The Histories & Humanities Journal Volume III by TCD Histories & Humanities Journal

The Histories & Humanities Journal Vol. III

The Histories and Humanities Journal Volume III, 2012 Published by the Histories and Humanities Journal Committee. Funded by DU Publications, The Central Societies Committee and the Trinity College Dublin Association and Trust. All rights reserved. All correspondence of complaints should be addressed to: The Editor, Histories and Humanities Journal, Publications Office, House 6, Trinity College, Dublin 2, Republic of Ireland. With special thanks to the School of Histories and Humanities, Trinity College, The Central Societies Committee, Trinity Publications, and The Trinity College Dublin Association and Trust.

The Histories & Humanities Journal Volume III, 2012

Editor in Chief Caoimhe Ní Dhónaill Section editors David Clancy Aisling Deng Fionnuala Horrocks-Burns Eoin Silke Secretary Emma Fox Treasurer Paul Logue Public Relations Officer Mark Keleghan Asst. History Editor Niall Ó Súilleabháin Layout and Design Caoimhe Ní Dhónaill Aoife Crowley Cover Art Elizabeth O’Connell-Thompson Committee Eimear Ellis Niall Ó Súilleabháin Hannah Browning Anna McGowan Tomás Sullivan Cormac Shine

Editor’s note

This journal is the result of a good deal of work done by a good deal of people over the past five months. Personally, it has been both a great challenge and a great pleasure. I have been lucky to have had the opportunity to work with a fantastic group of people. This is the third edition of the Histories and Humanities Journal, and I am indebted to both Grainne Clear and Hannah Cogan, the past two editors, for answering any and all of the questions I have had. This year we had a huge volume of submissions in all four categories, all of very high quality. The twelve essays that were chosen to be included in this edition of the journal are outstanding examples of undergraduate academic writing here in Trinity. I encourage all those who submitted this year, whether successful or not, to submit again to next year’s publication. I would also like to personally thank many people who have helped me during the editing of this journal, particularly Lucy and Emma from the CSC office, Sean Gill, the committee of DU Univserity Challenge and Liz from Enquiries. Res ipsa loquitur, Caoimhe Ní Dhónaill Editor in chief

Contents History What was the significance of London in the politics of 1678-1685? Joseph Curran The political and ideological implications of the 1798 rebellion on Robert Emmet Maeve Casserly W.B. Yeats’ and the divorce legislation of 1925: An analysis of motivation and argument Alana Ryan

8 18 25

Ethnic Stereotyping in Inter-War Glasgow: Gangs, Sectarianism and the Question of Immigration Sharon Burke

Did the rise of showbands in the early sixties have an effect on the role of women in Ireland? Suzanne McCoy

Thatcher, Carter, and O’Neill: The RUC Arms Ban Bruff O’Reilly

Archaeology The Tarim Mummies: The Uses and Abuses of History Amy Quinn How Norse was Hiberno-Norse Dublin?: Evidence for Scandinavian Settlement, c. 841-1169 Niall Ó Súilleabháin

55 62

Classics Privacy in the Letters of Cicero Helen Dawson Chislers and Chickpeas Simon David Acres

71 77

Art History The Death of the Artist: The Importance the Artist’s Intention Phoebe Weston-Evans The conflicting relationship between the early the photomontages of Hannah Höch and the ‘Neue Frau’ in Weimar art and advertising, and Höch’s struggle within the male dominated Berlin Dada Maeve Casserly

HISTORY • After whittling down nearly forty submissions these 5/6 essays stood out for their engagement with sources, thorough discussion and thoughtful analysis. The following essays will take you from the Stuart Kingdoms, across the Irish Sea to revolutionary Ireland, and from there they will sweep you into twentieth century urban Glasgow and then modern discussions of politics and culture. These essays and the sheer number of those submitted, emphasise the high standard of work produced by Trinity’s history undergraduates. The universal attraction to history is also reflected in this selection by PPES student, Alana Ryan’s, analysis of Yeats in the Irish Senate. The standard of this year’s submissions was quite remarkable and made the selection process a tough feat. It is hoped this selection demonstrates a cross section of historical themes and events that have captured the interest of this year’s essayists. Fionnuala Horrocks-Burns History Editor

What was the significance of London in the politics of 1678-1685? Joseph Curran

Senior Sophister, History and Politics London the happy bulwark of our isle, No smooth and oily words can thee beguile; Thou know’st thy int’rest, that will never lie; Eternal as thyself, the men do die. ‘Tis truth and justice do thee uphold, And richer in religion than in gold.1 London was the point around which Restoration politics revolved. Its size, governmentalsystem and wealth, made it a separate, and potentially hostile, centre of power that shaped political ideas, decisions, and events. It became an important focus of opposition to certain Crown policies and many key governmental actions were a response to specifically London-based factors. London was also a communication centre through which ideas reached other parts of the Stuart Kingdoms. Its dominance of the publishing industry meant it played a particular role in heightening political tension. In order to understand London’s position as a separate power centre, the effects of its size and local government structures on contemporary politics will be examined. The role played by the print/press and other forms of political communication in this period will be discussed to show how London acted as an information ‘hub’ around which political discourse revolved. London was unique. Its population of around 500,000, dwarfed other towns in the Stuart Kingdoms, and amounted to approximately ten percent of the English population.2 This size, along with a highly participatory local government system, gave London a power that was of crucial importance in shaping political outcomes at the ThreeKingdom-level. Sheer force of numbers was a key factor in shaping crown perceptions, and influencing its actions. While both regime opponents and supporters condemned the credulity and indiscipline of the ‘multitude’, the London masses were a crucial factor in 1. Elkanah Settle, ‘The Medal Reversed, A Satire against Persecution, (1682)’, in George de F. Lord et al. (eds.), Anthology of Poems on Affairs of State, Augustan Satirical Verse, 1660-1714 (1975), pp. 309-310. 2. J.R. Jones, Country and Court, England, 1658-1714 (1978), pp. 76-77, Dublin, the second largest city in the three Kingdoms had a population of at most 60 000 by 1685, Tim Harris, Restoration, Charles II and his Kingdoms (2006), p. 380.

HISTORY

the Metropolis’ political significance. London-based critics of Crown policy used methods, like petitioning and pope-burning, that were explicit demonstrations of numerical force. Observers were struck by the size of London pope-burning ceremonies and made a point of stressing the numbers involved. Pepys said thousands marched in the procession of 17 November 1679 and Luttrell also stressed the event’s size.3 Contemporaries were probably exaggerating when they claimed an attendance of 200,000, but such an estimate indicates that the size of the crowd made an impression.4 ‘Popish’ effigies were burnt elsewhere, but London burnings, because of their immense size attracted particular attention.5 Charles II even attended one despite having informants throughout London who could have reported on it to him.6 The Tory response to the pope-burnings also shows how political actors felt it necessary to demonstrate they had the bulk of London’s population on their side. They organised large presbyter and ‘Rump’ burnings to show they commanded widespread support, something which Tory propagandists highlighted. The fact Tories, who were often particularly wary of popular participation, felt the need to stress their numerical strength, shows how London’s size influenced political actors.7 Attempts to ban both pope and presbyter burnings to prevent trouble in London show how authorities rated the masses’ power.8 Petitioning and addressing occurred throughout England but it was Londonbased actions that had the most impact. London’s ‘Monster’ petition of 1680, which asked the Crown to call a parliamentary session, was the largest of its type.9 The government’s reaction to it illustrates how London’s size influenced Crown actions. Charles was said to be “incensed by the petition.”10 When rumours of its size began to circulate, he tried to prevent its completion.11 Robert Clayton claimed, “the King had heard of a petition from both London and the Country which would prejudice the public peace.” However, the King’s response was to ban petitioning in London alone!12 This shows how the political power exercised by the London population by virtue of its size, influenced central govern3. G. W. Furley, ‘The Pope-Burning Processions of the Late Seventeenth Century’, History, 64 (1959), p. 20 and Narcissus Luttrell, A Brief Historical Relation of state affairs from September 1678 to April 1714, Volume I (1857), p. 29. 4. Furley ‘The Pope-Burning Processions of the Late Seventeenth Century’, p. 20. 5. See for example Tim Harris, Restoration, p. 95, p. 187, p. 286. 6. Gary S. De Krey, Restoration and Revolution in Britain, A Political History of the Era of Charles II and the Glorious Revolution (2007), p. 168, Mark Goldie, ‘The Hilton Gang and the Purge of London in the 1680s’, in Howard Nenner (ed), Politics and the Political Imagination in Later Stuart Britain, Essays Presented to Lois Green Schwoerer (1997), p. 43. 7. Andrew M. Coleby, Central Government and the Localities: Hampshire, 1649-1689 (1987), p. 211. 8. Furley, ‘The Pope-Burning Processions’, p. 23, Narcissus Luttrell, A Brief Historical Relation of state affairs, p. 40, Tim Harris, Restoration, p. 284. 9. Paul D. Halliday, Dismembering the Body Politic, Partisan Conflict in England’s Towns, 1650-1730 (2002), p. 78, p. 134, p. 224 and Mark Knights, ‘London’s ‘Monster’ Petition of 1680’, The Historical Journal, 36 (1993), pp. 40-41 10. Ibid, p. 46 11. Ibid. 12. Clayton was quoting the Lord Chancellor, Anchitell Grey, Debates of the House of Commons from the Year 1667 to the Year 1694, Volume VII (1763), p. 464.

History ment’s actions. The importance of numbers in contemporary political discourse is reflected in the language of London Addresses. The Address of Above Twenty Thousand of the Loyal Protestant Apprentices of London not only stressed their own numbers, but also insisted these were much greater than those of apprentices of a different political persuasion who had recently addressed the King. “The disproportion between this and the other late Address is remarkable, theirs not amounting to 2000, or, the most that themselves can pretend, to 3000; and these to above 20000.”13 This highlights the importance attached to winning over London “public opinion” in the political battles of the day. The poem, An Ironical Encomium, criticised Whig candidates for the London shrievalty for appealing to mob, “Rally once more, and cry them in the crowd, the mobile’s your own, give out aloud.” 14 The fact this was seen as a particularly dangerous activity emphasises the political power London crowds held. The fact Charles took the unusual step of holding parliament in Oxford in 1681 suggests he wanted to avoid this particular threat.15 Recognising this power’s existence is not to imply the London populace was homogeneous. The existence of both large pope and presbyter burnings indicate that it was not.16 This does not detract from their ability to influence politics as the above government reactions demonstrate. London’s size was key to its political power but the channels through which it usually influenced national politics were its local-authority structures. The level of popular participation in local affairs was particularly high in the City of London. A substantial proportion of its population could vote in elections for its legislature. The more restricted franchise for electing the Lord Mayor and (traditionally) sheriffs was also relatively big.17 Thus, a large number of people, many of whom, as has been seen, could be involved in activities the crown found threatening, were responsible for law enforcement in an area close to Whitehall. This had allowed London to greatly influence the events that precipitated the Civil Wars.18 However its significance was not that it was, as some contemporaries claimed, constantly opposed to the King.19 It played a key role in the Restoration. Marvell had criticised the City aldermen’s subservience in awarding the freedom of the City to Charles and the Duke of York in 1674.20 Rather its significance lay in its potential power. Whoever controlled the City’s government could influence national affairs as events of the 13. The Address of above twenty thousand of the loyal Protestant apprentices of London (1681), p. 1 14. ‘An Ironical Encomium (1682)’, in George de F. Lord et al. (eds.), Anthology of Poems on Affairs of State, p. 330, p. 332; the crowd or ‘rabble’ began to be known as the ‘mobile vulgus’ or mob during the exclusion crisis, Harris, London Crowds, p. 3. 15. Harris, Restoration p. 187 16. Harris’s rightly pointed out that one should refer to London crowds rather than ‘the London crowd’, Harris, London Crowds, p. 10. 17. Gary S. De Krey, London and the Restoration, 1659-1683 (2005), pp. 7-8 18. Ibid, p. 17 19. For example the author of ‘An Ironical Encomium’ portrayed London as a haven for radical religious preachers, ‘whose pulpits rattle..like kettle drums’, ‘An Ironical Encomium’, p. 334. 20. Andrew Marvell, ‘Upon His Majesty’s Being Made Free of the City’, in Lord et al. (eds.), Anthology of Poems on Affairs of State, p. 130

History early 1680s demonstrate. Unlike other boroughs the City’s sheriffs were elected rather than nominated by the crown. Since these officers were responsible for jury selection this could lead to national level disputes.21 The juries in the trials of Shaftsbury and College were packed with Whig sympathizers who found in both defendants’ favour. The fact College was later convicted by an Oxford jury for the same offence suggests these verdicts were political.22 Contemporaries certainly thoughts so, Charles Lyttelton predicted the result of Shaftsbury’s case before it was announced.23 Burnet said the court itself thought the verdict politically motivated: Upon this the Court did declaim with open mouth against these Juries; in which they said the spirit of party did appear, since men even upon oath shewed they were resolved to find bills or Ignoramus, as they pleased without regarding the evidence.24 The national importance of controlling London can be appreciated when it is remembered that Shaftsbury was charged with treason.25 The Crown’s quo warranto proceedings against London also demonstrate its importance. The conditions imposed after the City lost its charter were a way of exerting Crown control over this disruptive entity.26 It was not the only local government to undergo this process. The Crown investigated local administrative practices in many boroughs. Indeed it took control of county militias before it even looked at urban government. 27 However, it would be wrong to consider London’s quo warranto proceedings on a par with others. The government was reacting to specific events in London. Charles said that the proceedings were partly a response to large-scale petitioning in the capital.28 This again highlights the peculiar importance of London’s size. Contemporaries saw the proceedings as a matter of national importance. Luttrell noted that only quo warranto proceedings against London “occasioned much discourse.” 29 It featured prominently in contemporary poetry. Settle strongly condemned the actions, while Tories like the author of, The Great Despair of the London Whigs, for the loss of the Charter, applauded it.30 The fact the Crown moved to control London’s shrieval elections before the quo warranto proceedings were complete also illustrates the City’s power.31 Burnet claimed the King’s ministers were 21. J.R. Jones, Country and Court, p. 221. 22. Harris, Restoration, p. 195 p. 309. 23. Sir Charles Lyttelton, ‘Nov. 22, 1681’, in Edward Maunde Thompson (ed), Correspondence of the Family of Hatton, A.D. 1601-1704, Volume II (1878/9), p. 9. 24. Gilbert Burnet, Bishop Burnet’s History of His Own Time... Volume I, Gilbert Burnet ed. (1724-34), p. 508 25. Gary S. De Krey, Restoration and Revolution in Britain, p. 189. 26. Ibid., pp. 194-195 27. Tim Harris, Restoration, pp. 293-295 28. Ibid., p. 296 29. Narcissus Luttrell, A Brief Historical Relation of state affairs, p. 153, p. 158, p. 187, p. 193, p. 196, p. 230, p. 236, p. 249 30. Settle, ‘The Medal Reversed’, p. 310, ‘The Great Despair of the London Whigs, For the Loss of the Charter (1683)’, in Lord et al. (eds.), Anthology of Poems on Affairs of State, p. 358. 31. Jones, Country and Court, p. 222

History determined ‘to bring the City to a dependence on the Court’ whether London had violated its Charter or not.32 This was because control of London shaped national political outcomes. As has been seen, when the City’s sheriffs were of a Whiggish persuasion, Crown ‘enemies’ like Shaftsbury could reside there safely, when Tories began to gain control of local-government, Shaftsbury left the country.33 The relative quiet of Tory-controlled London in 1685 also confirms possession of its local government shaped political outcomes.34 Although the authorities pre-emptively arrested large numbers in London at the outbreak of the Monmouth rebellion, the fact they were able to deal with their opponents is significant.35 The rebels were denied what might have been a crucial source of support which may have contributed to their failure. The Bishop of Oxford claimed they failed because Monmouth’s supporters were all republicans.36 This may contain an element of truth but some non-republican opposition to James still existed in London.37 The bishop’s comment that the rebels’ motives were puzzling “unless there be great expectations from London” implied its failure to rise made their position hopeless.38 The national importance of controlling London’s local-offices can be seen by comparing this relative calm with London’s role in James’s failure in 1688.39 In the period before William landed James was beginning to lose control of London’s local government. Middlesex grand juries were throwing out cases against crown opponents.40 (Indeed James showed his awareness of the necessity of keeping London’s local-officers on side when he offered to ‘restore to the City their Charter and all their antient Priviledges’. 41)These examples show the importance of London as a centre of political power. Events in the metropolis could affect the plans of the monarch and his political behaviour both through the action of its governmental structures and the threat afforded by the sheer size of its population. The above examples demonstrate London’s ‘hard-power’. It shaped government actions because of its size and political structure. It also exerted ‘soft-power.’ 42 Its role as a communication centre significantly influenced politics. Occasionally it became a ‘trend setter, adopting methods of agitation or political expression which other localities copied. 32. Gilbert Burnet, Bishop Burnet’s History of His Own Time, p. 531 33. De Krey, Restoration and Revolution in Britain, p. 193 34. De Krey, ‘The London Whigs’, pp. 476-480 35. Roger Morrice, The Entring Book of Roger Morrice, 1677-1691, Volume III, The Reign of James II, 16851687, Tim Harris ed. (2007), pp. 23-26. 36. The Bishop of Oxford, ‘25 June 1865’, in Correspondence of the Family of Hatton, Volume II , p. 56. 37. Tim Harris, Revolution, The Great Crisis of the British Monarchy, 1685-1720 (2006), pp. 82-83. 38. The Bishop of Oxford, ‘25 June 1865’, p. 57. 39. Harris, Revolution, pp. 296-297, Gary S. De Krey, London and the Restoration, pp. 397-398. 40. Harris, Revolution, p. 268 41. Roger Morrice, The Entring Book of Roger Morrice 1677-1691, Volume IV, The Reign of James II, 16871689, Stephen Taylor ed. (2007), p. 319. 42. In the sense that ‘hard-power’ is that related to strength of resources and the threat of force, whereas ‘soft-power’ involves communication and shaping ideas for discussion see Andrew Heywood, Politics (1997), p. 12.

History Some petitions originated in London and were sent to the regions for signature.43 In Edinburgh in 1680 students carried out their own pope-burning after “reading the account of the Pope burning at London.” 44 Its physical environment also aided political communication. The Metropolis’s sheer size and wealth meant it housed a multitude of coffee-houses and taverns. Tories, Whigs, and others, used these establishments as centres of political discourse and sometimes organisation.45 The Green Ribbon Club, who seem to have been involved in organising pope-burnings were said to meet at the King’s Head.46 They were also places where members of parliament from the regions could meet when they were in Westminster.47 Some claimed London clubs played a major coordinating role, organising the activities of a Whig ‘party’ throughout England.48 This exaggerates their importance as more recent scholarship has revealed the ‘Whigs’ to be a diverse political interest rather than a disciplined party.49 Nevertheless London’s coffee-houses were uniquely important, partly because they were so numerous. The crown considered these businesses dangerous.50 Records of its investigations of London coffee-houses highlight their political character. For example, they describe the political scuffles that occurred in such places, like the fight between Monmouth’s supporters and others over ‘the pulling down of the printed declaration by Monmouth Herbert and Grey which had been posted up in Peter’s CoffeeHouse in Covent Garden.’ 51 They regularly found “seditious literature” being distributed in coffee-houses. They even employed an informer at Will’s Coffee House who gave them the “subversive” pamphlets that had been left there. Their records suggest they were correct in believing that facilitating political communication was the main role of some London coffee-houses.52 Concerns about seditious literature highlight another aspect of London’s importance as a communication-centre. Oxford and Cambridge were the only other English towns allowed printing-presses. Coupled with the size of its market, this ensured London dominated publishing.53 With the lapsing of the Licensing Act in 1679 the output of 43. Tim Harris, Politics Under the Later Stuarts, Party Conflict in a Divided Society, 1660-1715 (1993), p. 85, Mark Knights, ‘London’s ‘Monster’ Petition of 1680’, p. 65 44. George Ridpath, The Scots Episcopal Innocence....(1694), p. 53, Tim Harris, ‘The British Dimension, Religion, and the Shaping of Political Identities During the Reign of Charles II’ in Tony Claydon and Ian MacBride, Protestantism and National Identity, Britain and Ireland, c.1650-1850 (1998), p.139. 45. David Allen, ‘Political Clubs in Restoration London’, The Historical Journal, 19 (1976), p. 562 46. Ibid., p. 573. 47. Jones, Country and Court, pp. 77-78 48. Furley, ‘The Pope-Burning Processions of the Late Seventeenth Century’, p. 16. 49. Allen, ‘Political Clubs in Restoration London’, p. 571 50. See for example, Alan Marshall, Intelligence and Espionage in the Reign of Charles II, 1660-1685 (1994), pp. 214-216 51. D.F. McKenzie and Maureen Bell (eds.), A Chronology and Calendar of Documents Relating to the London Book Trade, 1641-1700, Volume II, 1671-1685 (2005), p. 313 52. Ibid, p. 199, see the following examples of ‘seditious’ discoveries, p. 334, pp. 206-207, p. 219, p. 361. 53. It should be remembered that literature circulated in coffee-houses in manuscript form as well as in print Harris, London Crowds, p. 28.

History London’s printing-presses increased greatly.54 This had a significant influence on the contemporary political climate. In particular pamphlet propaganda appeared in what was considered huge numbers. Hatsell claimed “the Town swarms with pamphlets” (although by this he meant: “two or three appear a day.” )55 These works not only discussed politics but helped shape it. It was through revelations printed in London that news of the ‘Popish plot’ spread.56 Looking at works like Bedloe’s A Narrative and Impartial Discovery of the Horrid Popish Plot...which ridiculed those who doubted the plot’s existence, or Prance’s A True Narrative and Discovery of Several very Remarkable Passages relating to the Horrid Popish Plot, it can be understood how anxiety about this imaginary conspiracy reached crises proportions.57 The fact that prominent figures lost their lives due to the political climate emphasizes the importance of the London press.58 Political actors certainly thought printed materials were essential for spreading (or reinforcing) their views. Many works not only aimed to publicise their author’s opinions but were designed as replies to previously published pamphlets. This indicates that the world of print was seen as a forum for political debate as well as communication.59 This was not simply the babble of powerless political malcontents in coffee-houses, it strongly influenced the behaviour of the Crown and its supporters. Government records include information on numerous searches for seditious literature and attempts to prosecute the alleged publishers.60 It also encouraged the Crown and its supporters to respond with their own printed propaganda. L’Estrange’s publications were a direct response to anti-court media. He proclaimed this mission in Observator, “Tis the Press that has made ‘um Mad, and the Press must set ‘um Right again.” 61 Although Observator was not an official government journal the crown sometimes had a direct input into its content.62 On one occasion the King himself ordered that an affidavit he wanted 54. Harris, Politics Under the Later Stuarts, p. 80 55. McKenzie and Bell (eds), A Chronology and Calendar of Documents, p. 230, Peter Hinds, ‘The Horrid Popish Plot’ Roger L’Estrange and the Circulation of Political Discourse in late Seventeenth-Century London, (2010), p. 14. 56. Hinds, ‘The Horrid Popish Plot’, pp. 92-93. 57. ‘Either you must believe... many...downright Absurdities, or else confess....that there was on foot a damnable horrid plot’, William Bedloe, A Narrative and impartial discovery of the Horrid Popish Plot.. (1679), p. 6, and ‘For I am bound to disburden my conscience by a full and impartial Discovery of what I know about this horrid detestable popish plot’ , Miles Prance, A True Narrative and Discovery of Several very Remarkable Passages relating to the Horrid Popish Plot... (1679), p. 5. 58. Jones, Country and Court, p. 202, This is not to suggested that existing political tensions did not play a role in fuelling the crisis see Harris, Restoration, p. 6. 59. For example Settle’s The Character of a Popish Successour... generated many replies which Settle in turn replied to with A Vindication of ‘The Character of a Popish Successor’ Abigail Williams, ‘Settle, Elkanah’, Dictionary of National Biography, (http://www.oxforddnb.com.elib.tcd.ie/view/article/25128?docPos=1) 21 Nov 2010 60. See for example, D.F. McKenzie and Maureen Bell (eds), A Chronology and Calendar of Documents, p. 182, p. 194, p. 198, p. 312, p. 364, p. 522. 61. Hinds, ‘The Horrid Popish Plot’, p. 107. 62. Harris, Restoration, p. 217

History published, be included in “Observator or Heraclitus.”63 This gives an indication of how London’s role as a communication-centre affected politics by provoking and heightening political crises and by influencing the actions of the authorities. London was the point around which many of the political events of this period revolved. The sheer size of the Metropolis was a key factor in aiding political communication and influencing the authorities’ actions. The ability to claim a large support base was an important factor in Restoration politics, despite elite condemnation of the ‘multitude,’ and this ensured London’s importance. It has been seen that who controlled the City’s governmental structures was a major concern of political actors and for good reason! Control of these offices often determined political outcomes at a national-or Three-Kingdom-level. London also influenced politics in a less obvious way by acting as a centre of communication through its physical network of amenities and its dominance of publishing. It was seen that the printed word in particular could provoke political tensions and affect the actions of the highest level political actors. London’s significance in this period was immense. It can be understood why it could be claimed control of the City of London determined the fate of the Three-Kingdoms, If a good mayor with such good shrieves appear, Nor prince nor people need a danger fear.64

63. McKenzie and Bell (eds), A Chronology and Calendar, p. 328 64. Thomas Shadwell, ‘The Medal of John Bayes, (1682)’, p. 327.

