The Irish Revolution and How It Came About

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LII, Issue 9, 11 March 1925, Page 7

The Irish Revolution and How It Came About

(By William O’Brien)

By the spring of 1920 the Prime Minister who in July, 1919, had mistaken for the white flag of a beaten man, Mr. de Valera's offer of peace while he had still an undisputed power to enforce it, was casting about for negotiations upon more ignominious terms with Archbishop Chine, an Australian Prelate who, with the usual clumsiness of England's dealings with Ireland, was eagerly welcomed to Dublin Castle by way of administering another snub to his more authoitative colleague of Melbourne, all this time held in close custody in London, far from his native land and from consultation with (lie Sinn Fein chiefs with whom his word was law. Was the voice of Wisdom, which sitteth by the throne, to be heard even then? The concessions announced to Archbishop Chine were, it is certain, the same in substance as those embodied in the Treaty signed in Downing Street in December, 1921, after eighteen further months of official brutalities which wore wholly unavailing except that they most dangerously increased the power of the military chiefs of the I.R.A. as the arbiters between peace ancLwnr. It was to be "Canadian Home Rule 5 * under precisely the same conditions of a Canada robbed of its richest province and coerced into an Imperial tribute, which was the best Mr. Griffith and General Collins could obtain for Ireland in the Treaty of Downing Street. The one difference of any moment between the two offers was that Mr. Lloyd George still held out for the surrender of their arms by the I.R.A. as an indispensable preliminary. For the sake of saving Sir Hamar Greenwood's face by this paltry satisfaction, the chance of an agreement then and there which the pur sang Republicans were not yet strong enough to forbid was once more madly sacrificed. Sir Hamar Greenwood's face was not saved, because the condition then insisted upon was after another year of wanton bloodshed ignominiously dropped. The only result British statesmanship had to show for itself was that it arrayed the entire Irish race at the back of the Irish Republican Army in their refusal to surrender the arms by which they had brought Mr. Lloyd George to reason, and by which alone they could make sure he would not undergo a further sea-change before the bargain was honestly through, if he found himself negotiating with a disarmed nation.

CHAPTER XXIX. —Continued)

Another of the few remaining books of the Cumaean Sibyl was cast to the winds. . On went the war with immeasurable loss of blood and credit on both sides, and with ever multiplying obstacles to that enduring peace which Ireland had gone on petitioning for until her soul was sick. It was the unsurrendered arms that in the long run did it. It would, of course, be nonsense to

say the English armies were driven out of the country by the phantom levies of the I.R.A. The guerilla bands were nowhere able to meet in battle-array the exultant legions just returned from their dazzling victories on the Continent, but it is no less true that the I.R.A. achieved the still more amazing military feat of cutting up that tremendous English army of a hundred thousand men into helpless fragments, isolating them, torturing them and getting upon their nerves in small surprises by night and day until it grew to be the one desperate longing of that host of heroes to get their orders for England.

Heaven defend me from doing any wilful injustice to Mr. Lloyd George, if only because he is a cousin Celt in qualities and defects alike, and there is a call of the blood which thrilled the whole Celtic breed with pride at the sight of the dauntless little Welsh country practitioner bestriding the narrow world like a Colossus, as for memorable years he did. It will not do to dismiss him as "a turncoat from Home Rule," as did one of the Hibernian leaders who had been for years swinging an abject censer before his altar. If Mr. Lloyd George swopped Home Rule for Partition, so did Mr. Asquith and the rest of his "Home Rule Cabinet" ; so did the Hibernian Party themselves, without a single exception. They were "turncoats" all, or none. My own conviction has been already avowed that had he occupied Mr. Asquith's place, with Mr. Asquith's majority, and did Parnell's spirit still animate the Irish Party, Mr. Lloyd George would have developed the clear sightedness and imagination to carry a great Home Rule Act without any serious dissent from Ulster. He would have understood the Irish aversion to Partition as he would have died in the slopes of shadowy Snowdon rather than submit, had the since Disestablished Church of Wales (a minority proportionately more considerable than that of Unionist Ulster in Ireland) proposed by way of compromise to cut up his own high-spirited little country into two provinces of Church-goers and Chapel-goers at eternal enmity. But now that "the Act on the Statute-book" with Ireland's own privity, was changed from a Home Rule Act to a Partition Act, Mr. Lloyd George, for whom there was no absolute truth in politics, but only a relative

