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CHAPTER 2

Royalty, Rebels and Reform

A Royal ‘Romance’

During the summer of 1861, twenty-year-old Edward, the Prince of Wales, heir-apparent to the British throne, came to the Curragh Camp for a ten-week period of training to learn the practical duties of a regimental officer. Edward, later King Edward VII, was automatically a field officer in the 11th Hussars (Prince Albert’s Own) but was attached to a battalion of the Grenadier Guards under a Colonel Percy for the duration of his ‘drilling’. The Illustrated London News on 13 July 1861 described how,

...the Prince proceeded to the Curragh camp where he was received by the Commander-in-Chief, Sir George Brown, and a Royal salute was fired by a field battery of horse artillery. A grand review took place on Wednesday and yesterday there was a brigade review.

The quarters of the Prince of Wales, which are those formerly occupied by Lord Seaton when Commander of the Forces in Ireland, can be seen by anyone passing on the road through the Curragh to the encampment, from which road they are only a few yards distant. Two men of the Grenadier Guards are placed on sentry outside the entrance, and on the grounds inside, which are tastefully laid out, two small tents have been erected. His Royal Highness goes through the routine of military duties every morning with as much exactness as any other officer in the camp. When his morning exercises are over he usually, after lunch, plays games of racket.

Edward, however, did not progress speedily and his mastery of the spoken word of command required significant improvement. Brought up in isolation and lacking academic promise, he struggled initially with the projection of a martial presence. As a colonel he wished to be allowed to lead a battalion but since, according to the officer commanding the 1st Battalion Grenadier Guards to which the prince was attached, he was deemed to be ‘imperfect in his drill’ and ‘indistinct in his word of command’, he was not regarded as having progressed sufficiently and was not allowed to do so. His mother, Queen Victoria, on hearing the news of his not receiving preferential treatment, praised the decision. In August, at the height of the drill season, with between 10,000 and 12,000 troops on the Curragh, she visited the camp to see her son and inspect the men on what was her third time in Ireland as queen, a stay that would last from 21 to 29 August. Accompanying her on the trip was her husband, Prince Albert, and three of her children, Princesses Alice and Helena and Prince Albert. At the Curragh, Sir George Brown, the General Commanding Officer in Ireland, and his headquarters staff ensured the proceedings were fitting for a royal visit, with the troops manoeuvring in proper regimental fashion: infantry advances, then forming defensive squares, horse artillery being drawn up and, of course, spectacular cavalry charges involving thousands of mounts and ‘sabres’ (troopers) – all in all a magnificent spectacle despite the onset of rain. Later, on the Queen’s return, and under strict supervision, Prince Edward was allowed to issue instructions and ‘command’ a large, brigade-sized formation. Victoria and Albert continued their tour, content that Edward was gainfully employed.

Looking east from the Water Tower circa 1905 (courtesy of the National Library of Ireland).