History Bibliography: Primary Sources: Anon, An Ironical Encomium (1682) The Address of above twenty thousand of the loyal Protestant apprentices of London (1681). Anon, The Great Despair of the London Whigs, For the Loss of the Charter (1683) Bedloe, William, A Narrative and impartial discovery of the Horrid Popish Plot.. (1679). Burnet, Gilbert, Bishop Burnet’s History of His Own Time... Volume I, Gilbert Burnet ed. (1724-34). Correspondence of the Family of Hatton Being Chiefly Addressed to Christopher First Viscount Hatton, A.D. 1601-1704, Volume I, Edward Maunde Thompson ed. (1878/9), pp. 156-157. Grey, Anchitell, Debates of the House of Commons from the Year 1667 to the Year 1694, Volume VII, (1763). Luttrell, Narcissus, A Brief Historical Relation of state affairs from September 1678 to April 1714, Volume I (1857). Marvell, Andrew, Upon His Majesty’s Being Made Free of the City McKenzie D.F., and Maureen Bell (eds), A Chronology and Calendar of Documents Relating to the London Book Trade, 1641-1700, Volume II, 1671-1685 (2005). Morrice, Roger, The Entring Book of Roger Morrice, 1677-1691 Prance, Miles, A True Narrative and Discovery of Several very Remarkable Passages relating to the Horrid Popish Plot... (1679). Ridpath, George, The Scots Episcopal Innocence....(1694). Settle, Elkanah, The Character of a Popish Successour...(1680). Secondary Sources: Allen, David, ‘Political Clubs in Restoration London’, The Historical Journal, 19 (1976), pp. 561-580. Boulton, Jeremy, ‘London 1540-1700’ in Peter Clark (ed.), The Cambridge Urban History,

History Volume II, 1540-1840 (2000), pp. 315-346. Campbell, Gordon, ‘Milton, John’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, (http://www. oxforddnb.com.elib.tcd.ie/view/article/18800?docPos=10) 21 November 2010. Coleby, Andrew M.. Central Government and the Localities: Hampshire, 1649-1689, (1987). De Krey, Gary S., London and the Restoration, 1659-1683 (2005). De Krey, Gary S., Restoration and Revolution in Britain, A Political History of the Era of Charles II and the Glorious Revolution, (2007). Furley, G.W, ‘The Pope-Burning Processions of the Late Seventeenth Century’, History, 64 (1959), pp. 16-23. Harris, Tim, London Crowds in the Reign of Charles II, Propaganda and Politics from the Restoration until the Exclusion Crisis (1987).

Harris, Tim, ‘The British Dimension, Religion, and the Shaping of Political Identities During the Reign of Charles II’ in Tony Claydon and Ian MacBride, Protestantism and National Identity, Britain and Ireland, c.1650-1850 (1998), pp. 131-156. Hinds, Peter, ‘The Horrid Popish Plot’ Roger L’Estrange and the Circulation of Political Discourse in late Seventeenth-Century London, (2010).

Jones, J.R., Country and Court, England, 1658-1714 (1978). Knights, Mark, ‘London’s ‘Monster’ Petition of 1680’, The Historical Journal, 36 (1993), pp. 39-67. Marshall, Alan, The Strange Death of Edmund Godfrey, Plots and Politics in Restoration London, (1999). Pincus, Steve, ‘‘Coffee Politicians Does Create’: Coffee Houses and Restoration Political Culture’ , The Journal of Modern History, 67 (1995), pp. 807-834.

The political and ideological implications of the 1798 rebellion on Robert Emmet Maeve Casserley Senior Sophister, History And those who were laid at rest, Oh! Hallowed be each name; Their memories are forever blest – Consigned to endless fame. Robert Emmet, Arbour Hill. Unknown Date. This poignant ode to the veterans of the 1798 Rebellion is an example of the truly profound affect that the ‘98 Rebellion had on the young Robert Emmet, and, consequently, his own revolutionary attempts.1 This essay will examine the impact of 1798 on the formation of Emmet’s own politics and ideology within the framework of his relationship with the United Irishmen. It will focus specifically on Emmet’s connection with the veterans of 1798. It will also examine Emmet’s changing views on the need for French military aid during the two year period he spent in France, (1800-1802), where he associated both with Irish exiles and the French military government.2 To demonstrate the influence of 1798 on Emmet, this essay will use the 1803 Proclamation of the Provisional Government to highlight the overarching feeling of bitterness which Emmet felt as a result of his contact with the veterans of 1798, their treatment by the British government, and his attempts to secure French military aid. While the rousing language of Emmet’s famous speech from the dock have been the subject of extensive research and discussion, the lesser known 1803 Proclamation is equally as significant in revealing the political and ideological implications of 1798 on Emmet. The wording of the Proclamation exposes Emmet’s feelings of betrayal in the wake of 1798, and his consequent clandestine restructuring of the United Irishmen. The Proclamation also demonstrates his ideological shift towards an autonomous insurrection for Irish independence. It is, however, important not to ‘read history backwards’. Emmet’s 1803 Rising was not an inevitable outcome of the failure of 1798. As late as 1802, when Emmet was preparing to journey home to Ireland from his self-enforced exile in France, he 1. Marianne Elliott, Robert Emmet: The Making of a Legend (2004), p. 1. 2. Ibid., p. 34-5.

HISTORY

still was not sure what he would do upon his return.3 The contextual analysis of the 1803 Proclamation will concern the time period immediately following the 1798 Rebellion and up until the 1803 Rising itself, particularly focusing on the preparations and motivations of Emmet surrounding the insurrection. This essay will explore three main points: firstly, the overarching feeling of betrayal and bitterness among Emmet and the 1798 veterans following the Rebellion and its aftermath, secondly, the restructuring of the United Irishmen and the shift from a popular mass movement to an underground elite. The high level of clandestine conspiracy, Emmet’s extensive use of codes, invisible ink, aliases and severe lack of documentation available from this period, are all symptomatic of Emmet’s fear of informers as a result of the experiences of the veterans of 1798 during the Rebellion.4 Thirdly, this essay will explore the changing relationship of Emmet and the French government, to determine its resulting impact on Emmet’s view on and the formation of a sovereign Irish state after the Rising. The notion of ‘the nation at arms’ was prominent in the late 1790s; the idea that the fusion of the nation state, independence and war all became intrinsically linked together. The opening paragraph of the Proclamation accurately summarises Emmet’s belief in Irish independence: “you are now called upon to show the world that you are competent to take your place among the nations . . . as an independent country.” 5 In the confused context of “post-Union Ireland, when national identities were defined by the Franco-British conflict” these words demonstrate the impact of 1798 on Emmet.6 In the much of the scholarship surrounding the strategic alliance of France and Ireland, historians have often concluded that it was one of “abject failure”, which has resulted in an “over-concentration on the outcome [of the alliance] and not the process itself.” 7 Emmet’s time in France can, however, be seen as a positive experience. It was here, in his ‘host country’, that Emmet solidified his belief in Ireland as “une nation, un people.”8 In Bartlett’s discussion on confused identities and allegiances in the aftermath of the 1798 Rebellion, he points to the increasing socio-cultural manifestations of Britishness in Irish everyday life and consequently an almost subconscious distancing from France. This detachment from France became inextricably linked with the emerging Irish self-identification following the failure of the 1798 Rebellion.9 Emmet’s provocative words in the 1803 Proclamation attest to this new ideological stance which was profoundly influenced by his time in France and his associa3. Patrick Geoghegan, Robert Emmet, A Life (2002), pp. 114-5. 4. Ruán O’Donnell, Robert Emmet and the Rising of 1803 (2003), p. x 5. Robert Emmet, ‘The 1803 Proclamation of the Provisional Government, in Geoghegan, Robert Emmet, p. 288 6. Sylvie Kleinman, ‘Social and linguistic perspectives on Robert Emmet’s mission to France’, in Dolan et al (eds.), Reinterpreting Emmet, (2007), p. 56. 7. Ibid. 8. Ibid., pp. 72-3 9. Thomas Bartlett, ‘Britishness, Irishness and the Act of Union,’ in Dáire Keogh and Kevin Whelan (eds.) Acts of Union, The Causes, Contexts and Consequence of the Act of Union, (2001), p. 256.

History tion with the exiled veterans of 1798. The change in relationship with France is apparent in the following words, “[the Rising will be fought] without the hope of foreign assistance.”10 It is significant that Emmet uses the word ‘hope’ rather than ‘help’ here, as by late 1802 and his return to Ireland, Emmet had all but given up on the promise of French aid.11 In the Proclamation Emmet alludes to his new political stance towards France and his aversion to a French invasion as a result of the failures of 1798, “that confidence which was once lost by trusting to external support . . . has been again restored. We have been mutually pledged to each other to look only to our own strength.” 12 This section may also reflect his awareness of a devastating meeting in Paris on 30 May between his brother Thomas Addis Emmet, an exiled veteran from 1798, and General Berthier in which the French minister revealed that the navy might not be ready to assist the United Irishmen for six months.13 As the 1803 Rising had been planned to take place in June 1803, this late notice of the postponed French military aid only served to further reinforce Emmet’s decision to create distance between the Irish rebels and the French government. The Proclamation also illustrates Emmet’s belief in highly secretive military tactics, “if the secrecy with which the present effort has been conducted shall have led our enemies to suppose that its extent must have been partial, a few days will undeceive them.” 14 In his analysis of Emmet’s military tactics Geoghegan concludes that, “the blueprint [for 1803] was an extra revolutionary programme, fully justifying Emmet’s reputation for military planning. . .successfully combined elements of guerrilla warfare and streetfighting, and displayed a masterful grasp of the requirement of battle.” 15 This confidence in his abilities as a military strategist is shown in the bold statement, “nineteen counties will come forward . . . neither confidence nor communication are wanting.”16 The Proclamation reveals Emmet’s belief that both military tactics as well as rebellious spirit had improved in the years following the failed 1798 rebellion.17 Men of Leinster! . . . to the courage which you have already displayed is your country indebted . . . but . . . if six years ago you rose without arms, . . . what will you know effect, with that capital, and every other part of Ireland, ready to support you?18 Here Emmet refers not only to the veterans of 1798 and flatters their previous courage, but also references the improvements in military tactics as well as his over-optimism as to how many men on the ground would support the Rising. By stating that, “accused by 10. Emmet, ‘The 1803 Proclamation,’ p. 288. 11. Elliott, Robert Emmet, pp. 41-3.

12. Emmet, ‘The 1803 Proclamation’, pp. 288-9. 13. O’Donnell, Robert Emmet and the Rising of 1803, pp. 39-40 14. Emmet, ‘The 1803 Proclamation’, p. 288. 15. Geoghegan, Robert Emmet, p. 145 16. Emmet, ‘The 1803 Proclamation’, p. 289. 17. O’Donnell, Robert Emmet, p. 13-14. 18. Emmet, ‘The 1803 Proclamation’, p. 289.

History your enemies of having violated that honour by excess . . . the opportunity for vindicating yourselves is now . . . by carefully avoiding all appearance of intoxication, plunder or revenge,” Emmet wishes to put forward the image that the new United Irishmen are more like trained soldiers, and more disciplined that those of 1798.19 The influence of Emmet’s keen studies of the military tactician Colonel Templehoff who emphasis the need for the element of surprise is apparent in the following statement, “we had hoped . . . to have taken them by surprise . . . though we have not been altogether able to succeed.”20 This is a reference to the unfortunate explosion in the Patrick’s Street depot, which Emmet felt took away the vital element of surprise.21 The Proclamation also contains allusions to the widening of Emmet’s and the United Irishmen’s political agenda following the failure of 1798 and the significance of Thomas Russell, a highly influential veteran of 1798. An important example of this is the stipulation that, “tithes are forever abolished.” 22 The historian James Quinn proposes that here Russell may have had some influence on the measures proposed in the revolutionary Proclamation of 1803. In addition to democratic parliamentary reform, the Proclamation announced that tithes were to be abolished and church lands nationalised, although its social measures probably did not go as far as Russell would have wished.23 The 1803 Proclamation thus demonstrates that the United Irishmen had to redefine and broaden their programme, “involving a widening of range of grievances . . . and an ability to politicise poverty” as a result of the failures of the 1798 Rebellion.24 The Proclamation expresses Emmet’s feeling of bitterness following his impression of the British government and the techniques it employed in dealing with the rebels of 1798 and also the widespread violence in the countryside, “the first introduction of a system of terror, the first attempt to execute an individual in one country, should be the signal of insurrection in all.” 25 Emmet uses the people’s experience of repression in this ‘system of terror’ as a call to arms. It is important to remember that during this time the Irish yeomanry and militia had acquired a reputation for indiscipline and sectarian violence. Bartlett brings to light an example in Wexford, between the years 1798 to 1801 the local yeomanry corps were almost certainly behind the epidemic of chapel burning that resulted in some thirty chapels going up in flames.26 This sentiment from the Proclamation demonstrates Emmet’s belief that not only were the post 1798 methods employed by the British government unjust and immoral, but also that there was a deep seated resentment among the Irish people that no foreign country, that is, the French Republic, came to Ireland’s aid. The Proclamation is also important in demonstrating Emmet’s relationship with Northern Ireland and its significance in the 1803 Rising, “we call upon the North to stand 19. Geoghean, Robert Emmet, p. 142 20. Goeghegan, pp. 104-5. Robert Emmet, p. 290 21. O’Donnell, Robert Emmet, p. 32-3 22. Emmet, ‘The 1803 Proclamation’, p. 293. 23. James Quinn, ‘Revelation and Romanticism’, in Dolan et al (eds.), Reinterpreting Emmet, p. 27. 24. Whelan, The Tree of Liberty, p. 155 25. Emmet, ‘The 1803 Proclamation’, p. 289. 26. Thomas Bartlett, The Rise and Fall of the Irish Nation (1992), p. 240.

History up and shake off their slumber and their oppression.” 27 In the recruiting of men following the 1798 Emmet and the United Irishmen tried to lower the sectarian temperature of their announcements, in order to ease Catholic-Presbyterian tensions in mid-Ulster and make possible renewed United Irish recruiting there.28 Thomas Russell, the only United Irishman whose career spanned the founding of the society and the insurrection of 1803, was a key figure in the North in the drafting of both new men and reluctant veterans of 1798.29 Emmet, who was anxious to recruit as many experienced veterans as possible, summoned Russell back to Ireland, from his enforced exile in France, and gave him the task of raising Ulster. In July 1803, Russell travelled to former United Irish strongholds throughout Antrim and Down, but almost everywhere he was greeted with apathy or even hostility. The political situation in Ulster had changed dramatically in the seven years of Russell’s absence, during which time its enthusiasm for a renewed rising had been dampened by the lurid accounts of sectarian atrocities that had occurred in the south in 1798, and the “sight of France becoming yet another plundering imperial power.” “Whomsoever presumes . . . that this is a religious contest, is guilty of the grievous crime [of misunderstanding].”30 Here, Emmet underlines his awareness of sectarian clashes, and by removing the subject of religion, attempts to quell conservative Protestant fears and give the rebellion a universal appeal. Whelan stresses that responses to the rebellion in print developed with remarkable rapidity.31 The first of these portrayed 1798 as the result of a deep-seated popish plot with tentacles stretching all the way to Rome and embedded in Irish history. It sought to establish parallels between 1641 and 1798, to depoliticise the history of 1790s. The classic viewpoint of this formulation was Sir Richard Musgrave’s Memoirs of the Various Rebellions in Ireland. The first edition, published simultaneously in London and Dublin in March 1801, sold out its 1,250 print-run in two months. The book’s enormous vogue among ultra-loyalists produced an equal and opposite vilification from radicals.32 Emmet’s attempts to address the sectarian politics in the period following the 1798 Rebellion are evident in the following sentiment, “we are not against property – we war against no religious sect – we war not against past opinions or prejudices – we war against English dominion.” 33 Following on from this statement, Bartlett, along with Whelan, questions the historiography of the 1798 Rebellion. They conclude that the Rebellion, and consequently Emmet’s Rising of 1803, were not just religious but also based on economic strain and seventeenth century patterns of migration.34 Bartlett summa-

27. Emmet, ‘The 1803 Proclamation’, p. 289. 28. Whelan, The Tree, pp. 155-6. 29. Quinn, ‘Revelation and Romanticism’, p, 26. 30. Emmet, ‘The 1803 Proclamation’, p. 290. 31. Whelan, The Tree, p. 135 32. Dáire Keogh, ‘Catholic Responses to the Act of Union,’ in Keogh and Whelan (eds.), Acts of Union, The Causes, Contexts and Consequence of the Act of Union, p, 161. 33. Emmet, ‘The 1803 Proclamation’, p. 291. 34. Bartlett, The Rise and Fall of the Irish Nation, pp. 236-7 and Whelan, The Tree of Liberty, p. 135.

History rises this thesis in the statement, “Wexford was the Armagh of the south.” 35 Despite his attempts to give the Rising a universal appeal, Emmet’s insurrection was still plagued by religious division. Whelan writes that by the 1840s, political leaders like Daniel O’Connell sought to distance Catholics from the implications of 1798’s failures. Catholic involvement in 1798 was, therefore, only an example of “second-hand sedition” and the rebellion itself “had solely defensive and protective aims, into which Catholics had been unwillingly driven by brutal repression.”36 The 1803 insurrection, once more led by Protestants – Thomas Russell and Robert Emmet – demonstrated exactly the same point. In conclusion, it is difficult to over-estimate the vast implications of the 1798 Rebellion on the young Robert Emmet. The overarching feeling of bitterness and resentment can be found throughout the 1803 Proclamation. However, this mood was influenced not only by Emmet’s close relationship with the veterans’ of 1798, but his subsequent decision to restructure the organisation of United Irishmen, and his changing opinion of Irish selfidentification as a result of his experiences in exile in France. Emmet summarised the need to break away from the religious and political shackles of 1798 in his direct address to the Irish people and the British government, “of the efficacy of a system of terror . . . you have already had experience . . . We will not imitate you in cruelty.” 37

35. Bartlett, The Rise and Fall, p, 237. 36. Whelan, The Tree, p 151. 37. Emmet, ‘The 1803 Proclamation’, p. 293.

History Bibliography Primary Sources Emmet, Robert, ‘The 1803 Proclamation of the Provisional Government’, in Patrick Geoghegan Robert Emmet, A Life (2002), pp. 287-294. Secondary Sources Bartlett, Thomas, The Rise and Fall of the Irish Nation, (1992). Bartlett, Thomas, ‘Britishness, Irishness and the Act of Union,’ in Dáire Keogh and Kevin Whelan (eds.), Acts of Union, The Causes, Contexts and Consequence of the Act of Union. (2001), pp. 243-261. Dolan et al (eds.), Reinterpreting Emmet (2007). Elliott, Marianne, Robert Emmet: The Making of a Legend (2004). Keogh, Dáire and Whelan, Kevin, Acts of Union, The Causes, Contexts and Consequence of the Act of Union (2001). Keogh, Dáire, ‘Catholic Responses to the Act of Union,’ in Dáire Keogh and Kevin Whelan (eds.) Acts of Union, The Causes, Contexts and Consequence of the Act of Union. (2001) pp. 159-170. Kleinman, Sylvie, ‘Social and linguistic perspectives on Robert Emmet’s mission to France’, in Dolan et al (eds.), Reinterpreting Emmet (2007), pp. 56-76. Geoghegan, Patrick, Robert Emmet, A Life (2002) O’Donnell, Ruán, Robert Emmet and the Rising of 1803, (2003). Quinn, James, ‘Revelation and Romanticism’, in Dolan et al (eds.), Reinterpreting Emmet (2007), pp. 26-38. Whelan, Kevin, The Tree of Liberty (1996).

W.B. Yeats’ and the divorce legislation of 1925: An analysis of motivation and argument Alana Ryan Junior Sophister, PPES

Yeats was a complex figure, a man of poetry and prose, who inadvertently found himself in the hub of the Irish political scene of the 1920s. In the aftermath of the Civil War, W.T. Cosgrave’s government were faced with many challenges to the establishment of a stable, self-sufficient democratic state. Cosgrave believed that the respect of the people was dependent on a governing body which not only maintained law and order, but created legitimacy.1 Central to this idea of legitimacy was the desire to unify various factions within the state through the creation of a truly representative legislative body. Cosgrave believed the Senate should exemplify diversity and thus pledged in his Dáil speech of October 1922 to transform the upper house “with a view to the providing of representation for groups of all parties not adequately represented in the Chamber.” 2 Although Yeats’ appointment on 11 December 1922 was originally to advise on matters concerning the arts, education and literature – by his own admission, “in the Senate I speak as little upon politics as is possible, reserving myself for the things I understand” - within a year he had debated on many sensitive issues far beyond his initial remit.3 This essay will focus specifically on Yeats’ contribution to the divorce legislation of 1925, seeking to understand his initial political motivation before proceeding to determine why he became so passionate about this societal issue. It will demonstrate that Yeats’ argument for legalising divorce was based on his belief that to outlaw an institution which already existed in the North would pose an obstacle to full unification. There are a number of reasons that led to W.B. Yeats’ involvement in politics, however it seems pertinent to focus on the key role played by four individuals: Charles Hubert Oldham, Maude Gonne, John O’Leary and Charles Stewart Parnell. Ellman isolates Hubert Oldham, the head of a nationalist movement in Trinity and founder of the Dublin University Review, as Yeats’ “first contact with active nationalists.” 4 Oldham’s Contemporary Club offered the young poet a chance to engage with a variety of topical 1. J. Coakley and M. Gallagher (eds.), Politics in the Republic of Ireland (1992), pp. 19-24. 2. Dáil Eireann Debates, 25 October 1922. 3. Donald R. Pierce, The Senate Speeches of W.B. Yeats (2001), p. 123 4. R. Ellman, Yeats: The Man and the Masks (1979), p. 48.

History issues and develop his oratory. Others have argued it was Maud Gonne who inspired the political conscience within the poet. As Ross acknowledges, “Gonne was the incarnation of the romantic heroines Yeats had been imagining since boyhood.” 5 It is arguable that meeting Gonne provided the poet with the impetus to develop his political conscience, if only so that she would not find him dull. His desire for her led to an increased public engagement, and thus “the dream life, even though reinforced with the support of occult lore, became harder to keep intact.” 6 While he initially fostered the common conception that his “politics were just Maud Gonne” an informed observer would note that while she may have capitalised on his initial enthusiasm, it is doubtful that his new interest was solely due to affection for her.7 Indeed, it was only in the 1920s that Yeats showed his prowess and intelligence on such a wide range of political issues, twenty years after her marriage to Major John McBride in 1903. Yet the influence of his formative years spent immersed in the activities of The Irish National Theatre cannot be dismissed as a significant factor that shaped his views on cultural politics. As Cruise O’Brian highlights, Yeats’ play Cathleen Ni Houlihan pays homage to Gonne and her opinions, one of the “most powerful pieces of nationalist propaganda ever written”.8 Perhaps most important is the influence John O’Leary and the Fenian movement had upon the young poet. Ross argues that it was Yeats’ identification with O’Leary’s brand of nationalism, which dictated that artistic and spiritual affiliations should never be subordinated to political cause, that led to his separation from Maud Gonne.9 Indeed, there is little doubt that Gonne and O’Leary diverged when it came to the best method for realising the desire of an Ireland independent from Britain.10 O’Leary, unlike Gonne and O’Donovan Rossa, did not support acts of violence believing them to be unhelpful in the overall struggle, but he also notably championed a new form of cultural nationalism. As Kelly argues “the most sophisticated Fenians understood that the means by which Ireland achieved self government, in whatever form, would to a great extent dictate the emergent character of the Irish state and nation.” 11 Thus for O’Leary, sporadic and ill-conceived acts of aggression were to be avoided. Comerford chose to view the Fenian organisation from a structural rather than ideological standpoint. To him, the Fenians derived a not insignificant part of their actuality from the need for certain members of society to differentiate themselves from the rural tedium of 19th-century Ireland. 12 When seen through this lens, Yeats’ desire for affiliation can be truly understood. For Yeats, the Fenians represented a sort of covert subculture; a chance to engage with the political landscape while maintaining a 5. David A. Ross, Critical Companion to William Butler Yeats; A Literary Reference to his Life and Work (2009), p. 8. 6. Ellman, Yeats, p. 85. 7. Conor Cruise O’Brian, Passion and Cunning and Other Essays (London, 1988), p. 29. 8. Ibid., p. 34. 9. Ross, Critical Companion, p. 512. 10. Cruise O’Brian, Passion and Cunning, p. 14. 11. M. J. Kelly, The Fenian Ideal and Irish Nationalism, 1882-1916 (2006), p. 39. 12. R. V. Comerford, The Fenians in Context: Irish Politics and Society 1848-1882 (1985), cited in Kelly, The Fenian Ideal and Irish Nationalism, p. 39.

