On the morning of 8 November 1987, Protestant communities all over Northern Ireland gathered to commemorate their military dead on Remembrance Sunday, just as they had done since the end of the First World War. The events in Enniskillen, a fairly small town in County Fermanagh near the border separating Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland, were typical: civilians holding poppy wreaths milled about near the town’s war memorial, awaiting the start of the service at 11:00 am. Meanwhile, active and ex-servicepeople, police, members of the fire brigade, local dignitaries, and a regimental band were getting into formation for the march that would begin the ceremony.1 At 10:43 a.m., however, an unexpected blast interrupted the calm scene. Explosives planted by the Provisional Irish Republican Army (IRA) detonated, destroying a nearby building and pinning many civilians under the rubble.2 Eleven people, all Protestants, were killed. More than sixty others were injured, and a final victim died after a thirteen-year coma.3 The attack was part of the Troubles, an ethno-religious conflict that plagued the six counties of Northern Ireland with paramilitary violence and political strife between 1968 and 1998. While the bombing demonstrates the consequences of violence and sectarian division in Ireland, it also highlights the emotive significance of symbols and monuments in Irish culture.
The First World War has long held a contentious place in Irish history. In Enniskillen, the monument and ceremony — reminders of British imperialism — were appealing targets for an IRA that sought to destroy members of the “British war machine.”4 But the First World War was not the only conflict that divided Irish society in the early twentieth century: the Easter Rising of 1916 occurred during the war, and the War of Independence (1919-21) and the Civil War (1922-3) followed closely on its heels. As Dominic Bryan notes, in Irish society, violent conflict often continues in the realms of politics and culture long after the fighting ends.5 Similarly, Ian McBride asserts that “the interpretation of the past has always been at the heart of [Irish] national conflict.”6 The aforementioned conflicts have all been interpreted and immortalized in stone and spectacle, through words and symbols. In Ireland, McBride suggests, such commemorations and rituals do not simply recall the past; instead, they become “historical forces in their own right.”7 Although men from both the loyalist (and predominantly Protestant) and separatist (and predominantly Catholic) portions of the island of Ireland enlisted, the memory of the First World War eventually became associated almost exclusively with the Protestant loyalist community. Unsurprisingly, the Easter Rising, War of Independence, and Civil War, associated as they are with the revolutionary period and the eventual founding of the Republic of Ireland, are traditionally part of the canon of Catholic nationalism.8
Through mapping and text analysis technology, this project aims to interrogate these common assumptions about Ireland’s collective memory of early-twentieth-century conflict. Using the Irish War Memorials online database, the Ulster War Memorials online database, and historian Catherine Switzer’s catalog of public war memorials built in Northern Ireland between 1914 and 1939, this project will visualize Ireland’s commemorative landscape, paying particular attention to the First World War, which saw the most widespread involvement of the four conflicts.9 Does the geographical distribution of war memorials support the assumption that the memory of the First World War belongs to the Protestant north, while the Rising, War of Independence, and Civil War are the preserve of the Catholic south? What is the relationship between religious demographics and commemoration? How might the memorials’ written inscriptions reflect and inform the religio-political identities of the communities where they were built?
Many scholars have chronicled the conflicts from myriad angles. Commemoration has received substantial attention in recent years, and much work — from scholars like Keith Jeffery, Tom Burke, David Fitzpatrick, Jane Leonard, Switzer, Guy Beiner, Helen Robinson, Graham Dawson, and Richard Grayson — has focused on the First World War.10 The most prominent studies of Easter Rising commemoration were written by Mark McCarthy and Mary Daly and Margaret O’Callaghan.11 The Civil War has received less attention, with Anne Dolan as its primary scholar, and the topic of War of Independence commemoration is almost entirely untapped.12 Most of these scholars approach the topic of war remembrance from cultural, social, and political angles, drawing primarily on newspaper articles, speeches, and brochures as sources. Few of these studies have explored the spatial dimensions of commemoration, with the exception of Nuala Johnson and Switzer. In her book Ireland, the Great War, and the Geography of Remembrance, Johnson observes that the process of commemorating the First World War in Ireland ran parallel to the revolutionary movement, and she asserts that “geography became central to the manner in which meaning would be conveyed.”13 Though her study incorporates ideas of space and commemoration in Ireland, it is, by her own admission, non-exhaustive. She explores recruitment materials, parades, monuments, and literature using only a few examples of each genre of commemoration, and she restricts her sources to the decades following the armistice. Switzer’s book Unionists and Great War Commemoration in the North of Ireland includes a chapter that explores the spatial and temporal distribution of public First World War memorials across Ulster in 1939.14 While this is a promising start, it is limited, addressing only a small subset of memorials. The ground is ripe, then, for a more thorough and rigorously spatial approach, one that considers First World War memorials from the end of the war to the present day in the context of their revolutionary counterparts.
At this outset, a brief survey of the foundational literature of memory studies is appropriate. Maurice Halbwach’s On Collective Memory is perhaps the most foundational work in the field; he argues that social groups define and reinforce their collective identities through the selective recollection of shared pasts. Memories of the past, however, are always influenced by the conditions of the present, and these collective memories change as groups transmit them over time.15 Individual memories cannot exist outside of this group context; as McBride puts it, “when we recall the past, […] we do so as members of groups — a family, a local community, a workforce, a political movement, a church or a trade union.”16 The work of Eric Hobsbawm is also germane to a study of monuments and community identity. In the introduction to his book The Invention of Tradition, edited with Terence Ranger, he defines invented traditions as practices, usually symbolic or ritualistic, that are intentionally chosen, often by groups in power and often in the context of nationalism and the growth of the nation-state. These invented traditions establish continuity with the past and serve to concretize community identities, legitimize structures and figures of authority, and transmit values and norms.17 Pierre Nora, in turn, focuses on the objects, symbols, gestures, and spaces — which he calls lieux de mémoire — that act as repositories of memory. In this view, physical artifacts like monuments become the markers of the collective memories that inform group identities.18
The concept of the cultural landscape, which refers to the combination of the natural and man-made landscapes and is prominent within the field of heritage studies, is also useful. G.J. Ashworth, B.J. Graham, and J.E. Tunbridge note that powerful groups often manipulate and inscribe landscapes to “[universalize] their own cultural truths,” especially in urban settings.19 Sara McDowell, similarly, suggests that “the visual features of the cultural landscape such as public buildings, monuments, plaques, plinths, graffiti, and street names, […] map selective interpretations of the past and present onto public spaces.”20 Through this selectivity, cultural landscapes can serve as tools of social exclusion and control.21 As Johnson notes, the aesthetic dimension of the cultural landscape gives it symbolic potency. The built environment is “far more accessible to the populace at large than formal written histories,” and monuments in particular “[represent] self-conscious attempts to solicit public participation in the politics of the day.”22 Síghle Bhreathnach-Lynch applies these ideas to the case of the young Irish Republic: “Why,” she asks, “was a country so bedeviled by major problems intent on taking on commemorative projects with such speed? […] The new Irish state was anxious to establish as soon as possible a distinctive national character. […] In time public monuments and plaques — expressions of nationhood in bronze and stone — become an integral part of the natural landscape. Such perceptions help sustain the belief among the populace that its nation is not a transitory construct but rather occupies a distinct place in a permanent continuum.”23
