers are encouraged to write a) short policy-type papers, less laden with jargon than peer reScoláire Staire JULY 2012

viewed articles and with practical implications in mind, to be disseminated amongst policymakers and/or think tanks; and b) opinion pieces for newspapers, which are even less jargonfilled and designed with the purpose of enhancing the researcher’s writing skills and reputation in the process. Where this relates to open access is in the decision of the Wellcome Trust, an independent charity that funds the production of peer reviewed publications, to remove impact as a determining factor in the awarding of grants to journals. Should Professor Flinders’ ideas take hold in the immediate future, we may well witness a broad shift in favour of open access publishing as part of a sea change in attitudes towards research in subjects outside the natural sciences.

Put simply, the more academics write for the benefit of the public, the more popular support the campaign for open access is likely to attract.

The Harvard-led academic boycott of Elsevier must also be viewed as a positive development, at least in terms of raising awareness. At the time of writing, the campaign had received the support of almost 12,000 academics, who have all vowed to withdraw their labour as long as the company’s subscription prices and profits continue to rise exponentially. Yet, in another sense, I suspect that a boycott may be more suited to established academics with more secure employment prospects than early-career researchers, who by contrast depend on adding peer reviewed publications to their name in order to advance in a highly competitive job market. Furthermore, there Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

does not seem to be the same appetite in Europe for an academic boycott.

In Britain and Ireland, we are only experiencing the initial stages of a debate on the viability of open access, which will no doubt be played out in months to come. We can point to RIAN (Pathways to Irish Research project), launched in 2007 by the seven leading universities in the twenty-six counties, as a step in the direction of building a large scale open access resource in Ireland. However, this is the exception to the rule and does not seem to incorporate the work of historians or political scientists. It has mainly fallen to nonprofit learned societies, which have limited scope in terms of readership, to ensure that the historical and political pieces of research see the light of day.

Of the institutions on the island of Ireland, only the National University of Ireland Galway (NUIG), which has a traditionally strong history department, can be said to have demonstrated an active commitment to open access publishing: the two universities north of the border have been regrettably quiet on the issue. The Access to Research at NUI Galway (ARAN) repository therefore sets the benchmark for other university libraries interested in developing a system that provides for universal access to the fruits of a researcher’s labour.

The future?

In lieu of an established network of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences researchers across Britain and Ireland prepared to examine the possibilities of open access publishing, and as we look forward in anticipation to the implementation of the Finch report, I would like to conclude by tentatively putting forward a number of transitional suggestions: 1) There is no obvious reason why Arts & Humanities and Social Science departments across these islands do not have provisions for an internal ‘green’ open access model i.e. a repository akin to the ARAN at NUIG where scholars can upload their articles after publication. Many scholars already choose to selfarchive their work, so why not encourage university librarians to allow for resources to be pooled through the one comprehensive system?

2) Research Libraries UK has recently renegotiated fees with publishers to save institutions around £20m in the last year.

However, in light of the exorbitant profits being made by largescale publishers in straitened financial times, perhaps more could be done in this regard.

One of the Finch report’s key recommendations is for all ‘key sectors’, including central and local government, universities, libraries, publishers and volun23

Left: Gary Lightbody (from the band Snow Patrol) was awarded an honourary doctorate by the University of Ulster this month. He was joined by Rory McIlroy, Alex Ferguson and Rachel Allen among others.

current economic climate and, if financially viable, it should be pursued without delay.

tary organisations, to work together to reconsider the ‘terms and costs of licences’. Surely it is incumbent upon these bodies to ensure that subscription prices are reduced to the level of inflation and in proportion to reductions in funding? If this is not deemed to be the case, then perhaps it would be worthwhile to organise a petition of parliament and universities to ask that they adopt a more robust approach in future dealings with publishers.

3) As alluded to in the previous issue of Scoláire Staire, the alumni of many institutions in Britain and Ireland are cut off from university resources as soon as their studies are complete. I would argue that universities have a duty of care to their graduates and, if wholly serious about providing them with the best opportunities for career advancement, should at least explore the possibility of providing alumni with access to electronic databases if not actual study space beyond the date of graduation. Universities owe them this much in the 24

4) Added to the above point, I would like to give special mention to the work of independent researchers, who, for one reason or another, have no university affiliation and therefore no access to university databases. I know personally a number of these individuals, who carry out sterling work in difficult circumstances and produce research of the highest standard.