Within days of their departure, however, Edward’s stint at the Curragh became a lot more enlivened when he was introduced by his fellow officers to Nellie Clifden, an Irish actress, whom they were to smuggle into his quarters on no fewer than three occasions (6, 7 and 10 September). News of this liaison eventually reached his parents that November, by which time Edward was studying at Cambridge. Appalled by his son’s indiscretion and concerned about possible adverse consequences, Albert visited Edward at Cambridge to issue a stern reprimand. This, according to one BBC documentary, involved a long walk during which it rained heavily and both received a drenching. Two weeks later Albert fell ill and died. A grief-stricken Victoria blamed Edward for her husband’s death – ‘killed by that dreadful business’, the worry over Edward’s conduct. Albert had been diagnosed with typhoid fever but may well have been suffering for some time before with a chronic disease; speculation suggests he may have had Crohn’s Disease, renal failure or abdominal cancer. Edward’s ‘romance’ with Nellie Clifden was fleeting and he soon moved on from this indiscrete dalliance, marrying Princess Alexandra of Denmark in 1863. Edward, who was neither clever like his father nor authoritative like his mother, nevertheless had charm and continued to have affairs with other women despite his lengthy marriage to Princess Alexandra of Denmark. When Victoria died in January 1901 the overweight and then fifty-nine-year-old philanderer became the new monarch. Few sovereigns had come to the throne with so little expected of them; it was generally believed that he would be unable to emulate his mother. But Edward VII was to forge his own distinctive brand of monarchy. Victoria’s withdrawal from public life on the death of her husband years before had removed the role from public view. In stark contrast, Edward was to become highly visible. Even though he commenced his reign with a huge deficit of experience in terms of dealing with public life, was dangerously overweight and chain-smoked cigars, he immediately conjured a coronation of great splendour to create the maximum impact, thus transforming the public face of the monarchy. To the surprise of many of his contemporaries, he proved himself a more than capable monarch, playing an important role in renewing relationships with allies that had been damaged by the Boer War. He was to become a people’s king and, on his death in May 1910, his body lay in state. No other British monarch had ever received such an honour.

Bold Fenian Men

In 1858, just two years after the end of the Crimean War, and while the role of the Curragh Camp was being consolidated, the Irish Republican James Stephens founded the Irish Republican Brotherhood or Fenian Brotherhood in Dublin. John Devoy, a labourer’s son born in County Kildare was one of its leading members and his heartfelt aim was infiltration of the British army, mutiny and the internal take-over of military barracks as a signal for an all-out insurrection. During the Fenian preparations for a rebellion against British rule in Ireland, Devoy was made responsible for the recruitment of members among the Irish in the ranks of British regiments, both in Ireland and England. This task he undertook effectively. Many had a sympathy for insurrection, a smouldering disaffection having turned to defiance against British rule as a result of the Great Famine (‘An Gorta Mór,’ 1845–52) and its legacy of death, eviction and emigration; there was also huge discontent over land ownership and the associated oligarchy of predominantly absentee landlords. Limited electoral franchise was another flashpoint, the right to vote being confined to a few adult males. With Irish loyalty to the Crown dwindling, General Hugh Henry Rose, the 1st Baron Strathnairn, was appointed commander of the forces in Ireland to confront the Fenian conspiracy. If there were fears (as it happened, well grounded) of dissatisfaction amongst Irish members in regular regiments, there were even greater fears concerning militia units, causing the cancellation of training camps in 1866 and 1867 just at the time the Curragh Commission met to decide the future of the camp. Devoy and others responsible for Fenian organization in the British army in Ireland had sympathizers amongst civilian staff in military establishments who identified likely allies within the ranks; these men, once they had been approached, were ‘recruited’ in the backrooms of public houses and the like into the ‘circles’ (cells) of the Fenian organization.

While the Fenians were busy, so too were the agents of British military intelligence – the spies and the informers. Fenian plans for attack were becoming clearer, and counter-plans were prepared. Court-martial became the first line of defence. Of the court-martials associated with Fenianism, six were in the Curragh. One Fenian plan that was uncovered involved seizing the Curragh in its entirety or, at the very least, burning it partially or completely. Plans to seize Victoria Barracks in Cork and the Royal Barracks in Dublin were foiled along with the prevention of the seizure of the Curragh Camp. The suppression of the Fenian Rising when it did eventually occur on 5 March 1867 was easily achieved. The British possessed an overwhelming force compared to the poorly armed Fenians, and the government concentrated additional troops in those areas where they considered it most likely that a rising would break out, notably in Dublin’s city centre in spite of a Fenian mobilization at Tallaght which was known to be a decoy intended to draw British forces from the city centre. The nation-wide rebellion that the Fenians had hoped for descended into a series of uncoordinated skirmishes which quickly petered out. British army units suspected of containing elements of ‘military Fenians’ had previously been dispatched to far corners of the empire, having been replaced by units from England. Whilst the immediate threat was removed, nevertheless, radical nationalist resentment against British rule remained.