Mapping the Commemoration of the First World War
The outbreak of war in 1914 came during the midst of a protracted struggle for home rule. The Third Home Rule Bill, meant to bring self-government to Ireland, was introduced in 1912 (the bill passed but was never enacted due to wartime delays), and in the same year, half a million unionists signed the Ulster Covenant in protest against home rule.24 Despite the political tensions within Ireland and the empire, men from both the Catholic nationalist and Protestant unionist communities volunteered to fight in the war. It is difficult to establish exact figures for Irish enlistment, but David Fitzpatrick calculates that as many as 206,000 Irishmen joined the forces. Though the conflict would come to be associated almost exclusively with the Protestant community, Catholics represented a larger percentage of Irish volunteers — 56.6 %.25 As for casualties, Switzer notes that although between 35,000 and 50,000 Irishmen died in the war, only 11,000 “originated in the six counties which would become Northern Ireland.”26
Enlistment was a highly personal decision, and some volunteers were motivated by economic concerns or simple lust for adventure. Many others, however, were quick to justify and explain their participation in sectarian and political terms. For unionists, the decision was clear: enlistment would demonstrate their loyalty to the United Kingdom. As Jeffery notes, a piece of unionist propaganda from October 1914 announced: “And wherever the fight is hottest, / And the sorest task is set, / ULSTER WILL STRIKE FOR ENGLAND — / AND ENGLAND WILL NOT FORGET.”27 For nationalists, enlistment was more contentious. John Redmond, leader of the Irish Parliamentary Party, argued that the aspiring Irish nation needed a trial by fire, that “no people can be said to have rightly proved their nationhood and their power to maintain it until they have demonstrated their military prowess.”28 He also encouraged Irishmen to stand up for the rights of small nations like Belgium and Serbia, proclaiming that the war was a defense of “the highest principles of religion and morality and right.”29 Though most nationalists sided with Redmond, a vocal minority, most notably those associated with the militant republican party Sinn Féin, condemned Irish participation in the war. Enlistment, they said, symbolized a betrayal of Ireland; their real fight was at home, against British imperialism.30
Jay Winter has emphasized the difficulty of finding an “appropriate language of loss” to express bereavement on a mass scale, the result of a war that many saw as wasteful and meaningless.31 In Ireland, however, argues James Loughlin, this was not a problem because the meaning of the conflict was obvious: “As both the dominant unionist and republican movements framed the war experience according to their own political agendas, Ireland, unlike Britain, was less affected by the traumatic question of what the war was fought for.”32 Political goals and commemoration dovetailed fruitfully in the north, where the significance of the war “was determined by the degree to which Ulster’s contribution furthered the unionist objective of maintaining their membership of the United Kingdom.”33 As a result, commemoration of the war has been fairly consistent and uncontroversial among Northern Irish Protestants. Since the conflict’s end, parades and memorial services have marked Armistice Day, and many wear paper poppies, as is customary throughout the United Kingdom. The Battle of the Somme, where the 36th Ulster Division reportedly distinguished itself in battle, holds a particularly prominent prominent place in Northern Irish mythology. The first day of the battle, 1 July, is a significant date on the calendar of the Orange Order, a Protestant fraternal organization, and murals, banners, and arches throughout Northern Ireland depict the battle. As Bryan notes, these symbols play an important role in the “demarcation of public space” in the north.34
But the war had personal meanings as well as political ones, and Catholic mourners also sought to remember their dead. In the south, as in the north, the immediate post-war years saw parades, memorial ceremonies, poppies, and a two minutes’ silence.35 These commemorations, however, were controversial as early as 1919. Johnson notes that during Dublin’s observance of Peace Day in July 1919, Sinn Féiners sang republican songs and flew republican flags in an effort to intimidate ex-servicemen; some even went so far as to attack soldiers returning to their barracks.36 Sinn Féin emerged victorious in the election of December 1918, and several scholars have concluded that its disapproval of Irish participation in the war became the dominant strain of nationalist opinion on the First World War. D.G. Boyce, for instance, argues that “ex-servicemen […] sank into political oblivion as nationalists applied a sort of field dressing, in the shape of a national amnesia, to the Great War experience.”37 Though an Irish National War Memorial was completed in Dublin in 1939, it was not unveiled until 1994, and the Irish Free State was the only dominion that did not pay the Imperial War Graves Commission for the burial of its dead.38
As Bhreathnach-Lynch has noted, however, “this lapse in the official national memory [of the First World War] was in sharp contrast to the enthusiasm of hundreds of local committees who raised memorials around the country.”39
Figure 1: Distribution of physical monuments to the First World War in Ireland before the outbreak of the Second World War. These memorials are still extant today.
Though the Republic had a much larger land area than Northern Ireland, as well as a larger population (2.97 million in 1936, compared to Northern Ireland’s 1.28 million in 1937), the prevalence of monuments in the Republic is striking nevertheless.40 While it is impossible to account for the existence and construction dates of every memorial site — some may not be listed in the databases because they were built in private spaces, while others may have been destroyed or lost — available records suggest that there were approximately 415 memorials in the Republic of Ireland in 1939, while Northern Ireland had only 113. When considering these numbers, however, it is important to distinguish among types of memorials.
Figure 2: Distribution of physical monuments to the First World War in Ireland before the Second World War, arranged by type. Categories are adapted from Leonard’s categorization of Troubles memorials in her report “Memorials to the Casualties of Conflict: Northern Ireland 1969 to 1997.”41
Table 1: Distribution of physical monuments to the First World War in Ireland before the Second World War, arranged by type.
Most memorials located in churches, clubs, stations, hospitals, schools, and government or military buildings are indoors. They are thus visible to the subsets of the community that frequent those buildings: members, for instance, of the Wanderers Football Club in Dublin, or worshippers at St. Anne’s Church of Ireland Cathedral in Belfast. Civic memorials, often located outdoors in public squares, parks, or major intersections, are more prominent elements of the cultural landscape. On the eve of the Second World War, there were more outdoor memorials in Northern Ireland than in the Republic, and these memorials accounted for a greater percentage of the total monuments in the north. In the Republic, by contrast, memorials tended to be relegated to indoor spaces or cemeteries, where reminders of the war likely would have been less controversial than in public areas. The majority of Republican monuments are located in churches, and the association of First World War commemoration with Protestantism is apparent when the monuments are visualized along sectarian lines:
Figure 3: Distribution of physical monuments to the First World War located in churches, categorized by denomination.