History distance from the banality of Westminster and Dublin Castle. This element of belonging and of purpose appealed to Yeats and others of the rising middle class. As Kelly writes “it is not entirely spurious to see Fenianism reconceived as bohemianism.” 13 It is also worth noting that this new found interest coincided with the death of Parnell; one of the most prominent Irish political figures of the 19th century. Although O’Leary and Parnell were diametrically opposed on the best method to achieve Irish independence, Parnell’s divorce scandal brought with it sympathy and support from the Fenian leader.14 For O’Leary, who was already wary of the Church’s grip on Ireland, constitutional politics and collusions with the English, the denouncement of Parnell by the Church and the alignment of the anti-Parnellites with Gladstone left little doubt as to the appropriate stance on the issue.15 The episode also sparked the interest of the young and now politically engaged Yeats who notably wrote in a letter to O’Leary “[This] Parnell business is most exciting. Hope he will hold on…the whole matter of Irish politics will be better of it.” 16 While it would be incorrect to attribute this to true affiliation, especially given his lack of sympathy or even acknowledgment of the personal difficulty Parnell was facing, the letter does demonstrate that Yeats was quickly developing a strong political identity.17 Even if one is to ascribe to Cruise O’Brien’s argument that Yeats’ tribute to Parnell, Mourn and then Onwards, was little more than an attempt to placate Maud Gonne, there can be little refutation that Parnell had a profound effect on Yeats. Throughout the subsequent years his name was to become synonymous with divorce, and for Yeats’ it also stood as a prime example of the oppression of Protestant freedom by Catholic conservatism.18 Now that Yeats’ initial exposure to the political sphere has been dissected, to fully comprehend his interest in divorce it is necessary to examine the religious context of the time. Yeats was a Protestant living in a very Catholic Ireland. Like all nationalists he desired the unification of the North with the South; however being a pragmatist he understood that to outlaw an institution which was already in existence in the North would be disastrous. “If you show that this country, Southern Ireland, is going to be governed by Catholic ideas and by Catholic ideas alone, you will never get the North.”19 Howes observes that for Yeats, Irish nationalism was both a “fixed origin and an elusive utopian end; it was a way of seeing or knowing, a mode of feeling, a set of institutions and a mass of images.” 20 Yet it would seem that when institutions failed to modernise and adapt, a true nationalist must engage with, and isolate the source of the problem in an effort to realise the ephemeral dream of a thirty-two county state. In tackling the issue of divorce, Yeats’ was doing just that. It seems clear that the reunification of the country was of the up-most 13. Kelly, The Fenian Ideal and Irish Nationalism, p. 39 14. Ibid., p. 50. 15. Yug Mohit Chaudhry, Yeats, The Irish Literary Revival and the Politics of Print (2001), p. 207. 16. Ibid., p. 208. 17. Cruise O’Brian, Passion and Cunning , p. 26. 18. Michael Steinman, Yeats’ Heroic Figures: Wilde, Parnell, Swift, Casement (1983), p. 85 19. Pierce, The Senate Speeches, p. 80. 20. Michael Howes, Yeats’ Nations: Gender, Class, and Irishness (1996), p. 2.

History importance to him, thus his speech concisely outlined the immediate as well as the more significant long-term effects a ban on divorce would cause, “you will put a wedge into the midst of this nation.” 21 He saw divorce as yet another barrier in the way to achieving the desired Republic. It is pertinent to note that due to his religious views, Yeats’ was far more engaged with the divorce debate than the average nationalist. As Fitzpatrick noted, Yeats was “intent upon entering Anglo-Ireland as a citizen rather than a stranger,” as someone who could effectively mould the political reality of the time in accordance with their own ideals.22 He was a man of the minority, a man who felt religion should be an incidental inclination and never one which would stand in the way of a possible reunification. He abhorred the influence of the Catholic Church on the country, despite being a staunch supporter of the Cosgrave government, who appeared to operate a policy of appeasement in relation to the Church. Yet he was never oblivious to this fact, stating in his divorce address on the 11 June 1925 “I have seen no discussion in the press and heard no discussion in this country which was not a purely religious argument and it would be pure hypocrisy to deal with it on any other grounds.” 23 Perhaps what makes this speech so fascinating is that fact that it was even delivered in the first place. Yeats knew that society at the time was far too conservative and religiously cowed to even consider what he said; “I have no doubt whatever that there will be no divorce in this country for some time. I do not expect to influence a vote in this House, I am not speaking to this House.” 24 Yeats was delivering the counter-argument not because he thought he would change the mind of any of the senators, but because he wished to alert the public to this divisive issue whilst also questioning the formidable institution of the Church. He posed the question, on what terms would citizens of the Free State consider the unification of Ireland, as, “once you attempt legislation on religious grounds you open the way for every kind of intolerance and for every kind of religious persecution.” 25 Indeed, Yeats pre-empted that the issue would be brought up and thus in March 1925 he sent an early draft of this infamous speech to George Russell, editor of The Irish Statesman, “I think that whoever can should help to inform public opinion before the matter comes around again.”26 Yeats’ objective was that his arguments would be published and read by the masses. This was in contrast to Senate etiquette whereby debates were held behind closed doors, by well-educated middle class men, who had been appointed by either the President or the government. While Yeats was part of the Protestant ascendancy, he was so engaged with this topic that he didn’t want to limit it to just the privileged politician. Thus, in this copy he outlined the religious and societal stigma associated with the taboo topic. The argument that a family is already broken if the parents were always fighting; 21. Pierce, The Senate Speeches, p. 81. 22. David Fitzpatrick, ‘Yeats in the Senate’ Studia Hibernica, Vol 12 (1972), p. 7. 23. Pierce, The Senate Speeches, p. 91 24. Ibid., p. 80. 25. Ibid., p. 83. 26. Ibid., p. 145.

History that divorce is not the dreaded end but the welcome relief. “We do not think that children brought up in a house of hatred, where the parents quarrel perpetually, are the better for it.” 27

Many have criticised the inconsistency of Yeats’ political opinions, preferring to regard him solely as an eloquent and observational poet, yet the clarity and force of the aforementioned statements are indicative of the wisdom the man possessed. The divorce debate was always going to be controversial, although it was not like Yeats to stick to the conventional. It seems almost a contradiction that a man could support the Blueshirt organisation yet still advocate the importance of civil liberties, but with his passionate divorce speech that was exactly the case. Despite the eloquence of his speech and his oratorical ability, as was to be expected, the bill failed. Indeed, the overall impact of his speech was negligible at the time. Yet, sixty years later, Taoiseach Garret Fitzgerald resurrected Yeats’ postulations in his own Dáil speech of May 1986, demonstrating its worth and credentials. Whilst being realistic in his aspirations for the Republic and Northern Ireland, Fitzgerald argued that introducing divorce legislation could have a profound effect on relations between the two states. Perhaps bearing in mind the progress made through the New Ireland Forum and the Anglo-Irish Agreement he stated “at a time when the situation in Northern Ireland is so delicately balanced this is not something we can reasonably ignore.” 28 While the amendment failed on that attempt, it was eventually passed in the referendum of 1995 bringing with it the first tangible erosion of the ‘special position’ of the Catholic Church in the Irish State. The prophecy of Yeats had finally been realised: “if we have not lost our stamina then your victory will be brief and your defeat final and when it comes the nation will be transformed.” 29

27. Pierce, The Senate Speeches, p. 148 28. Garrett Fitzgerald, May 1986, quoted in Richard Aldous, Great Irish Speeches (2008), p. 162. 29. Pierce, The Senate Speeches, p. 88.

History Bibliography Primary Sources Dail Eireann Debates Secondary Sources Aldous, Richard, (ed.), Great Irish Speeches (2008). Chaudhry, Yug Mohit, Yeats, The Irish Literary Revival and the Politics of Print (2001). Coakley, J. and Gallagher, M., (eds.), Politics in the Republic of Ireland (1992). Comerford, Richard, The Fenians in Context: Irish Politics and Society 1848-82 (1985). Cruise O’Brien, Conor, Passion and Cunning and Other Essays (1988). Ellman, Richard, Yeats: The Man and The Masks (1979). Fitzpatrick, David, ‘Yeats in the Senate’ Studia Hibernica, Vol 12 (1972), pp. 7-26. Howes, Micheal, Yeats’ Nations: Gender, Class, and Irishness (1996). Kelly, M.J., The Fenian Ideal and Irish Nationalism, 1882-1916 (2006). Pearce, Donald, R., (ed.), The Senate Speeches of W. B. Yeats (2001). Ross, David A., Critical Companion to William Butler Yeats; A Literary Reference to his Life and Work (2009). Sinha, M. P., Yeats: His Poetry and Politics, (2003). Steinmen, M., Yeats’ Heroic Figures: Wilde, Parnell, Swift, Casement (1983).

Ethnic Stereotyping in Inter-War Glasgow: Gangs, Sectarianism and the Question of Immigration Sharon Burke Senior Sophister, History

In 1930, Scottish nationalist Andrew Dewar Gibb announced in Scotland in Eclipse that 90 per cent of Glasgow’s gang membership were Irish.1 Claims such as these were also made by many British newspapers during the inter-war period, revealing a media-fuelled search for external, rather than internal, social causes of Glasgow’s rising crime levels.2 Rather than identifying a means to suppress Glasgow’s notorious gang activity, many local authorities and newspapers focused on attributing the problem of gang-related violence, and crimes sparked by sectarianism, to the influx of Irish immigrants. The discernable attempt of newspapers, nationalists, Unionists and conservative politicians to present ethnicallysourced scapegoats as causes of gang-related activity suggests there was a widespread denial of the reality of gang culture and its pre-war roots in Glasgow.3 Those responsible for these claims often manipulated crime statistics and based their arguments on volatile foundations, in an attempt to relocate responsibility and accountability for the increase in gangs’ criminal behaviour. The rise of fascist groups in the 1930s contributed to the “bad press” against Irish immigrants, many suggesting that the minority were responsible for alcoholrelated gang activity in the inner city. Politics at a national level were infused with the question of immigrant control and immigrant cultures, and the phenomena of ethnic stereotyping became heightened in the inter-war period, reflecting the use of ethnic minorities as a scapegoat for heightened crime and violence in the inner city, which were “believed to be an innate racial feature of the Irish.” 4 In 1933, shortly after the publication of Gibb’s Scotland in Eclipse, the Scottish Fascist Democratic Party’s draft constitution called for the “expulsion of Catholic religious orders from Scotland…and the prohibition of Irish immigration to Scotland.” 5 The publication of the SFDP’s strategy for racial control within Scotland coincided with the spread 1. Richard Finlay, Modern Scotland 1914- 2000 (London, 2004), p. 97. 2. Ibid., p. 97. 3. Ibid., p. 139. 4. Ibid., p. 96. 5. Peter Jackson, Race and Racism: Essays in Social Geography (1987), p. 106.

History of anti-Irish prejudice among Scottish Tory MPs, who claimed that Irish immigrants, blamed for “squalor, poverty, drunkenness and crime”, were at the root of Glasgow’s gang problem.6 While some senior levels in Strathclyde’s police forces held “the economic devastation wreaked by the collapse of the city’s heavy industries” accountable for soaring levels of gang activity, Glasgow’s newspapers concentrated on sectarianism as an aspect of gang culture, focusing on tensions in Glasgow’s working-class areas between Catholic gangs such as the ‘Norman Conks’ and Protestant gangs such as the ‘Billy Boys’ .7 Members of the Scottish Protestant League immediately adopted this focal point and utilised it to accuse immigrant minorities in Glasgow’s city centre of being responsible for instigating ethnic tension and causing sectarian disturbances. In 1933, the SPL won four seats in Glasgow with their “No Popery” campaign; leader Alexander Ratcliffe called for control measures to be placed on Irish immigration, and famously sympathised with the United States’ Klu Klux Klan in the Protestant Advocate.8 Areas in which Roman Catholic Irish immigrants inhabited in inner-city Glasgow were accused of being “ghettos” in which gang culture was born and cultivated.9 In 1930, Andrew Dewar Gibb echoed this theory, commenting: whosesoever knives and razors are used, where over sneak thefts and mean pilfering are easy and safe, whosesoever dirty acts of sexual baseness are com mitted, there you will find the Irishman in Scotland with all but a monopoly of the business.10 The use of the Irish immigrant as a political scapegoat became common practice among 1930s conservative anti-Catholic parties and groups, with the stereotyping of societal features employed to depict the Irish minority as being responsible for a criminal phenomenon tearing the city in two. The interaction between the early twentieth-century nationalists and the politics of the ‘national question’ has been analysed extensively by contemporary and modern historians, many throwing light on the appearance of fascism as a sub-culture in 1930s Glasgow. It appears that groups such as the Scottish Fascist Democratic Party concentrated on the sectarian nature of many of Glasgow’s inner-city gangs, portraying them as Catholic-based and predominantly Irish in membership.11 During the inter-war period, the Sinn Féin movement in Glasgow became a source of worry to Unionists in Glasgow and London, and a widespread wave of printed propaganda followed, accusing “the Irish race” of a “predisposition to violent political crime” that appeared to be “transmitted hereditarily.”12 This form of ethnic stereotyping played a role in fostering the conviction that Irish immigrant minorities were among the causes of the rise in crime, violence and drunken disorder in 6. Finlay, Modern Scotland 1914-2000, p. 98 7. Andrew Davies, ‘The Scottish Chicago?’ From “Hooligans” to “Gangsters” in Inter-War Glasgow’, Cultural and Social History, Vol. 4, No. 4 (2007), pp. 512-513 8. Jackson, Race and Racism p. 106 9. Finlay, Modern Scotland 1914-2000 , p. 98 10. Ibid., p. 97. 11. Jackson, Race and Racism p. 107. 12. H. B. C. Pollard, The Secret Societies of Ireland: Their Rise and Progress (1922), p. 256.

History urban areas, particularly among Glasgow’s working-class areas.13 However, fascist-inspired speeches appeared on either side of the debate; the pro-Celtic Scottish National League published an article stating: “it was an ill day for the Celtic people when the German Georges and their German Jew supporters got their grip on Alba, Erin and England.” 14 The appearance of fascist-inspired rhetoric in the 1930s sparked a change in the language of media reports on the themes of immigration and nationalism, with emphasis on racial ‘purity’ and degeneration.15 As the historian Rosie remarks, care must be taken when ascribing ‘fascist beliefs’ to either Protestant or Roman Catholic groups - “the only substantial link between militant Protestantism and fascism during the inter-war period is Ratcliffe’s late decline into Hitler worship.”16 Many modern historians commenting on nationalism as a theme embedded in social history throughout the inter-war period have remarked that Scots held the Irish responsible for the “moral deterioration of the Scottish working class”, and have also observed how, in times of economic hardship and widespread poverty, incitement of racial hatred and the use of minorities as scapegoats for social phenomena, were common in urban areas such as Glasgow.17 While modern interpretations emphasise the sectarian nature of divisions of gang “territories,” contemporary author John Torrence suggested that “police court reports and prison statistics” corroborated the theory that “Scotland has not received the best type of Irish immigrant.” 18 The evidence used by contemporary politicians and journalists in supporting this theory was mainly circumstantial and rarely considered the greater number of members of minority groups who were law-abiding, and therefore who did not appear in police or newspaper reports. Modern historians consider propaganda which targeted the Irish immigrant minority to be a political weapon, which held the transportation of external cultures and the ‘general’ tendencies of an ethnic group dually responsible for “causing moral infection.”19 The extent to which the media played a role in enlightening Glasgow’s public about gang culture, often inaccurately, cannot be dismissed. In September 1926, The Evening Citizen reported that “Bridgeton is simply seething with idle young men, who are banded together in various groups, attacking one another by day and by night, using hammers, hatchets, razors, batons of wood or iron, and anything they can lay their hands on.” 20 It was the same Glasgow-based newspaper which attributed the rise in gang-related crime to “the malign 13. R. M. Douglas, ‘The Swastika and the Shamrock: British Fascism and the Irish Question 1918-1940’ in Albion, Vol. 29, No. 1 (1997), p. 58 14. Richard J Finlay, ‘Nationalism, Race, Religion and the Irish Question in Inter-War Scotland’, Innes Review, No. 42 (1991), p. 50. 15. Ibid., p. 46. 16. Michael Rosie, The Sectarian Myth in Scotland (2004), p. 138 17. B. Cant and E. Kelly, ‘Why is there a need for racial equality in Scotland?’, Scottish Affairs, No. 12 (1995), p. 8. 18. Finlay, Modern Scotland 1914-2000 p. 140 and pp. 97-98. 19. Ibid., p. 98. 20. Evening Citizen, 21 September 1926, p. 1

History influence of American gangster movies.” 21 The reluctance of the media to place responsibility for the rise in crime upon local authorities reveals a protectionist attitude towards the city’s institutions.22 Some historians have accused the local newspapers of sensationalising the activity of gangs, and manipulating the rhetoric of crime used in courts and police reports to depict a city fractured by sectarian-driven gang conflict.23 In March 1929, the Glasgow Herald published a series of five articles on the question of “the Irish in Scotland”, attempting to relieve the immigrant minority of blame for the rise in crime, suggesting that “Irish immigration has become a mere trickle since the war, as Scottish industry stagnated.” 24 Media disagreements over the Irish question reflected the internal tension between media organisations whom attempted to be as unbiased as possible in their approach to the subject of gang activity, and those who openly supported groups such as the Scottish Reformation Society, who called for government action against Irish immigration.25 However, when the news of violence reached the London newspapers, it was usually described with less subjectivity. In 1934, The Times remarked on the “large scale of gang warfare”, leaving aside the accusations of blame for the violent conflict.26 The failure on behalf of conservative Government members and religious institutions to encourage social integration, instead advising protectionist measures and calls for control of the immigrant population, reveals a deeper social concern for ‘racial purity’, supported by the phenomenon of ethnic stereotyping.27 One contemporary writer remarked that “the Scots are a dying people. They are being replaced in their own country by a people alien in race, temperament and religion.”28 Gang brawls in the streets of Glasgow were often misrepresented as being instigated by a sectarian-related issue, yet one historian suggests that territorial disputes were more common, and often unrelated to conflict over religious preferences.29 Historian Finlay describes how “many Scots outside the central belt were inclined to see religious sectarianism as an Irish import”, and therefore held Irish immigrants culpable for the sectarianism aspect of gang culture.30 However, other studies reveal the prejudiced nature of the theory that “there can be no racism where there are no racial minorities”, as this relieves the perpetrators of blame, instead attributing it to the minority’s presence.31 Davies considers the effect of post-war anxiety and displacement 21. Davies, ‘The Scottish Chicago?’ p. 516 22. Ibid., p. 520

23. Ibid. 24. Stewart J. Brown, ‘Outside the Covenant: The Scottish Presbyterian Churches and Irish Immigration, 1922 -1938’, Innes Review, No. 42 (1991), p. 34 25. Ibid., p. 29 26. Michael Rosie, The Sectarian Myth in Scotland p. 83 27. Brown, ‘Outside the Covenant’ p. 38 28. Finlay, ‘Nationalism, Race, Religion and the Irish Question in Inter-War Scotland’ p. 53. 29. Rosie, The Sectarian Myth in Scotland p. 82 30. Finlay, Modern Scotland 1914-2000 p. 99 31 B. Cant and E. Kelly, ‘Why is there a need for racial equality in Scotland?’ p. 9

History on the need for security in a racial identity.32 The phenomena of passive nationalism and radical fascism in the inter-war period must be viewed as separate themes; the latter ideology manifesting itself in the political and social victimisation of a minority group within a nation. Rosie describes how political convictions and ideology led to street brawls between Communist groups and members of the ‘Moderate Group’.33 Although such behaviour was largely seen as the preserve of sectarian gangs due to media coverage, evidence suggests that violence played a significant role in resolving separate ideological arguments during the inter-war period. New statistics inform that in Scotland “in 1938 crimes known to the police ran at 11 per 1000 of the total population; the English proportion was 7 per 1000.”34 Davies suggests that Glasgow remains “one of the cities most readily associated with gang violence” in the British press.35 Scottish newspapers attributed urban-centred crime to the influx of working-class immigrants, particularly along the Clyde.36 However, recent studies suggest that towards the end of the 1930s, Irish immigrants ‘began to return to the Irish Free State from Scotland,’ a result of the lack of employment in industrial areas and the appearance of fresh labour opportunities in the newly-created Irish Free State.37 While most of the immigrants who remained were Roman Catholic Irish, contemporary media reports do not reflect the reality of Irish immigrant settlements in Glasgow; Bridgeton in Glasgow’s East End had “a history of protestant Irish settlement and a strong Orange movement.”38 The media portrayal of Glasgow’s Irish population as entirely Catholic has led directly to the misinterpretation of sectarian gang culture in the 1930s. The combination of “the existing antipathy towards Irish Catholic immigrants shown by the native Scots Protestants” and the pre-First World War settlement of Protestant Ulster Irish in Glasgow’s East End inflamed the already-present tension and a reactionary defensiveness among the segregated areas, where gangs attempted to secure their territory against one another.39 The hazy and variable nature of Glasgow’s sectarian divisions is explained by Davies, who suggests that the Gorbals district in the south of Glasgow exemplified multinational communities in inter-war Glasgow: “renowned as an area of heavy Irish Catholic settlement, the Gorbals also housed both a substantial Protestant population and a sizeable Jewish community during the inter-war decades.” 40 Interestingly, in areas devoid of a “strong Orange presence”, 32. Davies, ‘The Scottish Chicago?’ p. 511 33. Rosie, The Sectarian Myth in Scotland p. 83 34. Christopher Harvie, No Gods and Precious Few Heroes (1981), p. 80 35. Andrew Davies, ‘Street gangs, crime and policing in Glasgow during the 1930s: the case of the Beehive Boys’, Social History, Vol. 23., No. 3 (October 1998), p. 251 36. Evening Times, 1 May 1934, p. 6 37. James Edmund Handley, The Irish in Modern Scotland (1947), p. 317 38. Davies, ‘Street gangs, crime and policing in Glasgow’ p. 254 39. Ibid., p. 104, . See Peter Jackson, Race and Racism p. 104, for settlement of Protestant Ulster Irish in Glasgow’s East End. 40. Davies, ‘Street gangs, crime and policing in Glasgow’ p. 255.