An early photograph of the Curragh Camp (courtesy of the National Library of Ireland).

Countrywide, these ‘centres of sedition’ were countered by local garrisons reinforced by the establishment of ‘flying columns’ which could be dispatched at short notice to areas of unrest; two such ‘flying columns’ were based in the Curragh. Each ‘column’ contained four companies of infantry (200 men), a troop of cavalry (thirty ‘sabres’) and a division of artillery (two guns and crew), all augmented with detachments of engineers, medics and members of the army service corps. The ‘disturbed districts’ were reached by means of the railways, which proved to be an effective method of moving troops directly to where they were needed. In this regard, the Curragh was an ideal internal point of embarkation. From the Curragh railway siding, troops from regiments stationed there or from regiments which had arrived overnight from England could be speedily and secretly conveyed to wherever they were needed. Similarly, troops travelling from and to Dublin were conveniently conveyed via the nearby station at Newbridge. The Curragh thus acted as an effective hub for receiving, dispatching and relaying troops to neighbouring counties and beyond. Throughout this period of unrest the Curragh garrison was required to assist in ‘putting down’ any challenge to the British occupation of Ireland. For the loyal citizens of the surrounding countryside, the Curragh Camp itself came to symbolize continuity and security, its presence signalling the British intent to continue ruling Ireland. The camp quickly came to stand as a symbol of British imperialism.

The Cardwell Reforms

The army of the British Empire, which was such an integral part of Victorian culture, witnessed, in the wake of the Crimean War, a changed, more publicly prominent perspective and a greater appreciation of the role and involvement of the ordinary soldier in war. This was unprecedented. The new focus highlighted a more sensitive understanding of the soldier’s plight in the often pitiful circumstances in which he found himself, and it caught the popular mood in a manner never before seen. The courage and endurance of the ordinary British rank and file were championed in print, poetry and painting.

Among the dispatches from the front in Crimea, those of Irishman William Howard Russell (1820–1907) in The Times had a major impact on the public imagination, bearing witness as they did to the appalling conditions, including cold, hunger and disease (mostly cholera) faced by British soldiers in the field. These and other privations, particularly during the harsh winter of 1854–55, amidst the other chaotic conditions of war, made the authorities, politicians and the public aware of the need for change. And not only newspapers, but popular poetry such as Tennyson’s famous lines, conveyed the fixed determination and matter-of-fact stoicism of the soldiers’ previously unsung heroism. Paintings as well, notably those by Lady Butler (Elizabeth Thompson, 1846–1933) were hugely popular, particularly ‘The Roll Call’ (1874), a sombre picture of Grenadier Guards mustering in the cold grey light after an engagement, which depicted the condition of the surviving soldiers in the aftermath of battle and illustrated what it was like to be an infantryman bearing the physical and emotional marks of conflict. This theme is repeated in her later paintings, and she is quoted in Paul Usherwood and Jenny Spencer-Smith’s biography of her as saying, ‘Thank God, I never painted for the glory of war, but to portray its pathos and heroism.’ (She died at Gormanston Castle, Co Meath, on 2 October 1933 and is buried at Stamullen graveyard nearby.)

While the combined efforts of people such as William Russell in print, Lord Tennyson and Rudyard Kipling in poetry and Lady Butler in paint brought an awareness and understanding of war as witnessed from the viewpoint of the ordinary soldier into the public consciousness in an unprecedented manner, what was also revealed was that forty years of peace (since Waterloo in 1815) had done little to prepare the British army for the experiences of the Crimean War with its formal pitched battles, both minor and major, at Alma, Balaclava, Inkerman and Sevastopol. There had been neither progress nor modernization, senior officers having grown old, complacent and uncritical. Without wishing to present the conduct of the Crimean War as the totally calamitous disaster of popular repute, it is impossible to ignore the ample evidence of critical shortcomings. A run-down and scandalously neglected army had taken to the field. The British war machine that had won brilliant victories over Napoleon and his generals had long since disappeared. Certainly, the army had managed to win a series of campaigns – Ceylon, Burma, northern India, China, Afghanistan, South Africa, New Zealand (1845) and the First Sikh War (1849) – as well as the individual battles of the Crimean War, but the manner and cost of their waging were unacceptable. The old ways needed progressive metamorphosis and much modernization, and now there was public demand for such changes.