As a sign of academia’s commitment to the production of knowledge, universities should provide a number of independent researchers with access to its databases upon the recommendation of faculty members.

Financial constraints may once again be thrown up as a barrier, but it does not prevent universities from awarding honorary degrees to individuals who have achieved celebrity status, with all the pomp and ceremony that it involves. That is not to say that many recipients of honorary degrees have not contributed to the betterment of society – most have. However there are numerous hard-working researchers who have not been bestowed with the same honours. In my opinion, it would be a good idea to give some formal recognition to the fact by actively supporting their work.

The above points are simply examples of the present author ‘thinking out loud’. There is no quick fix to our predicament. I do hope, however, that the issues raised in this article form the basis of a more in-depth discussion of the options available to the academic community, and perhaps with a concerted effort to influence developments within the confines of historiography in the first instance.

Further Reading There is a wealth of information regarding open access publishing available online. Click on the links below for a selection of features. http://www.guardian.co.uk/ science/open-access-scientificpublishing The Directory of Open Access Journals: http://www.doaj.org/ Pathways to Irish Research: http://rian.ie/ Seán Byers completed a BA degree in Politics and MA degree in Irish Politics at Queen’s University, Belfast before commencing work towards the award of a PhD at the University of Ulster, Jordanstown. He is in the third and final year of his research, which focuses on the relationship between Irish socialists and republicans during the 1916-1962 period, using the political career of Seán Murray as a prism for doing so. His research interests are centred primarily on Irish labour history but also extend to various subjects in the fields of contemporary Irish, British and international politics.

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A New Irish History Journal?

Irish academic historians have been slow to weigh in on the open access debate. There are numerous reasons for this, not least the fact that much of our published research appears in the journals of voluntary groups and historical societies. However, open access can offer Irish historians another outlet for their research while not adversely affecting the stability of the established journals.

An open access journal will only be really successful if it gains the support of the established academics in the field. A new Irish history journal will need to attract a few ‘big names’ to put their weight behind the idea. We have a great output of historical research in Ireland and beyond. An open access journal will be a healthy addition to the field and can help make academic history more relevant. Scolaire Stáire will be promoting the idea of establishing an open access Irish history journal over the coming months, with the possibility of organising a public meeting during open access week later in the year (22-28 October). Ed. To find out more or help us out with this project contact scolairestaire@gmail.com.

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Department of History Roinn na Staire

MA IN HISTORY

The aim of the programme is to enhance the historical understanding and skills of graduates in history, to extend their capacity for historical research and thereby provide an appropriate basis for advanced research up to, and including, doctoral level.

For further information, please visit www.history.ul.ie

MA IN THE HISTORY OF ART AND ARCHITECTURE

This exciting and challenging course provides postgraduate education in the history of art and architecture. Students are taught in a supportive environment and develop professional competence and the capacity to conduct supervised research in an aspect of the history of art and architecture.

For further information, please visit www.history.ul.ie

MA IN THE HISTORY OF THE FAMILY

This module provides student with an understanding of the key events and themes which have shaped international history in the twentieth century. It offers students guidance on sources and methodologies for researching and writing.

For further information, please visit www.history.ul.ie

MA IN LOCAL HISTORY

This course provides an ideal opportunity for those who want to research local history for its own sake and is suitable for those who wish to develop research skills prior to undertaking the PhD degree For further information, please visit www.history.ul.ie

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www.history.ul.ie www.ul.ie

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‘98 Rebellion

Napper Tandy in Burtonport

Patrick Campbell investigates the leading United Irishman’s futile attempts to raise a militia in Donegal during September 1798.

O

n September 16, 1798, James Napper Tandy, a Dublin-born leader of the United Irishmen, arrived in Rutland Island, Co. Donegal, on a French warship named the Anacreon, which had 3,000 rifles on board, more than a hundred French army officers and a battle plan to drive the British out of Ireland completely. Tandy was dressed in the uniform of a French General and his plan was to recruit 3,000 of the local men, arm them, and then march them out to confront the British Army and the Loyalist militia who were stationed in East Donegal. His guns had been supplied by Napoleon, who was persuaded by Tandy Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

that he could raise an army of 3,000 in Donegal, and he would link up with General Humbert, the French General, who was already leading another French attack on the British in the West of Ireland.