JULO u UUI 111 jy W lIU UUt Ullly Cl» X KDXCX liv^/ truth adjustable according to the reports of his Party whips, felt it a duty to try whether, as he was noisily assured from Dublin Castle, a Black-and-Tan settlement on that basis might not be the line of least resistance. The Black-and Tans, the Whips now began to report, were not a. success either in dragooning Ireland or in comforting the conscience of

England, and the Prime Minister who had a foible for pushing his admiration for brave

enemies to the length of despising friends on their luck, frankly threw over the disreputable auxiliaries in Ireland and began tojStee an unexampled opportunity opening

up before him of seeking an Irish victory in a precisely opposite direction, which was very

likely more welcome to his heart of hearts. If he could not (in the pretty Black-and-

Tan jargon of the day) "do in" Sinn Fein,

he must e'en parley with it, and for that he had advantages unknown to any of his predecessors. To begin with, a King (it would be churlish to forget) whose yearning

for an Irish appeasement was a factor of the first importance in mollifying the most ingrained English prejudices. Next, both Mr. Bonar Law and Sir E. Carson, who had made him Prime Minister, and made him their prisoner, were now removed from the active scene. That co-operation of English Parties, for which Gladstone sighed to no purpose was ready to his hand. Not altogether it sans immodesty be hinted ?—without a share of influence from labors of our own for many an unregarded year, the hesitations of the Unionist Party in particularof fine Elder Statesmen of the stamp of Mr. Walter Long, as well as of the rising hopes and brainscarriers of the Party like Mr. Austen Chamberlain and Mr. F. E. Smith (now Lord Birkenhead) and Lord Robert Cecil himself had given way to bolder notions of Irish liberty. None but a pathetic handful of ancient Tory impossibilists any longer stood in the way.

On the Liberal side, Mr. Asquith, again at the head of his "Wee Free" following in the House of Commons, was arraigning the atro-b-y-mongers in Ireland with the noble elo-

quence which was always his, and was ad-

vocating, as with a father's pride, a most opulent measure of that Dominion Home Rule which he had quite overlooked in the days of his Premiership. The Labor Party were to a man for Ireland's deliverance, the more complete the better. The Irish Unionists outside the Six Counties, who might have been a political force of the first magnitude, had they asserted themselves before they were deserted by Sir E. Carson and contemptuously ignored by the Parliament of England, did at last find voice to claim kinship with the aspirations of their countrymen. The Anti-Partition organisations of Irish Conservatives of capacity and high integrity like Lord Midleton and Sir Horace Plunkett, late comers though they were into the vineyard, did bring a substantial accession of strength to Mr. Lloyd George in the daring change of front he was meditating.

That he did not enlist the aid of Sir James Craig as well was the capital mistake of the Prime Minister in his new peace negotiations. The Ulster leader was never an incorrigible enemy of a modus vivendi with his Southern countrymen. Like so many of #fc higher Orange type, if he was an irre£'4|msible being for half a dozen mad "anniversary" days, he was for all the rest of iWe year a kindly neighbor, a fast friend, more honest of heart than complex in the convolutions of his brain matter, but in all things, flattering or otherwise, as irredemably Irish as the granite ribs of Cave Hill.

At this moment, Sir E. Carson had gone off to the House of Lords, throwing the squalling baby Parliament in Belfast on his hands under circumstances which could scarcely fail to try the temper of the deserted Covenanters. Sir James Craig had besides been mellowing down into a popular officer of the King's Household, and would, we may be sure, have found more congenial work in gratifying the King's dearest desire than he had ever found in qualifying to be one of his Majesty's rebels. It would not have been difficult, with his good will, to enlarge the "National Council" of the Act of 1920 into some real bond of National Unity, such as would have made it the pride of Ulster to be represented in the National Parliament, while retaining in any desired measure the local liberties she enjoys in her Belfast assembly. That no objection would have come from the Sinn Fein side is made clear by President Cosgrove, who declares that" had Ulster accepted the Treaty of Downing Street as it stood she would still be in possession of her particularist privileges in as ample a measure as the All-for-Ireland League had ever proposed.* Sir James Craig had already given proof by his perfectly courteous conversations with Mr. de Valera and Mr. Griffith that he was not averse to those more cordial understandings that nearly always follow personal contact.