Most likely the maladministration and incompetence engendered by decades of neglect would have continued if not for Germany’s stunning victory over France in the Franco-Prussian War (1870–71), however. Prussia’s clinically professional soldiers, with modern weaponry, had swept aside the more ‘traditional’ army of France, and now Britain and Ireland faced, at least in theory, the possibility of a German invasion. The conservative philosophy of reliance on ‘drill and discipline’ in the ranks, led by officers who were regarded as ‘gentlemen soldiers’, was finally recognized as something that belonged to the past, ill-fitted for changing military circumstances.

The British army in the Crimea, at least 40 per cent of which was made up of Irishmen, consisted of one cavalry and five infantry divisions, all of which were under strength. It was led by men far too old for active service, who were inexperienced at command in war. The fossilization of military thought, the economies which were put in place and the remarkably inefficient system of decentralized higher command had all contributed to the muddle and the madness which characterized the campaign.

Divided command (which is no command), with centres of control separated from one another, saw a structural and organizational disconnect resulting in administrative chaos in medical provision, feeding, supply and transport. Crucial logistical supplies were left aboard ships, those in authority either unaware that they existed or not bothering to enquire about them. Two tried and trusted units critical to battle support, the wagon train, responsible for conveying supplies wherever they were needed, and the staff corps, made up of officers who analysed courses of action and options, giving considered advice to those in command, had both been abolished with the disappearance of the Napoleonic threat. At the very top of the chain of command the arrangements were no less satisfactory. The army was the responsibility of the Secretary of State for War and the Colonies, assisted by the Secretary at War, who conveyed the government’s wishes to the commander-in-chief whose headquarters were known as the Horse Guards. Completely separate was the Master General of the Ordnance who was not military but a member of parliament who controlled all forms of military equipment, including weapons and artillery and the supply of food to the army at home. Unconnected to this, adding to the disjointedness and disorganization, was the Commissariat, under the Treasury, with responsibility for feeding troops abroad. There was no uniformity of effort and control of the army, but instead a rambling, confused command that resulted in gross inefficiency and the loss of lives.

