Ulster Protestant, farmer’s son, journalist, I.R.B. member, Irish Volunteer organiser, hunger-striker, Sinn Féin T.D. and Minister for Trade and Commerce, advocate of the Anglo-Irish treaty, Cumann na nGaedheal Minister for Local Government, Finance and Posts and Telegraphs, Vice-President of the Executive Council, Blueshirt intellectual (but no fascist): these successive designations capture the varied early career of Ernest Blythe. Far less is known of his interests and writing after his retirement from political life: the Irish language, theatre and, in particular, the partition question.

On 7 September 1948 the newly appointed Taoiseach, John A. Costello, the leader of a coalition government in which his party Fine Gael was the senior partner, announced in Ottawa that he intended to repeal Eire’s External Relations Act, and thus sever its final tenuous link with the crown. The External Relations Act ‘empowered the Executive Council of the Irish Free State to authorise the use of the king’s signature on the letters of credence to be presented to heads of foreign states by Irish diplomatic representatives’. Eamon de Valera, Costello’s predecessor, had introduced the External Relations Act in 1936, and had regarded it as a device that might help to end partition. The measure magnified Ireland’s constitutional ambiguity, but with its repeal the twenty-six counties would assuredly become a republic outside the Commonwealth.

Daniel O’Connell, asked when appearing before a select committee of the House of Commons on 1 March 1825 whether there had been many Catholics among the United Irishmen, replied that there were scarcely any among the leading United Irishmen. The leading United Irishmen were almost all Presbyterians or Dissenters. In the north the lower classes of United Irishmen were at first almost exclusively Dissenters. It spread then among the Roman Catholics and as it spread into the southern counties and of course, as it took in the population, it increased in its numbers of Roman Catholics. In the county of Wexford, where the greatest part of the rebellion raged, there were no United Irishmen previous to the rebellion and there would have been no rebellion there if they had not been forced forward by the establishment of Orange lodges and the whipping and torturing and things of that kind.

Between folios 179v and 181v of volume 216 of the state papers for Ireland is a document entitled ‘Discourse humbly presented by Richard Hadsor ...’ which a later hand has endorsed as having being written ‘probably some time in 1604 when Tyrone & Tyrconel were in peace’. In 1854 an anonymous scholar (possibly E.P. Shirley) published a transcript of the document in the Ulster Journal of Archaeology, but without appending either notes or commentary on the text or investigating its authorship. In the first volume of the Jacobean series of the Calendar of State Papers, Ireland the editors, C. W. Russell and J.P. Prendergast, provided an almost complete transcript, suggesting that they too found it noteworthy. But since then the ‘Discourse’ has received virtually no further attention from historians. Yet it contains, among other things, the earliest articulation of a ‘three kingdoms’ approach to the new Stuart multiple monarchy. Two reasons may account for its neglect: first, neither the anonymous editor of 1854 nor Russell and Prendergast paid any attention to the question of the authorship of the treatise — the former being apparently of the view that certain sections of the text would be of interest to the journal’s antiquarian readership, while the latter mistakenly attributed the tract to either a Richard or a John Hudson, neither of whom was identifiable; secondly, its contents are odd, a mixture of useful information and relatively unconventional opinion.

By all accounts Michael O’Brien, that fine scholar and most generous and unassuming of men, was not happy about his Corpus genealogiarum Hiberniae, vol. i. He had it in hand for years and spent an incalculable mount of meticulous labour on it, but only near the end of his life, with great reluctance, did he consent to its publication. The proofs lacked what he considered final correction, and he feared leaving a legacy of avoidable error. Of course what he did leave was an instrument of scholarship, the value and uses of which other men will be decades in proving out. To our gratitude for his learning and labours we should therefore add an almost equal gratitude to those friends who insisted that he publish despite the probability that residual error might still amount to a fraction of one per cent. Our thanks may indeed be the greater since we learn from the introduction that this volume was intended as the first ‘of a series to contain all important Irish pedigrees and genealogical material from the earliest literary period down to c. 1500 A.D.’. If it seems unlikely now that we shall see vol. ii or any of the others, we might so easily not have had even vol. i.