To leave such a man out in the cold while "the murder gang" were being welcomed to Downing Street was to invite suspicion among Sir J. Craig's touchy lieges and indeed to give it full justification. Yet this was what actually happened. The Ministerial plan of campaign, I am afraid it will be found, was first to favor Sinn Fein by cheating "Ulster," and next when that portion of the programme broke down to cheat Sinn Fein by calling in "Ulster." While the Treaty of Downing Street was under discussion at the Dail there was held a secret sitting at which full shorthand notes of the conversations between the British Ministers and the Sinn Fein delegates were communicated to the members under the strictest precautions as to secrecy. Members were not only specially pledged to regard the information as confidential, on pain of an instant renewal of hostilities by England, but measures were taken to prevent any written notes on the subject from being conveyed out of the chamber. Until the full official record, which must be still somewhere preserved, sees the light, the truth as to' the most important Irish transaction for a century must still remain obscure and any enlightened judgment regarding the responsi-

* "It is not generally understood," President Cosgrove said in the Dail, "by the man in the street that had the Northerns elected to remain with us they would be guaranteed m perpetuity every acre of territory that for the moment is under their control. They would have retained their Parliament of the Six Counties and their separate judiciary and their Governor, according to their pleasure . . . and would have had under the Constitution of the Free State, a representation of 51 members in the Free State Parliament, instead of 13 members who now represent them at Westminster."

bilities for the Treaty and for the Civil War that followed must 'be postponed until the secret part of the story comes to be divulged. My own information on the subjectderived though it is from three separate participants in the Secret Sessioncan only be made public under every reserve.

There are some details, however, which are not to be doubted. The first is that the Ministerialists contrived to shift the discussions at the Conference from the straight issue of the Integrity of Ireland by leading the representatives of Sinn Fein to believe that the same end was to be more astutely attained by means of a Boundary Commission. That, I think, will be found to have been the cardinal error of the capable but inexperienced Irishmen who found themselves pitted against the most subtle intellects the Empire could select. They allowed the debates to be diverted from the supreme rights of Ireland as one indivisible nation, on which nothing could defeat them ,to paltrier controversies as to whether this or that county, barony, or parish might not be swopped from the Protestant to the Catholic side of the frontier and so ensuring that what remained of "Northern Ireland" must in the nature of things follow. The notion came (my information goes) from the ingenious brain of Mr. Winston Churchill whose position as Colonial Secretary gave him a more commanding influence than ever in his illfated incursions into the affairs of Ireland. He, with the express authority of Mr. Lloyd George, conveyed to the Irish delegates an assurance that the Boundary Commission would be so arranged as to ensure the transfer to the Irish Free State of the counties of Tyrone and Fermanagh, the City of Derry and the important town of Newry, and that "Northern Ireland" thus virtually restricted to three counties, would find itself compelled to throw in its fortunes with the Free State. In one of his impulsive moments General Collins blurted out in a public speech the announcement upon Mr. Churchill's authority that, under the Boundary Commission stipulated for in the Treaty" "vast territories" would be transferred' from the Six Counties to the Free State. This was the first news of the arrangement which reached Sir James Craig. He promptly and indignantly announced that with a Boundary Commission of such a character he would have nothing to do. Mr. Churchill, when brought to book by a question in the House of Commons, denied that he had ever promised "to Mr. Michael Collins" the transfer of "vast territories" by means of the Boundary Commission. The reply was technically true, but was essentially false. It was not "to Mr. Michael Collins" he had given the promise; it was to Mr. Michael Collins' intermediary. How responsible Ministers could ever have hoped that such a transaction could be secretly carried through, behind the back of Sir James Craig, in .violation of the solemn pledge given to him by the Imperial Parliament of the integrity of his territory under the Act of the previous year, passes comprehension but, unless three different testimonies which have reached me from trustworthy sources are to be discredited, the promise was undoubtedly given, and was only violated when General Collins'