The Royal Commission of 1858, established in the aftermath of the Crimean War, reported in 1862, but few of its recommendations were implemented due to the opposition of ‘die-hard’, reform-resistant senior military officers, prominent among them the newly appointed commander-in-chief, Field Marshal Prince George, the Duke of Cambridge, a cousin of Queen Victoria. Earlier, in January 1856, Victoria herself had been quite innovative when she instituted a military decoration for bravery to honour acts of valour during the Crimean War. Since then, the Victoria Cross (VC) medal has been awarded to 1,355 individual recipients, more than 180 of whom were Irish. The first ever award of the medal was to Irishman Mate Charles Lucas of HMS Hecla, who came from Co Monaghan. During an engagement when Hecla was part of an Anglo-French fleet bombarding the Russian fortress of Bomarsund, a live shell from the fortress landed on the ship’s deck and remained there ready to explode. Lucas, however, picked up the smoking shell, carried it to the ship’s side and dropped it into the sea where it blew up. He was one of 4,000 Irishmen in the British Navy. Sergeant (later General Sir) Luke O’ Connor from Elphin, Co Roscommon was the first (army) soldier to receive the Victoria Cross on 20 September 1854 during the battle of Alma when, though wounded, he seized the Colour of the 23rd Regiment of Foot and continued to carry it in the advance until the end of the action. A fifteen-year-old drummer of the 64th Regiment of Foot during the Indian Mutiny at Cawnpore in November 1857 became one of the youngest ever to receive the Victoria Cross. Thomas Flynn from Athlone, Co Westmeath, earned the award when, despite being wounded, he continued to engage in a hand-to-hand encounter with two rebels. On 21 August 1860, at the capture of the Northern of the Taku Forts during the Third China War, fifteen-year-old Andrew Fitzgibbon, a hospital apprentice attached to the 67th Regiment, became the second of the two youngest recipients of the medal. Accompanying a party that took up a position within 500 yards of the fort, he began to attend to a wounded soldier and then, advancing under enemy fire, he ran across open ground to attend to another wounded man. In so doing he was himself severely wounded, though he survived and lived for another twenty-three years. The only man to win both a Victoria Cross and an Iron Cross was Dublin-born Assistant Surgeon (later Surgeon General) William Manley. He was with the Royal Regiment of Artillery in a medical capacity during the Waikato-Hauhau Maori War in New Zealand and on, 29 April 1864 near Tauranga, in the course of an attack on a rebel hill-fort, he risked his own life by attending to a wounded naval officer whom he carried away, returning to see if he could find any more wounded. The citation for the award of the Iron Cross earned during the Franco-Prussian War was, ‘For services with the British Ambulance Corps [which was attached to the 22nd Division of the Prussian army] caring for the wounded of the 22nd Division in the actions of Chateauneuf and Bretoncelle on 18th and 21st December 1870, and the battles of Orleans and Cravant on 10th December 1870.’

It was the Franco-Prussian War and the manner of the Prussian victory that was to shake the evident complacency of the British establishment. No longer could they continue to exist in the delusionary status quo of so-called defence. The military climate in Europe had begun to change. In response to the potential Prussian threat, the British Parliament, in early August 1870, approved monies for the recruitment of 20,000 additional troops. The prior provision of the 25,000-strong army for the Crimean War had practically denuded the country of every serving soldier on the ‘home front’, a situation that was repeated immediately after to meet the requirement to suppress the Indian Mutiny. The momentum for this enlargement had been seized upon by Secretary of State for War Edward Cardwell who, with the support of the Liberal Prime Minister William Gladstone, introduced measures to update the army, bringing real change to bear by firstly centralizing the power of the War Office, then abolishing the system of purchasing officers’ commissions and by creating a strategic reserve at home. The Cardwell Reforms initially addressed the abolition of flogging, firstly at home, then on active service abroad and completely in 1880. It was considered imperative to discharge men of bad character and attract instead good quality recruits; consequently, the seven-year short service option was introduced, which was later extended to ten years and then increased to twelve years. The withdrawal from overseas territories saw 26,000 troops come back from far-flung self-governing colonies where locally raised forces began to manage their own defence. A functioning reserve was raised at home and, significantly, Cardwell divided Great Britain and Ireland into sixty-six regimental districts, thus ‘territorializing’ the infantry with each regiment associated with a particular county. There were to be two battalions per regiment, with one battalion serving overseas and the other garrisoned at home for training. Each regiment had a training depot and associated recruiting areas. Militia units would make up a third battalion. The infantry was re-equipped with the first proper breech-loading rifle – the Martini-Henry – and Cardwell’s reforms also extended to improving the Spartan living conditions of the soldier which were previously austere and harsh. Frugal barrack-room furniture was basic with rudimentary beds, benches and tables. Sheets were now changed monthly while the straw in the mattresses was replaced every three months. Pay was low: one shilling per day and one penny ‘beer money’. A four-and-a-half penny deduction for rations was abolished in 1873, but so too was the beer money. A soldier’s net pay was often subjected to regimental stoppages for lost kit and ‘barrack damages’.

