The First Dail
(Click for high res)
Members of Dáil Éireann, which met for the first time on 21 January 1919 in Mansion House in Dublin. International recognition wasn’t easy to win however
Labour Party leader Tom Johnson and Cathal O’Shannon (ITGWU – forerunner of SIPTU) who had voluntarily stood aside during the elections, travelled to the first post-war meeting of the Socialist International in Berne, Switzerland, in January 1919 and made the case for recognition of Irish independence. Following success at Berne, Cathal O’Shannon attended the Trade Union International in Amsterdam in April 1919, where a motion was passed endorsing Irish independence.
The Socialist International and the Trade Union International thus became the first international organisations to endorse Irish independence and recognise the Irish state.
While 73 constituencies were represented 4 of the soon to be TD’s (Arthur Griffith, Eamon DeValera, Liam Mellows and Eoin MacNeill) were elected for 2 constituencies, so there are 69 people on the poster. Double jobbing eh? Twenty-four TDs attended the First Dáil meeting. The remaining were on the run, imprisoned or the one of the 32 MP’s (6 Home rulers, the rest differing types of unionist) who choose not to support the Dail
Paddy Joe McClean – one of ‘The Guineapigs’
describing his treatment at the hands of the security forces which in turn resulted in the Compton Report
Paddy was one of many who were interned without trial under what was officially called Operation Demetrius. Internment resulted in NI Labours David Bleakley resign as Minister of Community Relations saw strikes halt Derry and other cities and saw the SDLP pull their representatives from a number of public bodies and announce that it was starting a campaign of civil disobedience. The PIRA suggested that only 30 of the 400 interned were republican sympathisers.
Paddy Joe went on to spend a lifetime campaigning against terrorism and for social justice and civil rights which included Labour’s Jack Beattie.
“A hood was pulled over my head and I was handcuffed and subjected to verbal and personal abuse, which included the threat of being dropped from a helicopter which was in the air, being kicked and struck about the body with batons on the way.
After what seemed about one hour in the helicopter I was thrown from it and kicked and batoned into what I took to be a lorry. The lorry was driven only a couple of hundred yards to a building. On arriving there I was given a thorough examination by a doctor. After this all my clothes were taken from me and I was given a boilersuit to wear which had no buttons and which was several sizes too big for me.
During all this time the hood was still over my head and the handcuffs were removed only at the time of the ‘medical examination’.
I was then taken into what I can only guess was another room and was made to stand with my feet wide apart and my hands pressed against a wall. During all this time I could hear a low droning noise, which sounded to me like an electric saw or something of that nature. This continued for what I can only describe as an indefinite period of time. I stood there, arms against the wall, feet wide apart. My arms, legs, back and head began to ache. I perspired freely, the noise and the heat were terrible. My brain seemed ready to burst. What was going to happen to me? Was I alone? Are they coming to kill me? I wished to God they would, to end it. My circulation had stopped. I flexed my arms to start the blood moving. They struck me several times on the hands, ribs, kidneys and my knee-caps were kicked. My hood-covered head was banged against the wall.
As I have said this particular method of torture lasted for an indefinite period, but having consulted other men who suffered the same experiences I believe the period to have been about two days and nights.
During this time certain periods are blank – fatigue, mental and physical, overwhelmed me. I collapsed several times, only to be beaten and pulled to my feet again and once more pushed, spreadeagled against the wall. Food, water and the opportunity to relieve my bowels were denied me. I collapsed again.
I came to in what I believed to be Crumlin Road jail, having been pushed into a chair. The hood was removed and I was handed what I was told was a detention form. I was told to read it. My eyes burnt and were filled with pain; they would not focus and I couldn’t read the form. I was thanking God that my ordeal was over. No more pain, now I could sleep. But no! The hood was pulled over my bursting head. I was roughly jerked to my feet and half pulled, half kicked and beaten for about 400 yards. This was the worst and most sustained beating to date. Fists, boots and batons crashed into my numbed body. someone else’s – not mine. Hands behind my back, handcuffs biting into my wrists. Pain! Someone pulling and jerking my arms. Thrown headlong into a vehicle – soft seats, beating continued, boots, batons, fists. Then the noise, that dreaded helicopter again. Dragged out of the vehicle by the hair, thrown onto the floor of the helicopter. Blacked out.
Conscious again. Hands manacled in front of me. Pushed against a wall, legs wide apart. I dug my fingernails into the wall. Pain all over me.
Now that I can relax and think about it I can’t find words to describe that pain. Without attempting to be melodramatic I think I can best describe it by saying I was enveloped in stretching. cramping pain.
My mind began to drift. I tried to sing to myself. I was going mad. I must already be mad to stick this.
Still standing rigid against the wall someone takes my pulse, sounds my bruised chest over my heart. Must be a doctor.
Dragged along. Pushed into a chair. hood pulled off. Screaming, blinding light, questions fast and hard, couldn’t speak. ‘Spell your name.’ Tried to find the letters, swimming in my brain – couldn’t spell my name. I must be insane. More questions – blows, hair pulled. Still can’t see well. A table – three men at it – all writing – blinding light.
I was told I would be given half an hour to rest and think. Then I would be asked more questions and if I didn’t answer them I would be taken back to the music room’ – the room with the noise – pain.
Sleep – deep, black sleep. Pulled to my feet. Back to the questions again. would not give answers. Back to ‘music room.
Feet wide apart, hands handcuffed – against the wall. Droning noise fills my head. By this time I could feel no pain. Just numb. Dragged away from the wall, legs buckled under me, fell to the floor. Dragged by the ankles up and down shallow steps. Didn’t care – past feeling pain. Didn’t have a body.
From now on it was interrogation – back to the ‘music room’ – some sleep. Then the first taste of water in – how many days? Some dry bread and more water.
We were given our first ‘meal’. This consisted of a cup of watery stew which I had to eat using my fingers as utensils. The hood was lifted just enough to leave my mouth free. We were then allowed to the toilet for the first time since we arrived.
Punishment now eased off. Interrogation continued. Strict questioning – no beatings – just threats and personal insults. Food of a more substantial nature, still badly cooked and served, but at least it was regular.
The hood was taken off and I was allowed my first wash.
Now I was allowed to sleep, but the room was so cold that sleep was hard to come by. The fear of more beatings was still with me. I was terribly alone! They gave me one blanket – to keep me warm, they said.
I was then told it was ‘all over’ and that I was going to be interned in Crumlin Road jail. I didn’t believe them – another trick, I thought. Still uneasy – still worried – still alone.
Hood still over my head, but treated better now. No questions, no beatings.
Journey to Crumlin Road jail by lorry, helicopter and Land Rover. I was still sane, still alive – thank God!”
More recently from an interview with Paddy Joe
“The answer’s obvious. So you have to call it terror by its name. And I do that. And then people will say, but you were interned – all those boys – as I was and did call them terrorists.
Anybody who takes and uses a gun to shoot his neighbors can be called nothing else but a terrorist. Because he’s usin’ the weapon of terror to get his own way.”
(hat tip to the late John McGuffin 1974 – 1981)
Oh you wont get me I’m part of the Union
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Written by O'Liathain
November 19, 2011 at 5:09 pm
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