Protestant working-class loyalists have been found not only in Belfast, behind the painted kerbs and muralled gables of the Shankill Road and Ballysillan. Recent research has found working-class loyalism in the Ulster hinterland of mid-Armagh. However, most of what has been written on southern Protestantism, beyond Belfast and Ulster, has been on the gentry class. Yet Dublin was once the centre of organised Protestant opinion in Ireland and had, in the early nineteenth century, an assertive and exuberantly sectarian Protestant working class. This paper is based on a study of the Protestant working class of Dublin, and examines its organisation and activism as revealed in the City and County of Dublin Conservative Workingmen’s Club (henceforth C.W.C.). The club owned a substantial Georgian house on York Street, off St Stephen’s Green where the modern extension to the Royal College of Surgeons now stands. The club was sustained by a core of activists numbering around three hundred, the usual print-run for the ballot papers at the annual general meeting. The Protestant working class numbered 5,688 in the city in 1881. The county area numbered 4,096, making a total of 9,784 Protestant workingclass men. The city and county total of about 10,000 remained stable up to the census of 1911. Combined with the Protestant lower middle class of clerks and shopkeepers, the potential to be mobilised by the C.W.C. numbered over 20,000. The club records are used to relate the experience of the Dublin Protestant working class firstly to the more familiar working-class loyalism of Ulster, and secondly to working-class Toryism and the concept of the labour aristocracy.

Sir Piers Crosby, knight and baronet, lived for fifty-six years, but it is not perhaps too much to say that only a single day in that life has brought him to historical notice. That day was 28 November 1634. On the previous afternoon, Lord Deputy Wentworth had informed a joint meeting of the two houses of the Irish parliament that his government was not prepared to honour the promise which King Charles I had given to landed proprietors in Ireland six years earlier and would not permit the passage of acts relinquishing historic royal claims to Irish land. When the commons met on 28 November, a majority of the members vented their anger and disappointment by defeating an entirely uncontroversial government bill. Prominent among that majority, their ringleader if Wentworth is to be believed, was a renegade privy councillor, Sir Piers Crosby. That Wentworth’s account of what happened was seriously misleading is well established, and I have examined it elsewhere as an illustration of the proposition that one of Wentworth’s major achievements was to impose his version of the events of his deputyship upon generations of historians, approving and disapproving alike. His influence similarly colours historical impressions of the people with whom he dealt, and the purpose of this paper is to suggest the interpretative difficulties to which that may give rise by reconstructing the shape of the career of one individual who suffered the dual misfortune of crossing Wentworth’s path and being remembered only by what Wentworth wrote of him.

The purpose of this note is to identify the place-name Telach Cail as Castletown Delvin, County Westmeath, and to demonstrate the continued use of the site from the pre-Norman into the post-Norman period. While archaeologists have identified a number of earthwork sites which had a continuous use from the pre-Norman into the post-Norman period, documentary sources may also provide valuable evidence. A combination of near-contemporary pre-Norman and Anglo-Norman documentary evidence indicates that the pre-Norman royal site of Telach Cail in Delbna was chosen for the location of an Anglo-Norman motte.

There were three good reasons why Edward II hastened to secure papal help within the first year of the pontificate of John XXII (1316-17). A number of important bishoprics were vacant to which the king hoped to secure his candidate, he needed fiscal help for defence purposes, and the weight of papal condemnation to fall on his enemies. Within the year he had secured a satisfactory degree of papal support in each of these three desiderabilia, and the cooperation of pope and king touched Irish affairs at some important points.

The general reasons why the king should wish to arrange episcopal succession to his liking are well known. There was particular reason for securing politically reliable bishops in Ireland. As Edward himself was to explain to John, the ‘fraudulent machinations and malicious and false collusion’ of some Irish prelates against royal power had been a major factor in the risings connected with Edward Bruce’s invasion. At this time both Dublin and Cashel were vacant, and Edward took all measures to ensure their filling by men acceptable to him. There were two candidates in the field at Cashel, nominees of a split in the chapter. In August of 1316, Edward wrote to eight cardinals impressing on them the necessity of having an English archbishop, and urging the candidature of a Franciscan, Geoffrey of Aylsham.

Twentieth-century scholars critically re-examining Ireland's origin myths explained how ‘synthetic pseudo-history’ such as the Lebor Gabála érenn arose. Sports, like nations, have need of origin myths, chess being no exception; moreover, sporting preferences have sometimes become bound up with a nation's sense of its unique identity. In the same ancient manuscripts where Celtic revivalists found legends of the earliest people in Ireland, they often also found references to board games. What may be called the myth of Celtic chess then emerged.