Tandy’s estimate of the type of army he could raise in Donegal was not based on detailed intelligence but on the reputation that Donegal had as a county where the famed Clan O’Donnell had kept British armies at bay for 500 years. But after almost 200 years of British occupation, the Gaelic men of the county were no longer citizen soldiers who had the ability to terrorize any invader, but were instead tenant

farmers who often existed on the edge of starvation. Few if any of them had arms of any kind, and none of them had been trained in military tactics. Therefore, the possibility of these people being recruited into a fighting force was out of the question. If Tandy was aware of any of this, he certainly did not let Napoleon know.

A second major problem was that the British settlers in East Donegal had a militia named the Lagan Corp, which was comprised of several thousand men who were as professional as the O’Donnells had ever been in this area in the 16th century.

This elite militia believed they 27

were fighting to defend their homes and families, and they were convinced if they were defeated in battle, the survivors would be driven out of Ireland, and all their possessions confiscated. The inhabitants of the Burtonport area were well aware of the threat posed by the Lagan Corp and they knew that in any confrontation with them the men of Burtonport would be the losers. Nevertheless, the arrival of the Anacreon in the Port of Rutland created a great deal of excitement and crowds gathered from all over the area to see it.

Old friends Tandy’s arrival created a major problem for a local Loyalist named Frank Forster who was the agent of the landlord who owned most of the land in the area. Forster was also the postmaster in Rutland and a landlord with considerable holdings in his own name. Forster immediately recognized Tandy as a fellow student from Trinity College Dublin. Both had been in the same year at the college thirty years previously. Tandy and Forster had actually been very friendly, and Forster treated Tandy with politeness when he arrived and he and his wife even prepared a home-cooked meal for the visiting rebel leader.

Forster informed Tandy that the army of Humbert, the French General, had been defeated at Ballinamuck, and that he had surrendered his troops to the victorious British. This was the latest in a series of defeats for the United Irishmen and it was obvious that the insurrection had been put down.

One would imagine that this information would have been 28

enough to inspire Tandy to go back on board his ship and to head back to France with all possible speed. But instead of departing from Rutland Island, Tandy dressed up in his General’s uniform and accompanied by scores of French Army officers and a quantity of rifles, he headed off towards Burtonport on the mainland to give a speech to the hundreds of civilians gathered there. But the cold reception Tandy received from the assembled crowd disappointed him, because he had thought he was going to be greeted as a liberator. He may or may not have known that those who were present were aware that the United Irishmen had already been defeated, so his expedition seemed pointless to the clansmen on the pier.

But there were other issues that contributed to the unfriendly attitude Tandy was receiving.

Word had swept through the crowd that Tandy was a Free Mason, which was true, and this generated animosity because the Catholic residents of the northwest had long been convinced that the Free Masons were bitter enemies of the Catholic Church, so the idea that any Free Mason would presume to be their leader was rejected right away.

Tandy’s friendly treatment of Forster was another negative, because they believed no true Irishman would be friendly with landlords, or the landlord’s agents.

Tandy compounded the negative impressions by handing out thousands of leaflets, which called for an immediate uprising against all British interests in Ireland. These leaflets were written in English, even though

the crowd was mainly Irish speaking, and illiterate, so very few people present could determine what the message was. The leaflet was signed by General Rey, the ranking French officer on board the Anacreon. (For full text see sidebar, p. 29).

Finally, Tandy addressed the crowd in English: United Irishmen! What do I hear? The British government has dared to speak of concessions! Would you accept them?

Can you think of entering into a treaty with a British minister? A minister, too, who has left you at the mercy of an English soldierly, who laid your cities waste and massacred inhumanly your best citizens; a minister, the bane of society, and the scourge of mankind; behold, Irishmen, he holds in his hand the olive of peace; beware his other hand lies concealed armed with a poniard.

No, Irishmen, No, you shall not be the dupe of his base intrigues; unable to subdue your courage, he attempts to seduce you, let his efforts be in vain.

Horrid crimes have been perpetuated in your country; your friends have fallen in sacrifice to their devotion to your cause; their shadows are around you and call aloud for vengeance; it is your duty to avenge their death; it is your duty to strike on their blood-cemented thrones the murders of your friends. Listen to no proposals, Irishmen! Wage a war of extermination against your oppressors, the war of liberty against tyranny, and liberty shall triumph.

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Tandy’s Leaflet: LIBERTY OR DEATH Northern Army of Avengers, Head Quarters, the First Year of Irish Liberty.

