BAD MOON RISING

1916After more than fifty years of technological advancements and increasing industrialisation, Britain experienced a series of defiantly backward-looking backlashes at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth century, though these new Luddites were a good deal more creative than their machine-smashing, albeit pioneering, technophobe ancestors. Most devoted their energies to recreating an ideal of Britain that had supposedly been lost in the white heat of industrial revolution. The Pre-Raphaelites and the Arts & Crafts movement had already delved into medieval mysticism, but they were followed by the likes of musicologist Cecil Sharp roaming the countryside collecting folk songs and the formation of various pseudo-Masonic societies harking back to an imagined idyll of Albion in which druids held the key to the ancient spiritual soul of the nation.

Parallel events across the Irish Sea celebrated a romantic notion of a pure Gaelic Ireland unsullied by its absorption into the British Empire, though the perpetrators of this thinking were viewed by many as a fringe element on the periphery of the long-running saga of Home Rule. However, with a Liberal Government at Westminster, the concept of an Ireland running itself within the secure Imperial embrace was revived, something that struck fear in the heart of Ulstermen who valued their place at the table of the planet’s greatest superpower. At Belfast City Hall in 1912, the opening salvo of something that would eventually climax with the partition of the nation was fired by leading Northern Irish politician and barrister Sir Edward Carson signing the Ulster Covenant. This call-to-arms document sent a message to Downing Street that handing control of the country to the Catholic stronghold of Dublin would threaten not only Protestant dominance in the North, but Ireland’s membership of the United Kingdom.

With clandestine Conservative support on the mainland, the signing of the Covenant by 237,368 Ulstermen was followed by the establishment of a Unionist militia, the Ulster Volunteer Force, who armed themselves courtesy of 25,000 smuggled rifles. Catholic Nationalists who feared Home Rule would be defeated by paramilitary means responded in kind as the various disparate Rebel factions such as the Irish Republican Brotherhood came together as the Irish Volunteers, an organisation that morphed into the Irish Republican Army. Although the outbreak of the First World War in 1914 focused attention elsewhere, those who didn’t sign-up to the British war effort remained determined to declare an Irish Republic rather than merely oppose the aims of the UVF; and in April 1916, this small group severed their links with Home Rule moderates and went for it.

Led by Patrick Pearse, a scholastic Anglo-Irish member of the IRB Military Council, a coordinated attack on various strategic positions in Dublin by over a thousand volunteers and the Irish Citizen Army began on Easter Monday 1916 while most of Britain was distracted by events on the Western Front. As news of the insurrection spread, the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland declared martial law and regiments of the British Army that weren’t already engaged on the continent were deployed to end the rebellion, many of them being Irish regiments, including the Royal Dublin Fusiliers. One-by-one, the locations seized by the Rebels were recaptured over several days and the last stand took place at the General Post Office on Sackville Street. A fierce siege developed that saw the prominent Dublin civic landmark bombarded by shells as Irishman killed Irishman.

Most of the lives lost during the Easter Rising were civilian, and when the Rebels finally surrendered on Saturday 29 April the prisoners led from the GPO were jeered by bystanders, particularly the wives of men who were away fighting the Great War. Outside of the more fanatical elements of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, the Rebels were not regarded as heroes by the vast majority of the Catholic community, and the ruin of Sackville Street was something for which they, and not the British Army, were held responsible. Had the Rebels simply been handed long prison sentences by the authorities, chances are Irish history could have taken a radically different turn. Would Church and State have been so fatally incestuous in the South? Would the Troubles have even broken out in the North, let alone spanned thirty bloody years? But, at a moment when Britain was involved in a serious military conflict, clemency was in short supply and the guilty men were all sentenced to death.

Considering the bigger picture, the decision to execute the ringleaders of the Easter Rising was an unsurprising response to an act of treason at a time of war; but what happened next was predicted by the poet WB Yeats when he wrote ‘a terrible beauty is born’. Public opinion was not on the side of the Rebels as they surrendered, but when fourteen men faced a firing squad in the grounds of Kilmainham Gaol, opinion turned in their favour and all Irish Nationalists suddenly saw them as that most potent symbol of Nationalism, the martyr, something they have remained in romantic Republican mythology ever since.