History gangs were “more concerned with territorial rivalries.” 41 It is difficult to ascertain whether gangs in the East End were more concerned with consolidating their control over an area, or settling disputes engendered by sectarian-related ethnic stereotyping. It is also pertinent to consider the aspect of ‘masculine self-esteem’ which was indulged by gang culture and its manifestations through violence.42 The public audience became gripped by the wave of media coverage of gang activity during the inter-war period; journalists “explored the patterns of gang formation and activity, profiled gang member in terms of their ages, occupations, employment status and religious and ethnic backgrounds.”43 While this often revealed relevant social patterns and trends, it occasionally resulted in reliance upon the analysis of gang culture using ethnic stereotyping and prejudicial assumptions as tools to explain patterns of social behaviour. Those commenting on social phenomena in the early twentieth century were often still influenced by Victorian anthropologists who had studied ethnicity and immigration according to nineteenth-century ingrained beliefs about racial ‘tendencies’ and social Darwinism. Many of these Victorian writers considered the Irish immigrant “a wandering labourer”, travelling in a functional capacity “because there is no longer food or shelter for him” in his homeland.44 In the case of some writers, this portrayal of poverty was accompanied by ‘immoral behaviour‘, drunkenness, and laziness.45 Novels such as McArthur’s No Mean City reflected the anthropological approach used to identify patterns of behaviour among Glasgow’s working-class areas, often with the consequence of inaccuracy. In the aftermath of First World War, a wave of racial abuse targeting Irish immigrants in Scotland was led by the Church and Nation Committee of the Church of Scotland, and several publications which considered the immigrant population of Scotland “morally cancerous”, especially in urban areas which had a concentrated immigrant population.46 The Scots Magazine suggested that “if the Irish were sent back then unemployment would drop, and that employers should in future discriminate in favour of Scottish workers.”47 Letters were published “citing examples of how Irish foremen would only employ Irish men.”48 In the midst of this tirade of racially-focused criticism of labour patterns and employment in urban areas, Glasgow’s media began to turn their attention to the behaviour of the unemployed, focusing on gang members and their activity, which, although present prior to the outbreak of war, had escalated in the “era of unemployment”. The Glasgow Herald considered the rise in recorded gang crimes “an ugly manifestation of 41. Davies, ‘Street gangs, crime and policing in Glasgow,’ p. 255 42. Ibid., p. 252 43. Davies, ‘The Scottish Chicago? p. 516

44. Rosie, The Sectarian Myth in Scotland p. 44. 45. Finlay, Modern Scotland 1914-2000 p. 97 46. Ibid., p. 98 47. Ibid., p. 96 48. Ibid

History an old evil”, referring the sectarian aspect of inter-war gang culture.49 The emphasis on sectarianism as a contributing factor to causes of public brawls between youths and gang members is significant; many reports referred to the religious divisions between Glasgow’s territories, depicting the East End as central to this trend of conduct. In 1935 Glasgow was vividly depicted as having “a demoralised population” by the Evening Post, mentioning “gang terrorism, street battles, mutilations, and killings” as part of gang culture which infused the “everyday” in Glasgow’s working-class areas, particularly the Gorbals.50 The representation, while more sensational than accurate, was common of the media’s treatment of inter-war Glasgow, and echoed the panicked tones of articles which were published in other Scottish newspapers. In 1932, the Glasgow Herald published the findings of the 1931 Census with the headline “Fewer Irish-Born Persons in the City”.51 The Census revealed that 4.8 per cent of Glasgow’s population were Irish, with more born in Northern Ireland than in the Irish Free State. The decrease of 13, 309 in the Irish population figure, since 1921, signified the gradual fall in a minority of Irish-born immigrants during the inter-war years. During the First World War, the Glasgow Herald claimed that “cross channel steamers leaving the Clyde during the past few nights have been taking hundreds of men eligible for military service from outlying districts in Scotland back to their home in Ireland”; the same theory was inferred in reference to the Second World War.52 Portrayals such as this of Irish immigrants in Scotland during the First World War were slow to fade; conservative newspapers, for whom loyalty to the Empire was a priority, criticized Irish immigrants who did not sign up to serve in the army. Inter-war ethnically-rooted mistrust, influenced by accusations of Irish immigrants being responsible for the rise in criminal behaviour, reacted with the stereotypes of gang members conveyed by the Scottish press to form a visible anti-Irish campaign seemingly determined to promote the interests of anti-Irish nationalist Presbyterian institutions.53 However, one cannot ignore the media branding of Protestant gang members in a similar fashion. The Billy Boys, a gang comprising entirely of Protestant members were described by one paper as “a riotous mob of evil-disposed persons which conducted itself in a riotous and tumultuous manner.” 54 Bearing this evidence in mind, it could be suggested that the underlying racism was symptomatic of post-war ethnic anxiety and also concerns about the degeneration of Glasgow’s youth, or even a knee-jerk reactionary search for a moral scapegoat in the absence of clear social causes, rather than a premeditated racial attack on the Irish immigrant population in Glasgow. Although there does appear to have been a specifically anti-Irish 49. Glasgow Herald, 28 April 1934, p. 10 50. Evening Post, 7 December 1935, p. 21. 51. Glasgow Herald, 30 May 1932, p. 11 52. Finlay, Modern Scotland 1914-2000 p. 95 53. Ibid., p. 96. 54. Glasgow Herald, 17 July 1934, p. 27

History aspect to the reaction to the rise in gang criminal activity in the inter-war years, this was present more among the publications of institutions such as the Church of Scotland, the Orange movement within the city, and various political parties which supported immigration control and whose views are considered fascistic in modern narratives.55 Writers such as Andrew Dewar Gibb’s works of racial hatred targeting the Irish immigrant community were not characteristic of the vast majority of works by contemporary authors, and reflect a growing fascist-inspired movement in Scotland rather than the growth of widespread antiIrish sentiment in cities such as Glasgow. This phenomenon, coupled with the public views of the Scottish Fascist Democratic Party, can be viewed either as a movement which laid claim the wider European influence of radical fascist nationalism which did not tolerate immigrant minorities, or as a minority movement in which post-war national anxiety, concerning racial purity and the ‘eclipse’ of the Scottish race, found a niche in which to voice its concerns, targeting the Irish immigrant community as a convenient scapegoat for criminal behaviour and the rise in gang activity. Claims made by politician Gibb that this ethnic minority “prowled about in the East End…attacking one another and often police and strangers” in their groups of gangs, were inaccurate and characteristic of biased propaganda which used the Irish immigrant community as a racially-sourced scapegoat for the phenomenon of gang crimes and culture.56 The question of ethnic-stereotyping remained a matter for discussion during the remainder of the 1930s, until it was eventually considered ‘fascism’ and ‘un-British’ in the face of the ideological battles which characterised Europe in the run up to the Second World War.

55. Finlay, Modern Scotland 1914-2000 p. 98 56. Ibid., p. 97

History Bibliography Primary Sources Evening Citizen, 21 September 1926 Evening Post, 7 December 1935 Evening Post, 27 July 1935 Evening Times, 1 May 1934 Glasgow Herald, 17 July 1935 Glasgow Herald, 30 May 1932 Los Angeles Times, 31 July 1939 Secondary Sources Brown, Stewart J., ‘Outside the Covenant: The Scottish Presbyterian Churches and Irish Immigration, 1922 -1938’, Innes Review, No. 42 (1991) Cant, B., and Kelly, E., ‘Why is there a need for racial equality in Scotland?’, Scottish Affairs, No. 12 (Summer 1995) Davies, Andrew, ‘The Scottish Chicago? From “Hooligans” to “Gangsters” in Inter-War Glasgow’, Cultural and Social History, Vol. 4, No. 4 (2007) Davies, Andrew, ‘Street gangs, crime and policing in Glasgow during the 1930s: the case of the Beehive Boys’, Social History, Vol. 23., No. 3 (October 1998) Douglas, R. M., ‘The Swastika and the Shamrock: British Fascism and the Irish Question 1918-1940’ in Albion, Vol. 29, No. 1 (1997) Finlay, Richard, Modern Scotland 1914-2000 (2004) Finlay, Richard J., ‘Nationalism, Race, Religion and the Irish Question in Inter-War Scotland’, Innes Review, No. 42 (1991) Handley, James Edmund, The Irish in Modern Scotland (1947) Harvie, Christopher, No Gods and Precious Few Heroes (Edinburgh, 1981)

History Jackson, Peter, Race and Racism: Essays in Social Geography (1987) Pollard, H. B. C., The Secret Societies of Ireland: Their Rise and Progress (1922) Rosie, Michael, The Sectarian Myth in Scotland (2004)

Did the rise of showbands in the early sixties have an effect on the role of women in Ireland? Suzanne McCoy Senior Sophister, History The rise of showbands in the early sixties occurred in a primarily male dominated world. Showbands had a liberating effect on women who worked in the bands, who danced in the dance halls and those influenced by the fashions and trends of the showbands. The bands themselves, their managers and the dance hall owners were overwhelmingly male, with some notable exceptions. However, the rise of the showbands created a platform which women used as a means of liberation. It was not radical but gradual change for women. It provided opportunities for women and men to socialise in the same environment unsupervised and inspiration for women who were looking for a way out of the traditional role of wife and mother. It was also a way to rebel against the restrictions imposed by the Catholic Church. The showband craze that swept through Ireland in the early sixties undoubtedly had a positive effect on the changing role of women in Ireland. Ireland in the fifties and in the previous decades was a repressive environment for women. The Catholic Church ruled both the social and political landscape. While Mass was a social outlet for some people, the traditional role for women as wife and mother was dictated by the Church. In the days before readily available contraception the majority of women married young and were quickly tied down by large families. The institution of marriage was the lynch-pin of society. Arguably this attitude remained in Ireland during the sixties and beyond. At the beginning of the 1960s the Catholic Church was slowly losing its grip on the young people of Ireland. Thousands of private dance halls were built during the sixties to house the showbands. This is a decisive change from dances that were held in parochial halls in the fifties under the watchful eye of the local priest. The economic reforms of Sean Lemass had created new employment as young people flocked towards cities to find work. The role of Eileen Reid, the lead singer of the Cadets, is an interesting case study. Reid faced the chauvinism of the showband world when she joined the Cadets; her new band members were less than happy with her recruitment. Nevertheless, Reid made history with the Cadets as the first and only female artist to have a number one single in Ireland, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Fallen Starâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; in May, 1965. Dermot Keogh notes that female singers such as Eileen Reid

History and the trio Maxi, Dick and Twink were “competing and surviving in a man’s world.” 1 This would have had a positive effect on the psyche of many young women in Ireland. The idea of a successful young singer as a role model is in stark contrast to the traditional woman in the home. Myrtle Hill highlights this point: “female performers were not a new phenomenon; it is probably more useful to see these acts as providing alternatives to more traditional engagements for women.” 2 Therefore the female singers in showbands would have had a positive effect on women. Reid acted as a role model; she reached levels of achievement and success that would never have been though possible in the previous generation. There is a sense, in the memoirs of former showband artists, that women took the rough with the smooth along with everyone else. Finbar O’Toole notes that women involved in the showband business were treated exactly the same as men. While some found this a tough life, it demonstrates the beginnings of gender equality. Interestingly, in an interview in Spotlight magazine, Eileen Reid comments on women in showbands. She states, “I would not recommend it to any girl unless they had a great bunch of lads to work with like the Cadets, and then just for a few years.” 3 This interview, conducted as Reid was leaving the band, was comment on the demands of the band lifestyle; long hours rehearsing and constant travelling, nevertheless her words highlight how traditional Ireland remained. While Reid was an inspiration to many young women and did make history, there remained an underlying conservatism within Ireland. Reid left the band in 1968 to get married to Jimmie Hay, a member of the Cadets. The combination of married life and showbands did not seem to be a mixture to suit Eileen Reid’s taste. Eileen Reid’s story appears to suggest that women were allowed to be frivolous, ambitious and successful in their youth. It is clear that the institution of marriage still reigned supreme and once married, women reverted to more traditional roles. It is ironic that Eileen Reid, who one caused a stir wearing a wedding dress on stage during renditions of the song “I gave away my wedding dress,” left the band two days before her own wedding. The concept of marriage as the female aim is evident within other Irish cultural commentaries of the time. William Trevor’s short story, ‘The Ballroom of Romance’, set in 1971, centres around a woman in her mid-thirties who has been going to ballrooms for over twenty years. The story culminates on a tragic note as the protagonist, Bridie, realises she is too old for the ballrooms and resolves to marry a local bachelor to prevent loneliness once both their parents have died.4 While showbands did have a positive effect in changing the role of women in Irish society, institutions remained to reverse or at the very least halt the change. This idea that marriage is the ultimate objective in life is something that is hard to counter, particularly in more traditional rural Ireland. This sad tale offers an insight into what the ballrooms meant to women in isolated communities. They were the highlight of Bridie’s week; her one chance to leave the house and meet other people her own age. It 1. Dermot Keogh, Twentieth Century Ireland: Nation and State (1994), p260-1 2. Myrtle Hill, Women in Ireland: A century of change (2003), p 140. 3. Donall Corvin, ‘Eileen’s last date,’ New Spotlight, Vol. 2, (June, 1968), p. 15 4. William Trevor, ‘The Ballroom of Romance,’ The Distant Past (1979), pp. 39-61

History is also clear that the older dancers were only bachelors or unmarried women. The ideal of marriage as the ultimate goal in life has been passed down generation after generation in Ireland. There is a sense that the unmarried women, like Bridie, are left behind by life and are viewed as slightly pathetic. The magazine Spotlight spawned from the rise of the showbands and was established in 1963. It fuelled the fire of the showband era and printed articles and photos about all the various showbands as well as popular music abroad. Some of the advertising is very telling in terms of the role of women. MIAA Auctioneers posted an advertisement for their estate agency stating “Dancing to marriage, marriage to house hunting.” 5 As previously discussed there is a sense that women, while enjoying the relative freedom and frivolity of youth, will return to the traditional institution of marriage. While this is merely an advertisement, it does offer an important insight into what advertisers believed that the public wanted to hear. The arrival of new, custom built dance halls in Ireland was also a liberating factor for women. The scale of showbands popularity meant that thrifty business men around Ireland were building dance halls at an alarming rate. James. B Meehan wrote an article in Spotlight claiming “dance halls are breaking out like a rash all over the green countryside.” 6 These dance halls were the most liberating of all as there were no clergy to supervise them. These halls were often much further away from the dancers’ home towns, away from the gossip and the prying eyes of the families and neighbours. Myrtle Hill writes; “young un-chaperoned women enjoyed the anonymity of huge ballrooms during the sixties.” 7 This was real freedom from expectation, shame and the watchful eye of the Catholic Clergy. The change from the old fashioned confined “ballrooms of romance” to dance halls is one of the most liberating effects of the showband craze. Vincent Power highlights this, writing that dance halls “created the opportunity to meet other away from the narrow confines of the parochial hall.” 8 Young people drove rather than cycled to the dance hall. In a sense, the popularity of showbands gave women a platform for independence. The showbands created opportunity for young women to escape the confines of their locality and enjoy relative freedom elsewhere. In an article written by a former band singer in the fifties, the change from the old-fashioned dances in parochial halls is starkly evident. One of the more startling facts from these old ballrooms was the lack of choice that women had in choosing a partner. “It was understood that a girl couldn’t refuse to dance when asked, no matter how drunk, sober, ugly or handsome the man might be. If refused she was evicted from the hall.” 9 She 5. William McCarthy,’ MIAA Auctioneers,’ Spotlight, Vol 1 No. 2 (July, 1964), p. 4. 6. James B. Meehan, ‘Dancehalls in Ireland,’ Spotlight, Vol 1, (July 1964), p. 12 7. Myrtle Hill, Women in Ireland, A century of change, p. 140 8. Vincent Power, Send ‘em home sweatin,’: The showband story (2000), p. 16 9. Kathleen O’Connell, ‘The Fabulous Fifties in Leitrim,’ Carrick-on-Shannon remembered, Vol.1 (1998), p. 22.

History continued, stating: “it certainly must have been a man who made that rule.”10 These rules, decided by men, for men, culminated in women having little choice about who they were to dance with. This is in stark contrast to later works that describe the sixties and the fear of rejection that faced any man brave enough to cross the floor. Vincent Power comments on what he describes as a “bizzare mating ritual; men on one side, women at the other.”11 It does seem to be a mark of how far the change had come within ten years. Power states a variety of excuses that were used by women to avoid dancing with an undesirable partner, “refusals came with a litany of standard excuses: Too tired’; Not now’; My feet are sore; ... and the old Dublin reliable- Ask me sister, I’m sweatin’.”12 Is this the beginning of women having more options and more choice? In the traditional dances at the parochial hall women were subdued to the point where they had to accept any man that staggered over with a proposal. The different social etiquette for women in the fifties and sixties is clear evidence of how their role in Ireland was gradually changing. Fashion became an important part of the showband craze. The bands began to spruce themselves up for the stage by wearing matching outfits. Eileen and the Cadets “gained considerable attention for their fancy naval-inspired uniforms and exotic lead vocalist.” 13 This improved presentation inspired the dancers to dress up themselves. The removal of clergy as chaperones meant that women were able to wear more fashionable skirts with shorter hemlines; pencil skirts as well as mini-dresses and skirts grew in popularity. Spotlight magazine had a fashion editor and devoted a number of articles to fashion. In 1963 a writer for Spotlight, Pamela Carson wrote an article entitled ‘Beauty Tips for the Dance Halls.’ She stated “at all times girls, but particularly in the ballroom, you must be as beautiful as possible.” 14 It is clear that young women were becoming more glamorous. Almost every issue of Spotlight had an article on the best way to do your hair or how to dress for the dances. However, did this have any effect on the role of women in society? Young women were dressing far more glamorously than their mothers would have ever done. Maeve Flanagan, in her memoir, speaks of her aunt who went to dances in Galway. “She was very glamorous, she had all the clothes and the bee-hive hairdo... she floated around our house leaving clouds of perfume in her wake.”15 It could be argued that this is a form of rebellion against the stifled, pious, traditional generation. Fashion has been used as a clear visual way for young people to assert themselves and their place in the world. The combination of showband fashion and the impetus the movement gave young women to become more glamorous can only have had a positive effect on the role of women in Ireland; women became more stylish and fashion facilitated confidence. The rise in showbands and the subsequent change in the role of women did not 10. O’Connell, ‘The Fabulous Fifties in Leitrim,’ p. 22 11. Power, Send ‘em home sweatin,’ p. 16. 12. Ibid. 13. Ian Gallagher Homepage, http://www.iangallagher.com/cadets.htm, 25 October 2010 14. Pamela Carson, ‘Beauty Tips for the Dance Halls,’ Spotlight, Vol 1,(June, 1963), p. 2 15. Maeve Flanagan, Dev, Lady Chatterly and Me: A 60’s Suburban Childhood (1998), p. 25

History go unchallenged. The Catholic Church vehemently opposed the change from parochial halls to custom built dance halls. In September 1960 the Archbishop of Cashel and Emly decreed that there would be no dances on Saturday night, or on the eves of Holy Days. He had an acute “concern for the moral welfare of those who dance will surely be accepted as no more of an interference with legitimate amusement to their health and safety.” 16 In rural Ireland there were no dances on Saturday as that evening was set aside in order to look your best for Mass the next day. There were also no dances held during Lent, forcing the bands to travel abroad during this time. This is again a mark of just how powerful the Catholic Church in Ireland was. Many priests vocalised their objections to dance halls at Mass and forbade their congregation to attend. Despite this, people still came in their droves; the dance hall became an act of defiance against the clergy. Women were refusing to accept their pre-destined place as home-makers in Irish society through their small rebellion. This can be seen as the start of the Catholic Church losing their tight grip on young people in Ireland. Peter Somerville stated that “dancing continued to be one easy way of defying the clergy.” 17 Although the dance hall was just a small act of rebellion it was a vital component of how showbands changed the role of women in Ireland. The rise of showbands had a positive, liberating effect on the role of women in Ireland. It enabled men and women to socialise in a wider area and without supervision whilst also encouraging alternative fashion choices. The example set by female singers can only have inspired women in Ireland to have more ambition. However, the Catholic Church and the institution of marriage reigned supreme in Ireland. It seems that showbands had a positive effect for single women in terms of fashion; independence; expanding social circles; and rebellion against the repression of women in Irish society.

16. Quoted in Fergal Tobin, The Best of Decades: Ireland in the 1960’s (1996), pp. 19-20. 17. Peter Somerville- Large, Irish Voices, Fifty years of Irish Life 1916-66 (1999), p. 277.

History Bibliography Primary Sources Coughlan, John (ed.), Spotlight, (1963-80). Secondary Sources Flanagan, Maeve, Dev, Lady Chatterly and me: A 60’s suburban childhood (1998). Ferriter, Diarmuid, The Transformation of Ireland, 1900-2000 (2004). Hill, Myrtle, Women in Ireland: A century of change (2003). Power, Vincent, Send ‘em home sweatin,’ the showband story (2000). Keogh, Dermot, Twentieth Century Ireland: Nation and State (1994). O’Connell, Kathleen, ‘The Fabulous Fifties in Leitrim,’ Carrick-on-Shannon remembered, vol.1 (1998). Somerville- Large, Peter, Irish Voices, Fifty years of Irish Life 1916-66 (1999). Tobin, Fergal, The Best of Decades: Ireland in the 1960’s (1996). Trevor, William, ‘The Ballroom of Romance,’ The Distant Past (1979). Internet Sources Ian Gallagher Homepage, http://www.iangallagher.com/cadets.htm Irish Showbands Home page, http://www.irish-showbands.com

Thatcher, Carter, and O’Neill: The RUC Arms Ban Bruff O’Reilly Senior Sophister, History and Politics

1979 witnessed the increased internationalisation of the Northern Ireland conflict as Britain, Ireland, and the United States sought to come to terms with their respective responsibilities. The United States had been dragged into the conflict by the continued financial and arms support flowing from its Irish diaspora, and was slow to recognise its role as political peacemaker through the increased involvement of prominent Irish-American politicians. The newly elected British Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, sought to utilise good relations with the United States in order to find political support for her goals in Northern Ireland and elsewhere. However, Thatcher failed to achieve a favourable outcome on the US arms ban for the Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) on her otherwise successful visit to Washington in December 1979 - a notable blemish amongst a host of successful initiatives.1 Therefore, the question must be asked as to how she was able to lose out on such an important issue with regards to the Northern Ireland conflict? By first briefly outlining the Northern Irish Crisis in an international context; second focusing on Thatcher’s goals and tactics towards US involvement during the lead up of her visit in December 1979; and thirdly examining the dynamics of the US political structure of the time, this essay will contend that recently released documents from the British and Irish National Archives illustrate Thatcher’s failure to have the arms ban lifted was due to her underestimation of the influence of the ‘Four Horsemen,’ and an overestimation of the competency of the American President in relation to the Northern Irish issue. In order to fully understand the complexity of the RUC, it is necessary to place the issue in a wider political context. The RUC arms ban came as an indirect result of the Bennett Report, issued by the British government in response to accusations made by Amnesty International of human rights abuses.2 The report fanned the flames of antiBritish sentiment within Ireland as well as abroad, where it was taken as evidence of the insidious role played by the RUC. As a result of the report, Irish-Americans, ranging in number between 20 to 40 million, lobbied their political representatives to act against the RUC. The issue was taken up by the Speaker of the House of Representatives, Thomas ‘Tip’ 1. The National Archives of the UK (NAUK), PREM 19/127, ‘Visit to US by P.M. on 16-19 December 1979 – Policy.’ 2. Joseph E. Thompson, ‘United States-Northern Ireland Relations’, World Affairs, 146;4, p. 321.

History O’Neil, who claimed that the State Department’s recent approval of shipment of weapons to Northern Ireland “undermines efforts by US political leaders to reduce support by US citizens for the forces that seek to unify Ireland through violence.” 3 Under increasing pressure from the Ad-Hoc committee, chaired by Congressman Biaggi, the State Department decided to review the next order by the RUC, effectively placing a ban on the sale. ‘The Four Horsemen’- Speaker O’Neill, Senators Kennedy and Moynihan, and Governor Carey - had been involved for years with the dispute, helping to reduce the flow of weapons and funds from America to Northern Ireland, and had recently become more vocal on the role Westminster played in Northern Ireland, claiming that it had become a “political football.”4 The Northern Ireland issue had evolved from being a purely Anglo-Irish dilemma, and now included an important role for the United States. Thatcher inherited a delicate situation, in which it was necessary to accord her plans with both American and Irish interests. This would prove difficult, especially as her mission of re-establishing peace and control within the North through fresh security and political initiatives was in danger of being undermined by American politicians who regarded the RUC as a sectarian faction rather than a legitimate police force.5 In both a material and political sense, the RUC ban was an important issue for the British. Recently released documents from the NAUK demonstrate the aggressive stance the British Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO) took in the lead up to the December meeting between Thatcher and Carter; consistently trying to goad the US into repealing the ban.6 Beyond the practical necessity of supplying weapons to the RUC, the issue was seen as a possibly divisive topic between the two heads of state. Against the backdrop of the Cold War, the hostage situation in Iran, and a host of other international conflicts, there was little room for political missteps as both leaders sought mutual support. Therefore, the FCO’s urgency can be seen as an attempt to avoid any potential political embarrassments. However, it quickly became apparent that the most ardent opponent was not Carter, but the outspoken and powerful speaker of the House, O’Neill. A communication from Washington to the FCO, dated 3 October 1979, detailed the conversation between Henderson, a UK diplomat, and Vest, assistant secretary for Europe in the US State Department at the time. Henderson stated that “it ramined [sic] his view that any precise action [over pressing the RUC issue] would create serious political difficulties: the clear message that State department had received from Speaker O’Neill was that a recommendation to resume sales of Arms for the RUC would drive O’Neill and other moderates 3. O’Neill Speech, 1 June 1979, National Archives of Ireland (NAI), Department of Foreign Affairs (DFA), 2009/120/2027, ‘US Arms Sales to Northern Ireland, Congressional Hearings Etc. December 1979. 4. John Dumbrell, ‘The United States and the Northern Irish Conflict 1969-94: From Indifference to Intervention’, Irish Studies in International Affairs, Vol. 6, p. 117. 5. O’Neill Speech, June 1979. 6. NAUK, PREM 19/83, ‘Situation in Northern Ireland; part 4.’

History in Congress into the Arms of the extremists. I pointed out that indefinite delay would cause no less great difficulties in the UK.” 7 Vest later cited “irrational emotions in the Congress” among the reasons to avoid confrontation. The British can be seen to use emphasise several different points throughout negotiations with American Diplomats over the issue, citing internal pressures within the UK, NATO, as well as “the explosive reactions which there might be on part of the U.N. public opinion of the public on arms was maintained [sic].” 8 Thatcher’s administration were coming under increasing pressure to sort out the issue, aware that failure would have political repercussions, in both Westminster and in Northern Ireland, where it would help to delegitimize the RUC.9 The records - in spite of constant warnings about O’Neill’s reluctance - illustrate a serious belief within the FCO that the issue could be overturned, and a solution could be found. Along with the new political initiatives that were to be delivered imminently by the British government, it was suggested that the FCO prepare a plea to the Speaker that would emphasise that “the situation had now changed, following Lord Mountbatten’s assassination, the Pope’s appeal and the PIRA’s reaction to this appeal, and gradual political development,” and that as a result that “in this changed state of affairs the suspension of licences for export of Arms for the RUC should be lifted.” Eventually it seemed that the British might get with their way, with Carter succumbing to heavy lobbying. A later communication between Washington and the FCO stated: “Vest (State Department) told us yesterday that, following our approach last week, Vance had put a paper on the Arms sales issue to President Carter. The president had minuted [sic.] ‘I should go ahead and do it.’”10 Although there were still doubts about O’Neill, the communications leading up to Thatcher’s visit became decidedly more positive. The build up to Thatcher’s visit to the US in December witnessed many politically important developments between British and Irish relations, including increased cross-border security measures, and new political initiatives brought forward by Humphrey Atkins.11 As noted above, the British were hopeful that these could help turn the tide in favour of allowing the arms ban to be lifted. The Irish Taoiseach, Jack Lynch, had met with both Thatcher and Carter successfully during 1979, emphasising the importance of cross-border security and the continued involvement of the Republic in reaching a peaceful solution to the topic. It has been suggested that he was opposed to the RUC arms ban, but due to political circumstances within Ireland, many of whom were staunchly anti-British, it was not admissible to condemn the US on this front. The issue did not arise in meetings with Thatcher or Carter, but his constant condemnation of the Provisional IRA, as well as third 7. NAUK, PREM 19/82, 3 October 1979, ‘Situation in Northern Ireland; part 3’. 8. Ibid., 4 October 1979. 9. Ibid. 10. Ibid., 25 November 1979. 11. Dumbrell, ‘The United States and the Northern Irish Conflict 1969-94’, p. 118.