UNITED IRISHMEN The soldiers of the great nation [France] have landed on your coast, well supplied with arms and ammunition of all kinds, with artillery worked by those who have spread terror among the ranks of the best troops in Europe, headed by French officers; they come to break your fetters, and restore you to the blessings of liberty.

James Napper Tandy is at their head; he has sworn to lead them on to victory or die. Brave Irishmen, the friends of liberty have left their native soil to assist you in reconquering your rights; they will brave all dangers, and glory at the sublime idea of cementing your happiness with their blood.

French blood shall not flow in vain. To arms! freemen, to arms! The trumpet calls, let not your friends be butchered unassisted; if they are doomed to fall in this most glorious struggle, let their death be useful to your cause, and their bodies serve as footsteps to the temple of Irish liberty.

GENERAL REY, In the name of the French officers and soldiers, now on the coast of Ireland.

Tandy’s speech was delivered with passion and eloquence, but understood by only a small number of people in the crowd who spoke English. Even those who spoke English had no idea what Tandy was talking about when he spoke about a British minister who was offering concessions. Tandy may have written this speech back in France in the early weeks of the insurrection, when the rebels seemed to be enjoying some success and a minister of the British government had hinted that if the violence ceased some concessions might be offered. But now in September, the rebels had been defeated all over Ireland, and Tandy knew they had, but he went ahead and gave the speech anyway.

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The last place in Ireland to start a revolution!

Dead silence greeted Tandy’s passionate plea, and when he offered to give each of the men present a rifle and ammunition, they turned away from him, and following the advice of some of the prominent Catholics in the area, they headed off for home to hide any weapons some of them might have had, which they had been using for hunting deer and rabbits. Then they stayed inside their homes to await the arrival of the British militia.

Tandy, badly disappointed by his reception, advanced up the shore road towards Dungloe, accompanied by a score of French troops and gangs of children

who had ignored their parent’s demands that they go home.

The children were acting as if the circus had come to town.

Tandy explored the countryside south of Dungloe and no doubt saw the multitude of small thatched cabins owned by most of the inhabitants, and the sight of these brought home to him that this area was the last place in Ireland to start a revolution.

In this place, the only battle that was being waged was a battle against starvation.

Tandy returned to Rutland Island and went straight to the local tavern, where he proceeded to drown his sorrows. Late at night, French officers carried him back to the Anacreon, and the following morning he sailed away without firing a shot. Before he left however, he gave Forster a statement, which cleared the latter of any involvement in the invasion that had taken place. The statement reads as follows: Rutland Island Having landed from on board the Anacreon (a republican vessel from the coast of France) on Rutland Island and being in want of accommodations, we were under the necessity of putting the citizen Forster, postmaster of the town or island, under requisition, and preventing him from sending off his packet: we at the same time discharged every obligation, and paid for whatever we took from said place.

TANDY, general of brigade, and commander of the expedition.

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Left: Portrait of the United Irishmen.

Below: A scene from the 1798 Rebellion.

Legacy

Sometime during the evening of Sunday 16 September, Forster managed to send a courier out of the area with a report on the strength of Tandy’s forces. He was careful to state that Tandy had him under house arrest.

At eight o’clock the following morning, he sent a second report, which stated that Tandy had sailed away to the northwest, and he urged the British Navy to intercept Tandy. The navy failed to do so.

When the militia marched into Burtonport, the area was deserted and the only people who were out were Frank Forster, John Sproule, a Protestant merchant, and the Rev. Griffith, the Protestant Rector. All three were well known loyalists. Forster assured the leader of the militia that Tandy had received a cold reception in the area and that nobody had cooperated with or accepted weapons from him.

But other loyalists in the area told the militia that Boyle, the Aranmore pilot, had guided Tandy into Rutland harbor, and that McNeilus, the mailman, had given Tandy the mail, and both 30

An unnamed Catholic who wanted to make trouble for Forster whispered to the militia that Forster and Tandy had acted like best friends, and that Forster and his wife had entertained the invaders for hours, even presenting them with a home cooked meal. Forster denied the allegations and he was believed.

Tandy is remembered in the folklore of north-west Donegal as a great United Irishman who had risked his life to free the people of Donegal, and there are no negatives connected with most of this folklore. Indeed, he is presented in the patriotic song The Wearing of the Green as a larger than life patriot who was prepared to give it all for Ireland. But an analysis of his conduct before, during, and after the invasion would indicate that there were plenty of negatives about the Tandy expedition that have rarely been aired.

