By Daragh Fitzgerald
The recent passing of the Legacy Bill through the UK Houses of Commons and Lords—a move opposed by all political parties in Ireland, regardless of constitutional persuasion—renders Huw Bennett’s Uncivil war: the British Army and the Troubles, 1966–1975 an altogether frustrating though nevertheless compelling read. Examining the strategy, tactics, rhetoric and actions of the British Army from the year of the first murder associated with the Troubles to the beginning of ‘Ulsterisation’ and the end of a possible settlement between the British government and the Provisional IRA, Uncivil war covers many of the most (in)famous operations carried out by the British Army during the conflict, such as Operation Demetrius and the introduction of internment without trial, the events of the Ballymurphy Massacre and Bloody Sunday, and the retaking of ‘no-go’ areas with Operation Motorman. Bennett argues that (as ever) Northern Ireland was not at the top of successive British governments’ lists of priorities across this period, with the question of EEC membership, commitments to NATO and industrial unrest in Britain all taking precedence, thus allowing the conflict to drag on into a seemingly never-ending war of attrition. This aspect of our recent history is rather under-researched, with republican politics and paramilitaries attracting much of the limelight, and, while Bennett’s efforts are Trojan, there remains much work to be done. Bennett attests to this in a note at the end of the narrative, explaining the difficulty he had in accessing sources, as many British Army documents pertaining to the conflict are sealed off from the public gaze and will remain so for decades to come. Bennett’s will be the first of many works tackling this topic in the years ahead. Watch this space.
There was a time when soldiers from another army walked the streets of Belfast and Derry, although in very different circumstances. More than 300,000 American soldiers passed through Northern Ireland during the Second World War, with the American Red Cross providing the doughboys with shelter, service-clubs and a whole range of social activities. Clive Moore’s The American Red Cross in Northern Ireland during the Second World War documents the activities of the American Red Cross in the North during the war, from providing aid to blitz-stricken Belfast to establishing a baseball league at Ravenhill for the American soldiers. The book details the profound social impact engendered by the arrival of the troops, as locals mixed with the soldiers in various social settings provided by the Red Cross, which no doubt helped facilitate the numerous marriages between Americans and locals—of which there were close to 2,000. Moore’s book is replete with fantastic photographs documenting the day-to-day duties of the American Red Cross and the interactions between the residents and the newly arrived soldiers, from their arrival in 1942 to the celebrations on VE Day.
The experience of the Second World War in the North also features in Aaron Edwards’s A people under siege: the unionists of Northern Ireland from partition to Brexit and beyond. Part history and part manifesto, the book is a reflective and at times critical look at unionism, taking the reader on a whistle-stop tour of the north of Ireland from the origins of unionism and the Act of Union right up to the present-day discussions surrounding the Northern Ireland Protocol. In doing so, Edwards contrasts what he sees as a negative, paranoid, sectarian, anxiety-fuelled brand of unionism associated with the likes of Ian Paisley with a positive, constructive, civic unionism, which he argues is the way forward out of the current deadlock that unionists have entered in the aftermath of Brexit and increasing momentum for a United Ireland. For someone not from the unionist tradition like me, this was an intriguing—and, indeed, often challenging and provocative—read. History Ireland readers, familiar with the numerous allegations against District Inspector John Nixon as leader of the infamous murder-gang implicated in the notorious 1922 McMahon murders, may be surprised to see him dispassionately listed as a practitioner of the latter tradition of a civic unionism focused on helping ordinary people. Nevertheless, A people under siege illustrates the complexities and nuances within unionism that are often obscured by its fiery and conservative public image, while the book’s lucid and captivating writing and its fascinating topic make it an absorbing read.