Oral history is always tailored to suit the agenda of the storyteller, and the Easter Rising of 1916 is no different. The compromise of the Irish Free State, the assassination of Michael Collins, the War of Independence and Partition are all viewed as direct consequences of the crushing of the Easter Rising. In retrospect, the executions of the ringleaders and subsequent round-up and imprisonment of other suspects can be regarded as a cataclysmic blunder by the British, even if it all happened a hundred years ago now. Lest we forget, the fact that events that took place as far back as 1690 are still celebrated by Protestant Northern Ireland serves as a reminder of how the Irish have extremely long memories indeed. The passing of a mere century between 1916 and 2016 is therefore no time at all, as resurgent dissidents eager to mark the occasion with renewed bloodshed will testify. The Celtic Tiger has not lost all its teeth yet.

© The Editor

https://www.epubli.co.uk/shop/buch/48495#beschreibung

Advertisements

4 thoughts on “BAD MOON RISING

  1. Irish politics are beyond me. And yet, I am of partly Irish stock. I am, in fact, extremely proud of my Irish heritage. My grandmother emigrated here from a little village on the West Coast, and for a while she was Terrance Rattigan’s housemaid. I only knew here as a child, when she as a bed ridden, near blind old lady with a Ballykissangel accent. But her DNA is in DNA… I suppose I can understand a violent rising against the rule of Colonel Blimp. Indeed, somewhere in my loose collection of memories is the story of a relative getting a beating off “The Black And Tans”, a paramilitary thug squad if ever ther wa one, as I understand it. What I cannot understand is the glorification by morons like Corbyn of the violent side of Irish Nationalism. I have no problem with independence. I have every problem with people who murder and torture – fanatics. But perhaps I am just very naïve. To me: utter evil.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It is indeed a complex state of affairs in which the past is often as valid as the present; the awareness of the past in Northern Ireland is quite an ironic contrast with the way in which the past is ignored in England – though it could be argued neither approach has learnt from it.

      Like

  2. As with Brother Gildas and many others on the mainland, I too share irish ancestry, some great-great-grandparents fleeing the dearth of potatoes in the 1840s. A troubled island indeed, for many hundreds of years, depositing a mound of cold chips on the shoulders of its residents to this day. The heady mix of religion and nationalism, never entirely sure which is really driving which, has guaranteed an unsettled status and a global diaspora.
    I’ve never visited the Republic, but went to the North in the early 80’s at the height of ‘the troubles’ – what a strange place. Travelling around Belfast, it struck me that there was no mass ‘middle-class’, no suburbs of neat semis and aspirational detached houses – there were some wealthy enclaves, with some very wealthy folk, then there were the shabby, down-market, terraced streets, bedecked with murals and where most of the ‘action’ occurred, but no middle-ground, no ‘ordinary’, no ‘average’. Whilst the shabby part had a mix of the religions, albeit in their segregated streets, the wealthy part seemed to be entirely Protestant – perhaps indicating another everyday irritant which further fuelled the fiery resentment of others.
    And yet, on a personal level, wonderfully friendly folk from all sections of the community, great hospitality and some beautiful scenary and buildings, despite all being covered at the time in chicken-wire to deflect missiles.
    Unification with the Republic is an inevitability, the current status is merely a holding one – they’ve all done the sums and they have a shared, but undeclared plan that wasn’t overtly written into the Good Friday Agreement. They all know that, by 2050, there will be more Catholic voters in the North than Protestant ones, at which point there will be a referendum and they will be expected to join the Republic – that’s democracy for you, or just smart planning.
    I hope they’ll be very happy together and that finally peace may break out.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. … and Irish people continually give out about England and the English, Britain and the Brits, despite supporting English football teams and preferring British television over their home made variety. They also know damn well that they can’t afford to run the Six Counties.

    Incidentally the ‘Ulster Covenant’ was modelled on the Scottish Covenants, and the Ulster-Scots Presbyterian tribe are just as hostile to England and the English. It is long overdue that we let them go it alone, or let the Scots have them as a booby prize for independence.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s