History party indications within British records, indicate that he was against the ban.12 With little resistance on the Irish front, and the apparent approval of the US President, the only opponent that remained was the Irish-American contingent within the American legislature. It is now necessary to address the American domestic politics which prevented this from happening, and to assess whether different strategy could have been adopted by Thatcher that would have yielded a positive result. Speaker O’Neill - as had been warned against in countless British correspondence - was able to block the President from ending the arms ban. According to official records President Carter was afraid of confronting O’Neill, in spite of agreeing with Thatcher: “The President said that he himself would like to approve the sale but did not wish to be defeated in Congress or to have a major altercation with them.”13 This was not met well by Thatcher, who felt that “if the sale of revolvers was blocked, it would be a major propaganda victory for the IRA. It seemed a pity at a time [when] co-operation with the Irish government had been significantly improved.” Carter’s only response was to suggest that Thatcher discuss the issue with O’Neill. It is interesting to note that recently released documents reveal that Carter, following the meeting with Thatcher, attempted – unsuccessfully - to apply pressure to O’Neill over the issue.14 This failure was hardly surprising, and was indicative of Carter’s unsophisticated approach towards Northern Ireland. Perhaps the most interesting insight into Carter’s approach to Northern Ireland come from Sean Donlan’s private brief for Jack Lynch, made before his November visit to Washington in November 1979. Donlan accuses the President’s administration of having “little understanding not just of Ireland but even of Irish America. Casual conversations reveal… a complete ignorance of the facts and apparent unwillingness to acquire a basic knowledge or to take the issue seriously.”15 Donlon goes on to suggest that the recent battle for the fight for the Democratic nomination had strained relations with the ‘Four Horsemen,’ with Kennedy, Carey, Moynihan, and O’Neill banding against Carter and his recently acquired advisor, the reviled Congressman Biaggi. With O’Neill diverging in opinion with the President over Northern Irish issues, it is not surprising that he would not acquiesce to Carter over the RUC ban – an issue that the President probably cared little about beyond its significance to his electoral campaign. For O’Neill, the arms ban was not based on what was best for Carter’s relations with Thatcher, but out of a deeply felt emotional reaction. Indeed, interviews with American diplomats in London at the time, warning against the arms ban and its potential repercussions, provide a telling insight into O’Neill’s approach, remarking that the “‘balanced’ talk-

12. NAUK, PREM 19/82. 13. Record of Conversation with President Carter, 17 Dec. 1979, ‘MT plenary meeting with President Carter (record of conversation) [Iran, Rhodesia, Middle East, energy, Northern Ireland, defence] accessed via http:// www.margaretthatcher.org/document/112136, 18 February 2011. 14. NAUK, PREM 19/127, 20 December from Washington to FCO. 15. NAI, Department of Taoiseach, 2009/135/719. Donlan to Lynch, 8 November1979.

History ing points prepared for the Speaker…had been ‘totally ignored.’” 16 The one striking conclusion that can be made from Thatcher’s visit to the United States was that her administration did not play due deference to the ‘Four Horsemen.’ Consistently addressed in the communications between Washington and the FCO in the months before the meeting, it is notable that Thatcher made only the meekest efforts to establish a relationship with any of the prominent Irish-American politicians. Several events bear this assessment out: Firstly, her decision to decline Governor Carey’s invitation to Humphrey Atkins to discuss the Northern Irish issue in New York.17 However politically improper she perceived the meeting to be due to it taking place on foreign soil, it certainly could not have hurt to try to win favour with Irish-Americans. It illustrated her basic opinion – one that did not sit well with many Irish-Americans – that Northern Ireland was essentially a domestic, British affair. Secondly, her decision to ‘snub’ Senators Kennedy and Moynihan by not inviting them to a lunch held by the British embassy in Washington during her visit. How intentional this ‘snub’ was is not known, but the response at the time read clearly with Moynihan remarking “The two conspicuously left out [of the meeting] were myself and Senator Kennedy, which will teach us to say useful or constructive about Northern Ireland.”18 Senator Moynihan in particular could have been a remarkable helpful ally on the RUC issue, with him staunchly opposing the ban on grounds that it “undermined the ability of the US to act as an honest broker to influence the attitude of the British government.”19 Thirdly, it is difficult to understand why she had not tried to make direct inroads in dealing with O’Neill. Prior to her meeting with Carter, she declined the opportunity to discuss the RUC arms ban with O’Neill during an assembly with a collection of Congressmen and Senators.20 Even though it was her first point on the agenda when discussing Northern Ireland with Carter, it was not even alluded to with O’Neill, or any other American politician during her visit to Washington.21 Perhaps Thatcher felt that the RUC arms ban was an issue that required Carter’s push, but his immediate deference to O’Neill indicates a misjudgement by the Prime Minister. Thatcher would later discuss the issue with O’Neill directly - with no success but the initial opportunity to pre-empt the public embarrassment with Carter was not even attempted on her trip to Washington.22 Instead, Congressman Biaggi wrongly claimed that 16. Interview with Kimball, John. W. 24 May 1999, ‘The Foreign Affairs Oral History Collection of the Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training’, Frontline Diplomacy, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. Accessed via http://hdl.loc.gov/loc.mss/mfdip.2007kim01, 18 February 2011. 17. NAUK, PREM 19/84, ‘Invitation to a meeting from Governor Carey of New York to Secretary of State for Northern Ireland and Irish Foreign Affairs Minister.’ 18. Irish Echo, 29 December 1979, found in NAI, DFA, 2009/120/2027 19. Ibid.; Letter for Assistant Secretary Neligan from P. Dempsey, 12 November 1979. 20. Record of Conversation with Congressmen, 17 December 1979, ‘MT meeting with Congressmen (record of conversation) [Iran; ties with Britain; Rhodesia; Northern Ireland; SALT II; economic policy; EEC]’ accessed via http://www.margaretthatcher.org/document/112139, 18 February 2011. 21. NAUK, PREM 19/127. 22. Joseph E. Thompson, American policy and Northern Ireland: A Saga of Peacebuilding (2001), p. 91.

History Carter’s ‘decision’ had been down to his unwavering dedication to human rights, something that further vilified, rather than vindicated, the RUC in Irish-American eyes.23 This issue ultimately proved to be a failure for Thatcher, but also for Carter, exposing his naivety in relation to Northern Ireland. As Thompson puts it, “Carter’s foreign policy vision for Northern Ireland amounted to more than well-intended sound-bites,” and that his loss of support of the Irish-American contingent was down to “the confusion inherent in [his] foreign policy,” which was readily evident during this period.24 This essay has sought to outline the specific circumstances that led to the upholding of the RUC arms ban in December 1979, in spite of pressure from both the British and American executives. By first setting the arms ban in an international context; secondly outlining the specific approaches adopted by the FCO in relation to the State Department; and third highlighting the subsequent tactics adopted by Thatcher and Carter, it was the aim of this essay to illustrate the political miscalculations which resulted in the mutually unbeneficial impasse. Both Thatcher and Carter were more than capable of adopting different tactics if they hoped for a favourable resolution, but they misjudged the power and inflexibility of Speaker O’Neill on the issue. Thatcher was most likely guilty of underestimating O’Neill, and overestimating Carter’s ability to sway the Speaker. Carter’s unsophisticated stance in regards to Northern Ireland was illustrated through his inability to convince O’Neill. It stands as a testament to the newly garnered power of the IrishAmerican lobby within Washington, which, as A.J. Wilson notes, was met with “profound shock” by London.25 O’Neill had succeeded in denying the British government weapons, just as he had succeeded in reducing the flow of funds and arms to the Provisional IRA in years previous. The impact of this was to implant American influence in the subsequent peace process for the next two decades not just as a friend of Britain and Ireland, but as force in and of itself.

23. Irish Echo, 29 December 1979. Also in the file – document from the US State Department adamant that the ban was not down to human rights abuses. 24. Thompson, American policy and Northern Ireland, p. 89 25. A. J. Wilson, Irish America and the Ulster Conflict (1996), p.160.

History Bibliography Primary Sources Frontline Diplomacy, Manuscript Division, Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. ‘The Foreign Affairs Oral History Collection of the Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training.’ National Archives of Ireland, Department of án Taoiseach. National Archives of Ireland, Department of Foreign Affairs. National Archive of the UK. www.margaretthatcher.org – records of conversations. Secondary Sources Dumbrell, John, ‘The United States and the Northern Irish Conflict 1969-94: From Indifference to Intervention,’ Irish Studies in International Affairs, Vol 6 (1995), pp. 107-125. Thompson, Joseph, E., ‘United States-Northern Ireland Relations,’ World Affairs, Vol 146 (1984), pp. 318-339. Thompson, Joseph, E., American policy and Northern Ireland: a saga of Peacebuilding, (2001). Wilson, A.J., Irish America and the Ulster Conflict (1996).

Archaeology â&#x20AC;˘

This section was graced with submissions of a very high standard, demonstrating both the enthusiasm and aptitude for the subject of those who study archaeology here in Trinity. Archaeology as a discipline continues to teach us more about ourselves with each new discovery that is made or project undertaken. This is reflected in the two essays presented here, which share a common theme in analysing the contribution of archaeology to issues of identity and ethnicity. However they do so in vastly different contexts: one focusing on the Scandinavian element in early medieval Dublin, the other exploring the impact of an extraordinary find on modern China. I have no doubt that the reader will find both essays of great interest. I would like to express my thanks to Caoimhe, this yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s General Editor, for her drive and enthusiasm for the project, and all those who worked to make this journal a continued success. My thanks also to all those who submitted such high-quality essays, making my job as section editor both a challenge and a pleasure. David Clancy Archaeology Editor

The Tarim Mummies: The Use and Abuse of History Amy Quinn Senior Sophister, Ancient History and Archaeology It may be surprising to learn that the best-preserved mummies are not to be found in Egypt or Peru, but in an extremely remote area of China - the country’s ‘Wild West’. In 1987, in a dusty back room of the Ürümchi Museum in Xinjiang, renowned scholar of Chinese studies Dr. Victor Mair stumbled upon a discovery that would stun the archaeological world. Mair came face-to-face with dozens of immaculately preserved mummies; mummies that appeared to possess not the Chinese or Mongoloid features expected in this region, but distinctly ‘Caucasian’ characteristics such as high-bridged noses, deep, round eye sockets, fair hair and men with heavy beards.1 These mummies were not only going to elucidate an aspect of history long obscured by time, but were to become embroiled in a political and racial controversy still unresolved today, and highlight how history can be mishandled and manipulated by those with modern concerns and agendas. It is known that the Han Chinese (that make up most of the modern Chinese population) struggled to open up trade roots with the West only after moving in to the western part of the country in 120 BCE, but archaeologists and linguists had assumed that the Mongol-type people had always resided in this area, ever since the spread of Homo sapiens sapiens at the end of the Ice Age forty thousand years ago.2 While finding Caucasoid-types here was a big surprise, these mummies were not the first prehistoric Caucasian bodies unearthed in Xinjiang. Almost a century earlier Sir Aurel Stein along with others uncovered and published details of mummies found in the wastes of Loulan, at the east end of the Tarim Basin. Only black and white photographs and fragments of the ancient people’s clothing made it back to Britain and the mummies remained where they were found, left to decay or be claimed by the shifting sands. While those mummies were lost, there was now the exciting possibility of performing modern scientific analysis on these surviving remains.3 Mair set about collecting a team which could study and hopefully shed light on these people’s customs, origins and perhaps even language. In the same area, documents had been discovered dating from the first millennium CE and written in the 1. Elizabeth Barber, The Mummies of Ürümchi, (2000), p 19. 2. Ibid 3. Ibid, p. 21

Archaeology now-extinct language of Tocharian, which turned out to be related to the Indo-European languages spoken throughout most of Europe (including English, Latin and Greek). These Tocharian speakers were thought to have come into Central Asia from the West and scholars anticipated that these mummies may actually have belonged to this mysterious group.4 The most famous mummy resting in the Ürümchi Museum is ‘Chärchän Man’, also dubbed ‘Ur-David’ after Mair noticed an uncanny resemblance to his brother David. The man is three thousand years old (circa 1000 BCE) with eyes closed and sunken into his skull, lips parted slightly and light brown hair. A two-inch beard covers his face. Strands of grey betray his age which was probably past fifty and he must have been an imposing figure, standing at six feet six inches.5 A red and blue cord had been used to bind his hands to his chest, so they didn’t slide off, while his jaw was held shut by a red strap.6 Chärchän Man was not alone in death, but shared his grave with three adult women. Close by lay the poignant burial of a small, perfectly preserved baby boy.7 The infant, probably less than three months old, lay on a blanket and was wrapped in a reddish-brown shroud, with tufts of wool placed in the nostrils to prevent the leakage of bodily fluid. Over the baby’s head, someone had placed a bright blue woollen bonnet and two small stones over the child’s eyes. The baby was buried with a small cow’s horn cup which is perhaps the world’s earliest nursing bottle, with a teat fashioned from a cow’s udder. The similarity between the man’s clothing and the baby’s shroud, as well as the fact the bonnet appears to have been made from the same wool as the man’s leggings, gives credence to the suggestion that this is the man’s child, dressed from the same storehouse of supplies and following him to the grave soon after his own demise.8 Among the usual objects that often accompany the ancient dead (e.g. vessels, tools, offerings of food) there was an extraordinary amount of surviving textiles, intricately woven and richly coloured. Due to the extremely dry desert conditions of the Tarim Basin, the vivid textiles look as good as the day they were made. They also provide another intriguing link with the West, as they are strikingly similar to the plaid twill cloths found in the only place in Europe where these perishable items have survived well: the Bronze Age salt mines at Hallstatt and Hallein in the Alps in upper Austria (another Indo-European area).9 While Chärchän Man was found to be coated in an animal protein which may have aided preservation of the body, the desert is mainly to thank for the spectacular survival of the remains, and also accounts for the magnificent condition of the textiles.10 The Chärchän burials are probably the most famous of the Tarim Basin, but they are not the oldest. That honour goes to the mummies found in the area of Loulan, which 4. Barber, The Mummies of Ürümchi, p 20. 5. Ibid, pp. 23-4 6. Ibid, pp. 28-9. 7. James Mallory and Vincent Mair, The Tarim Mummies: Ancient China and the Mystery of the Earliest Peoples from the West, (2008), p 189. 8. Barber, The Mummies of Ürümchi, pp 52-4. 9. Ibid, pp. 20-1. 10. Ibid, p. 32.

Archaeology date to circa 1800 BCE. They do not draw as much media attention, being dressed in browns and beiges instead of charming multicolour, but they are just as well preserved. One in particular has captured the imagination of the local Uyghur population (Muslims who speak a language related to Turkish), who have named her ‘The Beauty of Loulan’. About 45 years old, she is bundled in a brown wrap, with her auburn hair framing a peaceful and hauntingly beautiful face. The Uyghur appropriated her as the ‘mother of our nation’ and a painting by local artists of how she might have looked now adorns wall-posters and CD covers of local Uyghur musicians.11 While there is no linguistic or cultural link between these burials and the modern Uyghurs, their claims are not without genetic basis, for a noticeable number of non-Chinese people in this area today have blue eyes and light or reddish hair.12 Xinjiang (also known as Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region), meaning ‘New Territories’, comprises one-sixth of the entire country of China. This autonomous region is home to 47 different ethnic groups.13 In an area churning with ethnic unrest, some of these groups started to argue about which of them has the strongest ancestral claim to the Tarim Basin. Many of the 8.3 million Uyghurs in the region wish for full separation from China and the establishment of Xinjiang as an independent state, but what would that mean for the 7.5 million Han Chinese residing there? Between 1951 and 1981 alone, nineteen revolts by Uyghur protesters in Xinjiang had been reported, some of which turned violent. In response, the Chinese government dispatched militia to the region, increased the number of Han settlers and began closing Islamic schools. During the 1990s, more tensions flared over China’s one-child policy, a law completely at odds with Uyghur religion and culture. The harsh desert of Xinjiang sits atop an estimated 20.9 billion tons of oil which China intends to use to boost its economic growth, so there is little chance of them relinquishing control of the region.14 The nationalist Uyghurs latched on to the mummies as proof of their ancestral claim to the area and to assert that their rightfully inherited land is being oppressed under Chinese foreign rule. Many Chinese historians championed the view that the first contact between China and the West did not occur till the second century BCE and that Chinese civilization rose in isolation. This theory purports that they had been free of all influence from the West; all inventions and innovations had been their own. These European-looking mummies however, revealed much earlier contact between China and the West, as well as the possibility that it had been these people and not the Chinese who had introduced innovations such as metallurgy, one of the prerequisites of Chinese civilisation.15 The grounds for claiming that metallurgy was entirely indigenous to China do not seem so robust as once thought and the scholarly gradient now inclines to accept that the earliest bronze metallurgy in China was stimulated by contacts with western steppe cultures (possibly from 11. Mallory and Mair, The Tarim Mummies, p 181 12. Barber, The Mummies of Ürümchi, pp 71-2 13. Mallory and Mair, The Tarim Mummies, p 9. 14. Heather Pringle, ‘Battle for the Xinjiang Mummies’, Archaeology Vol.63.4 (2010). 15. Barber, The Mummies of Ürümchi, p 81; Mallory and Mair, The Tarim Mummies, p 328.

Archaeology Central Asia east through Xinjiang into the Central Plains of China). It has been suspected that some archaeologists and officials with their own political or racial agendas have been blatantly hostile to the unearthing and preservation of these ‘foreign devils’.16 From the standpoint of Chinese nationalists, these barbarians did nothing to contribute to Chinese civilisation and are detracting from the Chinese people’s real historic achievements. It does not help when equally misguided Uyghur nationalists jump at the opportunity to use them to demonstrate an ancient claim on their territory. Due to the already delicate situation in Xinjiang, there were always going to be some Chinese officials who would rather see these foreign intruders waste away under neglect.17 To shed light on the origins of the mummies, Mair needed DNA evidence for analysis, a project which alarmed the Chinese government who feared he might discover they were ancestors of the modern-day Uyghurs. In the end, five specimens had to be secreted out of China and it was only possible to extract ancient mitochondrial DNA from one of the mummies, which was shown to belong to a genetic lineage common in Western Europe. One sample was not enough to draw definitive conclusions so, under increased pressure, Chinese researchers conducted a comprehensive study and jointly published their research results in 2010, with Mair as the co-author. Samples from twenty mummies betrayed the complex genetic make-up of these early settlers: all of the men sampled came from one European genetic population, while the women descended from two- from Asia (most likely southern Siberia) and from Europe. No direct connection between the mummies and the modern Uyghur people was found. Ancient Uyghur inscriptions and archaeological evidence supports the movement of Uyghurs into the Tarim Basin at a relatively late stage, after their powerful khanate in Mongolia fell in 840 CE.18 They seem to have encountered small relic populations of Tocharians who were related to the Afanasevo culture of southern Siberia, who formed the eastern linguistic periphery of the IndoEuropean continuum of languages and whose centre of expansion lay north of the Black and Caspian seas. These Tocharians encountered settled Indo-Iranians to the northwest of the Tarim Basin around 2000 BCE. Other peoples of the steppe arrived into the region in later centuries and were linguistically absorbed by the Tocharians.19 The general conclusion is that there are two distinct layers of Europoid populations represented among the Tarim mummies: one representing Tocharian and thus affiliated to far western populations, the other more closely related to the Indo-Iranian languages and the peoples of the Hindu Kush.20 The Uyghurs intermarried (hence their European-looking descendants) and may have caused many remaining Tocharians to flee from the area under threat of attack. Some Uyghur separatists vilified Mair for undermining their quest for freedom. Mair has always 16. Mallory and Mair, The Tarim Mummies, p 180. 17. Ibid. 18. Pringle, ‘Battle for the Xinjiang Mummies’, Archaeology Vol.63.4. 19. Mallory and Mair, The Tarim Mummies, pp 317-8. 20. Rodger Blench, ‘Stratification in the Peopling of China: How far does the linguistic evidence match genetics and archaeology?’ (2006).

Archaeology maintained a neutral stance with regard to the mummies, firmly stating that he was not prepared to distort history.21 Despite this impartiality, Mair has been accused of obfuscation in regard to his presentation of the mummies’ origins. Nathan Light has been a strong critic of the scholar and his team’s willingness to promote these mummies as Europeans on the basis of nothing more than a working hypothesis and accuses them of neglecting to draw attention to the uncertainty at the heart of their linguistic argument. While not wishing to undermine the great work undertaken by Mair and his colleagues, Light feels the need to point out how scholarly work can get distorted by racial myths and Eurocentric thinking and how the media freely presented the theories of the ancient Europeans in China but rarely categorically stated the complexity of the issues. Mair and his team have been driven by a desire to find close links between the Celts (such as the textile link identified by Barber) and the Tocharians. The constant reference to body type as indicative of Indo-European identity stems from racial assumptions about culture; body type has nothing to do with culture or language or the technological excellence of a people.22 What we have here is a mixed society, not a simple case of superior Caucasoid-types coming from the West bringing cultural skills to the less advanced Chinese. While his attack on Mair may be harsh, Light stresses that both the idea of an isolated China and that European ethnic groups could migrate to the Tarim Basin (without extensive cultural and genetic exchange along the way), are nothing more than fables about racial distinctiveness.23 While it would be unfair to say that Mair proffers a singular and simplistic explanation (his in-depth and even-handed evaluation of the mummies’ potential origins in The Tarim Mummies demonstrates this to be untrue), Light does pose valuable questions about how scientific results are presented to the public, especially by the media. Mair is not the only one under scrutiny following the new interest in Xinjiang’s mummies. The fact is that the majority of the Tarim Mummies either have been or are currently in the process of being destroyed.24 Their bodies are often the human vestiges left behind by treasure-seekers, salt-miners and farmers after they dig into the ancient cemeteries. Even if a mummy is lucky enough to survive this, very few manage to make it to environmentally protected conditions in museums and some museums merely leave the mummies to rot in a damp cellar.25 Access to an important set of mummified remains in the Xinjiang Museum was blocked when the museum let out half its space to a furniture store and sealed up its storeroom with display cases! There are eyewitness accounts from the enormous cemetery of Qäwrighul that ancient human skeletal remains have been tipped over the ridge on which the cemetery is located. This gives us an idea about the difficulty of estimating how many of these mummies have been found, but Mair and Mallory believe there have been several thousand mummies (as well as thousands of skeletons) uncovered 21. Pringle, ‘Battle for the Xinjiang Mummies’, Archaeology Vol.63.4 22. Nathan Light, ‘Hidden Discourses of Race: Imagining Europeans in China’ (1999). 23. Nathan Light, ‘Tabloid Archaeology and the ‘mysterious’ Mummies of Eastern Turkestan’ (1999). 24. Mallory and Mair, The Tarim Mummies, p 180 25. Ibid.

Archaeology in the Tarim Basin. There have been calls for the Chinese to expend energy protecting these ancient remains and there is good grounds for recommending that mummies not be re-interred but removed from their graves, that is, if high standards of conservation can be relied upon.26 The Tarim Mummies are still a delicate subject in China and for fear of fuelling separatist notions, the Xinjiang Museum displays all its mummies, both Tarim and Han, together regardless of dating.27 The case of these mummies shows how history can be used and manipulated to serve one’s own ends. Archaeology, when attempting to determine a people’s origins, may unsurprisingly magnify pre-existing racial and political tensions. It is therefore important that archaeologists and scientists be aware that they must deal with the cultural and political impact of ancient discoveries on the present. In 2009, Beijing finally agreed to send some of the best-preserved Xinjiang mummies and their artefacts to the United States for a major exhibition. Dr. Victor Mair, who for years sought an international showing, was delighted and optimistic about the decision: “I think some segment of the Chinese leadership wants to tell the world that they are open, and that they are able to handle whatever happens in Xinjiang”.28

26. Mallory and Mair, The Tarim Mummies, pp 180-1 27. Clifford Coonan, ‘A Meeting of Civilisations: The mystery of China’s Celtic mummies’, The Independent. 28. Pringle, ‘Battle for the Xinjiang Mummies’, Archaeology Vol.63.4.