As Table 1 indicates, all of the church memorials in Northern Ireland are located in Protestant churches, and Catholic churches account for less than ten percent of religious memorials in the Republic. This suggests that in both Northern Ireland and the Republic, the majority of First World War remembrance through physical monuments occurred in Protestant communities. We can safely assume that most of these Protestant communities were also unionist; as Peter Hart notes, Protestant home-rulers, even in southern Ireland, were anomalies.42 The number of outdoor civic memorials — 22 — and Catholic memorials — 30— in the south, however, is not negligible, and in the context of claims of “republican amnesia,” the existence of any such memorials is perhaps surprising. Furthermore, physical monuments do not account for all types of commemoration, and some remembrance may have been more ephemeral. Churches without monuments may have observed Armistice Day through services, and as Johnson notes, Catholics are less likely than Protestants to incorporate civil iconography of any kind into their places of worship.43
The sectarian distribution of memorials is noteworthy not only in the context of studies of the First World War and commemoration, but also in the context of scholarship on the southern Protestant population. Hart suggests that during the the revolutionary period following the First World War, southern Protestants were “politically inert.”44 Their political preferences, he writes, were “passive” and “unexpressed.”45 A text analysis of the inscriptions found on memorials in Catholic and Protestant churches in the Republic, however, indicates that First World War memorials were a way for both religious communities to express their political and national identities, allegiances, and preferences.
Figure 4: Frequency of words indicating political allegiance and national identity on First World War memorials in churches in the Republic of Ireland. This chart was compiled using Voyant text mining software; the y-axis expresses the extrapolated frequency per 10,000 words of each term on the x-axis.46
Protestant memorials demonstrate a greater identification with the United Kingdom and the British Empire — expressed through the terms “king,” “royal,” and “British” — than the Catholic memorials do. The terms “country” and “patria” also appear more frequently on Protestant than Catholic memorials; this may be a reflection of the fact that, as Jeffery puts it, “the war […] provided unionists in Ireland, north and south, with an opportunity to subsume their efforts in the wider [British] national enterprise.”47 These memorials were also a way for southern Protestants to assert their identity and their political preferences in the comfort of their own communities. Though it was not safe for them to be overtly political in public, especially during the War of Independence and the Civil War, they could affirm and propagate their imperial affiliations behind the safety of closed doors. Heather Jones surmises that for the southern Church of Ireland population, the very act of commemoration was “subversive, a response to the religious minority’s traumatic experience of the change of state.”48 This text analysis confirms that Catholic nationalists, by contrast, were less likely to express their participation in national terms; where Catholic inscriptions do express national allegiance, it is more likely to be through the concrete term “Irish” that the more abstract “nation” or “patria.” These differences are even more pronounced among outdoor memorials:
Figure 5: Frequency of words indicating political allegiance and national identity on outdoor First World War memorials in the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland. This chart includes inscriptions from all outdoor memorials, not just those extant in 1939.
It is also interesting to compare terms of allegiance found on southern Protestant church memorials to the more public outdoor memorials in the Republic and Northern Ireland:
Figure 6: Frequency of words indicating political allegiance and national identity on southern Protestant church memorials and outdoor memorials in the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland. This chart includes inscriptions from all outdoor memorials, not just those extant in 1939.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the term “country” and terms expressing imperial allegiance — “king,” “majesty,” “empire,” and “British” — appear with similar frequency on southern Protestant church memorials and outdoor Northern Irish memorials, while occurring infrequently or not at all on outdoor memorials in the Republic. More striking is the fact that several southern Protestant church memorials also include the terms “Irish” and “Ireland”; those terms do not appear on any outdoor memorials in Northern Ireland. This is an expression of what Thomas Hennessey calls the “dual allegiance” of Southern unionists. “Many members of the Southern Unionist community,” he posits, “became convinced that their dual allegiance, to Ireland and the Empire, could be accommodated by Irish self-government.”49 In Northern Ireland, by contrast, “the prospect of home rule […] provided the genesis of a process which forced many of the political elite within Ulster Unionism to choose between their Irishness and their Britishness in terms of their primary identity.”50 Furthermore, Jones notes that most Northern Irish Protestants were Presbyterian, while the southern Protestant population belonged largely to the Church of Ireland. Over the course of the twentieth century, these populations diverged, and by the 1980s, she notes, southern Protestant commemoration would “lose all connection with unionism.”51 For the southern Protestant population, commemoration became “a way of affirming and reconciling a unique Southern Protestant, hybrid Irish cultural identity[,] […] an attempt to convey a sense of religious and cultural difference that was merged with a great pride in citizenship of the Irish Republic.”52 This chart indicates that this southern Protestant hybrid identity was emerging as early as the beginning of the Second World War.
Taken together, these figures suggest that the First World War was not as overlooked in the cultural landscape of the Republic as many scholars have supposed. In the years before the outbreak of the Second World War, southern communities built a modest number of outdoor memorials, and even some Catholic churches commemorated the contributions of their members. The small number of outdoor memorials in the Republic, compared with the predominance of indoor memorials there, especially in Protestant churches, does support the assertion that remembrance tended to occur at the level of the private community rather than the municipal or national level. The relative infrequency of expressions of nationhood on Catholic and outdoor Republican memorials also suggests that those structures were likely intended to express personal grief and bereavement rather than to advance political messages.
As many scholars have noted, recent years have seen the reversal of official Republican disregard for the war.53 In 1993, Mary Robinson became the first Irish president to attend a Remembrance Day service in St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin. Since then, other Catholic and Republican leaders, like Fianna Fail leader Bertie Ahern and president Mary McAleese, an Ulster Catholic, have officially participated in commemorative services for the dead of the First World War.54 Since the Belfast Agreement officially ended the Troubles in 1998, many communities in the Republic have built outdoor memorials to commemorate their populations’ contributions to the war, and events like battlefield tours and community workshops have used the conflict as a tool for reconciliation between loyalist Protestants and nationalist Catholics.
Figure 7: This timeline shows the construction dates of outdoor Irish First World War memorials alongside significant events in twentieth-century Irish history. Orange items signify monuments built in Northern Ireland; green items signify monuments built in the Republic of Ireland. The timeline only includes memorials for which precise construction dates could be determined.
The majority of outdoor memorials were constructed before the Second World War, and, as Table 1 indicates, most of these are located in Northern Ireland. A few scattered memorials were constructed during the mid-twentieth century, but commemoration did not resume in earnest until the conclusion of the Troubles. During this time, as Robinson notes, republicans saw First World War commemoration as simply another “[manifestation] of loyalism.”55 Nearly all of the monuments built in the last several decades, however, are located in the Republic.