First, he had obviously not made any effort to research the situation in north-west Donegal, and whether or not it was the ideal locality to launch an invasion of Ireland. Instead, he arrived with 100 French officers and 3,000 rifles, and he planned to use fishermen and farmers who were completely inexperienced with guns or warfare to confront a militia which was well trained and who had a reputation of taking no prisoners.

Forster also came to the defense of McNeilus and Boyle. He said the mailbag was taken off McNeilus at gunpoint, and that the Anacreon was flying the British flag when Boyle first boarded her and that he thought she was a British ship. Both Boyle and McNeilus were eventually cleared. The militia made a brief search of the area in the next few days, but left without arresting anyone or finding any evidence that local men had accepted any arms. The big hullabaloo created by the arrival of Tandy was over.

The most questionable aspect of Tandy’s conduct was that he made a speech to the inhabitants of the area urging them to take up arms after he had learned that the United Irishmen had been defeated elsewhere in Ireland, and that the Loyalist militia was on their way. Did he plan to die with his troops, or

were arrested. A finger was also pointed at Maire Campbell, the tavern owner, but Forster came to her defense by saying Tandy and his companions had taken whiskey at gunpoint, so Maire Campbell was not arrested.

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was his plan to have the volunteers confront the militia, while he retreated out to sea in the Anacreon. We will never know.

It is possible that Tandy was distraught when he discovered after he had arrived that the war was already lost, but that he was determined to make a gesture of defiance anyway to impress Napoleon, even though this gesture could have cost hundreds of lives and earned him a date with the hangman. Given his inflated sense of self-importance, he may have thought this bloody sacrifice was worth it because it preserved his honor.

However, it was the refusal of the Donegal men to take up arms in this situation that helped preserve his honor anyway, because he would later boast that he wanted to do battle with the British, but the Donegal men would not support him. Therefore, he argued that the dishonor was their legacy, not his.

Tandy made his escape by sailing north. The British had blocked the southern route to France, so he sailed around the North of Scotland and eventually made his way to Hamburg, which was a self-governing city during this period. As soon as the British ambassador became aware of Tandy’s presence in Hamburg, he immediately demanded that the city government arrest Tandy and allow him to be exScoláire Staire JULY 2012

tradited to Britain to face charges of treason. What followed was a long bitter dispute between the French, the British, and the government of Hamburg over the fate of Tandy, and it ended when Tandy was handed over to the British, who shipped him to Dublin, where he faced trial for treason. He was brought to Lifford, Co Donegal where was sentenced to death for his activities in Rutland Island.

Tandy escaped the hangman when Napoleon told the British that he would never sign a peace treaty while Tandy was still in custody. The British wanted to end the continuous hostilities with France, so they deported Tandy to Bordeaux, and ten days later the peace treaty was signed.

The British were sure that Tandy would vanish into obscurity once he arrived back in France, but just the opposite happened – Tandy became a national hero in France. A huge military parade was staged in his honor, and numerous banquets were held at which he was the guest of honor. Napoleon gave him 6,000 livres in back army pay due him, and he was awarded the pension of a full general. However Tandy did not live to enjoy his celebrity in France. He died on 24 August 1803 and was given an elaborate state funeral.

The French reaction to the failed Tandy expedition is difficult to understand, if one believes the French were really celebrating Tandy’s military achievements, because they celebrated his return to France as if he just won the Battle of Waterloo, while in reality his expedition was badly planned and he had not fired a shot. There is little doubt however that the French staged the

celebrations just to annoy the British, who had treated Tandy with contempt, and the French were successful in this because the British reacted with fury at all the attention Tandy was receiving. As far as Tandy’s legacy is concerned, the real value of his contribution to the struggle for Irish civil rights was his struggle for twenty years prior to 1798 to bring democracy to Ireland and to unite Protestants and Catholics in the struggle.

Both he and Wolfe Tone had made civil rights a priority, and both sacrificed everything to try to achieve that end, and even though they failed completely, they deserve credit for their long campaign to bring some form of democracy to Ireland.

Further Reading N.J. Curran, The United Irishmen: Popular Politics in Ulster and Dublin, 1791-1798 (Oxford, 1998).

