Opinion: The revolutionary leader's "daily notes and musings" are a chance to hear his authentic voice, rather than speeches or more formal writings
As someone who grew up in Sligo with a lifelong interest in Michael Collins, I was often curious about the short time he spent in Sligo Jail. Yet, in the biographies of Collins I read in my younger years it often merited only scant mention, despite the fact that he left a 'jail journal'. And as a local I wondered, where even was the jail?
Collins’ period of rare idleness in Sligo Jail gave him time to write 'daily notes and musings'. Comprised of 45 handwritten pages, it is now digitised and available to read online at the National Library of Ireland, having been donated by his secretary Sinéad Ní Dheirg (née Mason) in 1987. It's a valuable primary source displaying much of his true character, showing that he had the measure of the authorities and the beguiling nature to outwit them already fully formed. We get a chance to hear Collins’ authentic voice, not that of his speeches or more formal writings.
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From RTÉ Radio 1's Morning Ireland, what impact did Michael Collins' death have on the history and shaping of Ireland?
Despite his often-analytical discussions of world events impacting Ireland much of it is him chatting to the reader, lapsing into the vernacular, devoid of ego, laced with cutting comments and witty observations. Throughout, his intelligence and authority shines through. What becomes apparent on reading the journal is Collins' impatience at his incarceration and the slowness of his colleagues to organise his release. Above all, it is the voice of a man singularly devoted to, and determined to win, Irish freedom.
The events that led to his detention began on April 2nd 1918 when he was arrested, on the charge of "having incited raiding for arms in a speech delivered at Legga, Co. Longford, on Sunday, March 3rd...". After being formally charged he was imprisoned in Sligo for around three weeks, after which his GHQ (General Headquarters) authorised him to give bail.
Late the following day, "after a dreary weary journey", he arrived in Sligo by train and was driven to jail accompanied by police. Despite his tiredness he did not sleep due to his uncomfortable mattress. He described it as "sack half filled with sods of turf, except that the lumps of fibre didn't seem to be as pliable as sods of turf".
From RTÉ Brainstorm, the story behind Michael Collins' wolf slippers
Most daily diary entries begin with a complaint about his lack of sleep which may have been caused by this mattress and its "uncompromising lumps". Alternatively, he supposes the sleeplessness is the result too of the "damn confinement and leisure" which has been forced upon him; a horror to a workaholic: "I wish to God I was free" he writes, "the thought of the work I might be doing. Instead, I am forcibly kept idle and inactive."
The jailed revolutionary occupies himself by reading newspapers, where Britain's progress in the ongoing Great War is of great interest to him. He is watchful of how this unfolds with an eye on Irish independence: "one thing the war has already done is to break down the world belief in English invincibility" he writes "I believe in a few short months we would be able to hold the country. The splendour of this positively makes one dizzy." He already had the measure of Lloyd George, prime minister of the United Kingdom, who he at one point refers to as a "fool".
On April 9th, he writes that three fellow prisoners are departing, leaving him alone on the wing. A sociable man like Collins would appreciate the rapport with other prisoners, so it is unsurprising he feels "appalling loneliness with the blackest despair in my heart" when they go. He dreads Sundays, when his supply of newspapers, visits and letters from supporters (including Sligo’s mayor) are not allowed, deeming them "the most dreary of all days in prison".
Towards the end of his time there, he is thoroughly impatient expecting "to shake the dust of Sligo off my feet". The final entry is dated Sunday April 21st, when Collins knew of his imminent release on bail. Like his own life, the journal ends abruptly, the last sheet is torn with missing text.
In the journal, Collins shifts from despondency to cheer, like the April weather in Sligo, which can alternate between gloom and sudden bursts of sun. In one entry, Collins observes "a most glorious April evening. Birds singing and chirping. Beautiful sunshine. Even in a cell 12 by 7 a man can feel nature re-clothing herself." He stands on a table in his cell so that he can see Knocknarea mountain "bathed in the light of the sinking sun and the cairn over the resting place of Maedb the warrior".
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From the RTÉ Home School Hub Podcast, meet Queen Maeve of Connaught
The Neolithic cairn known as Queen Maeve's Grave tops Knocknarea. In 1918, it was widely believed that Maeve was buried there, standing up, facing her enemies. The Connaught queen is a central figure in the Táin Bó Cúailnge saga, which had been recently popularised in Lady Gregory’s best-selling Cuchulain of Muirthemne (1902). This was a key text in the Gaelic revival which brought tales of Ireland’s glorious ancient warriors to a much wider audience. Maeve’s enemy, the warrior Cúchulainn is said to have tied himself to a stone so he could die standing, also facing his enemies. A statue of Cúchulainn in this stance was later erected in the GPO in 1935 as a memorial to those who had died for Ireland in 1916.
Throughout the journal, Collins shows a preoccupation with some of the martyred leaders of the 1916 rebellion, and even quotes Padraig Pearse's poetry. As Collins plans to ultimately attain victory in the fight his fallen comrades had begun, his thoughts were with legends of ancient Ireland. It is evident that ridding Ireland of British control occupies his thoughts constantly, he truly believes that Ireland "will not be conquered by the present rulers of England".
Read more: Michael Collins' to-do lists: socks, missing horses and Dan Breen
His certainty in Irish independence comes across as quasi-religious - seemingly the sole point of his existence – and he appears ‘married’ to the cause. In the ancient past, Irish kings were considered ‘married’ to the land. In the Táin sagas, Maeve was reputed to have had many husbands who met violent deaths, which have led some to believe she was a goddess or metaphor for the land, and like others of that era her husbands were ritually killed when their kingships ended. I can’t help but think of Collins’ life in terms of a metaphoric full circle of Irish folklore: he is in the mould of sacrificed Iron Age kings, devoted and ‘married’ to the land, and despite dying in battle achieved a mythical status to outlive his enemies.
In recent years, thanks to a local historical society, Friends of Sligo Gaol (FSOG), the old prison was found hiding in plain sight behind the offices of Sligo County Council. FOSG organised a major conference in 2018 marking 100 years since Collins’ detention, with rare guided-tours of the long-closed jail, their aim to highlight its history and importance and eventually open it to the public. It is believed Collins’ cell may have been in the part of the building that had been demolished in the mid-20th century.
His old cell may no longer be there, but his jail journal remains. Despite the tediousness of his stay, Collins observes, "sometime perhaps, I'll look back with longing to the ease of my cell in Sligo" - a perceptive statement due to the extraordinarily active and ultimately short life that lay ahead on his release.
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The views expressed here are those of the author and do not represent or reflect the views of RTÉ