The First World War in Revolutionary Context: Mapping Four Conflicts
The Easter Rising
Nationalist sentiments, already inflamed by the outbreak of war in 1914, would only become stronger, more violent, and more polarized in the decade that followed. The first occasion of organized Republican violence during this period came on 24 April 1916, when approximately 1,600 members of the nationalist force the Irish Volunteers, as well as members of the trade union force the Irish Citizen Army and the women’s paramilitary group Cumann na mBan, stormed various strongholds around Dublin, most notably the General Post Office. The Volunteers raised republican flags and proclaimed an Irish Republic, but British forces suppressed the rebellion within the week.56 Despite the Rising’s short duration, there were many casualties: according to calculations from Glasnevin Cemetery, 485 died, including approximately 78 rebels, 126 British soldiers, 19 members of the Dublin Police and Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC), and 262 civilians.57
In the south, the reaction to the rebellion was not nearly as positive as its eventual legacy as a foundational moment in republican history would suggest. In Dublin in particular, many were incensed by the deaths of civilians and the destruction of property. This widespread disapproval of the rebel minority, however, was soon supplanted by fury towards the British forces: as McCarthy notes, the execution of fourteen leaders of the Rising, combined with the seemingly indiscriminate arrests of other republican figures and the harsh treatment of southern civilian by British troops, caused a “tidal change […] in Irish public opinion about those who had fought and died in the 1916 Rising.”58 As one nationalist observer put it: “[T]he poor foolish young fellows made a clean and gallant fight. There were no stags or skulkers amongst them. They stood by each other to the last. Hence a great wave of sympathy has gone out to their memory from every true Irish heart. […] They loved their country not at all wisely, but too well…May God grant rest, light and peace, to our fallen Volunteers!”59 Hennessey suggests that though the rebels may have seemed rash and quixotic to many, they also stood in stark and heroic contrast to their counterparts fighting in the European war. The Rising, he notes, was appealing because “it was conducted by patriots fighting for Irish freedom in Ireland.”60
The War of Independence
After Sinn Féin’s electoral victory in December 1918, republicans set up an Irish parliament, the Dáil Éireann, and in January 1919, they declared Ireland’s independence from Great Britain. The IRA’s shooting of two members of the RIC, Britain’s armed police force in Ireland, on 21 January 1919 is traditionally seen as the starting point of the conflict.61 Many of the IRA volunteers were “ordinary people,” members of the middle class who felt they had a “stake in the country.”62 Among the revolutionaries, notes Diarmaid Ferriter, “there was an abundance of young, literate, unmarried, practicing Catholics.”63 Their opponents were British forces — the British Army, the RIC, the Black and Tans, and the Auxiliaries — and the Ulster Special Constabulary. Though the RIC was 70 per cent Catholic at the start of the War of Independence, its members were assumed, perhaps mistakenly, to be “overwhelmingly loyal to the Crown,” and they became particular targets of the IRA’s violence.64 While the rebels of the Easter Rising had emphasized the importance of “blood sacrifice” and their willingness to die for the Irish nation, the combatants of 1919-21 “placed a premium on killing rather than dying for Ireland.”65 The IRA carried out much of its violence through assassinations and guerilla-style ambushes; the son of one RIC victim recalled that “men like my father were dragged out in those years and shot down as traitors to their country. […] Shot to inspire terror.”66 Michael Hopkinson estimates that by the war’s end in July 1921, approximately 1,400 people were dead: 552 IRA, 624 British forces, and 250 civilians, many of whom were southern Protestants.67 Though these casualty numbers are somewhat modest, Ferriter posits that “the manner in which [the war] was conducted gave it an impact far beyond what the statistics for fatalities would suggest.”68
Irish Civil War
The War of Independence resulted in the Anglo-Irish Treaty, signed in December 1921. It established the Irish Free State as a self-governing dominion, but also gave Northern Ireland the choice to opt out of the Free State, which it did.69 Though the conflict proved that the nationalists were capable of both “withstanding the British military” and “[securing] a seat at the negotiating table in Downing Street,” the treaty did not end the revolution.70 To many Sinn Féiners, the document symbolized an unsatisfactory and unacceptable compromise. The republican goal had not been achieved: dominion status represented an enduring allegiance to the British crown, and the Northern Ireland option betrayed the ideal of a unified Irish nation. The civil war that broke out in June 1922, pitting pro-treaty moderate nationalists against anti-treaty hard-line republicans, would be, as Ferriter notes, “raw and highly personal, particularly given the energy which had been poured into the War of Independence.”71
Casualty statistics for the Civil War are hard to come by. Ferriter estimates that approximately 800 pro-treaty Provisional Government soldiers died, while the anti-treaty forces, made up of the IRA, Cumann na mBan, and the youth organization Fianna Éireann, lost 400. The war also resulted in severe property damage, and the fact that the fighting pitted former allies against each other “had immense psychological and political implications that made the conflict more vicious.”72 Like the War of Independence, this war was fought brutally, with extensive guerrilla warfare, ambushes, executions, and reprisals. The war ended in May 1923, less than a year after it began, with a victory for the pro-treaty forces, who had greater numbers and better weapons than their republican opponents.73
As Dolan points out in her 2003 book Commemorating the Irish Civil War, commemoration of the revolutionary period has gone relatively unstudied: though Catholics and republicans have long been accused of neglecting the First World War, she asserts that relative “neglect cannot be supposed when the memory of the dead of 1916, the War of Independence, and the Civil War have not been assessed, when it is only taken for granted that nationalist Ireland gloried in the memory of its martyrs.”74 Since the publication of Dolan’s book, that scholarly ground has remained relatively unturned, with the exception of the Easter Rising. A 2007 volume entitled 1916 in 1966: Commemorating the Easter Rising, edited by Daly and O’Callaghan, and McCarthy’s 2012 book Ireland’s Easter Rising are the most dedicated explorations of the memory of the Rising, though several other authors have have addressed the topic in the context of broader conversations about Irish historical memory.75 Many scholars highlight the central role of 1916 in republican mythology: Bhreathnach-Lynch, for example, posits that “the dead revolutionaries were accorded martyr status and their sacrifice on behalf of the nation was assiduously promoted in every area of Irish life.”76 She is quick to remind us that this appreciation for the Easter rebels contrasted starkly with the memory of the southerners and Catholics who fought in the First World War, who “did not fit easily into the current construct of the patriotic Irishman.”77 Garth Stevenson points out the Rising’s omnipresence in Dublin’s cultural landscape, where Pearse, Connolly, and Heuston stations recall members of the rebellion’s executed leadership and the General Post Office stands as a “shrine” to the Rising.78
But other scholars have suggested that the history of Rising commemoration is not as straightforward as it seems. Fitzpatrick notes that the divisions of the Civil War complicated remembrance of 1916. The pro- and anti-treaty factions competed for ownership of the rebellion’s legacy, making it impossible to build a monument or stage a commemorative ceremony that would be acceptable to all nationalist groups.79 McCarthy posits that commemoration of 1916 shifted in response to national politics: in times of peace, like 1966 and 2006, the anniversary was “celebrated in striking fashion,” while periods of domestic strife, like the 75th anniversary in 1991, saw more muted commemorations from a southern government that wanted to dissociate itself from republican paramilitaries.80
The other two conflicts of the revolutionary period have received far less scholarly attention. Commemoration of the War of Independence remains entirely unstudied, and Dolan’s book is the only thorough treatment of Civil War remembrance. She posits that the memory of the Civil War has been largely ignored. The competing factions had no way to remember the conflict in common, and the brutal nature of the war, with its executions and civilian deaths, meant that the pro-Treaty faction had “little to celebrate.”81 Commemoration was incriminating, and it would “cherish a civil war mentality, always aggravating, always nurturing the memory of the conflict as much as, if not more than, the memory of the dead.”82
The remembrance of these wars has been so overlooked, perhaps, because it is assumed that they were never really commemorated: Fitzpatrick, for example, writes that after the Civil War, commemoration was contentious and “potentially counterproductive,” with “all political factions [drawing] their legitimacy from competing interpretations of the Irish past.”83 Just because commemoration had the potential to be divisive, however, does not mean that it did not occur. There are, in fact, many physical monuments to the conflicts of the revolutionary period.
Figure 8: This map shows the distribution of memorials to the First World War, the Easter Rising, the War of Independence, and the Irish Civil War as they likely existed in 1926, as well as the county-level population density of the Republic and Northern Ireland, based on statistics from the 1926 censuses.84 All categories of WWI memorials are represented. These memorials are still extant today.
Table 2: Distribution of physical monuments to the First World War, the 1916 Easter Rising, the War of Independence, and the Irish Civil War in Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland in 1926. All categories of WWI memorials are represented.
As these visualizations demonstrate, there are more monuments to the revolution than scholarly diagnoses of neglect suggest. It should be noted, however, that all memorials to the War of Independence mark the deaths or honor the participation of republican forces, not the RIC or British forces, and all Civil War memorials commemorate the anti-treaty faction. Physical commemoration of the Civil War, then, seems to have been the preserve of the losing side. This supports Guy Beiner’s theory that much republican remembrance occurs within a tradition of “heroic defeat.”85 A second and perhaps more practical explanation for the lack of pro-treaty commemoration is Dolan’s suggestion that monumental activity on the part of the victors could be perceived as fanning the flames of social division.86
Though memorials to the First World War vastly outnumber memorials to the revolutionary conflicts, if we subtract the memorials built in Protestant churches, then the resulting number of First World War memorials in the Republic — 111 — is much more modest. Though this total is still larger than any of the other conflicts, the First World War involved far more southern Irishmen, lasted longer, and resulted in a much greater number of casualties than the Rising, the War of Independence, or the Civil War. Proportionally, then, these numbers might be taken to suggest that the First World War was indeed neglected in the cultural landscape of republican memory, at least during the aftermath of the revolutionary period.
Just as First World War monuments signaled imperial identity in Northern Ireland, Irish identity in the Republic, and a hybrid Irish-imperial identity in southern Protestant communities, inscriptions on revolutionary monuments also included references to national identities:
Figure 9: Frequency of words indicating political allegiance and national identity on outdoor First World War memorials and memorials to the Easter Rising, War of Independence, and Civil War in the Republic of Ireland. This chart includes inscriptions from all memorials, not just those extant in 1926.
While memorials from all four conflicts include references to “Ireland” or “Irish”-ness, southern First World War memorials say nothing of the “Republic” or the “nation” in its more abstract sense. While many Irishmen participated in the European conflict, it was seen by many as “the wrong war, fought in the wrong place, and against the wrong foe,” and thus would not be immortalized as a fight for the republican cause.87 Memorials to the Easter Rising, War of Independence, and Civil War, by contrast, all contain references to Ireland, the Republic, and the nation. The high incidence of inscriptions containing the words “Republican” and “Republic” on Civil War memorials, in particular, is striking; this is perhaps a defiant assertion that the anti-treaty forces had fought and died for the Republic, an ideal that had been betrayed by the signing of the Anglo-Irish Treaty and the establishment of the Irish Free State as a dominion under imperial oversight.
Though this text analysis is based on the memorials’ English inscriptions, many revolutionary memorials also include inscriptions in Irish Gaelic.
Table 3: Presence of Irish Gaelic inscriptions on memorials to the First World War, Easter Rising, War of Independence, and Civil War in the Republic of Ireland. Column two represents the total number of memorials to each conflict that bear Gaelic inscriptions, while column three represents the percentage of memorials to each conflict that bear Gaelic inscriptions. All categories of WWI memorials are represented, and this chart includes inscriptions from all memorials, not just those extant in 1926.
Translating these inscriptions is outside the scope of this project, but the presence of Gaelic is significant in itself. As Bhreathnach-Lynch notes, Irish nationalism was cultural as well as religious and political. Many hoped to link the new Irish nation to “an ancient pre-conquest past,” and the revival of the Irish Gaelic language was one way of doing this.88 Thus we might read the presence of Gaelic as an additional assertion of republican national allegiance. In this context, it is unsurprising that Gaelic appears far more frequently on memorials to the Rising, the War of Independence, and the Civil War than it does on memorials to the First World War.
Memorials and Religious Demographics: A Note on Visualizing History
While mapping the locations of the memorials to all four conflicts, it seemed worthwhile to visualize and analyze them against the backdrop of their religious demographics. The resulting maps and data perhaps reveal as much about the practice of visualizing history as they do about commemorative trends.
As Figure 8 suggests, there is little correlation between population density and the distribution of memorials. Many memorials are clustered in the densely-populated Dublin area, but the population density across the rest of the Republic and Northern Ireland is consistent in its sparseness of between 0 and .5 persons per acre. Memorials mapped onto religious demographics seem to yield more interesting trends:
Figure 10: This map shows the distribution of memorials to the First World War, the Easter Rising, the War of Independence, and the Civil War in 1926, as well as the county-level percentage of Protestants, based on statistics from the 1926 censuses.89 All categories of WWI memorials are represented.
Figure 11: This map shows the distribution of memorials to the First World War, the Easter Rising, the War of Independence, and the Civil War in 1926, as well as the county-level percentage of Catholics, based on statistics from the 1926 censuses.90 All categories of WWI memorials are represented.
In the Republic, many memorials to the revolution are clustered in the east and in County Cork in the south, areas with seemingly high proportions of Protestants. These areas also boast most of the Republic’s First World War memorials, since many were installed in Protestant churches. Based on the maps alone, it appears as if there may be a positive correlation between religious diversity and commemorative activity. Such a correlation might suggest that commemoration was a way not only to remember the dead, but also to mark religious territory. (As Peter Hart asserts, Protestants tended to maintain neutrality during these conflicts, but “neutrality and passivity could not overcome past divisions and abiding ethnic and political stereotypes.”91 As a result, southern Protestants were often victims of violence during the War of Independence and the Civil War, which brought heightened religio-political polarization.92)
Visualizing the data another way — as a scatter plot — confirms a correlation between religious diversity and commemorative activity.
Figure 12: This chart plots 1926 memorials as a function of the county-level percentage of Protestants in the Republic of Ireland. The larger the percentage, the greater the degree of religious diversity. Memorials to all four conflicts are represented here. The trend line suggests a positive correlation between Protestant populations and total number of memorials.
The maps in Figures 10 and 11 also seem to suggest that areas with greater percentage Protestant populations had not only higher numbers of WWI memorials, but also higher numbers of memorials to revolutionary conflicts. This would make sense: in the face of a relatively large minority Protestant population, perhaps Catholics used memorials to mark their territory and assert their religio-national identities. However, when WWI memorials and revolutionary memorials are plotted separately, scatter plot analysis reveals that there is no relationship between religious demographics and commemoration.
Figure 13: This chart plots 1926 memorials as a function of the county-level percentage of Protestants in the Republic of Ireland. Memorials to the Easter Rising, the Revolutionary War, and the War of Independence are included in the Republican Memorials category. One trend line suggests a positive correlation between percentage Protestants and First World War memorials, while a second trend line suggests a negative correlation between percentage Protestants and memorials to revolutionary conflicts. Both trend lines, however, have very low R-squared values, suggesting that there is no measurable relationship between percentage Protestants and commemorative activity when memorials are split into categories by conflict.
These charts suggest that while there is a positive correlation between religious diversity commemorative activity writ large in the Republic, there is no discernible correlation between religious diversity and commemoration when memorials are broken into categories by conflict. Counties with higher percentages of Protestants — and therefore greater religious diversity — do not have markedly larger numbers of memorials to the First World War or republican conflicts than less diverse counties. The illusion of correlation presented by the maps in Figures 10 and 11 is due in large part to the data classification scheme used for the chloropeth maps of county-level religious demographics. The maps use the quantile method of classification, which assigns an equal number of data points to each colored category. Because most Republican counties have relatively low percentage-Protestant populations — under 8% — the quantile classification scheme creates the illusion of a greater range of religious diversity than actually existed. This juxtaposition of maps and charts demonstrates the dangers of over-reliance upon a single type of visualization for data analysis. Furthermore, this sort of mapping and statistical analysis, driven as it is by large quantities of data, ignores the particularities of individual memorials and the circumstances of their construction. While WWI memorials commemorated a war fought abroad and thus could be constructed anywhere, many revolutionary memorials marked the precise places where skirmishes occurred or the spots where men died. To attempt to explain the placement of memorials by a single variable — like religious demographics — is overly simplistic.
This project is not without its weaknesses. Due to constraints of time and scope, it is concerned largely with the spatial and temporal distribution of memorials. It cannot research the history of each memorial or the context of community engagement with the memorials. It is thus impossible to consider how people reacted to them when they were built, or how community responses changed over time. It is difficult to know the extent to which the monuments and their inscriptions truly reflected the political and emotional needs of their communities at large. This essay cannot account for instances of vandalism or disrepair, for instance, even though such subversive acts might ultimately be more telling political statements than the construction of the memorials themselves. Nevertheless, memorials are always built for a reason; they require money, time, deliberation, and effort, and even if they are not necessarily reflections of community sentiments, they become part of the cultural landscape and can impact the development of group identities.
Similarly, commemoration encompasses much more than just physical sites of memory. Ray Cashman notes that while urban populations tend to assert their identities through physical objects like memorials, rural communities in Ireland are more likely to do so using “oral legend and personal narrative.”93 Ephemeral forms of commemoration like ceremonies, speeches, songs, banners, and parades are outside the scope of this essay, and many instances of grassroots commemoration left no archival traces and are thus inaccessible to modern scholars.
Despite these shortcomings, this essay has engaged with the historiography of Irish commemoration of the revolutionary period in a novel way, through the mapping and spatial analysis of memorials to the First World War, Easter Rising, War of Independence, and Irish Civil War. Maps of First World War memorials show a large number of monuments in both Northern Ireland and the Republic, confirming scholars who have noted the war’s prominent role in Northern Irish identity but complicating the assumption that the war was largely ignored in the Republic. Maps of First World War memorials organized by category suggest that, in the Republic, they were most prominent within Protestant church communities, perhaps as symbols of political defiance as well as grief. However, the scattering of outdoor memorials and memorials in government buildings, train stations, hospitals, and the like also suggests that the First World War had a more visible role in the southern cultural landscape than many scholars have assumed. Similarly, maps of revolutionary conflicts show that the Easter Rising, War of Independence, and Civil War were all significant presences in the cultural landscape of the Republic; these maps contradict scholars like Dolan and Fitzpatrick who assert that the War of Independence and Civil War were too divisive to be commemorated. Finally, text analysis of the memorials’ inscriptions suggests that war commemoration was used as a tool for the assertion of political and national identities during a time of sectarian and political upheaval. While outdoor Northern Irish WWI memorials were rife with references to king, crown, and empire, their southern counterparts were more likely to contain the words “Ireland” or “Irish,” and southern Protestant memorials expressed a joint Anglo-Irish identity. And while southern First World War memorials referred to Ireland, they made no mention of the Republic, suggesting that the conflict could not be integrated into the canon of republican struggle. Easter Rising, War of Independence, and Civil War memorials, by contrast, referred to Ireland and the Republic alike, and they made ample use of Irish Gaelic as a further assertion of Irish cultural nationalism.
Ultimately, this essay, like many spatial history projects, is intended as a starting point. The Irish War Memorials database contains many entries for many other wars, and fruitful comparisons might be made between the First World War or the revolutionary conflicts and earlier or later wars. Similarly, while this project compares the 1926 memorial landscape to county-level population density and religious demographics (ultimately finding no relationship between commemoration and religious diversity), mapping memorials alongside other demographic categories and during different time periods might yield interesting correlations. While a consideration of form and iconography falls outside the scope of this essay, there is great variety among the memorials: some depict soldiers, others angels, others Celtic crosses. Some are large and elaborate sculptures, while others are modest plaques. As study of these variations would surely yield significant insights about the roles of the conflicts in Catholic and Protestant mythology. The field of spatial history is growing, and mapping and data mining technologies are improving and becoming more accessible to non-specialists. Though the analysis of large quantities of spatial data allows for little particularity, the spatial approach provides a new and instructive angle on the cultural landscape to complement existing historiography. Historians of commemoration would be wise to take advantage of these developments in the field.
1 John Cooney, Michael McCarthy, and Robin Young, “11 Die in Poppy Day Massacre: Condemnation for IRA Bomb at Ulster War Memorial,” The Irish Times, 9 Nov. 1987, in LexisNexis Academic.
2 Julian Fowler, “Hundreds Attend Enniskillen Poppy Day Bomb Services,” BBC News Online, 8 Nov. 2012, in LexisNexis Academic.
3 Diana Rusk, “Murder of Innocents — the IRA Attack that Repulsed the World,” Irish News, 6 Nov. 2007, in LexisNexis Academic.
4 David McKittrick and David McVea, Making Sense of the Troubles: A History of the Northern Ireland Conflict (London: Viking, 2012), p. 205.
5 Dominic Bryan, “Forget 1690, Remember the Somme: Ulster Loyalist Battles in the Twenty-First Century,” in The Famine and the Troubles, vol. 3 of Memory Ireland, ed. Oona Frawley (3 vols. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2014), p. 295.
6 Ian McBride, “Introduction: Memory and National Identity in Modern Ireland,” in History and Memory in Modern Ireland, ed. McBride (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), p. 1.
7 Ibid., p. 2.
8 As Peter Hart notes, the definition of the Irish revolutionary period is the source of debate. Some maintain that the revolution began before the Easter Rising, with the signing of the Third Home Rule Bill, or that it ended before the Civil War. This essay defines the revolutionary period as the years 1916-1923. Peter Hart, “Definition: Defining the Irish Revolution,” in The Irish Revolution, 1913-1923, ed. Joost Augusteijn (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2002), p. 17.
9 Irish War Memorials database website, http://www.irishwarmemorials.ie, accessed 10 July 2015; Ulster War Memorials database website, http://www.ulsterwarmemorials.net, accessed 4 Aug. 2015; and Catherine Switzer, Unionists and Great War Commemoration in the North of Ireland 1914-1918 (Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 2007).
10 Keith Jeffery, “The Great War in Modern Irish Memory,” in Men, Women and War: Papers Read before the XXth Irish Conference of Historians, Held at Magee College, University of Ulster, 6-8 June 1991, ed. T. G. Fraser and Jeffery (Dublin: Lilliput Press, 1993), pp. 136-57; Jeffery, “Irish Varieties of Great War Commemoration,” in Towards Commemoration: Ireland in War and Revolution, 1912-23, ed. John Horne and Edward Madigan (Dublin: Royal Irish Academy, 2013), pp. 117-25; Tom Burke, “ ‘Poppy Day’ in the Irish Free State,” Studies: An Irish Quarterly Review 923:368 (Winter 2003): 349-58; David Fitzpatrick, “Commemoration in the Irish Free State: A Chronicle of Embarrassment,” in History and Memory in Modern Ireland, ed. McBride (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), pp. 184-203; Jane Leonard, “Facing the ‘Finger of Scorn’: Veterans’ Memories of Ireland after the Great War,” in War and Memory in the Twentieth Century, ed. Martin Evans and Kenneth Lunn (Oxford: Berg, 1997), pp. 59-72; Leonard, “The Twinge of Memory: Armistice Day and Remembrance Sunday in Dublin Since 1919,” in Unionism in Modern Ireland: New Perspectives on Politics and Culture, ed. Richard English and Graham Walker (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1996), pp. 99-114; Switzer, Unionists and Great War Commemoration; Guy Beiner, “Between Trauma and Triumphalism: The Easter Rising, the Somme, and the Crux of Deep Memory in Modern Ireland,” Journal of British Studies 46:2 (April 2007): 366-89; Helen Robinson, “Remembering War in the Midst of Conflict: First World War Commemoration in the Northern Irish Troubles,” Twentieth Century British History 21:1 (2010): 80-101; Graham Dawson, Making Peace with the Past?: Memory, Trauma and the Irish Troubles (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007); and Richard S. Grayson, “The Place of the First World War in Contemporary Irish Republicanism in Northern Ireland,” Irish Political Studies 25:3 (Sept. 2010): 325-45.
11 Mark McCarthy, Ireland’s 1916 Rising: Explorations of History-Making, Commemoration & Heritage in Modern Times (Farnham, Surrey, England: Ashgate, 2012), and Mary E. Daly and Margaret O’Callaghan, eds., 1916 in 1966: Commemorating the Easter Rising (Dublin: Royal Irish Academy, 2007).
12 Anne Dolan, Commemorating the Irish Civil War: History and Memory, 1923-2000 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003).
13 Nuala Johnson, Ireland, the Great War, and the Geography of Remembrance (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 169.
14 Switzer, Unionists and Great War Commemoration, p. 55.
15 Maurice Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, ed. and trans. Lewis A. Coser (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992), pp. 173-84.
16 McBride, “Introduction,” p. 6.
17 Eric Hobsbawm, “Introduction: Inventing Traditions,” in The Invention of Tradition, ed. Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), pp. 1-14.
18 Pierre Nora, “General Introduction: Between Memory and History,” in Conflicts and Divisions, vol. 1 of Realms of Memory: Rethinking the French Past, ed. Nora, trans. Arthur Goldhammer, (3 vols. New York: Columbia University Press, 1996), pp. 1-20.
19 G.J. Ashworth, B.J. Graham, and J.E. Tunbridge, Pluralising Pasts: Heritage, Identity and Place in Multicultural Societies (London: Pluto Press, 2007), p. 61.
20 Sara McDowell, “Heritage, Memory and Identity,” in The Ashgate Research Companion to Heritage and Identity, ed. Brian Graham and Peter Howard (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008), p. 40.
21 Ibid., pp. 47-8.
22 Johnson, “Sculpting Heroic Histories: Celebrating the Centenary of the 1798 Rebellion in Ireland,” Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 19:1 (1994): 78-93, p. 78.
23 Síghle Bhreathnach-Lynch, “Commemorating the Hero in Newly Independent Ireland: Expressions of Nationhood in Bronze and Stone,” in Images, Icons and the Irish Nationalist Imagination, ed. Lawrence W. McBride (Dublin: Four Courts, 1999), pp. 148-9.
24 Pat Coogan, Ireland in the Twentieth Century (London: Hutchinson, 2003), pp. 22 & 29.
25 Fitzpatrick, “The Logic of Collective Sacrifice: Ireland and the British Army, 1914-1918,” The Historical Journal 38:4 (Dec. 1995): 1017-30, pp. 1017 & 1024.
26 Switzer, Unionists and Great War Commemoration, p. 55.
27 Jeffery, Ireland and the Great War, p. 15.
28 John Redmond, quoted in D.G. Boyce, “ ‘That Party Politics Should Divide Our Tents’: Nationalism, Unionism and the First World War,” in Ireland and the Great War: “A War to Unite Us All”?, ed. Adrian Gregory and Senia Paseta (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2002), p. 196.
29 Redmond, quoted in Jeffery, Ireland and the Great War, p. 13.
30 Fitzpatrick, “Commemoration in the Irish Free State,” p. 191.
31 Jay Winter, Sites of Memory, Sites of Mourning: The Great War in European Cultural History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), p. 5.
32 James Loughlin, “Mobilising the Sacred Dead: Ulster Unionism, the Great War and the Politics of Remembrance,” in Ireland and the Great War, ed. Gregory and Paseta, pp. 136.
33 Ibid., p. 137.
34 Bryan, “Forget 1690,” p. 296.
35 Brian Walker, Dancing to History’s Tune: History, Myth and Politics in Ireland (Belfast: Institute of Irish Studies, Queen’s University of Belfast, 1996), pp. 99-100.