M. Elliott, Wolfe Tone: Prophet of Irish Independence (London, 1989).

T. Pakenham, The Great Rebellion of 1798 (London, 1997).

Patrick Campbell was a columnist for the Irish Echo newspaper in New York from 1965-95. He is the author of eight books including A Molly Maguire Story and Memories of Dungloe. He is a graduate of Rudger University with an MA in English and has contributed to documentaries on the History Channel. Patrick was the marketing communications manager for the World Trade Center until he retired in 1996. pathcambe@aol.com 31

James Curry Artist of the Revolution: The Cartoons of Ernest Kavanagh, 1884-1916.

(Mercier, 2012, 128pps, €12.99 PB)

Ernest Kavanagh was a little known artist who worked as an insurance clerk for the ITGWU at Liberty Hall. He was also the cartoonist for the ITGWU’s newspaper, the Irish Worker, as well as other radical publications. Kavanagh was shot dead on the steps of Liberty Hall during the Easter Rising. He was thirty-two years old. (See the April 2012 edition of Scoláire Staire for an article on the artist).

This collection brings together Kavanagh’s many cartoons from the Irish Worker, the Irish Citizen and other contemporary newspapers. It is a well produced collection, and something that can be enjoyed in one sitting. James Curry provides insightful and concise commentary on each cartoon and expertly contextualises the images for the uninitiated reader. Curry obviously believes that Kavanagh’s cartoons were a very important feature of Jim Larkin’s Irish Worker. He is careful to emphasise that the cartoons usually complemented or enhanced the articles and editorial thrust of the paper.

Curry is right to make his point forcefully here.

Kavanagh has been overlooked by previous historians of the Irish Worker for one reason or another. It is high time he gained some recognition given that, as Curry points out, the newspaper was constantly battling against space restrictions and dependent on advertising revenue. Larkin obviously held Kavanagh in high regard, sometimes placing his cartoons on the front page. Curry’s point that a good portion of the Dublin working class faced literacy difficulties further highlights the importance of the illustrations.

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The cartoons themselves are well presented given the small size of this paperback. Although, the originals were not much bigger when originally produced. A quick flick through the book will give some idea of the radical press’ agenda in the early 1910s.

The first half of the book serves as an introduction to the cartoons, but it is also a very well written and researched mini-study of Ernest Kavanagh, his family and the Irish Worker newspaper. It is to Curry’s (and perhaps his editor’s) credit that he does not get bogged down in detail. It is clear that Curry has an expert knowledge, not only of the Irish Worker, but also of labour and advanced nationalist issues in the years he covers. Yet, he glides over the material, giving the reader enough information to gain a real understanding of the relevance and context of Kavanagh’s work, without falling into the trap of smothering the short narrative in his research findings. I would have liked to have seen reference to John Newsinger’s study of the Irish Worker in the footnotes, although this omission has no effect on Curry’s attempt to bring Kavanagh into the literature concerning the newspaper.

This book gives us a glimpse into oft forgotten world of social protest in the years leading up to the Easter Rising. It should also act as an introduction to the more comprehensive literature on that subject. Curry has managed to rescue the memory of a great Irishman from near obscurity and present his life and work in a very accessible manner.

(AG) Scoláire Staire JULY 2012

Review

“Labour’s Way” RTE Television, 26 June + 3 July 2012

the fact that these major events meant there was little room for party political activity.

This year marks the 100th anniversary of the formation of the Labour Party. In this decade of centenaries, the Labour Party’s birthday has been overshadowed by events that have been deemed more significant.

Even preparations for commemorating the Dublin lockout of 1913 seem to be attracting more media attention than the formation of the party. So, it was encouraging to hear that RTE were producing a two-part documentary on ‘the history of the Labour Party, beginning with its origins in Ireland’s trade union movement in 1912 and its rise to national prominence’.

So far, so good. But what about that title? ‘Labour’s Way’! Isn’t that the (inaccurate) phrase that’s been thrown back in Labour’s face by the media ever since it became obvious that Frankfurt’s way was the course to be followed by the coalition? The very same, and so the fears of historians are raised that this is going to be an exercise in projecting Labour’s current situation back onto the past.

After one minute, the narrator (David McCullagh) had reached the 1922 general election. There was no mention of the 1918 general election, the huge role Labour played in supporting the republic, or the consequences of this. Sean Donnelly mentions that the 1922 poll was Labour’s most successful election result to date, a result they never again matched. No discussion, no analysis.

