The focal point of your latest publication, Land is All That Matters, is the two hundred year span from the 1741 famine to the Second World War. Can you share the trigger for embarking on such an extensive topic?
I’d be pleased to report that I’d been yearning to pen this book for a substantial length of time, but honesty compels me to admit that it originated as a concept earmarked by my editor at Head of Zeus, Neil Belton. Having previously written about illegal land acquisitions in my book Four Killings, set in the era of the War of Independence, and extensively about the land conflicts of the 1880s, Neil felt I was best qualified for this endeavour. Furthermore, few people disagree with a figure of Neil’s stature.
Do you believe the quest for land ownership has been, historically, overshadowed by the pursuit of national autonomy?
Not necessarily overlooked, but it’s possible the issue has been sidelined. The fight for land preceded the fight for independence and frequently was lengthier, messier, and militarily more competent than nationalist rebellions, with the notable exception of 1798. The influence of groups like the Whiteboys and the Ribbonmen proved invaluable in priming rural Ireland (where most of battle transpired) for the Anglo-Irish War. The crux of my argument, which I expound on in the book, is that geographical loyalty carried more weight than patriotic fervour.
In your publication, you claim that Ireland isn’t the egalitarian society it perceives itself to be. You posit that in the countryside, a social stratum existed, rooted in land ownership, and it didn’t solely involve the Anglo-Irish elite and their leaseholders. Could you provide more insight into this?
Francis Ledwidge, who was a poet from Meath, wasn’t viewed as a fitting match for his cherished Ellie Vaughey due to being of a lower class; his family had a kitchen garden, while hers owned a farm. Deep-seated social barriers were pervasive in rural Ireland, with small differences in wealth and status causing division. The battle for land wasn’t just a gruelling fight between the landlords and their tenants, but also internal disputes amongst tenants were close in intensity. During the early part of the 19th century, Tipperary was essentially a battlefield as class wars erupted between the landless or underprivileged Caravats, and the Shanavests, who were middle-class enforcers. A hundred years later, petty farmers clashed with well-off cattle rearers, as the noble folks observed from the fringes. It’s also noteworthy that landlords weren’t implicated in the gruesome murder of five Joyce family members in Maamtrasna in 1882, where neighbours were the perpetrators.
Independence in 1921 largely addressed the land issue, to one degree or another. The question now is, how significantly does the resolution of this matter play into the stable, traditional society Ireland turned into?
What unfolded was what the Tories had anticipated towards the end of the 19th century and start of the 20th, planning against Home Rule. The nation was primarily occupied by nearly 400,000 proprietors who were innately conservative farmers, more engrossed in repaying their government loans than participating in politics. But the Great War, leading to the executions in the Easter Rising and the critical Conscription crisis, thwarted this strategy against decentralization and the first Irish Free State government (led by Kevin O’Higgins, a member of the “conservative revolutionaries” group ‘Cumann na nGaedheal’) became the beneficiaries instead.
Presently, you’re the host of the much-loved History Show aired on RTÉ Radio 1. How do you interpret the current condition of Irish historiography?
In my opinion, it’s a great time to be a historian interested in Irish history. We are indeed privileged to have a cadre of Irish academic historians – people like Diarmaid Ferriter, Lindsey Earner Byrne, Paul Rouse, Marie Coleman, Terry Dooley among others – who possess the ability to distil their scholarship without compromising its essence. They’re not fearful to make their work available and comprehensible to a wider audience. Their work is supported by funding from the Government for Decade of Centenaries and resources from Creative Ireland for local heritage schemes. Catriona Crowe and Cécile Chemin deserve accolades, if not nobility titles, for their work on digitisation of the 1901 and 1911 censuses and the Bureau of Military History Witness Statements and the Military Service Pensions Collection respectively; this has allowed us all to become historians in our own capacity. It’s baffling for American scholars when they learn that Ireland boasts not one, but two nationally aired radio programmes solely dedicated to history.
As for my reading and travel experiences, I once embarked on a literary journey to Ernest Hemingway’s dwelling in Key West, Florida, and of course, his preferred Cuban pubs, a hop across the strait, with the latter providing more thrills. I do vouch for reading as the finest advice to improve one’s writing skills. My admiration knows no bounds for the person who conceived the idea of audiobooks. Among my recent recommendations are Ricky O’Rawe’s compelling book about Freddie Scapaticci Stakeknife’s Dirty War, eagerly anticipating the upcoming instalment of Slow Horses by Mick Herron on Apple TV, and the American Elections: Wicked Game podcast, flawed but utterly enticing nevertheless.
Among my book collection, I treasure huge, leather-bound issues of every Punch magazine from the 1841-1891 period that I procured at an auction held by Usher’s in Kells, my birthplace, for a reasonable sum. My preferred quote is a tad fanciful, affirming self-love but promoting unicorn-ness when possible. Humorous books penned by Terry Pratchett or the late great PG Wodehouse always get me chuckling, while Martin Doyle’s moving and riling work, Dirty Linen, recently made me emotional.