Archaeology Bibliography Barber, Elizabeth W. The Mummies of Ürümchi (2000) Blench, Rodger ‘Stratification in the Peopling of China: How Far Does the Linguistic Evidence Match Genetics and Archaeology?’ (2006) http://www.rogerblench.info/Language%20data/China/Geneva%20paper%202004%20 submit.pdf Date Accessed: 15/12/11 Coonan, Clifford ‘A Meeting of Civilisations: The Mystery of China’s Celtic Mummies’, The Independent (Aug 28, 2006) http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/asia/a-meeting-of-civilisations-the-mysteryof-chinas-celtic-mummies-413638.html Date Accessed: 14/12/11 Light, Nathan ‘Hidden Discourses of Race: Imagining Europeans in China’ (1999) http://homepages.utoledo.edu/nlight/uyghhst.htm Date Accessed: 14/12/11 Light, Nathan ‘Tabloid Archaeology and the ‘Mysterious’ Mummies of Eastern Turkestan’ (1999) http://homepages.utoledo.edu/nlight/discarch.txt Date Accessed: 14/12/11 Mallory, James P. and Mair, Victor H.,The Tarim Mummies: Ancient China and the Mystery of the Earliest Peoples from the West (2008 [2000]) Pringle, Heather ‘Battle for the Xinjiang Mummies’, Archaeology Vol. 63, Issue 4 (2010) Images Fig. 1: http://euroheritage.net/tocharians.shtml Date Accessed: 13/12/11 Fig. 2: http://www.upenn.edu/almanac/volumes/v57/n24/silkroad.html Date Accessed: 13/12/11 Fig. 3: http://www.astroset.com/bireysel_gelisim/ancient/a40.htm Date Accessed: 15/12/11

How Norse was Hiberno-Norse Dublin? Evidence for Scandinavian Settlement, c. 841-1169 Niall Ó Súilleabháin Junior Sophister, History and Ancient History and Archaeology Dublin, before the Norman invasion of 1169, is usually described as a Viking or HibernoNorse town, populated by Scandinavian raiders or their naturalised descendants. This paper will attempt to reconsider the evidence behind this assumption, bearing in mind the more nuanced and wary approach to ethnic identity that has developed in scholarship in recent years.1 This will be done by examining, in turn, the problems with current approaches to Hiberno-Norse Dublin, the evidence for rural Scandinavian settlement around Dublin and the evidence for a significant Irish presence within the city itself. In the past, historians of the Viking period in Dublin have tended to accept, without much thought, the ethnic labels given to individuals and groups by the contemporary, predominantly Irish, sources. This was of little concern to historians seeking to classify and characterise the political institutions of pre-Norman Ireland, for whom the individual, homogeneous groups of rural Irish and urban Norse Dubliners helped to explain both political and economic processes from the ninth to the twelfth centuries.2 Although important interactions such as Christianization, intermarriage and adaptation to the Irish political system are recognised, the implications they have for Dublin’s ethnic identity are not.3 Dublin remained, in the eyes of historians and archaeologists, a town populated by Scandinavian Vikings until problems began to emerge when the practical effects of this began to be studied. Dublin, like all urban settlements, was reliant in the pre-Norman period on its ru1. John Bradley, ‘Some Reflections on the problem of Scandinavian settlement in the hinterland of Dublin during the ninth century’ in John Bradley, Alan J. Fletcher and Anngret Simms (eds), Dublin in the Medieval World; Studies in honour of Howard B. Clarke, (2009), pp 43-6; David Griffiths, Vikings of the Irish Sea; Conflict and Assimilation AD 790-1050, (2010), pp 155-6 2. Edmund Curtis, ‘Norse Dublin’ in Howard Clarke (ed.), Medieval Dublin; The Making of a Metropolis, (1990), p. 100. 3. Ibid, pp 100-1, 107.

archa eology ral hinterland for vital resources such as food to feed itself and craft materials to sustain its manufacturing economy.4 This fact of interdependence was a problem due to the assumed opposing natures of the oppressive foreign townspeople and the resisting rural natives. Various suggestions have been put forward as to how a system to supply the town worked, from threats of violence or bribes of favourable conditions from the Norse overlords, to the inference that, because the Irish could not be trusted to provide tribute or resources for their oppressors, the vast majority were uprooted and replaced with Scandinavian settlers.5 None of these suggestions have been convincing, nor are they supported by the evidence. Before considering the evidence, however, it must be stressed that the identification of ethnic identity (e.g. Irish or Viking) is nearly impossible to do with certainty in either the historical or archaeological records. In essence, archaeologists and cultural historians have realised that ethnicity is not an innate, unchanging characteristic determined by biological ancestry, material culture or language. An approach based on this concept of ethnicity has been applied very successfully in the study of the Danelaw in northern and eastern England by D.M. Hadley, highlighting that “there is no necessary or predictable correlation” between language or artefacts of material culture and the ethnic identity of those to whom they belong.6 This should be kept in mind when considering the evidence in Dublin. It has long been recognised that there is a scarcity of evidence for Scandinavian settlement in Fine Gall/Dyflinarskiri, the rural hinterland area controlled by the Viking kings of Dublin, which possibly extended down the coast as far south as the smaller Viking settlements of Arklow and Wicklow.7 The reason given for this lack of evidence has been that a hybrid Hiberno-Norse or Hiberno-Scandinavian culture existed in Dublin and its hinterland which makes it nigh on impossible to distinguish between Irish and Scandinavian settlements in terms of material culture.8 The idea of a Hiberno-Norse or HibernoScandinavian material culture is not in itself problematic. There was quite clearly a transfer of artistic and technological ideas which led to the manufacture of items in a distinctively hybrid Gaelic-Norse style, and Dublin was at the heart of this cultural interaction.9 Par4. Mary A. Valante, ‘Dublin’s economic relations with hinterland and periphery in the later Viking age’ in Seán Duffy (ed.), Medieval Dublin I; Proceedings of the Friends of Medieval Dublin Symposium 1999, (2000), pp 71-3 5. Ibid, pp 74-5; John Bradley, ‘The interpretation of Scandinavian settlement in Ireland’ in John Bradley (ed.), Settlement and Society in Medieval Ireland; Studies presented to F.X. Martin, o.s.a, (1988), pp 53-6 6. D.M. Hadley, The Northern Danelaw; Its Social Structure, c.800-1100, (2000), pp 308-9. 7. Colmán Etchingham, ‘Evidence of Scandinavian Settlement in Wicklow’ in Ken Hannigan and William Nolan (eds), Wicklow: History and Society; Interdisciplinary Essays on the History of an Irish County, (1994), pp 132-3. 8. Bradley, ‘Scandinavian settlement in Ireland’ in Bradley (ed.), Settlement and Society in Medieval Ireland, p. 60 9. Griffiths, Vikings of the Irish Sea, pp 150-2

Archaeology ticularly prominent examples of this artist fusion are the Rathdown slabs of south county Dublin.10 The inconsistencies with which the term is used in the interpretation of settlements however, causes a problem. A small comparison of case studies will highlight these inconsistencies with regard to rural settlement. In 1999 a short article appeared in the periodical Archaeology Ireland describing “[a] Norse settlement in rural County Dublin” at Cherrywood.11 It identified two phases of Norse occupation at the site on the sole basis of a fragment of decorated whalebone plaque.12 In a fuller, more sedate analysis of the data six years later, the author recognised that the interpretation of the entire site was being influenced disproportionately by this single artefact, and yet concluded still that “Cherrywood appears to be a suitable candidate for [classification as a] Scandinavian settlement”.13 A rather unremarkable Irish settlement has been transformed by a single artefact into one of the only examples of rural Hiberno-Scandinavian settlement. The above case should be compared to that of Ballinderry Crannóg no. 1, on Ballinderry Lough in County Westmeath. This crannóg, a typical medieval Irish settlement type, has produced a range of artefacts of Scandinavian or Hiberno-Scandinavian origin including a socketed knife, glass linen-smoothers, a whetstone of likely Norwegian origin and perhaps one of the finest surviving Viking swords in the world, complete with a decorated silver crosspiece. Apart from a single alternative suggestion, this material has been uniformly interpreted as the acquisitions of trade or exchange, albeit on a more direct and privileged scale than most.14 It seems that geographical distance from Dublin is the crucial factor in deciding whether to interpret a settlement site as Hiberno-Scandinavian in character or simply possessing strong trade links with Dublin. These inconsistencies remove the excuse for brushing away the lack of evidence for rural Scandinavian settlement on the basis of an indistinguishable Hiberno-Scandinavian culture. Without archaeological evidence, the documentary evidence for rural settlement is slim. Pre-Norman donations to Christ Church Cathedral have been held to indicate lands settled by Scandinavian elites, but this is based on the untenable assumption that all the land which was owned by Scandinavian landholders (which they subsequently donated)

10. Bradley, ‘Scandinavian settlement in Ireland’ in Bradley (ed.), Settlement and Society in Medieval Ireland, p. 60 11. John Ó Néill, ‘A Norse Settlement in Rural County Dublin’, Archaeology Ireland, 13 (1999), pp 8-9. 12. Ibid, p. 10. 13. Idem, ‘Excavation of pre-Norman structures on the site of an enclosed Early Christian cemetery at Cherrywood, County Dublin’ in Seán Duffy (ed.), Medieval Dublin VII; Proceedings of the Friends of Medieval Dublin Symposium 2005, (2006), pp 84, 86. 14. Raghnall Ó Floinn, ‘The Archaeology of the Early Viking Age in Ireland’ in Howard B. Clarke, Máire Ní Mhaonigh and Raghnall Ó Floinn (eds), Ireland and Scandinavia in the Early Viking Age, (1998), p. 152.

Archaeology was thoroughly settled by their fellow Vikings.15 This leaves a small set of Norman-derived place-names as the only evidence for rural settlement around Dublin. The small number of place-names of Norse origin around Dublin, relative to other areas of Scandinavian settlement such as England, Galloway and the Isle of Man, must surely indicate a relatively low density of Scandinavian settlers.16 Archaeologists and historians must therefore face up to the fact that, unless new material is uncovered, the paucity of evidence must indicate a lack of any large-scale Scandinavian settlement in Dyflinarskiri. Although it has not been done before, it seems prudent in light of these conclusions to question the level of Scandinavian settlement in Dublin’s core urban town. Dublin was quite clearly the focus of Scandinavian interests and settlement on Ireland’s east coast, as indicated by the huge numbers of Viking warriors passing through the settlement, particularly in its early decades.17 There are, however, several suggestions in the historical record that native Irish men and women were heavily involved in urban life. Firstly, the daily necessary interaction with the primarily Irish hinterland would have led to frequent cultural interaction between natives and settlers. There are references to local traders in the town, who were probably part of a native resident community who migrated into the town, seeing opportunities for economic gain.18 Dublin’s continuing wealth and prosperity throughout the pre-Norman period must have attracted more Irish economic migrants, even if their numbers were small.19 Moreover, the evidence presented below, present in both the historical and archaeological records, demonstrates the rapid integration of native and Scandinavian people within the settlement of Dublin. The appearance of a group of warriors known as the Gall-Gaedhil in the Annals of Ulster in AD 856 is an example of how rapid this integration could be.20 Speculation has raged as to the identity of these warriors. Many have suggested that they were of mixed Gaelic-Norse parentage, perhaps from the Scottish Isles. Without a doubt intermarriage between Irish and Viking was happening by the late ninth century and was common by the mid-tenth century, when two Kings of Dublin, Olaf Cuarán and Sitric Silkbeard, father and son, both took Irish princesses as wives.21 By King Sitric’s day it was clear that there was as much Irish blood as Norse in the Dublin royal family and his designated successor, bearing the title rigdomna Gall (‘royal heir of the foreigners’), had the distinctly Christian 15. Bradley, ‘Scandinavian settlement in Ireland’ in Bradley (ed.), Settlement and Society in Medieval Ireland, pp 59-60. 16. Ibid, pp 56-8; Griffiths, Vikings of the Irish Sea, pp 48-9 and fig. 3 17. Bradley, ‘Scandinavian settlement in the hinterland of Dublin’ in Bradley, Fletcher and Simms (eds), Dublin in the Medieval World, p. 56. 18. Valante, ‘Dublin’s economic relations’ in Duffy (ed.), Medieval Dublin I, pp 71-5 19. Eadem, The Vikings in Ireland; Settlement, Trade and Urbanization, (2008), p. 152 20. A.U., s.a. 856. 21. C.S., s.a. 883; Valante, The Vikings in Ireland, p. 92; Curtis, ‘Norse Dublin’ in Clarke (ed.), Medieval Dublin, p. 107

Archaeology Irish name Gilla Ciaráin.22 Although our sources preserve only the genealogies of the elite, the high levels of interaction between Irish and Scandinavians in a settlement like Dublin would most likely have meant that intermarriage was common throughout society. The level to which each society adopted the other’s personal names is another indication of their close contacts and supports the view that intermarriage was widespread, but in turn highlights the dangers of using personal names to designate someone as ‘Viking’ or ‘Irish’.23 A controversial alternate suggestion as to the identity of the Gall-Gaedhil is that they were Irish foster children of Vikings. This view is based on the later and unreliable Fragmentary Annals of Ireland, but it highlights another way in which close relations between Irish and Norse could be established, as traditions of fosterage are common in both societies.24 The debate on the Gall-Gaedhil is unlikely to ever be conclusively resolved but their existence shows once again how difficult it is to tell Scandinavian from Irish. The archaeological evidence is less extensive, but no less revealing. Christian Irish cemeteries at both St Michael le Pole and Castleknock were in continuous use throughout the pre-Norman period until the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and all the indications are that similar cemeteries existed contemporaneously at Kilmainham and Islandbridge.25 These cemeteries confirm that an organised, active and fairly large Christian community was present at Dublin, without interruption, throughout the pre-Norman period. Recently suggestions have even been made that the domestic architecture in Dublin was influenced at least as much by native domestic architecture as by Scandinavian styles.26 Although this hypothesis has yet to gain general acceptance, it is a vital reminder that Dublin was as much an Irish town as a Viking town. In fact, all of the above evidence would suggest that, at the very minimum, a significant minority of the urban population of Dublin were of Irish extraction. It is clear from the evidence presented in this paper, archaeological and historical, that the Scandinavian element of the pre-Norman town of Dublin was quite minimal and is very difficult to identify. The only logical conclusion is that Scandinavian migration into Dublin and its hinterland was relatively insignificant, particularly after the initial settlement phase. The historical sources are, however, adamant about a clear distinction between 22. A.U. s.a. 1014. 23. Brian Ó Cuív, ‘Personal Names as an indicator of relations between the native Irish and settlers in the Viking period’ in John Bradley (ed.), Settlement and Society in Medieval Ireland; Studies presented to F.X. Martin, o.s.a, (1988), pp 85-6 24. Valante, The Vikings in Ireland, pp 91-2 25. Edmond O’ Donovan, ‘ The Irish, the Vikings and the English: new archaeological evidence from excavations at Golden Lane, Dublin’ in Seán Duffy (ed.), Medieval Dublin VIII; Proceedings of the Friends of Medieval Dublin Symposium 2006, (2008), pp 45-50; Elizabeth O’Brien, ‘The Location and Context of Viking Burials at Kilmainham and Islandbridge, Dublin’ in Howard B. Clarke, Máire Ní Mhaonigh and Raghnall Ó Floinn (eds), Ireland and Scandinavia in the Early Viking Age, (1998), p. 217 26. Harold Mytum, ‘The Vikings in Ireland: Ethnicity, Identity and Culture Change’ in James H. Barrett (ed.), Contact, Continuity, and Collapse; The Norse Colonization of the North Atlantic, (2003), pp 119-121.

Archaeology the Gaill or Ostmen of Dublin and the native Irish. The Irish annals continue to refer to the foreigners of Dublin, Gall Ath-Cliath, right up to the English conquest and beyond.27 Gerald of Wales, in his Topographia Hibernia, describes the Scandinavian town-dwellers as Ostmen, distinguishing them from the general population.28 Even in the thirteenth century, Ostman was a meaningful distinction, carrying legal privileges in the newly imposed English system.29 Given the lack of evidence for settlement, a logical explanation for this is that the inhabitants of Dublin took on the ethnic identity, including the language, of the city’s Viking founders.30 Although Viking settlers did not come in huge numbers to Dublin, their impact was certainly important and the cultural interactions which saw Irish Dubliners turn into Ostman Vikings is an area which will hopefully yield much valuable historical research in the future.

27. A.U., s.a. 1170, 1171 28. Emer Purcell, ‘The Expulsion of the Ostmen, 1169-71: the documentary evidence’, Peritia, 17-18 (2003-4), p. 276, n.2 29. Etchingham, ‘Evidence of Scandinavian Settlement in Wicklow’ in Hannigan and Nolan (eds), Wicklow: History and Society, pp 128-31 30. Donnchadh Ó Corráin, ‘Old Norse and medieval Irish bilingualism in Viking-Age Dublin’ in John Bradley, Alan J. Fletcher and Anngret Simms (eds), Dublin in the Medieval World; Studies in honour of Howard B. Clarke, (2009), pp 63-72.

Archaeology Bibliography Primary Sources The Annals of Ulster, AD 431–1131, ed. and trans. Seán Mac Airt and Gearóid Mac Niocaill, (Dublin, 1983), available at http://www.ucc.ie/celt/published/T100001A/index.html, accessed: 27/11/2011. [Abbreviated as A.U.]. Chronicon Scotorum, trans. by William M. Hennessy (London, 1866) and Gearóid Mac Niocaill (unpublished manuscript), available at http://www.ucc.ie/celt/published/T100016/ index.html, accessed: 27/11/2011. [Abbreviated as C.S.] Secondary Sources Bradley, John, ‘Some Reflections on the problem of Scandinavian settlement in the hinterland of Dublin during the ninth century’ in John Bradley, Alan J. Fletcher and Anngret Simms (eds), Dublin in the Medieval World; Studies in honour of Howard B. Clarke, (2009), pp 39-62. Idem, ‘The interpretation of Scandinavian settlement in Ireland’ in John Bradley (ed.), Settlement and Society in Medieval Ireland; Studies presented to F.X. Martin, o.s.a, (1988), pp 49-78. Curtis, Edmund, ‘Norse Dublin’ in Howard Clarke (ed.), Medieval Dublin; The Making of a Metropolis, (1990), pp 98-109. Etchingham, Colmán, ‘Evidence of Scandinavian Settlement in Wicklow’ in Ken Hannigan and William Nolan (eds), Wicklow: History and Society; Interdisciplinary Essays on the History of an Irish County, (1994), pp 113-38. Griffiths, David, Vikings of the Irish Sea; Conflict and Assimilation AD 790-1050, (2010). Hadley, D.M., The Northern Danelaw; Its Social Structure, c.800-1100, (2000). Mytum, Harold, ‘The Vikings in Ireland: Ethnicity, Identity and Culture Change’ in James H. Barrett (ed.), Contact, Continuity, and Collapse; The Norse Colonization of the North Atlantic, (2003), pp 113-37. O’Brien, Elizabeth, ‘The Location and Context of Viking Burials at Kilmainham and Islandbridge, Dublin’ in Howard B. Clarke, Máire Ní Mhaonigh and Raghnall Ó Floinn (eds), Ireland and Scandinavia in the Early Viking Age, (1998), pp 203-21.

Archaeology Ó Corráin, Donnchadh, ‘Old Norse and medieval Irish bilingualism in Viking-Age Dublin’ in John Bradley, Alan J. Fletcher and Anngret Simms (eds), Dublin in the Medieval World; Studies in honour of Howard B. Clarke, (2009), pp 63-72. Ó Cuív, Brian, ‘Personal Names as an indicator of relations between the native Irish and settlers in the Viking period’ in John Bradley (ed.), Settlement and Society in Medieval Ireland; Studies presented to F.X. Martin, o.s.a, (1988), pp 79-88. O’ Donovan, Edmond, ‘The Irish, the Vikings and the English: new archaeological evidence from excavations at Golden Lane, Dublin’ in Seán Duffy (ed.), Medieval Dublin VIII; Proceedings of the Friends of Medieval Dublin Symposium 2006, (2008), pp 36-130.

Classics • Cicero is considered by many to be the most important prose writer in the Latin language. But our understanding of Cicero would be greatly impoverished today if not for the chance discovery in Verona in 1345 of a manuscript of his letters by Petrarch, sometimes called one of the ‘fathers of the Renaissance’. Petrarch believed, as have many readers of Cicero’s letters since, that he had been given access to the ‘real, private Cicero’, not the public face that Cicero assumed in his political career. The first article, “Privacy in the Letters of Cicero”, explores whether this was really the case—were Cicero’s letters really private? Cicero’s vast influence has also not left Irish literature untouched, but this connection remains relatively unexplored. One particularly promising area is the use of Cicero by the Irish satirist Brian O’Nolan (aka Flann O’Brien, aka …), whose centenary was celebrated last year. The second article, “Chislers and Chickpeas”, sketches out some of the similarities between O’Nolan and Cicero. O’Nolan, whose seeming prescience about scientific discoveries of the twentieth century has sometimes earned him the title of ‘scientific prophet’, may also have known something about Cicero that we don’t: “I was astounded by one paragraph in [the letters to Atticus]. This paragraph mentioned something quite unknown to the preChristian Romans. This led me to the idea that the Cicero letters are a fake, and one of the glories of what Con Curran calls the renascence.” Of course, O’Nolan is just playing a joke on us… or maybe Petrarch was? Eoin Silke Classics Editor

Privacy in the Letters of Cicero Helen Dawson Junior Sophister, Classical Civilizations and Philosophy In discussing this issue I think we must consider what we mean by ‘privacy’ and whether the Romans would have used that word in the same way. Did they have rules of etiquette and courtesy about the showing of letters? Would a letter which we would consider as belonging to private correspondence have been used for political or professional purposes? I think it would be presumptuous to assume that their code of conduct in these matters would have been identical to ours. Cicero’s letters offer us an excellent set of examples with which to consider these questions. I believe that they offer a better set than Pliny’s because Pliny intended his for publication very early on, and although there is evidence that Cicero was also considering publishing a set of letters we have no idea which letters he would have considered, nor what his criteria for selection would have been. Cicero’s letters are a mixture of political letters, letters to personal friends and letters to his family, many of them written in times of great distress, most notably during his period of exile and after the death of his beloved daughter Tullia. In the letters concerning the latter event, his obvious distress and grief come across so strongly that we must wonder whether this hardened politician and lawyer would have desired their publication, at least during his lifetime. The first point I wish to consider is the idea of representation. Who is Cicero writing to? On what matter is he writing? Is he presenting himself as a politician, a friend, a relation, a superior, an inferior? All these questions will affect whether the questions are of a private, semi-private or public nature. When writing a letter on a political matter, it must have been expected that the letters would be kept and used as reference, read out and argued over. Yet even in political letters the use of affectionate terms is abundant, suggesting that there is a certain amount of formalisation in the wording, but also suggesting to me the importance of maintaining the representation of good relations between public figures, and that letters could have been used as proof of friendship. In Ad Fam. 5.7 Cicero writes to Pompey: My achievements have been such as to lead me to expect a note of congratulation in your letter by virtue of both our friendship and the interests of the state. I imagine that you have refrained from expressing this because you were afraid of alienating some individual. [Emphasis added]1 1. P. G. Walsh (trans.), Selected Letters (2008).

Classics This extract suggests to me that even in correspondence that could have been meant as private, there is potentially always the danger that it will be read by others, either at the intention of the writer or by theft. After all, Pompey was one of the leading political figures, it would perhaps have been natural for Cicero to have kept a letter of praise from him as proof to others of the high opinion Pompey professed of him (that is if Pompey had written such a letter, which it appears he did not, at least on this occasion). Letters signed by any person could easily be used as proof of an opinion or agreement, and so even in what should be private correspondence, the writer, particularly a man in a situation like Cicero’s where he would be so much in the public eye and in the eyes of his rivals, must take care as to what is put into writing. In some cases letters can be read in a contractual way, formalising or confirming an agreement or alliance. The best example of this is in a letter to Licinius Crassus: Please regard this letter as one which will have the impact of a solemn alliance rather than that of a mere epistle, and one which binds me most sacredly and attentively to carry out what I promise to undertake for you.2 In Att. 11.2, Cicero writes: Please send letters to any people you think right in my name. You know my intimate friends. If they notice the absence of my seal or handwriting, please say I have avoided using them owing to the sentries.3 Nicholson cites this passage when he makes the point that anything written in one’s own handwriting was a clear proof of one’s thoughts or intentions, whereas using a scribe or friend was a convenient disguise of authorship because in some cases the writer could claim that the letter was a forgery.4 So there would have been both positive and negative uses of writing in one’s own hand; in the first place the latter would have been more intimate and proof of authorship, but in the second place, if intercepted, it would have been proof of authorship. It would have been expected that letters of a political nature, when they did reach their intended recipient, would not have been assumed to be private. In the political upheavals of Cicero’s day, with shifting allegiances and conspiracies, and with no newspapers or other widespread forms of media, letters of political importance may have been read, and, may have been intended to be read, not only be the addressee, but also by his others in his party, and his most confidential friends. Your activities and your location I have ascertained from the letter which you sent to Atticus and which he has read to me.5 Then there are of course the scribes, couriers and slaves who are involved in writing and delivering letters and who have access to their masters’ papers. Therefore, letters among 2. Ibid., Ad Fam. 5.8 3. E. O. Winstedt (trans.), Cicero: Letters to Atticus (1912). 4. John Nicholson, ‘The Delivery and Confidentiality of Cicero’s Letters’ in Classical Journal, xc (1994) ,pp 33–63. 5. Ad Fam. 9.1 in Walsh, Letters.