At the 2002 Hay Literary Festival, Sir Michael Holroyd, the prolific biographer, delivered a lecture outlining the development of British biographical writing, and indicating what he thought might be the key developments in the future of the genre. Quoting Keats, he condemned ‘irritable reaching after fact and reason’, and called for a greater acknowledgement and utilisation of the fictional in the enhancing of our understanding of individuals. Such a readiness to shun or qualify empirical evidence when attempting to interpret and understand the past would be an anathema to most historians.

The government’s incursion into the midlands lordships of the O’Connors and O’Mores in 1546 is often identified as the root of the Tudor conquest of Ireland. Conversely, the years from 1535 to 1546 have been depicted as a period wherein a conciliatory approach to Gaelic Ireland was favoured. This paper argues that the origins of the Tudor conquest lie in the 1530s following the Kildare Rebellion. At this time a majority of senior officials in Ireland urged the regional conquest of the lordships of the O’Byrnes, O’Tooles and MacMurrough Kavanaghs in Wicklow and Carlow. This strategy was not adopted as Henry VIII refused to finance such a costly endeavour. Consequently a cheap political alternative now known as ‘surrender and regrant’ was briefly adopted in the early 1540s. However in 1546 the officials who favoured regional intervention in Leinster succeeded in initiating an incursion into the midlands. In light of the links between the campaign for the reduction of south Leinster in the 1530s and the incursion into the midlands in 1546, this paper argues that the origins of the Tudor conquest of Ireland can be traced to the campaign for the reduction of south Leinster in the mid-1530s.

William Nicholas Keogh (1817–1878) has long been remembered as the placehunting lawyer who betrayed his country and wrecked the political fortunes of Irish constitutional nationalism for a generation. As a member of the fifty-strong Irish Independent Party of the early 1850s, Keogh pledged himself to independent opposition, only to accept ministerial office in 1852 as solicitor-general for Ireland. For this act Keogh has long been represented as a man who succumbed to personal ambition at the expense of a popular cause, which he allegedly supported with the sole objective of extracting political capital. Such was the ignominy with which he came to be regarded in later years that his name became a byword for betrayal, as evidenced by the fact that members of John Redmond’s Edwardian Irish Parliamentary Party were characterised as the Keoghs and Sadleirs of their day. Keogh’s infamy was exacerbated further by the inflammatory judgment he issued when presiding over the Galway election petition of 1872, for which he would be labelled ‘villifier-in-ordinary of the Irish priests’.

At first glance the low yield of books produced by the Dublin printing presses for circulation in early Stuart Ireland could lead to two hasty conclusions: first, that Irish society was unreceptive towards reading; and second, that the printing presses had to contend with a very small (literate) target audience. Yet nothing could be further from the truth. In recent years Raymond Gillespie has done much to dispel these suppositions. His appraisal of English port books, printing press accounts from the continent and library borrowing lists plainly demonstrates the appetite of an interested reading public in Ireland. The value of analysing book loaning lists was further underlined by William O'Sullivan when he partially revealed the borrowing records belonging to the historian and antiquarian, Sir James Ware. In so doing, he drew attention to the potential of a deeper exploration of Irish cultural and intellectual life.

In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the British government made a vigorous effort to ameliorate poverty in the west of Ireland. In 1891 the Congested Districts Board (C.D.B.) was established, with an array of special powers to promote economic development in the west. It recognised that land could only play a limited role in development due to its generally poor quality, but that sea fishing had significant potential. Nowhere was this more obvious than west Galway, where the majority of people were farmer-fishermen, living either on the islands or along a coastal belt on the mainland because fishing offered some compensation for inadequate land. Sea fishing in west Galway was, however, for the most part primitive.

Dr Lyons’s admirable study of the downfall of Parnell, recently published, has raised once again the question of the relations between Joseph Chamberlain and the Irish leader and more particularly of the part alleged to have been played by Chamberlain in bringing about the latter’s ruin. Like the late Henry Harrison, who devoted so many eloquent pages to this subject, Dr Lyons had to write without access to Chamberlain’s own papers, which, however, do not contain, so far as I am aware, anything that is at variance with his main conclusions. Nevertheless, they do containcertain letters, which are not mentioned in J.L. Garvin’s Life of Joseph Chamberlain and which supplement Dr Lyons’s account.

In an influential article, William Lowe and Elizabeth Malcolm have argued that the Royal Irish Constabulary (R.I.C.) became ‘domesticated’ between its formation in 1836 and its disbandment in 1922: