Letters of Pain

In the Public Records Office of Northern Ireland (PRONI), there is a remarkable set of letters from 1922. Hundreds were interned north of the border in the early years of partition. Many were active republicans but there were also teachers, postmen and local government officials caught on the wrong side of the border at the wrong moment in time. Each internee has a file in PRONI that invariably includes correspondence. I have looked at the documentation relating to seventy prisoners from Fermanagh. Some files contain letters pleading for release. Others requested to appear before the government’s Advisory Committee, where freedom could be sought. Chances of success in that forum were slim. Nonetheless, families wrote advising internees to make a clemency plea and come home, as if that were in the prisoners’ gift! Elsewhere, kin told others to hold fast, not to beg for mercy. Bad news was often delivered via letter, albeit after the censor had done his/her duty. The originals, in some cases, are still in PRONI files, presumably never having been viewed by the intended recipient. The handwriting, paper quality, grammar and spelling give a poignant insight into the authors. The withholding of the originals seems all the ghastlier when the pen stroke jumps off the page and subliminally tells the story of each unfortunate scribe. Some letters are beautifully crafted and written in an ornate style long since past. Others tell an obvious tale of poverty and hardship, without the need for words to add elaboration.

Often families relayed details of dire circumstances. In a typical case, Thomas Edward Connolly was told by his mother;

‘I am in a very bad way here trying to get my food as there is no work to be done and as you know I have a farm in Roslea and it is going to the bad as the house was destroyed with the high wind.’

The emotional pleas encouraged some of even the staunchest republican prisoners to appeal for clemency. Terence Fitzpatrick was told by his brother;

Dear Terry,

You will be surprised to get a letter from me. My mother is very ill, she took very bad on Sunday with the flu. I brought her to the doctor and he told me to bring her the priest. They say she has a bad chance of recovery. She is still getting worse and calling for you every moment. It was her only hope she would live to see you…..

Police and republican records list Fitzpatrick as an IRA quartermaster. Prior to receiving the letter, the Fermanagh man had been unwilling to appear before the Advisory Committee. After hearing of his mother’s condition, Fitzpatrick requested release, agreeing to abide by any conditions.  He was freed on the basis that he would not live in the border counties, Belfast or Derry City. Fitzpatrick moved South and was prohibited from returning to Fermanagh.

In another case, Phil Murphy, Enniskillen sought parole to attend his father’s funeral. The application was denied. Murphy then gave personal letters to a seemingly friendly warder, who promised to secretly post them. Instead, the duplicitous jailer handed the correspondence over to the authorities. Murphy’s words on his father’s passing never reached the family;

‘God has been merciful in calling him [father] from this wicked world….we are all fairly sick of our present digs and in my case it would be a great to get home and comfort poor mother in her great grief. However, unless we are released unconditionally, we will never swear allegiance to HG or give any conditions of any description. Some have been and still are prepared to accept anything no matter how degrading the condition, but so long as there is one man holding out for right and justice I will be with him.’

The injustice of imprisonment without trial was a recurring theme. The wrong was felt particularly by the family of Edward Gray, Tempo. He had lost two brothers in World War 1. His sister wrote;

‘I hope to hear of you being home, the world would not believe that any civilised government could be so cruel as to keep young men shut up without charge or trial for so long a period and my two good brothers dying for the peace of the world and lie in France and their brother shut up for no fault only been alive’

Letters too came urging internees to remain steadfast. These were rare, likely due to knowledge of the censor. Nonetheless, Julia Murphy from Macken, wrote to her brother Patrick;

‘No matter what anyone thinks I think you are right not to take bail, they would only want to have a claim on you and get something against you…..father and mother would like you sign and get home but do not if you think you have any chance of getting free in a month or so.’

Many released internees were forced to flee South and the lack of awareness of the northern prisoners’ plight was a further feature of correspondence. John Flanagan told the Advisory Committee that he was going to the Free State to join the Civic Guards. After release, Flanagan wrote to the still captive Henry McCauley;

‘I can tell you if you did [have a chance for release] you are a damned fool not to take it as I don’t see what good you are doing there. I never hear the name of an internee mentioned so I wish I knew what I know now and I would not have stopped two hours if I could have got out.’

Another freed prisoner, Sean Sheehan wrote to the Irish Independent from Dublin describing the ‘filthy’ conditions internees faced. He said ‘we [in the Free State] are so concerned with election affairs etc. that probably the fact that these northmen are still in existence and incarcerated under the most inhumane conditions imaginable has been completely forgotten.’

Like, much of what happened north of the border in the early years of partition, the story of the internees remains largely forgotten.

This research is support by a Royal Irish Academy Decade of Centenaries Bursary