Classics politicians are carefully worded to avoid giving offence to the wrong people. So far as the letter to Caesar goes, my decision was absolutely right that your friends should read it beforehand. Otherwise it would have been discourteous to them, and, if it was likely to offend him, a source of vital danger to me.6 This passage suggests to me not only the amount of care that went into political letters, but also a habit of giving the letter to others to read beforehand, possibly to proof read. Whether this was usual with letters, or was only a habit of Cicero’s regarding politically problematic correspondents we don’t know. But the phrase, “it would have been discourteous to them” suggests the former possibility. It may have been a matter of etiquette to allow friends to read one’s correspondence – a sign of intimacy perhaps? This would make sense with regard to Cicero sending the letter to Atticus, and out of politeness Cicero allowed him to show the letter to others. It is not clear how much prior permission was necessary before showing one’s correspondence to others. There are examples of clear permission given: Be sure to extract from Lucceius the letter I sent him, a handsome effort in which I asked him to pen the history of my affairs.7 This passage is also an example of a reference to letter-writing as a literary genre, with great effort expended over it and pride taken in the outcome, and the letter being admired for its style and language. It may then be that Cicero regarded the reading of letters in the context of literary criticism in the same way that the reading of poetry or prose among friends would have been regarded. So Atticus showing Cicero’s letters to his friends before sending them would seem, in this interpretation, to be similar to showing a composition to friends before publication. There is a similar case of Cicero showing one of Atticus’ letters: “Lepta is absolutely delighted with your letter; indeed it was admirably phrased, and it has made me more popular with him.”8 Perhaps it was a letter of recommendation that was sent about Cicero, but regardless of whether the recipient was Cicero or Lepta it seems clear that both men saw the letter. From Cicero’s perspective it would then be very natural for him to show letters that he was considering publishing, following the same tradition. In these letters obviously privacy is not the intention at all. Whether Cicero wrote any of his letters intentionally for publication is unknown, but from his description of the letter to Lucceius it does seem that he wrote some with the intention of having it passed around and read for its literary quality. It is very likely that he wrote other letters in this manner, but in this case they are obviously meant for a slightly wider audience than the recipient alone, and so private thoughts and business would not be the primary function. Function is a salient point here. Cicero wrote a number of very private letters, particularly after Tullia’s death. It would seem that these letters, of such a personal nature, were never designed to be published or read by anyone other than the recipient. But can we be sure of this? Pliny wrote letters concerning his wife’s miscarriage, and while this seems 6. Ibid., Att. 13.27 7. Ibid., Att. 4.6. 8. Ibid., Att. 6.1

Classics like a very private matter to us, Pliny published those letters in his lifetime. Can we assume that Cicero had the same attitude to privacy that Pliny had? Yet at the same time it a mistake to treat Pliny’s and Cicero’s letters in the same way. When comparing them, there is a much greater impression of immediacy in Cicero’s grief-stricken letters: But now, under the impact of this oppressive blow, even those scars which seemed to have healed reopen. In my earlier days my family welcomed me to lighten my discomfiture in politics, but I cannot now take refuge in politics to find comfort in its blessings from my domestic melancholy. So I am an absentee from both family and Forum, for my household cannot now console me in my political dejection, and politics cannot alleviate my domestic pains.9 You write that you fear my popularity and authority are affected by this mourning of mine, but I do not know what people are censuring and demanding. Do they want me not to grieve?10 In these examples Cicero seems very unconcerned by self-representation. He is neglecting his career and cares nothing for public opinion about his reaction to Tullia’s death. In my opinion this letter can be seen to be private, both because the content is private and also for the lack of self-fashioning. Cicero is not displaying the Stoic fortitude that many Romans admired. His grief and emotion are very clear and unashamed, and he makes it clear in the letter to Servius Sulpicius (Ad Fam. 4.6) that but for the consolation of his friends he would find it all too much to bear. It is natural that a greater degree of informality would be present in letters of this kind, and in letters to close friends in general. This may simply be a matter of convention, particularly regarding letters of a political nature, but I think it may also be a matter of privacy. Cicero would be less concerned about representation in letters to his intimate friends than to his political peers, even those with whom he was allied. But the formality may also have been to protect his image from those whom he was not on friendly terms with: The letters not addressed to Atticus, Terentia, or Tiro deploy the same art of composition, offer the same general species of artistic prose, as the works that Cicero published.11 I would go further than Hutchinson’s point, to suggest that the greater formality is linked with the high literary value that the less personal letters (according to Hutchinson) contain. I suggest that Cicero’s concern with self-representation is linked with these features and that he wished to maintain that representation in all political circles, those he was party to and those he was not. After all, in such turbulent political times, with politicians changing sides, any letter written to one friend may be shown to someone who will later be a rival. Moreover, I think it not unlikely that in writing such letters Cicero would have been wary about including subjects that he would not have made public in a speech or another 9. Ibid, Ad Fam. 4.6. 10. Ibid, Att. 12.40. 11. G. O. Hutchinson, Cicero’s Correspondence: A Literary Study (1998), p.12.

Classics publication. If this is the case then the amount of privacy would have been dependent on the recipient and the context of the letter. The line between private and public issues was more blurred in Cicero’s time than how we now perceive it. Politics in those times was largely competition between individuals rather than for political parties or issues, and alliances were made on a bargaining ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours’ basis. Therefore political issues would have been infused with what we would now consider the personal. Letters of recommendation are a good example of this, as friendship and affection are prevalent throughout such compositions, yet at the same time it is very clearly a professional matter and politics would still have been a concern for those involved. But this blurred line seems unavoidable when we consider how exclusive Roman politics was, politicians tending to be members of a particular class and background, and so long-standing friendship and kinship would be unavoidably involved in some cases. Cicero’s discussion of political events with Atticus is far more open, and we can therefore assume that a great deal more privacy was expected between the two of them, for example, in Att. 10.14: “The prospect of victory for either was ghastly, on the one hand because of the cruelty of Pompey and the recklessness of Caesar”.12 Such open language when contrasted to the overtures of friendship and affection in Cicero’s letters to Caesar and Pompey can leave us in little doubt that Cicero had supreme confidence in the discretion and privacy of his correspondence with Atticus. In conclusion, the uncertainties and anxieties of written correspondence can be found in a great number of Cicero’s letters; I received your letter, from which I gather that you feared your earlier ones had not been delivered to me.13 I had no suitable courier to whom I could entrust letters14 But nevertheless, I believe that I have given several examples where the privacy of the letter is assumed safe. Undoubtedly there were letters that were never intended to be private, but I believe that the same is true of letters in any era. And although postage would have been more dangerous in Cicero’s time, several of the letters strongly suggest that there were safe ways of sending explicitly private letters.

12. Walsh, Letters. 13. Ibid, Fam, 14.5 14. Ibid, Att. 1.16.

Classics Bibliography Walsh, P. G. (trans.) Selected Letters (2008) Hutchinson, G.O. Cicero’s Correspondence: A Literary Study (1998) Nicholson, J. ‘The Delivery and Confidentiality of Cicero’s Letters’, Classical Journal 90 (1994): pp 33-63. Winstedt, E. O. (trans.) Cicero: Letters to Atticus (1912)

Chislers and Chickpeas: Cicero and Flann O’Brien Simon David Acres Junior Sophister, Classical Civilizations The consideration of a piece broaching the subtle similarities of the epistolary writings of Cicero and Flann O’Brien occurred to me last year. While I was being introduced to the Latin author’s surviving letters as part of my course, I was simultaneously introducing myself to a compendium of Mr. O’Brien’s satirical Cruiskeen Lawn columns for the Irish Times, collected as The Hair of the Dogma. Upon the occasion of Mr. O’Brien’s centenary celebrations last year, I felt compelled to celebrate and explore the undeniable parallels between the short writings of these two exemplary figures of knowing wit and exposition of the chaos within the city. I have decided to narrow my focus solely to the ‘epistolary’ efforts of the two writers; for what is a newspaper column but a one-way correspondence with the wider readership of a nation? There is evidence to suggest that O’Brien himself was aware of the similarities between himself and Cicero, and reason again to suggest that he engaged in subtle relishing of this fact. Being educated to some extent in Greek and Latin, O’Brien did not shy away from Hellenist references in his other writings; Classical fans of the sublime At Swim-Two-Birds would recognise the epigraph as a quote from Euripides’ Heracles. The presence of frequent citations of Cicero’s correspondences, especially those to Atticus, in his columns boggles the mind as to the considerable dearth of previously pointed out parallels. I hope that my efforts herein allow for a clearer understanding of the pair’s mutual genius. While studying the collected letters of Cicero, I happened to pick up a similar compilation of collected ‘letters’. Comparing the two I quickly came to the conclusion that had the respective authors not been born nearly two millennia apart, they would doubtlessly have been lumped together as satirical birds of a salacious feather, two political piss-takers in a pod of pleasantry. Who is this mysterious epistolary impersonator and what has he done with Cicero? Good question. The individual to whom I refer may be identified as An Broc, Myles Na gCopaleen, Flann O’Brien, Brother Barnabus or, most mundane of all, Brian O’Nolan. I believe that Mr. O’Nolan Na gCopaleen Broc himself was the Fry to Marcus Tullius Cicero’s Laurie. In expounding this viewpoint I will compare the content and style of Cicero’s letters with the similarly epistolary ravings of Myles Na gCopaleen’s Cruiskeen Lawn newspaper column, which ran irregularly in every sense of the word from 1940 to

Classics 1966.

Little introduction is needed for Cicero but in presenting the facts of O’Nolan’s existence I hope to illustrate the uncannily identical lives the two led. Firstly, both men migrated to more urban climes from their rural places of birth (Arpinum and Strabane, Co. Tyrone respectively), where they forged identities of political and social centrality. Both were to become civil servants and advocates of the current governmental authority while at the same time cheekily expressing sentiments to the contrary. Cicero worked and wrote towards the end of the Roman Republic and was a contemporary to Julius Caesar. Brian O’Nolan lived and worked in Dublin for the Department of Local Government in a time when Ireland was still getting to grips with its newfound sovereignty (both wrote approximately one generation removed from civil war). His contributions to the Irish Times were not far removed from the irreverent and controversial pieces he spun for a UCD student magazine called Blather. His pseudonym of choice for the columns, Myles Na gCopaleen, would normally translate as “Myles of the small horses” but as the man himself so beautifully put it, “the autonomy of the pony should not be subjected by the imperialism of the horse”.1 It is of note that Cicero’s cognomen also bears a humorous significance (although perhaps less so), as the Latin for ‘chickpea’. How, then, are the columns of a wily Tyrone man comparable to the correspondences of a Roman statesman? To start, Cicero enjoyed a sizeable capacity for self-styling and took subtle measures to control every facet of his image. Whether regaling his lifelong friend Atticus with tales from the capital, or writing a letter of recommendation to Caesar, Cicero always consciously controlled his perception among peers to his advantage, taking pains to maintain his trademark flair of puerile cheek from one correspondent to another. In hinting that the historian Lucius Lucceius should include him in his historical compendium, Cicero claims that Alexander the Great did not wish to be sculpted by Lyssipus merely to flatter him; he believed that his skill would be a source of fame for both parties included!2 Na gCopaleen too, I believe, wished to control his image in public, although I think he was less concerned with appearing equal measures respectful and playful and more so with appearing consistently disturbed. One entry depicts a discourse between himself and an unknowing critic of the column and is reproduced gleefully, as if Myles is pleased with his reputation. “This rag! And this Myles Magoplin! What is the meaning of that muck? […] I am not going to stand for attacks on the Catlic church. Who is this Myles Na Scaplogue? […] Do you know Myles Na gCopaleen? I sertaintly do not know Myles No Gáoplance and if I seen him I would report it to the Guards. He is not the sort of person you imagine him to be. As a matter of fact he is not only a gentleman but a decent man as well. 1. Flann O’Brien, Hair of the Dogma (1977), inside cover. 2. Cicero, Ad Fam. 6.12.

Classics I see. What sort of man is this Myles Na Scapulars when he is at home? […] He is of a retiring nature, if that is the correct phrase, his drink is a small sherry and he will instantly leave any place wherein loose language is employed. […] What else can you say about this saint? Hardly a word appearing under his pseudonym in the Irish Times is written by himself. To use a witticism, every dog and divil in the country writes it […] I am beginning to have my suspicions about you, my bucko. You are a friend of Myles Mickoplick […] I’m away.3 However, in later columns Na gCopaleen does concede that in life a private/public distinction should exist and be respected. Has it ever occurred to the reader that the bicycle has a personality and a private life? It is the only vehicle I can think of to which man has deigned to concede the attribute of sex. […] [T]he simplest way for a man to get a laugh is to go on the stage dressed as a woman. A far more extreme and less laughable incongruity is presented by the spectacle of a man riding a lady’s bicycle. He seems to be all knees, self-conscious and diffident of manner, and aware that he is engaged in obscure manoeuvres, I always look away in demure, nunlike evasion.4 Literary stylings aside, there is such considerable overlap in the subject matter of both men’s short writings that at times it is hard to know which sprawling urban hub is being ridiculed. No political institution throughout history is safe from the searing satire of our friends; Cicero wonders if ‘trial’ is the right word for a “congregation of thirty of the most fickle and most depraved members of the Roman republic pocketing their cash and extinguish all law” and compares the defence attorney to “a gladiator-trainer, excluding all decent men”.5 Meanwhile, Myles resides in “the Gaelic Babylon”, a realm forced to “wear on its face for many centuries the scars” of ineffectual town planning, enjoying a degree of decline not too far from that of Ciceronian Rome (bar sexualised bicycles).6 Social elements haven’t changed in the slightest, as non-citizens and working class alike squabble in the Na gCopaleen cosmopolis. The barbaric “U.S.S.A Russia and America have announced their intention of engaging in a celestial football match” and “the Dublin TRAMSPORT strike” is relayed as a “crime against soCIEty”.7 Attitudes toward sport translate seamlessly between the worlds of both men as occasions for political display. Na gCopaleen stops short of explicitly describing GAA matches as bouts of bloodlust sated in amphitheatres, and Cicero dismisses public performance altogether, writing to an acquaintance that “they 3. O’Brien, Dogma, pp 87–8 4. Ibid., p. 125. 5. Att. 1.16 in P. G. Walsh (trans.), Selected Letters (2008). 6. O’Brien, Dogma, p. 77. 7. Ibid., p. 49; ibid. p. 41.

Classics excite the admiration of the common throng, but would have caused you no pleasure”.8 Both writers take certain enjoyment in exploring wordplay and often dabble in ancient Greek. Similarly, na gCopaleen employs modern languages such as German and French, often midway through a sentence. In private correspondences using Greek is how Cicero belies his upper-class roots, while making reference to political heavyweights with daring nicknames; Crassus is “old bald-head”, “the Arabian prince” meant Pompey, and Caesar himself was the target of the line “my guest was not the sort to whom you would say ‘do please drop in on me again’. Once is enough!”9 Myles too had a keen eye for witticisms and colloquialisms of auld Dubalin. He regales the Irish Times reader with an anecdote concerning a draper who has MENS SANA IN CORPORE SANO painted over his premises. The rival draper gets to work and hurridly erects MEN’S AND WOMEN’S SANA IN CORPORE SANO.10 What about Myles on Cicero? I will finish now by discussing one Cruiskeen Lawn entry perfect for this comparison of the two, wherein Myles is convinced the correspondences with Atticus “must have been written in the Middle Ages by idle monks with a taste for mischief !”: About four years ago I was reading, at 3 a.m., a thing called ‘M. TVLLII CICERONIS . . . AD T. POMPONIVM ATTICVM.’ These documents purported to be the correspondence between Cicero and Atticus, at a moment of the former’s decline. I was astounded by one paragraph in the earlier letters. This paragraph mentioned some thing quite unknown to the preChristian Romans. This led me to the idea that the Cicero letters are fake […] Fair enough, I’m only an Irishman. The point appears to be that if I can prove, as distinct from asserting, that these ‘historic’ documents are fakes, a certain number of faces will be red.11 Where reader, in this fabulous context, do you lave the present Excellency with his slim volume of Latin prose? Where do you think I really ought to be? In heaven, of course. (If the ciners will have me!) Bibliography O’Brien, Flann. The Hair of the Dogma. (1997) Walsh, P.G. (trans.) Selected Letters. (2008) 8. Ad Fam. 7.1 in Walsh, Letters 9. Ibid., Att., 13.52. 10. O’Brien, Dogma, p. 70. 11. Ibid., pp 34–6.

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The Death of the Artist: The Importance the Artist’s Intention Phoebe Weston-Evans Senior Sophister, History of Art and Architecture and French In order to draw some perimeters around this investigation it will be useful to define some terms. ‘Intention’ is here to be understood as the plan or aim the artist has in producing a work of art; what they intended to achieve. Harder to encompass is ‘meaning’. Here it can be thought of as what the work of art signifies; the idea or concept expressed in a work of art; what message it carries, what the purpose is. This topic is potentially vast; within the limited scope of this essay, the aim is to address some fundamental points surrounding the issue. It could be argued that if a work of art needs explaining, it has simply failed. However, for esoteric art produced in a society or culture foreign to the viewer, the need for a certain initiation into its context surely does not render the work unsuccessful. Or, it may be that someone unfamiliar with the Christian faith, faced with an altarpiece needs not know the artist’s intentions to understand its meaning, but the liturgical functions it serves. Art may have the power to transcend temporal differences but this doesn’t mean it always does or even aims to. There are problems of practicality; how can we find out the intentions of artists whose art work is all we know of them? If there is no other evidence for us to scrutinise other than their work, do we condemn the meaning of their work as forever impossible to discover? This essay aims to address these questions through examining the ideas of Panofsky, Barthes, Derrida and Wimsatt and Beardsley, among others. The method one uses to approach an artwork partly defines the work before one has begun. Different approaches begin with different sets of tools. The idea that the artist is important is not part of the basic assumption for all approaches. Foucault points out that the notion of the author is indicative of the individualisation of society and indeed all areas of intellectual research.1 This point is also raised in relation to the idea of intentionality, that it is ‘historically contingent’.2 In this light we can see that the very question as to whether intentionality and thus authorship are important or not shows the mark of 1. Michel Foucault, What is an Author?(1969) in David Lodge (ed.), Modern Criticism and Theory, (1988) 2. Gerald L. Bruns, ‘Intention, Authority and Meaning’ in Critical Enquiry, Vol. 7, No. 2, (1980)

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the time in which it is asked. There is a great difference between current times in which we give a great deal of importance and status to the artist, and pre-Renaissance artistic production which was mostly anonymous. It would occur much less frequently to someone looking at art in the Middle Ages to wonder about the intention, or even the identity of the artist. It should be kept in mind that the viewer, the art, and here the question are all historical products, conditioned by the trends and institutional contexts in which we find ourselves. The notion of the changing historicity of an idea relates to the possibility of a work of art meaning different things not just for different individuals but also to the way a whole society might renew its view; the original intent having no bearing on a new purpose. For example, the meaning of a portrait of the New York skyline pre 9/11 would embody different meanings to viewers pre and post 9/11; the new meaning coming from shared experience and culture. The idea of culture, as the source of meaning, is examined by Panofsky. He believes that meaning is possible through a shared system of symbolic reference and understands art as a product of its historical environment. To outline Panofsky’s system of meaning, we can take for example a painting of St Luke. The first act of interpretation is pre-iconographical; we see a man writing perhaps accompanied by a winged ox. The second level of meaning is iconographical; we understand that the man is Luke the Evangelist because of his attributes. The next stage is iconological understanding; the intrinsic or essential meaning which is, to quote Panofsky “apprehended by ascertaining those underlying principles which reveal the basic attitude of a nation, a period, a class, a religious or philosophical persuasion - qualified by one personality and condensed into one work.” These stages are understood to happen simultaneously within the viewer who is relied upon to bring a certain amount of external knowledge, without which meaning would be impossible. Panofsky details a system based on pairs of oppositions through which we comprehend art. The situation of a particular art work along the axis of the extremities of plenitude and form, intersected with time and space and three other pairs: optical values and haptic values, depth and surface, merging forms and division. He believes that “it is only such a system that enables us to detect differences and similarities between works and establish their meaning.” It is clear that for Panofsky, the artist’s intentions are immaterial in this system. Panofsky considers all attempts to determine the artist’s intentions to be a blind alley for art history. Even if artists stated their intentions explicitly, these are often misleading or need some further act of interpretation in the same way that their images do.3 For Panofsky the artist is more a conduit for cultural expression, therefore their personal intentions are more or less irrelevant. Another commentator in agreement with the irrelevance of the artist’s inten3. Michael Hatt and Charlotte Klonck, Art History, A Critical Introduction to its Methods, (1996)

Art History tions for shedding light on meaning is John Kemp. However, he does not look to culture for meaning, but to the work of art. We should examine “what the artist has actually done and not what he intended to do (whether or not that differs from what he has actually done).”4 This argument relates to the Hegelian Ideal in which the form and meaning reach complete harmonisation. “The content is completely absorbed into the material such that nothing remains beyond the object to which the work points as mere sign because of its inability fully to embody it.”5 All one needs to understand a work of art should be found within it. He implies that a critic has recourse to the intentions of the artist only when they are prey to the “myth” that they are important. This idea of the falsehood of needing to know the artist’s intentions is elaborated in Wimsatt and Beardsley’s ‘Intentional Fallacy’. “We argued that the design or intention of the author is neither available nor desirable as a standard for judging the success of a work of literary art.”6 Although these ideas were originally applied to poetry, they seem easily applicable to other art forms. The basis of their argument is that a work of art, no longer belonging to the artist once in the public realm, should be judged without external reference to the artist’s intention; the work should speak for itself. In their view only “internal evidence” should be used. This is the work of art itself and the knowledge one needs to identify the function and whether it is typical or particular. They concede that certain pieces of contextual evidence can be used legitimately. This concerns reference to other works by the same artist, historical and social information and biographical information. What at first seems like an extreme dismissal of everything outside of the object is in fact, quite moderate. Thus far, we have discussed ideas for which the object is the locus of meaning. In other commentators we see a shift of emphasis from the object viewed to the viewer. Roland Barthes triumphantly hails a turn in criticism toward an appreciation of the viewer in the creative process and simultaneously denies the relevance of the author, “The birth of the reader must be at the cost of the death of the Author.”7 In a similar way to Wimsatt and Beardsley, he argues that once a work of art, whether it be literary or otherwise, is sent out into the public it becomes detached from its author. This separation means it should be treated independently. However, poststructuralists, (of which Barthes is one) differ in that they do not believe an artist’s account to be a reliable source. “Poststructuralists argue that we cannot know anything of the author’s intentions, as even when writers give an account of them we cannot be certain that they are telling the truth or are not mistaken.”8 If this is so, where does this leave us as to the meaning of the artwork? Poststructuralists believe that since everyone who encounters a work of art brings 4. John Kemp, ‘The Work of Art and the Artist’s Intentions’ in British Journal of Aesthetics, Vol 4, No. 2, pp. 147 - 154 5. William I. Fowkes, A Hegelian Account of Contemporary Art, (1977) 6. W. K. Wimsatt Jr and M. C. Beardsley, ‘The Intentional Fallacy’ in The Swanee Review, Vol. 54, No. 3, pp. 468-488 7. Roland Barthes, The Death of the Author in Image, Music Text, (1977) 8. Michael Hatt and Charlotte Klonck, Art History, A Critical Introduction to its Methods, (1996)

Art History to it different experiences, they will take different things from it, reinventing it. Although the idea of meaning becomes less concrete here, this argument allows for a multiplicity of meaning that exists neither precisely in the artist, the work of art or the viewer. A phenomenological approach to art agrees that the viewer is vital in creating the meaning and that there are multiple meanings to be gained. As they see it, the “subject’s perception of the object reveals its essence.”9 Although the notion of meaning becomes fragmented in poststructuralist thought, it still takes for granted that communication of meaning is essentially possible. However, if we follow the deconstructionist line, and question the possibility of communicable meaning on grounds of its fallibility and inexactitude, the notions of intention and meaning degenerate further. “Whereas structuralists believe that there are meanings for the critic to decipher, the deconstructionist sees the search for meaning as endless and the content as something of pure ambiguity.”10 From the germ of the artistic process, to the execution with the resistance and mastery of materials, to its completion, to its display, to the viewer - with all of their experiences and connotations shaping the way they interpret - there are simply too many stages where precision of meaning can be lost. Yet, if all communication is inexact and ambiguous and everything is a matter of interpretation, why should we not interpret an account of the artist’s intentions just as we interpret the work of art? Baxandall finds that questioning what the artist intended is a natural and inevitable reflex. “When we try to explain how an object acquired its form we cannot avoid thinking of it as a product of purposeful activity and therefore about the intentions of its maker. Because this thinking is unavoidable, to deny the relevance of the maker or author is an unhelpful way of approaching an explanation of the object.” Baxandall’s relatively lonely viewpoint is shared by Huw Jones. He finds it useful to know the artist’s intentions, but for different reasons. For him, it wards against the danger of the uncontrolled critic, who, without recourse to the artist’s intentions will find meanings that are not there. Knowing the intention can help clarify obscure points or details and it is important and necessary for the critic to take this into account. In the unavoidable situation of not being able to get an account of the artist’s intentions, one should proceed as in a court of law; one should assume that a person intended the natural consequences of his actions and therefore a work “means what we think”.11 This dual approach to valid meaning is dubious; should one be bound by an account of the artist’s intentions when it is available, but feel free to elaborate our own meanings when there are none and to assume this is what was intended? Another side to the same conclusion is to see all readings as valid, again with the stress on the viewer and their interpretation. Harris uses a study of Constable paintings as an example of paintings being “semantically multivalent”.12 Commentators came to 9. Dana Arnold, Art History, Contemporary Perspective on Method, (2010) 10. Hatt and Klonck, Art History, A Critical Introduction to its Methods 11. Huw M. Jones, ‘The Work of Art and the Artist’s Intentions’ in British Journal of Aesthetics, Vol 4, No. 2, 139 -146 12. Jonathan Harris, The New Art History, A Critical Introduction, (2001)

Art History different and even opposing conclusions as to the ideological meaning of the figures in the paintings; some found them to represent downtrodden serfs who live daily hardships and others read into them a more idyllic oneness with nature. Here we can see that although none of the critics had knowledge of Constable’s intention, they deduced their different meanings independently and would surely maintain their reading as correct. To rule out using an account of the artist’s intention may seem too systematic. There is no reason they should not be taken into account as long as they are approached critically. This said, if we feel that we understand the meaning without need for further research, what is to say our personal interpretation is incorrect? On confronting an account of the artist’s intentions which contradicts our own ascribed meaning, should we reconsider? Or should this personal reading go to make up the greater collective meaning of a work? T. J. Clarke proposes a more balanced approach. For him, finding out the artist’s intention is worth doing if one can, but only as part of a more holistic approach and as part of deeper investigation into a painting’s history. Alongside knowing the intention of the artist, he would want to know things like what materials were used, the references that are made within it, the kind of viewer for which it would be meaningful and what responses it has had over time. This approach acknowledges the intentions of the artist as valuable but certainly not a prerequisite for discovering the meaning. It also allows for a metamorphosis and multiplicity of meaning that is formed independently from the initial intentions of the artist. We have seen that the particular method one uses to approach art has a great effect on the meaning, if any, that will be ascribed to it. One may start off with the assumption that the artist has or should have no import in discovering the meaning, which may lead to a dismissal of their account. As we have seen, such an account may be helpful in clarifying certain points and for those who want a consensus of meaning, it is essential. Since these different approaches often have one artistic period in mind, it can be problematic to apply them more widely. The dawn of abstract and installation art leaves many of these theories wanting. For example, if an abstract work of art uses metaphor to express a meaning or state of mind, individual interpretation will be much greater. An artist may deliberately not let their own intentions or personal meaning attached to work be known in order that they do not limit or fence in the viewer’s interpretation. It would be interesting to examine the notion of intention and meaning in this genre which has a greater interactive quality and which may depend to a large extent upon the viewer to ascribing meaning.