After two minutes, the film had reached its stated aim of following the party from formation to national prominence but there was nothing at all on Tom Johnson’s leadership of the party in the 1920s. The focus then shifted to Labour trying to bring Fianna Fáil into the Dáil but we’re given no explanation as to why Johnson and his deputies followed this course. After three minutes, the 1932 general election, Fianna Fáil’s success and Labour’s support for a minority government were all covered at lightning speed. There was no mention of Labour’s attempt to form a government with Johnson as Taoiseach, only to miss out by one vote. This is just one example of many episodes throughout the 1920s and 1930s that were so important to Labour’s history and development.

Within ten minutes of the film’s opening sequence those fears were realised. Labour’s tendency/need to act as a junior coalition partner (and the negative attention this can attract) was brought up at the outset and continued as a central theme throughout.

After eight minutes, the film had reached the 1960s.

There was no mention of Labour’s second leader, T.J. O’Connell, at all and William Norton’s twenty-eight years as leader were given very little coverage. This gives the impression that Labour’s first fifty years were unimportant and that nothing really happened.

The first ten minutes of the film were unenlightening, infuriating and baffling to anyone with some knowledge of the party’s first fifty years, let alone someone who was hoping to learn something.

The speed with which Labour’s first fifty years was dispatched almost resulted in nausea. There was a little bit on the party’s formation by the Irish Trade Union Congress in 1912, the home rule bill of the same year and the obligatory references to Larkin and Connolly.

Then, as is fair enough, there were quick references to the 1913 lockout and Easter Rising of 1916, and

Perhaps cutbacks in RTE have meant that producers are forced to rely almost entirely on its own archive.

Eighty of the film’s ninety minutes follow the party from the Irish television age of the 1960s onwards.

There was some analysis of the party’s urban-rural divide but there was nothing on why the rural TDs were so strong, or why they held more conservative

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Below: the documentary used interviews with current and former Labour politicians. Some of whom, have little sense of the party’s history.

views. This is one example of the film’s structure impacting on its ability to analyse. Had the 1920s and 1930s been covered properly, you would find the origins of this section of the party.

The remainder of part one concentrated on the party’s particiption in the coalitions of the 1970s and 1980s and made some mention of the ideological debates of the 1980s. However, the concentration here seemed to be on personalities more than politics. We learn nothing, really, about the politics of the Labour Party, and are faced with a barrage of comment on the personalities of Corish, O’Leary and Spring.

Part two of the documentary had the potential to go into more detail since it only had to deal with the last quarter century. There was some coverage of the Militant movement, with Joe Higgins given his chance to speak. However, it might have been prudent to have an objective voice speak on the issue as well as giving people like Higgins and Ray Kavanagh (‘they were almost a cult really’) their chance.

The Workers’ Party’s successes in the late 1980s were glossed over with an anecdote from Fergus Finlay about Proinsias de Rossa giving him the fingers and Finlay thinking, we’ll get our revenge.

The lack of an independent commentary also meant that Finlay’s comments could infer that the Workers’ Party successes came about because Labour put fewer resources into its election campaigns.

The biggest problem with the second part of the programme was undoubtedly the lack of objective analysis. Was Mary O’Rourke really the best person to explain why Labour’s vote collapsed in 1997? According to the ‘Mammy’ of Fianna Fáil, the Labour defeat had nothing to do with them going into government with her party: ‘They got a roasting because they…crossed the Dáil and joined with a new party. I’m your best friend today

and tomorrow, I’m somebody else’s best friend.’

The relatively quiet last fifteen years were given more time than the upheavals of the first fifty. Ruari Quinn seemed to make a fairly shocking revelation that he misled the Union of Students in Ireland about third level fees in order to get their support, because he thought, ‘God, these people have voted for the wrong thing three times in the last fifteen years and the country has been destroyed. I just can’t afford to take any chances. I wanted to nail this down’.

From a historical perspective, this documentary was woeful. More from Niamh Puirséil and other people working in the field would have been welcome. There are plenty of professional and amateur historians in the Irish Labour History Society (in whose premises some of the sections were filmed) who could have contributed greatly to the research and made valuable contributions.

Joan Burton’s response to the question, would Larkin and Connolly have joined the modern Labour Party, summed up the modern Labour leadership’s understanding of its own past (and their ability to give answers that don’t address the question in any way): ‘Absolutely, absolutely…Larkin was a very practical man. He spent a lot of time in the later years of his life…progressing the interests of ordinary working people.’

Nonsense!

Adrian Grant is a labour historian, editor of Scoláire Staire and author of the forthcoming book Irish Socialist Republicanism, 1909-36 (Four Courts Press).

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