incautious disclosure roused Ulster up in arms against the chicanery. Two of the five Irish signatories of the Treaty declared they only signed it under duress. The duress was, it is true, gross and unwarrantable. They were threatened that unless they signed before a particular hour of the night of 5-6 December, without being allowed time to communicate . with their principals in Dublin, the dogs of war would be instantly let loose in Ireland and the order passed to the Black-and-Tans to set on. The threat was reinforced by the melodramatic announcement that a Destroyer had steam up to carry the news of the signing or of the break-off on the same night to Sir James Craig in Belfast, the Sir James Craig who had been kept for a month in total darkness as to how the negotiations were going. It is impos-

sible to believe that men of the superb courage of General Collins' and Arthur Griffith were daunted by stage craft of this kind. They must have known that, even had these particular negotiations for a Treaty broken down, the Truce would still be in existence, and could only be denounced after full time for deliberation in England and after every resource of diplomacy for negotiations in some new form had been exhausted. Terrific as was the risk of replunging Ireland into a sea of blood and terror, the very nature of the intimidation employed against them would have placed the sympathies of all civilised men on the side of Ireland if they declined to be hustled by such methods into consenting to part with one-fourth of the population and one-fifth of the territory of their nation, (To be continued.)

A Complete story

Sheila’s fingers tenderly caressed her violin. “If only, if only I could get an engagement,” she sighed, “how happy I should be! I should be spared— She gazed around the room, a little bedroom, shabbily furnished; with a dismal view at back, the window looking out on the yard, with a clothesline stretched across on which some garments were pinned, blowing in the breeze. But that was not the worst sight of allthe sight that offended Sheila. No, it was the bed in the corner with its occupant— little old woman, shrivelled with age. She was over ninety and bedridden. It was Sheila’s turn to sit with her, and it vexed her heart. Her ardent spirit longed to soar to a brighter, more congenial life. There was so much to do at home, so little leisure; there were so many petty annoyances to put up with. Then she was fired with ambition; she longed to excel as a musician. She had already filled with success several minor engagements at small concerts, and she now longed to escape from her humdrum existence. On these matters she pondered, seated by the old lady’s bedside. Presently her gaze wandered to the little altar in the corner, where she often knelt to pray, whispering to the Sacred Heart, “Dear Jesus, help me to bear my crosses patiently!” Sheila dearly loved the Sacred Heart. How many soothing moments in church had she spent with Him and how He had comforted her and lightened the burden! But not every hour of the day could she say, “Thy will be done!”bending to the sweet yoke of Jesus. She often turned aside, longing to pursue her own path in life. A letter came for Sheila some minutes later. It was from a musical agent, to whom she had written, seeking a season engagement at the seaside, in response to an advertisement in the paper. She now tore open the envelope and eagerly perused the typewritten message. The answer was favorable : the agent requested her to call next morning for a hearing.

THE WAY OF THE CROSS

She forgot her grandmother in her wild excitement, for the old lady was peacefully sleeping. She rushed downstairs to the kitchen, weaving the letter in her hand. Two boys were sprawled on the hearth, painting picture postcards. A small girl, with hair bobbed, sat in a corner, reading. “Whatever’s the matter, Sheila?” she asked, looking up. “How excited you are I Heard good news?” “Oh, Cis, Cis! It’s come! My dream!” And then a hasty explanation followed, and the younger girl shared in her sister’s joy. Just then Mrs. Follard came in. She had been out shopping. On learning Sheila’s news she looked perturbed and vexed. “I am afraid I cannot spare you,” she said pettishly. “There is such a lot to do here — with the housework, the lodgers to 'wait on, and one thing and another. And then Gran needs attention, and I cannot do all.” “But I can help you, mother,” volunteered Cissy. “I can do all Sheila’s work. I am old enoughnearly eleven. Do let Sheila go ; she wants to go badly.” Sheila hugged her, to show how she appreciated her words. “Well, go and see the agent, Sheila, and see what happens— and I will think it over,” Mrs. Follard said, with some reluctance; and Sheila kissed and hugged her, declaring that she was the dearest “Mom.” Next morning, she kept the appointment. To her joy she was offered a three months’ engagement in a ladies’ orchestra, at a fashionable seaside resort. The salary was excellent, and her mother could not but acquiesce. The money,- she admitted, would buy many comforts for Gran. And she could get; along with Cissy in Sheila’s absence. “We shall miss you, Sheila,” she said. “Be a good girl. Good-bye—and' God bless you !” Those were her parting words to Sheila, the morning she left home. “Good-bye, mother, and God bless you all!” echoed the girl. “I will write lovely letters home, three times a week, and you must

read them to Gran. They will cheer her up."