Art History Bibliography Dana Arnold, Art History, Contemporary Perspective on Method (2010) Roland Barthes, The Death of the Author in Image, Music and Text (1977) Michael Banxandall, Patterns of Intention, On the Historical Explanation of Pictures (1985) Gerald L. Bruns, ‘Intention, Authority and Meaning’ in Critical Enquiry, Vol. 7, No. 2, (1980), pp. 297-309 Eric Fernie, Art History and its Method (1995) Michel Foucault, ‘What is an Author?’ in David Lodge (ed.), Modern Criticism and Theory William I. Fowkes, A Hegelian Account of Contemporary Art (1977) Jonathan Harris, The New Art History, A Critical Introduction (2001) Michael Hatt and Charlotte Klonck, Art History, A Critical Introduction to its Methods (2006) Huw Morris Jones, ‘The Work of Art and the Artist’s Intentions,’ in British Journal of Aesthetics, Vol. 4, No. 2, pp 139-146 John Kemp, ‘The Work of Art and the Artist’s Intentions’ in British Journal of Aesthetics, Vol. 4, No. 2, pp 147-154 Paisley Livingston, Art and Intention, A Philosophical Study (2005) W. K. Wimsatt Jr and M. C. Beardsley, ‘The Intentional Fallacy’ in The Sewanee Review, Vol. 54, No. 3, pp. 468-488

The conflicting relationship between the early the photomontages of Hannah Höch and the ‘Neue Frau’ in Weimar art and advertising, and Höch’s struggle within the male dominated Berlin Dada Maeve Casserly, Senior Sophister, History

It was an aesthetic of emancipation that illuminated utopian possibilities.1 This was how Ernst Bloch optimistically described the Dadaist technique of photomontage. In contrast to this, in his famous Dada Manifesto of 1918, the Romanian-born French poet Tristan Tzara loudly proclaimed ‘DADA DOES NOT MEAN ANYTHING.’ 2 For Hannah Höch, her desire to conform to this latter definition of Dada, within the male dominated world of the Berlin Dada, led her to initially compromise the message of her work. However, with the waning of the Berlin Dadaists in the early 1920s, Höch established her own unique place in Weimar art as the voice of the New Woman (Neue Frau). After the irreversible changes experienced by women on the Home Front during the First World War the figure of the ‘Neue Frau’ became, for the defeated Weimar, representative of both the crisis and promise of modernity in the 20th century.3 Throughout her life, Höch battled with this paradox. In her early photomontages of 1919 to 1922 she sought to demonstrate the utopian possibilities open to the young woman, but also to highlight the commodification of the Neue Frau in art and advertising. Her experiences within the Berlin Dada ultimately shaped her artistic decisions in both the message she wished to convey to her audience and the methodological approach within which she endeavoured to work. One specific feature of Höch’s work, and of the Berlin Dada as a whole, was the 1. Eric D. Weitz, Weimar Germany, Promise and Tragedy, (2007), p. 285. 2. 391 org. (http://www.391.org/manifestos/19180323tristantzara_dadamanifesto.htm), 26 January 2011. 3. Kathleen Canning, ‘Women and the Politics of Gender’, in Anthony McElligott (ed.) The Short Oxford History of Weimar Germany, (2009), p. 146.

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manner in which environmental impressions of the technical metropolis combined with political movements to provoke a revolution in the artistic media. The Berlin’s Dadaists, led by George Grosz, John Heartfield, Raoul Hausmann (Höch’s lover), and Höch herself, utilized the new technical potential of photography as an authentic reproduction of reality to create new forms of artistic expression. Factual material replaced the paintbrush.4 The word Höch and Hausmann coined for the technique was not collage but photomontage because their pictures “gave an object that could only be made by hand the look of a totally machine-made product” and the word photomontage “expressed our dislike of playing the artist. We saw ourselves as engineers, pretended to construct, to our work.” The world was in chaos, the Dadaists therefore made chaotic, fragmented images to mirror it.5 Höch’s Schnitt mit dem Küchenmesser Dada durch die letzte Bierbauchkulturepoche Deutschlands telescoped the methods and meanings of the Dadaists desire to reflect their tumultuous world into a single, iconic image.6 This large and complex photomontage unites representatives of the former Empire, the military, and the new, moderate government of the Republic in the ‘anti-Dada’ corner at the upper right, while grouping Communists and other radicals together with the Dadaists at the lower right (Plate 1).7 These mostly male figures are paired with photographic fragments of active, energetic ‘New Women’ – dancers, athletes, actresses and artists – who, unlike their male counter-parts, animate the work. The newspaper fragments at the lower right identify the European countries in which women could or would soon be able to vote, including Germany. By placing the clipping in the corner she normally reserved for her signature and including a small self-portrait head at the upper-left-edge of the map, Höch indentified with the political empowerment of the Neue Frau, whom, she envisioned, would soon ‘cut’ through the male ‘beer-belly’ culture of Weimar Germany.8 This piece is presented in survey texts as the sine qua non of Höch’s career. Yet, ironically, the piece is more the exception than the rule in her work. Höch preferred to work on a smaller, more intimate scale and to use a more subtle form of address.9 It is perhaps for this reason that she was disregarded by her male colleagues in the Berlin Dada. Yet even as she was putting the finishing touches to this work, Höch was beginning to question whether the Neue Frau of the Weimar Republic was really all that different from the ‘old’ woman of the Empire. To be sure, like Höch, the Neue Frau was more likely to hold a job outside the home and spend at least some of her wages on leisure activities. She was also apt to be physically as well as sexually active and to use contraceptives. 4. Bärbel Schrader and Jürgen Schebera, The ‘Golden Twenties’: Art and Literature in the Weimar Republic, (1988), p. 63. 5. Frank Whitford, Hannah Höch: 1889-1987, Oil Paintings and works on paper, (1983), p.3 6. Maria Makela, ‘By Design: The early works of Hannah Höch in context’, in Maria Makela and Peter Boswell (eds.) The Photomontages of Hannah Höch, (1996), p. 49 7. Mutual Art, (http://www.mutualart.com/Artwork/Dada-Ernst/EC238CE61EF30268), 26 January 2011. 8. Maria Makela, ‘The Dada Years’, p. 25 9. Peter Boswell, ‘Hannah Höch: Through the Looking-Glass’, in Makela and Boswell (eds.) The Photomontages of Hannah Höch, p. 9.

Art History The Neue Frau presented herself differently, too, bobbing her hair in a short boyish style, suited to her active lifestyle, smoking in public, and wearing makeup.10 Yet these ‘advances’ were compromised by some very real setbacks. Germany’s demobilization policies shuttled working women into lower-paying, unskilled jobs or fired then altogether to make room for returning soldiers who were unwilling to accept the hardworking independence of their mothers, wives and sisters.11 Backlash was evident as early as the winter of 1917 when the War Ministry, preparing demobilization, established guidelines for women to relinquish their jobs. Women were either sent home, or released into the economic custody of their returning husbands or fathers or brothers, or placed in domestic service, or retrained in some traditionally feminine line e.g. sewing. Those who kept their jobs suffered a revived discrimination in wages. The socialist-backed demand for equal pay for equal work, written into some contracts immediately after the revolution, was gradually retracted beginning in 1920, when male-dominated unions adjusted to capitalist realities. Wage differentials between men and women settled around 30 to 40 per cent. This was an improvement over pre-war levels, which had been 50 to 60 per cent, but disappointed the proponents of women’s equality, who now had to settle for merely a reduced inferiority.12 Despite her meagre wages and limited independence the Neue Frau was an active participant in the new post-war cult of consumerism. Consequently, the image of the Neue Frau as the consumer is a distinct feature of Höch’s early photomontages. However, the icon of the happy consumer was merely a façade, which, on further scrutiny crumbled to reveal Höch’s portrayal of the Neue Frau as a slave to consumerism and a commodity of male fantasies.13 ‘Die Reklame bemächtigt sich des Lebens’(‘Life has been possessed by publicity’) was the prophetic first line of the poem published by the Dadaist poet Walter Mehring in 1921.14 The powerful nexus of mass production, mass consumption and increasingly powerful advertising revolutionized the culture of everyday life in the early Weimar. Popular culture, fashion magazines, and illustrated press actively propagated a new lifestyle that was easy, forward-looking and fun-filled.15 Mehring’s vision of a commodity world was also linked to ‘The World of Posters’, an essay published by Karl Kraus in 1909. Kraus, like Mehring, imagined a world in which the question ‘Is there life beyond the posters?’ could be seriously voiced with critical intent. His essay, in anticipation of the Dadaists a decade later, ridiculed efforts to create cultural values in commercial products through ‘artistic 10. Makela, ‘By Design’, p. 64 11. Ibid. 12. Renalte Bridenthal, ‘Beyond Kinder, Küche, Kirche: Weimar Women at Work’, Central European History, 6 (June, 1973), p. 146 13. Maud Lavin, Cut With the Kitchen Knife: The Weimar Photomontage of Hannah Höch, (1993), p. 11 14. Sherwin Simmons, ‘Advertising Seizes Control of Life: Berlin Dada and the Power of Advertising’, Oxford Art Journal, 22 (1999), p. 121. 15. Anton Kaes, Martin Jay and Edward Dimendberg, (eds.), The Weimar Republic Sourcebook, (1994), p. 655.

Art History posters’.16 Höch, unique amongst her male colleagues, confronted the commodification of art in advertising from the perspective of the Neue Frau. This choice led Höch to diverge from the flamboyance of her fellow Berlin Dadaists, and develop a more subtle approach which mirrored the complex essence of the Neue Frau’s image she wanted to convey. Generally Höch’s photomontages are poetic, not propagandist, more personal than public. In their whimsy and beauty Höch’s photomontages are closer to Kurt Schwitters than to Hausmann.17 Höch had definite opinions, but already she expressed them with a tongue-in-cheek humour wholly unlike the vitriolic of Grosz or Heartfield.18 She lightly mocked her fellow Dadaists’ flamboyant bravura in Schnitt mid dem Küchenmesser by placing their heads on women’s bodies and parodied their self-satisfied narcissism in Da Dandy.19 From the outset, Höch’s photomontage aesthetic was deeply rooted in design traditions, and it was perhaps this as much as anything that led many to discount her work. The exception to the rule is Schnitt mit dem Küchenmesser, the only one of her photomontages to have partaken in the visual chaos that characterized Berlin Dada.20 The figure of the Neue Frau became iconic for the Weimar Republic as a symbol of both Weimar’s modernity and its endemic crisis. Representing single young working women in their twenties, the figure of the Neue Frau helped to define the culture of the salaried female workers. New women were represented both at work and play, traversing Germany’s expanding public spheres – cinema, dance halls, sports – or roaming the streets as female flâneurs. Implicit in this figure was the ability to purchase: new women appeared as agents whose choices about consumption, adornment and self-representation defined their place in society and visual culture.21 Stereotypes of the Neue Frau generated by the media could by complex and contradictory: messages of female empowerment and liberation were mixed with others of dependence. One article in Berliner Illustrirte Zeitung portraying two female politicians wearing very severe businesswomen’s coats and carry briefcases, succinctly demonstrates this contradiction. Seemingly insecure in this masculine attire, they stand hunched, looking out nervously.22 Similarly, Höch struggled to be taken seriously by her contemporaries, and felt her artistic credibility was undermined by the stereotypical image of the Neue Frau, “Most of our male colleagues continued for a long time to look upon us as charming and gifted amateurs, denying us implicitly any real professional status”.23 Höch’s photomontages after the waning of Dada differ significantly in character from their predecessors. They are smaller in size and simpler in composition, abandoning the centrifugal composition bleeding out to a blank ground that had typified such works as 16. Simmons, ‘Advertising Seizes control of Life’, p. 124 17. Whitford,Hannah Höch, p. 4. 18. Makela, ‘By Design’. p. 61 19. Boswell, ‘Hannah Höch’, p. 8 20. Makela, ‘By Design’, p. 62. 21. McElligott,Weimar Gemany, p. 163. 22. Lavin, Cut with the Kitchen Knife, p. 2 23. Boswell, ‘Hannah Höch’, p. 8

Art History Das schönen Mächen.24 In this piece Höch not only obliterated the faces of the women in this photomontage but surrounded them with such signs of mechanization, such as a crank shaft, an I-beam, and an automobile tire (Plate 2).25 Das schönen Mächen is an early example of Höch’s condemnation of female commodification, but also of her increasing fear of technology and its power to destroy the very essence of womanhood. The concept of femininity is explored in many of Höch’s early montages, such as Das schönen Mächen. Höch herself embodied the feminine characteristics of both the Neue Frau, and the pre-war traditional woman. Höch worked in traditional women’s crafts and in commercial design in the Ullstein publishing press, from 1916 to 1926, and it was a huge influence throughout her life. This traditionally feminine, ‘decorative’ art was just as significant to her and to the development of her art as her involvement with Dada.26 Höch’s duties included designing stuffed animals, women’s fashions, and layouts and advertising vignettes for handiwork publications and patters. But her principle job consisted of sketching patterns for embroidered and lace cloths and then fabricating these pieces in various techniques, including cutwork, drawn-and pulled- thread work, needle lace, darned filet and embroidery.27 Although Höch occasionally complained about the time she had to invest in her job, she enjoyed the work and regarded it as an artistic pursuit on a par with painting and sculpture. She wrote at least four articles for Stickerei on; ‘On Embroidery’ (September 1918), ‘What is Beautiful?’ (October-November 1918), ‘Whitework’’ (December 1918), and ‘The Fine Art of Embroidery’ (October-November 1919). Central to each was Höch’s conviction that needlework, a traditionally feminine ‘handicraft’, should command the same respect as other ‘fine’ arts.28 Höch’s championing of these old-fashioned female arts, as more than just a hobby, was representative of her life’s goal to confront the stereotypical definition of the Neue Frau. Despite her supposed emancipation, the Neue Frau had in reality been imprisoned by a consumerist society to fit into a tightly bound definition of fashionable, short-haired, cosmetically-enhanced modernity. Like Das schönen Mächen, Höch’s Da Dandy shows another cluster of female bodies, but this time in stylish attire (Plate 3).29 Here the bust of a man is described in profile by the overlapping heads and upper bodies of women modelling the latest fashions: little black dresses that expose the arms and close-fitting hats of exotic fabric and lace that cover modish Bubikopf bobs. This dandy is a composite of pieces of several well-dressed modern women: graceful, bare, bracelet-ringed arms; pearl encircled necks; and rouged, powdered, and lipsticked faces with montaged, mix-and-match eyes and mouths. Höch has delineated his profile with a red contour, accentuating the elegant silhouette of forehead, nose, 24. Boswell, ‘Hannah Hoch,’ p. 11 25. Makela, ‘The Dada Years’, p. 34. Terminators, (http://www.terminartors.com/artworkprofile/Hoch_Hannah-The_Beautiful_Girl), January 26 2011. 26. Makela, ‘By Design’, p. 53 27. Ibid., p. 54. 28. Ibid, p. 55 29. Da Dandy, (http://www.dadadandy.com/introduction_simonpaul.html), 28 January 2011.

Art History and chin against the black-and-white photographic background of a tranquil landscape. Completing the dandy’s compact body are a pair of slender ankles with feet lodged in two-tone high-heeled pumps.30 By titling the work Da Dandy, Höch identified this male figure as both a Dadaist and a dandy, thus referencing the fascination of the Dadaists (in particular George Grosz and Hausmann) with fashion.31 As such it is a witty image of their identification with fashionable ladies, an image that at the same time takes its own ironic distance from the dandy’s fantasy.32 Dadaist hypocrisy is also an implicit theme of Da Dandy, a portrait of five fashionable women who are depicted not as active, independent subjects but as fragmented objects of titillation for the man in whose head they exist. His profile highlighted by a bit of red paper that circumscribes his silhouette, this Da(daist) Dandy evidently supports the liberation of women from male domination in theory only.33 Höch clearly understood the struggle of the Neue Frau in a world dominated by men. Despite their remonstrations, the Berlin Dadaists were equally as hypocritically misogynistic as any other profession. For example, in his memoirs, the Berlin Dadaist, Hans Richter, remembered Höch primarily for “the sandwiches, beer and coffee she managed somehow to conjure up despite the shortage of money.”34 Dada-Ernst is yet another example of Höch’s attempt to confront the stereotypical imagery of the Neue Frau in art and advertising (Plate 4).35 This work suggests the complexity of Höch’s allegorical use of montage to represent the Neue Frau. At first glance Dada-Ernst seems like a celebration of the Neue Frau in an array of popular guises. But on closer examination, this work raises questions about the representation of the female body and allegories of pleasure and anger.36 The viewer is drawn to the image in the lower left corner of a female athlete, ready to leap. Above her is a stylized female semi-nude, and above her two male boxers. On the right-hand side is a skyscraper: a symbol of masculine, Dada bombast. Dominating the composition are two gigantic truncated female legs, which straddle the right half of the image. A man’s eye is superimposed over the area where the legs are joined. Overlapping the eyes – where the pubic region would have been – are the two gold coins. A saw-like machine part also dominated the centre of the montage. Höch brings together here the discordant images of modernity. She celebrates the active bodies of the athlete and the wrestler while at the same time her violent juxtaposition of metal and flesh, combined with the commodity status of the disembodied signs of femininity provide an allusive reading.37 Viewing Dada-Ernst in its historical context emphasizes the critical 30. Brigid Doherty, ‘Fashionable Ladies, Dada Dandies’, Art Journal, 54 (Spring, 1995),pp. 48-9 31. Makela,’ The Dada Years’, p. 31. 32. Doherty, ‘Fashionable Ladies’, p. 49. 33. Makela, ‘By Design’, p. 64. 34. Ibid 35. Mutual Art, (http://www.mutualart.com/Artwork/Dada-Ernst/EC238CE61EF30268), 26 January 2011 36. Lavin, Cut with the Kitchen Knife, p. 6 37. Weitz, Weimar Germany, p. 287.

Art History function of the montage. In Germany after the war, there was runaway inflation and great fear of poverty. For women of many classes, selling oneself sexually in various guises was a real possibility. The juxtaposition of images connoting violence with others suggesting pleasure is precisely what makes this image such a strong and dialectically utopian one.38 None of Höch’s works better alludes to the underbelly of the Neue Frau phenomenon than the untitled photomontage from around 1921 that focuses centrally on the altered figure of a Russian ballet dancer, identified as Claudia Pawlowa (Plate 2).39 The dancer, then on tour in Germany, is seen in this original photo at the beach, relaxing from her demanding schedule. Glamorous, physically fit, and apparently wholly satisfied with her career and personal life she appears here as the quintessential Neue Frau of the 1920s, an icon of the new social and professional freedoms. By replacing the dancer’s smiling face with one that is pensive – even melancholic – and by moving her from her glamorous and spacious beach setting to one crowded solely with mundane mechanical and domestic objects, Höch plaintively calls into question the popular media stereotypes of her time. Her pensive dancer is less the vital and energetic Neue Frau of the sources photography than an immobilized mannequin who endures the probing examination of the pipe-smoking male figure leaning inward from the right edge of the montage.40 Perhaps Höch’s greatest sin in the eyes of her fellow Dadaists was her continued respect for the notion of art and her persistence in looking at the world from a woman’s perspective.41 Despite her early endeavours to follow Tzara’s definition, Höch could never forget that art and photomontage did mean something. Höch’s work was her conscious representation of her struggle within a world where her gender, not her artistic ability, was her defining feature. Consequently, Höch viewed the Dada movement from afar, with a ‘jaundiced eye’, despite her myriad personal and professional connections to it.42 Höch’s early photomontages are therefore a reflection of her battle with the stereotypical image of the Neue Frau, a theme which may not have emerged if her initial introduction into the Berlin artistic movement had been more welcoming.

38. Lavin, p. 8. 39. Terminators,(http://www.terminartors.com/artworkprofile/Hoch_Hannah-Untitled), January 26 2011. 40. Makela, ‘By Design’, p. 65. 41. Boswell, ‘Hannah Höch’, p. 8 42. Makela, ‘By Design,’ p. 65.

Art History

Plate 1: Schnitt mit dem Küchenmesser Dada durch die letzte Bierbauchkulturepoche Deutschlands

Plate 3: Da Dandy

Plate 2: Das schönen Mächen

Plate 4: Dada Ernst

Art History

Bibliography

Plate 5

Boswell, Peter ‘Hannah Höch: Through the Looking Glass’ in Maria Makela and Peter Boswell (eds.) The Photomontages of Hannah Höch (1996), pp. 1-24. Brindenthal, Renate, ‘Beyond Kinder, Küche, Kirche: Weimar Women at Work’, Central European History, 6 ( June, 1973), pp. 148-166. Canning, Kathleen, ‘Women and the Politics of Gender’, in Anthony Mc Elligott (ed.) The Short Oxford History of Weimar Germany, (2009), pp. 146-174. Doherty, Brigid, ‘Fashionable Ladies, Dada Dandies’, Art Journal, 54 (Spring, 1995), pp. 46-50. Kaes, Anton, Martin Jay and Edward Dimendberg, (eds.), The Weimar Republic Sourcebook, (1994). Lavin, Maud, Cut With the Kitchen Knife: The Weimar Photomontage of Hannah Höch, (1993). Makela, Maria The Dada Years’ in Maria Makela and Peter Boswell (eds.) The Photomontages of Hannah Höch (1996), pp. 25-48.

Art History ‘Makela, Maria ‘By Design: The early work of Hannah Höch in Context’ in Maria Makela and Peter Boswell (eds.) The Photomontages of Hannah Höch, (1996), pp. 49-80. Höch, Hannah. Dada-Ernst. Mutual Art, (http://www.mutualart.com/Artwork/Dada-Ernst/EC238CE61EF30268), 26 January 2011. Schrader, Bärbel and Jürgen Schebera, The ‘Golden Twenties’: Art and Literature in the Weimar Republic, (1988). Simmons, Sherwin, ‘Advertising Seizes Control of Life: Berlin Dada and the Power of Advertising’, Oxford Art Journal, 22 (1999), pp. 121-146. Höch, Hannah. Da Dandy, (http://www.dadadandy.com/introduction_simonpaul.html), 28 January 2011. Höch, Hannah, The Beautiful Girl. Terminators, (http://www.terminartors.com/artworkprofile/Hoch_Hannah-The_Beautiful_Girl), January 26 2011. Höch, Hannah. Untitled. Terminators, (http://www.terminartors.com/artworkprofile/ Hoch. Hannah-Untitled), January 26 2011. Höch, Hannah. Cut With the Kitchen Knife. The Archive, (http://www.artchive.com/ artchive/ H/hoch/kitchen_knife.jpg.html), 25 January 2011. Weitz, Eric D. Weimar Germany, Promise and Tragedy, (2007). Whitford, Frank, Hannah Höch: 1889-1987, Oil Paintings and works on paper, (London, June-July 1983). 391, (http://www.391.org/manifestos/19180323tristantzara_dadamanifesto.htm), 26 January 2011