We gathered at Windsor Castle last Wednesday to commemorate the 80th anniversary of the laying up of the colours of the Irish regiments of the British army, writes Kevin Myers
Those two June 12ths, four score years apart, mark two milestones in the history of a studied amnesia within Irish historiography. The first, in 1922, occurred at the start of a long journey into forgetfulness and myth; the second proved that intellectually we are emerging from an exile amid the barren rocks of a created ignorance and the thornbrush.
Because what was represented as the official history of Ireland for generations was a lie, one that was feverishly accepted by almost all sides. Irish nationalism had redefined itself around the legends of 1916 onwards; and Ulster unionism was happy to oblige. And for their part, British historians - if they paid any attention to Ireland at all, which for the most part was unlikely - were happy to accept uncritically whatever fable we could in our common idiocy agree on.
Consent to a lie
Virtually all sides came to consent to a lie of almost Stalinist proportions. And so hundreds of thousands of Irishmen - and not a few women - and both the values which they represented and the traditions which they embodied marched obligingly from the pages of history. They were not to be seen again in any popular appreciation of the period until almost the last of the survivors had perished from old age.
Even now we do not know how many Irishmen died in the first World War. Recent research in Donegal, Roscommon and Mayo suggests that the official figures for the war dead from those counties gravely underestimate the numbers of local men killed during the 1914-18 conflict. It might well be that the amnesia which disfigured our understanding of Irish history was on an even more heroic scale than has hitherto been believed.
That amnesia is unravelling everywhere. Across the country, splendid local groups are re-examining the history of their areas during the Great War. At the highest level, the project has been informally endorsed by the Taoiseach. The commemoration at Windsor, which was attended by Prince Andrew and General Sir Roger Wheeler, former Chief of the General Staff, received its real moral authority from the presence of General Colm Mangan, Chief of Staff of the Defence Forces, and the Irish Ambassador to London, Daithi Ó Ceallaigh.
Many traditions
They, after all, are heirs to the many traditions whose confluence is represented by the Government of the Irish Republic. Much as I deplore the 1916 Rising, I cannot deny that it is part of a particular continuity which went into the making of the State and the Defence Forces. When Colm Mangan is officially present anywhere, he is not merely representing the Army: he is also embodying the lawful and constitutional legacy of Connolly and Pearse.
No more than the weather, we cannot pick the history which pleases us: neither meteorology nor our past are supermarkets from which we may choose only the most agreeable goods. So, much as I detest what those men did in 1916, my feelings on the matter are irrelevant, just as they are of the ceaseless rain on my window. The powerful effect of 1916 on Irish history, on the formation of the State, and the culture, mythology and institutions which emerged down the decades are as indisputable as the downpours which bewinter this summer.
All we can ask for is open minds; and minds have been opening in recent years. It would have been inconceivable a decade ago for the Irish Ambassador to London to have spoken with the powerful and eloquent elegance with which Daithi Ó Ceallaigh addressed the gathering last week. For this in a way was an act of public atonement towards our own, yet in the company of strangers: such deeds are possible only from the self-confident.
And that is what has happened to Ireland and the Irish people in the past decade. There has been a gathering of certitude about our identity and our past. The querulous sense of aggressive self-pity which for so long underlay so much of the Irish sense of self has largely been banished. To imply that Ireland's understanding of itself had been deficient, and in front of British royalty and senior British military, was no longer - as it would once have been - seen as an act of treachery.
Tides of history
Tides sometimes move in history, beyond the grasp of mortal man. Why is Ireland so popular in England now? Why was the Tricolour of the Republic to be seen everywhere in housing estates across London alongside the cross of St George? Why have British commentators on the World Cup embraced Ireland with so much affectionate regard? Why are an increasing number of Irish people more favourably disposed towards the English team in the World Cup?
We are on our neighbouring islands, wet and bleak and marooned off the western flank of Eurasia. The insecure tectonic plates which propelled us at different times from the continental landmass have created special relationships between our peoples which only the wilfully foolish can deny. And much as those relationships cannot be wisely denied, nor can they be wisely defined.
Perhaps friendships should not be too closely examined. It is sufficient that they exist. We have experienced the alternative to friendship between our islands, and the result has been idiotic calamity. We have two June 12ths to be our guide as to how we should behave. That of 1922 was full of tears; but June 12th 2002 was sweetness itself.