Sheila's new life agreed with her immensely. It was like sunshine after rain. Silverstrand was an ideal holiday resort. Its wide beach covered with golden sand, its high cliffs and the scent of the rocks beneath, and the pleasant country walks in the vicinity appealed to her artistic eye. "Oh, compare all this," she said, "to the dreary old home city of mine! I do not wish to go back; I could dwell here for ever."

But she found a still greater attraction in William Howson, who conducted the ladies' orchestra; he was a fine, handsome fellow, towering six feet high, fascinating in manner and flashily dressed. He took a great fancy to "the little violinist girl," as lie called her. Sheila was very pretty, and Howson was a man who liked pretty faces. They soon became friendly. He walked home with her at night when the orchestra had finished, went for long strolls with her in leisure hours, brought her chocolates, nosegays, etc., and in fact, paid her every attention. Sheila was flattered; she liked her handsome admirer and indeed, fell in love with him. Howson was not slow in declaring his passion to this pretty girl, whom he'asked to be his wife. But there was one great drawback, the question of religion. Sheila frankly told him that, as she was a Catholic, if they married, he would have to make certain promises. She named them. She also said that they must be married in her own church. Howson, after listening, shook his head. He could not accept her views, he said; and they must marry before a civil judge.

"I cannot," said Sheila. "I must obey my Church."

How pretty she was, how winning, he thought, looking at her. A few persuasive words would surely make her yield! And so he began to coax her, saying: "I will go to church with you sometimes, when we are married. Maybe I shall be a Catholic myself, one of these days. But not yet awhile. Ido not wish to be rushed into 1 it," he added.

And so at last in her sinful folly she promised to be his wife, and to marry him before a judge.

The wedding was to take place on the morning following the termination of her musical engagement; that is, at the end of the season. Sheila gladly fell in with this arrangement. She told Howson that her mother would never consent to their marriage. When she became his wife she could not, of course, be interfered with. They planned to spend the honeymoon abroad, and on their return would settle down in his own town.

All this was quite satisfactory to Sheila, though there were moments when her conscience bitterly reproached her. But she managed to hush it. The weeks slipped by. She seldom wrote home now. They wondered why her letters were so few. Her mother inquired the reason.

"I am very tired when I have finished playing," she wrote back, "and so I rest all I can." ..,T#d

The wedding day drew near. Now and then visions of the old home would rise up before her. She would picture her mother, h sad-faced and weary, going about her endless of work. And then she pictured how she would look when she knew all. She would recall the little altar in Granny’s bedroom, with the picture of the Sacred Heart hanging over it, pleading for His child’s return. Should she go back? But it meant giving up this man and that she could not do. The wedding morning came at last. Sheila rose early. It was a heavenly day. The sky •was deep blue without a cloud. She put on her best white costume, and tucked into her belt a little bunch of roses he had given her the night before. She took extra pains with her hair. Yes, she was pretty, she said, gazing in the mirror. And then she suddenly paused—her hand on her heart. What was it that almost made it stop beating? Why, that fearthat strange uneasiness? What voice whispered : “You must give up this man; you cannot marry him?” Was it her Angel Guardian? Was it the Sacred Heart ? “You, a Catholic, will not ho married if you go before a civil judge. You will ho commencing a life of sin.” The Sacred Heart! Memory brought back those bright, happy days. The mornings she had received Him into her heart, and bowed her head down and worshipped Him. Where now those fair promises of being always His faithful handmaid? Had she not broken her word? What blessing could result from such a marriage outside the Church? It was a grievous sin to be followed by a life of sin; for a Catholic, to have a valid marriage, must be married before the priest and two witnesses. “But I have promised,” she said, “and I cannot break from him now.” Bright sunshine streamed into the room but it failed to cheer her. Her heart was heavy. She went downstairs and ate her breakfast without any appetite. On a small table in the window was a cage, with a canary hopping about. The little creature suddenly burst into loud song. Sheila rose and approached it. “Ah! that is my Dickie!” cried the landlady, suddently bustling in. “He always sings best in bright weather. But it wasn’t always so, Miss Follard,” she went on, coming to the window. “Dickie was a poor singer till I put him in the dark. They say it’s a grand way to teach little birds. Give them darkness and solitude, and they make fine singers.” “Was it not so with me?” Sheila’s heart whispered to her. “Once upon a time, not so long ago, Jesus put me in the dark, so to speak. He sent me many trials my life was a hard one —but I was at peace, for I loved Him, and my heart sang for joy when I knew He was near, cheering me. And am I now going to forsake Him for this man?” She turned away and gazed sadly out of the window. She was sorely troubled. The landlady, thinking she had a headache, withdrew. She knew nothing of the proposed marriage. A heavy stormcloud swept over the soul of