36 Johnson, “The Spectacle of Memory: Ireland’s Remembrance of the Great War, 1919,” Journal of Historical Geography 25:1 (1999): 36-56, p. 51.
37 Boyce, “ ‘That Party Politics Should Divide Our Tents,’ ” p. 201.
38 Ann Rigney, “Divided Pasts: A Premature Memorial and the Dynamics of Collective Remembrance,” Memory Studies 1:89 (2008): 89-97, pp. 90 & 92, and Fitzpatrick, “Commemoration in the Irish Free State,” p. 191.
39 Bhreathnach-Lynch, “Commemorating the Hero,” p. 159.
40 “Population 1901-2011,” Central Statistics Office, available at http://www.cso.ie/multiquicktables/quickTables.aspx?id=cna13, accessed 6 Aug. 2015, and Census of Population of Northern Ireland, 1937: General Summary, Table 2, available at http://www.histpop.org/ohpr/servlet/Browse?path=Browse/Census%20(by%20date)/1937&active=yes&treestate=contract&titlepos=0, accessed 10 Aug. 2015.
41 Leonard, “Memorials to the Casualties of Conflict: Northern Ireland 1969 to 1997” (Belfast: Cultural Diversity Programme of the Northern Ireland Community Relations Council, 1997), available at http://cain.ulst.ac.uk/issues/commemoration/leonard/leonard97.htm#part, accessed 10 Aug. 2015.
42 Hart, “The Protestant Experience of Revolution in Southern Ireland,” in Unionism in Modern Ireland, ed. English and Walker (Basingstoke: MacMillan, 1996), p. 85.
43 Johnson, Ireland, the Great War, and the Geography of Remembrance, p. 96.
44 Hart, “The Protestant Experience of Revolution,” p. 85.
46 “Voyant Tools: Reveal Your Texts,” http://voyant-tools.org, accessed 26 Aug. 2015.
47 Jeffery, Ireiand and the Great War, p. 15.
48 Heather Jones, “Church of Ireland Great War Remembrance in the South of Ireland: a Personal Reflection,” in Towards Commemoration, ed. Horne and Madigan, 74-82, p. 75.
49 Thomas Hennessey, Dividing Ireland: World War I and Partition (London: Routledge, 1998), p. 114.
50 Ibid., p. 239.
51 Jones, “Church of Ireland Great War Remembrance,” p. 77.
52 Ibid., p. 80.
53 Beiner, “Between Trauma and Triumphalism”; Boyce, “ ‘That Party Politics Should Divide Our Tents’ ”; Grayson, “The Place of the First World War”; Jeffery, “Irish Varieties of Great War Commemoration”; Robinson, “Remembering War in the Midst of Conflict”; Switzer, Ulster, Ireland and the Somme: War Memorials and Battlefield Pilgrimages (Dublin: History Press Ireland, 2013); Leonard, “The Twinge of Memory”; and Rigney, “Divided Pasts.”
54 Boyce, “ ‘That Party Politics Should Divide Our Tents,’ ” p. 212.
55 Robinson, “Remembering War in the Midst of Conflict,” p. 94.
56 Fearghal McGarry, The Rising: Ireland: Easter 1916 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), p. 120.
57 “1916 Necrology 485,” Glasnevin Cemetery, http://www.glasnevintrust.ie/visit-glasnevin/news/1916-list/, accessed 10 Aug. 2015.
58 McCarthy, Ireland’s 1916 Rising, pp. 101, 104-5, 80, & 85.
59 N. Canon Murphy, quoted in Hennessey, Dividing Ireland, p. 142.
60 Hennessey, Dividing Ireland, p. 158.
61 Michael Hopkinson, The Irish War of Independence (Montreal: McGill-Queens University Press, 2002), p. 25.
62 Diarmaid Ferriter, The Transformation of Ireland (Woodstock: Overlook Press, 2005), p. 197.
63 Ibid., p. 198.
64 Ibid., p. 206.
65 Ibid., p. 220.
66 Seán O’Faoláin, quoted in Ferriter, The Transformation of Ireland, p. 208.
67 Hopkinson, Irish War of Independence, pp. 201-2.
68 Ferriter, The Transformation of Ireland, p. 220.
69 “Articles of Agreement for a Treaty Between Great Britain and Ireland,” 6 Dec. 1921, reprinted in Hopkinson, Irish War of Independence, pp. 214-16.
70 Ferriter, The Transformation of Ireland, p. 220.
71 Ibid., p. 243.
72 Ibid., p. 258.
73 Dolan, Commemorating the Irish Civil War, p. 6.
74 Ibid., p. 2.
75 Daly and O’Callaghan, 1916 in 1966, and McCarthy, Ireland’s 1916 Rising. Works that address commemoration of the Rising less directly include Beiner, “Between Trauma and Triumphalism”; Bhreathnach-Lynch, “Commemorating the Hero”; Fitzpatrick, “Commemoration in the Irish Free State”; McBride, “Introduction”; Garth Stevenson, “The Politics of Remembrance in Irish and Quebec Nationalism,” Canadian Journal of Political Science 37:4 (Dec. 2004): 903-25; and Walker, Dancing to History’s Tune.
76 Bhreathnach-Lynch, “Commemorating the Hero,” p. 163.
78 Stevenson, “Politics of Remembrance,” p. 920.
79 Fitzpatrick, “Commemoration in the Irish Free State,” p. 195.
80 McCarthy, Ireland’s 1916 Rising, p. 420.
81 Dolan, Commemorating the Irish Civil War, pp. 2-3 & 6.
82 Ibid., p. 153.
83 Fitzpatrick, “Commemoration in the Irish Free State,” p. 198.
84 Census of Ireland, 1926, Vol. III, Part 1, Table 8A, available at http://www.cso.ie/en/census/censusvolumes1926to1991/historicalreports/census1926reports/census1926volume3-religionandbirthplaces/, accessed 25 Aug. 2015, and Census of Population of Northern Ireland, 1926: General Report, Part 4, Table 27, available at http://www.histpop.org/ohpr/servlet/PageBrowser?path=Browse/Census%20(by%20date)/1926/Northern%20Ireland&active=yes&mno=242&tocstate=expandnew&tocseq=13100&display=sections&display=tables&display=pagetitles&pageseq=first-nonblank, accessed 25 Aug. 2015.
85 Beiner, “Between Trauma and Triumphalism,” p. 368.
86 Dolan, p. 153.
87 Boyce, “ ‘That Party Politics Should Divide our Tents,’ ” p. 201.
88 Bhreathnach-Lynch, “Commemorating the Hero,” p. 152.
89 Census of Ireland, 1926, Vol. III, Part 1, Table 8A, and Census of Population of Northern Ireland, 1926: General Report, Part 4, Table 27.
91 Hart, “Protestant Experience of Revolution,” pp. 89-90.
92 Ibid., p. 89.
93 Ray Cashman, “Visions of Irish Nationalism,” Journal of Folklore Research 45:3 (Sep.-Dec. 2008): 361-81, p. 361.