Upon his arrival at Arbour Hill Prison, one of the earliest responsibilities bestowed upon Joseph Dennigan was to request additional clothes, a toothbrush and his shaving utensil from his spouse, Madge. Dennigan, who was a political journalist for the Irish Press newspaper, was hardly thrilled about his new accommodation. He perceived the cells as uninspiring with a green hue, comparing the entirety of the premises to a dreary railway station waiting room in Connacht on a rainy Saturday evening.
In the course of elucidating the events leading up to his imprisonment, it’s clear that going to jail had not been envisaged by Dennigan when he attended a military tribunal on December 29th, 1933, to act as a witness. Here, Edmund “Ned” Cronin, was being tried for sedition and participation in an unauthorised group—widely referred to as the Blueshirts. Challenges were being made against Cronin’s claims that he had not been accorded any amnesty for the members of illicit organizations, a topic about which Dennigan had written.
Dennigan was presented with an edition of the Irish Press dated December 9th, 1933, and whilst he chose not to disclose the origin of his story, his plea for protection was refuted by the military tribunal’s president. An attempted compromise suggested he inscribe his source on a paper to close the matter, but he declined this too.
Before further actions were taken, a short adjournment was granted to Dennigan to confer with his editor. Upon resumption, he articulately explained his editor’s support of his resistance to betray the confidentiality of the information demanded. Subsequently, Dennigan was sentenced to a month’s imprisonment for his contempt. This situation vaulted him into the infamy of being the pioneer Irish journalist to spend jail time for withholding his sources.
The severity of the sentence invoked widespread disapproval. Meanwhile, Dennigan acclimatized to a regime rousing prisoners at 6.30am, but keeping them confined until 5.30pm, except for those who offered themselves for tasks such as sweeping and burnishing. Inmates were permitted to dress in their own attires, smoke and engage in reading until 10pm, although a prohibition existed on newspapers and restrictions were imposed on visits and correspondence.
Upon his initial arrival at Arbour Hill, Dennigan received a backlog of correspondence. A transatlantic telegram from Canadian journalists lauded his commendable stance for a principled press. Moreover, he received a handwritten message from Frank Aiken, the defence minister. It might appear extraordinary these days that a letter from a minister responsible for a military tribunal is reaching out to a detainee under the administration of his own department. However, the light-hearted vibe emanating from Aiken’s letter hints at a closer relationship between the reporter and the politician.
Aiken’s note playfully welcomed Dennigan to “The Grand Hotel Aiken,” expressing bemusement that Dennigan had finally seized the minister’s invitation and noted his thrill at the prospect of Dennigan’s month-long sojourn in the minister’s care. The correspondent was assured of their peace from intrusive journalists by Aiken.
Aiken, alongside his political contemporaries, though, showed no strong inclination to take action. There was a prevailing sentiment that if Dennigan’s employment was anywhere other than the Irish Press – the known mouthpiece of Fianna Fáil, his freedom would have been immediately ensured. Nonetheless, the de Valera administration was seemingly intent on diverting any preferential treatment allegations.
Dennigan was freed on January 23rd, 1934, with his sentence reduced by one-sixth for “special industry and good conduct”. Hannah Sheehy Skeffington, a correspondent of his who had herself faced jail time for her contribution to the campaign against British rule and participation in the suffragette movement, spoke on the unique solidarity in supporting Dennigan’s courageous protest. She wished he had been resilient through his incarceration, recalling in her own case that such detentions could be unbearably tedious, with time seeming to drag slowly.