Sheila. It was the conflict. But the sun was hidden behind the cloud, waiting to shine down on her. She began to pray. “Dear Sacred Heart, forgive me; I have done wrong, and now I am in terrible distress. Send me grace to do my duty. Help me!” As if in answer, there came a loud ringing at the street bell. A few moments later the landlady announced a visitor. “'She says she wishes to speak to you. She would not give her name, Miss.” “My mother?” Sheila asked herself. Aloud she said, “Show her in.” A strange woman, middle-aged, coarse-fea-tured, shabbily attired, came into the room. She gazed at the girl with contracted brows. Her eyes were heavy and sad-looking; she seemed in trouble. “You wish to speak to me?” Sheila asked. “Yes.”

"Will you be seated?" Her visitor complied. There was a short, tense silence. Then she said, in a hard voice: "I have heard from an acquaintance of Mr. Howson that he i s to be married this morning, before the judge " "So he had arranged." "To Miss Follard." "I am e." "I am sorry to have to tell you that Ibis marriage cannot possibly take place; the reason being that T am Mr. Howson's lawml wife. I can show you my marriage cer1 "fixate." The cheek of Sheila did not flush, nor turn pale; nor was she greatly shocked. But she was surprised— thankful. Here was an easy way out of the difficulty. She had no love for the man now, no desire to marry him. The Sacred Heart had relieved her of her temptation, and peace possessed her soul. "I am most grateful that you have brought me tin's news," she said quietly. "I need hardly tell you that I knew absolutely noth-inn-of Mr. Howson's previous marriage—now. I thank you for opening my eyes to his true character. I thank God for it. My only regret is that I did not know it sooner."

“I also regret it,” Mrs. Howson answered in her same hard voice. “I am sorry that .you have been so deceived. Mr. Howson and I have been married over six years. For the last eighteen months I have seen and heard nothing of him. Yesterday I managed to discover his whereabouts, from a person acquainted with him, who informed me of his intended—so called—marriage. “To prolong my visit is unnecessary, I think. So I wish you good morning.” She smiled. “I shall see Mr. Howson at the courthouse, at the hour he has arranged to meet you. Good-day.” She withdrew, and Sheila laid her head down on the table and shed tears of joy. “Dear Jesus,” she said, “how little do I deserve Thy kindness!” Late that night Sheila arrived home, where she received a warm welcome from her family. She humbly confided to her mother the story

of her engagement to her false suitor—and how it was broken off. She expressed her deep sorrow for her past folly, and was readily forgiven. "Oh, Sheila, my darling," crooned the old grandmother, "I am so glad you have come back.! I have missed you terribly. I have been praying and praying for your return. I am not long for this world, and I wish you near, when the Lord takes me." She lifted her wrinkled hands above the girl's bead. Sheila was happy—after making a sincere contriate Confession and a .fervent Holy Communion. She craved no other blessings than those which Our Lord sent her. Very often they were blessings in disguise. Hard work, sacrifice, the ups-and-downs of life she looked upon as fleeting clouds, dimming- her soul's horizon. She knew that the heavens beyond were bright and clear. Occasionally she obtained a musical engagement near home, which pleased her greatly; and she was thankful to the Sacred Heart, But above all she thanked Him for the wise lesson she had learned,, namely, that the way of the Cross is best.— Messenger of the Sacred Heart.