Pauline Collombier’s Imagining Ireland’s future 1870–1914: Home Rule, Utopia, dystopia is similarly engaging and stimulating, with many of the questions and issues outlined within bearing an uncanny resemblance to modern debates about the future constitutional status of Ireland—right down to questions regarding flags and language. Collombier outlines what exactly Home Rule was in real terms across the successive Home Rule bills from 1886 to 1912; perhaps more importantly, she explains what Home Rule meant to ardent advocates, steadfast opponents and those somewhere in the middle. To do so, she uses sources not traditionally in the historian’s tool-box, such as literary fiction from the time which attempted to predict what a Home Rule Ireland would look like. No fewer than 30 such pieces of fiction were written in this period, including one centred on an Irish Daedalus—not Joyce’s Stephen but John O’Halloran, a scientist-turned-Fenian who invents mechanical wings used to assist Irish rebels. Extraordinary stuff.
Previously, when I thought of Ireland in 1932, images of the Eucharistic Congress and the electoral victory of Fianna Fáil sprang to mind. Having read Kevin C. Kearns’s A year of glory and gold: 1932, Ireland’s Jazz Age, my perception of the time has been flipped on its head. Writing against the dominant view of post-revolutionary southern Ireland as a stiflingly conservative, religious and reactionary place, Kearns argues that 1932 was in fact a glimpse into another future for Ireland, modern and successful. A masterful social history, the book paints an evocative and vibrant portrait of Ireland in 1932, conveying the sounds, smells and spectacles of the time, and is full of astonishing vignettes ranging from Irish Olympians to yo-yo championships and a visiting Native American chief.
Brides of Christ: women and monasticism in medieval and early modern Ireland covers what certainly is a religious subject. It is a collection of essays discussing the entire spectrum of holy women in Ireland during the medieval and early modern periods—not just nuns, the eponymous ‘brides of Christ’. Academic in tone and subject, this is a very welcome addition to the literature, helping to fill a major lacuna, as historians’ focus has traditionally been on male religious orders.
Captain Kokeritz—an American hero also fills a gap in the literature, detailing the fascinating story of an American sea-captain who died over a century ago and who was virtually entirely forgotten, buried in an unmarked grave in Derry, until very recently. Indeed, the recovery of Kokeritz’s story—how he captivated the world by facing down the Kaiser’s unrestricted U-boat campaign, enraging the Kaiser to such an extent that he put a bounty of $10,000 on Kokeritz’s head—is primarily thanks to the efforts of the book’s author, S.D. Jenkins. More information about the story and the book itself can be found at http://www.mayobooks.ie/Captain-Kokeritz-S-D-Jenkins.
Christy Gillespie’s The road to Glenlough is another labour of love—a tome of over 600 pages dedicated to the history of a now-uninhabited valley in west Donegal. Although it sounds rather dry, it is anything but—the narrative of the valley acts as a microcosm of Ireland’s history, from the Bronze Age to Bonnie Prince Charlie, and to documenting social life in rural twentieth-century Ireland. The book is littered with the gorgeous paintings of Rockwell Kent—just one of the many individuals who sought peace and refuge in the valley—and can stand beside any coffee-table book in beauty and intrigue.
Huw Bennett, Uncivil war: the British Army and the Troubles, 1966–1975 (Cambridge University Press, €33.95 hb, 382pp, ISBN 9781107136380).
Clive Moore, The American Red Cross in Northern Ireland during the Second World War (Northern Ireland War Memorial Museum, €12 pb, 114pp, ISBN 9780992930189).
Aaron Edwards, A people under siege: the unionists of Northern Ireland, from partition to Brexit and beyond (Merrion Press, €19.99 pb, 352pp, ISBN 9781785372995).
Pauline Collombier, Imagining Ireland’s future, 1870–1914: Home Rule, Utopia, dystopia (Palgrave Macmillan, €128.39 hb, 375pp, ISBN 9783031188244).
Kevin C. Kearns, A year of glory and gold: 1932, Ireland’s Jazz Age (Gill Books, €24.99 hb, 368pp, ISBN 9780717195619).
Martin Browne, Tracy Collins, Bronagh Ann McShane and Colmán Ó Clabaigh (eds), Brides of Christ: women and monasticism in medieval and early modern Ireland (Four Courts Press, €45 hb, 248pp, ISBN 9781801510226).
S.D. Jenkins, Captain Kokeritz—an American hero (self-published, €20 pb, 258pp, ISBN 9781801510226).