The Curragh Camp’s original wooden hutments, even at their initial installation, had never really been fit for purpose. A decade and a half later, having weathered badly and now being almost dilapidated, they were deemed unsuitable for living in, the ill-fitting wooden planks forming their walls proving no barrier to the Curragh’s cold and winter winds. The last three decades of the nineteenth century saw the camp undertake a transformative journey from wood through concrete hutments to red-brick buildings. This allowed for the incorporation of Cardwell’s desire to improve the conditions of the ordinary soldier by upgrading facilities such as reading-rooms and canteens.

The Curragh Act 1868, as has been discussed, provided for the regularization of the status of the British army on the Curragh, a status protected by bye-laws passed the same year, and the Curragh formally became the main training ground for the British military establishment in Ireland. The Cardwell reforms updated and enlarged the army, and the concentration of forces at home enabled a strategic reserve to be built which could be given proper training at major camps such as Aldershot and the Curragh. ‘Ball practice’, musketry range-practice and great mock battles were part and parcel of training, and demonstrations were arranged for the regular visits of the commander-in-chief of British forces in Ireland. The training of the troops changed over the years to encompass new weapons, especially more accurate, longer range and quicker firing rifles, as well as new tactics – cavalry, for instance, becoming ‘mounted infantry’ – and new strategies, improved communications and means of transport. Important too was the opening of the Suez Canal which allowed for a more rapid deployment of troops to faraway destinations. Ireland was ideal for recruiting, training and providing an embarkation point for troops to serve in the colonies. The Cardwell Reforms had been exceptional, changing the strength, equipping, organization and training of an enlarged army in a radical and positive way so that it was available for action on the home front, in the colonies and for war.

Police Duties

When deploying their forces in Ireland during the nineteenth century the British had to achieve a balance between guarding against internal insurrection and having adequate manpower to meet the exigencies arising from colonial wars. The Cardwell Reforms of the 1870s had gone a long way towards addressing this situation, especially as the need for soldiers abroad was constant, on occasions increasing, because of the continuous climate of conflict in the colonies. Agitation in Ireland, never far below the surface, was to find expression at this time in what became known as the Land War (1879–82), a period which saw the country gripped by a new wave of agrarian unrest. In the late 1870s, improvements in transatlantic transport led to European markets being flooded with a supply of cheap grain, causing a drop in prices paid to Irish farmers. A disastrous wet season in 1877 led to a further failure of the potato crop, causing more hardship. Unable to pay rents, small farmers throughout the country were evicted by unscrupulous landlords. The spectre of famine was, once again, beginning to raise its head as oppressed tenants found their already difficult struggle for daily survival becoming intolerable. In 1879, a member of the Fenian Brotherhood, Michael Davitt, who had spent many years in British prisons, set up an organization known as the Land League, dedicated to assisting farmers in their struggle against landlords and their often over-zealous agents. Davitt organized large public meetings to galvanize support for his efforts and to put pressure on landlords, one of the biggest such gatherings – ‘an especially large assembly’ – taking place on the Curragh plain. Officially, the League did not condone violence, but among its members were a number of men belonging to agrarian secret societies who displayed few qualms about using force to achieve their objectives. Some of the ‘big houses’ were burned, crops and livestock destroyed and, in some cases, landlords killed. The army was, once again, called upon to act in the role of police. The role required troops to be split into small detachments, contrary to the military principle of concentrating on strength to ensure maximum effect, and the tasks undertaken by the military at this time included providing escorts for prisoners and personal protection for sheriffs, bailiffs and landlords, assisting at forced evictions, guarding jails and attending public gatherings in order to prevent breaches of the peace. The military authorities always supplied the necessary troops when requested to do so by their civilian counterparts, but they could not conceal their dislike of the tasks involved. While stationed in Ireland, British units often became subsumed into the evolving history of the country, which saw the army acting in a police capacity. One result was the reintroduction by the army of ‘flying columns’ which were sent to areas to quell unrest that had erupted or threatened. And though order might be restored, an anti-English feeling remained and proved fertile ground for sedition. The list of lingering wrongs was lengthening.