and its bureaucracy and gave a clear delegable role to the city manager, Philip Monaghan. In the process, it was recognised as such a competent legal instrument that it became a precedent for municipal government nationwide, with managers being appointed in Dublin (1930), Limerick (1934) and Waterford (1939), together with its management system being applied as well to county councils (1940).
In comparison, however, during the First and Second Inter-Party governments, 1948–51 and 1954–57 respectively, he took charge of Education. Education was potentially a major spending department, over which Finance exercised considerable control. Consequently, as in Health previously, his was a cautious and conservative approach by and large. For example, even though the comments he made while in opposition indicated some sympathy with the demands of national teachers during a strike for improved working conditions and better pay in 1946, he withdrew considerably from that position by selectively implementing the findings of the Roe report, 1948–49.
At any rate, by then he had already made what would become far more valuable contributions to the welfare of the body politic over time. The first contribution occurred in early 1932, when he refused outright to support an approach made privately to him that a coup d’état, subsequently abandoned, should be undertaken in order to thwart de Valera’s return to political power. The second occurred during the period, 1944–48, when he relentlessly conducted a comprehensive re-organisational campaign in order to try to revive the political fortunes of the Treaty party, which was then under the banner of Fine Gael after Cumann na nGaedheal had been repackaged during its increasingly unstable dalliance with O’Duffy, as saviour, and with Fascism, as panacea, in the form of the Blueshirt movement, 1932–34. And the third occurred immediately after the general election of February 1948, when, belying his latter-day public image as an anachronistic, headstrong, inarticulate, conservative type, he breathed life into the negotiations for the formation of the First Inter-Party government by not making an issue when MacBride pointedly proposed the non-Cumann na nGaedheal, junior Fine Gael member, John Esmonde, for Taoiseach (Prime Minister), thereby effectively clearing the way for John A. Costello as the most suitable, though reluctant, candidate.
Therefore, from the collective evidence of those contributions, contributions which incidentally transpired during what was regarded by the perplexed and mentally tired majority of the Treaty establishment as the inexplicable supremacy of the de Valera years, 1932–48, it seems reasonable to conclude that Mulcahy did not allow the bitterness of the Civil War to dominate him, because, whenever his core values were tested, he chose the future over the past. By that means, as always, he resided great faith in the survival instincts of the Irish people, a people for whom, if not for himself, he intended disencumbering the burden of history in order to revitalise the practice of democratic politics within the state he originally helped found.
CHAPTER 1
Inspired
The Socio-Political Milieu, 1886–1913
Richard James Mulcahy was the second child and the first of three boys among eight siblings in the family of Patrick and Elizabeth Mulcahy (née Slattery).1 He was born on 10 May 1886 at 70 Manor Street, a terraced development of two- and three-storey houses in the former Manor Demesne area on the western edge of the original Viking and Anglo-Norman port settlements of Waterford City.2 In 1841, these houses were occupied for the most part by ‘merchants and private families’3 who, according to the Municipal Reform Act of 1840, were each given the title of burgess at a rateable valuation of £10 or more.4 But, in 1843, Waterford Corporation offered a seventy-five-year lease for the building of houses on land adjacent to the nearby New Barrack.5 Manor Street might thereby have begun to lose its cachet, something which, in turn, helps explain the fact that Mulcahy received his national (primary) school education from the Christian Brothers, a Roman Catholic order founded by Edmund Ignatius Rice in 1802, ostensibly for the purposes of providing education to the poor of the city.6
Two of those schools, under the common title of The Christian Schools, were situated in close proximity to Mulcahy’s home at 4 Manor Street and at 28 Barrack Street.7 In time, the latter came to be called Mount Sion in honour of the name given to the Brothers’ first monastery8 and this was the school which Mulcahy attended.9 However, because his father, who hailed from Carrick-on-Suir, was promoted to the position of postmaster in Thurles in 1898,10 Mulcahy completed his final year of national school education there. Once again, he was under the care of the Christian Brothers and once again his school was only a short walk from his home, the former on Gaol St, the latter on Main St.11
There are two observations worth making about these schools. The first observation is that the Brothers adopted a dual approach to their pedagogy. In one sense, they set out to make their students literate and to provide them with the basic practicable skills necessary to gain employment. This is evident in the general curriculum which, in 1862, a social commentator listed as being: ‘reading, writing, arithmetic, grammar, geography … book-keeping … geometry, mensuration, drawing and mechanics’.12 But, in another sense, the Brothers prepared their charges for God. For example, each school day commenced with a long communal recitation of prayers, the core sentiment of the opening one being: ‘Most Merciful Creator! I offer myself to thee this day … Receive, O Lord, all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and my whole will.’ Then, on the hour, each class would recite the Hail Mary; at noon The Angelus; and at three the Salve Regina.13
The second observation is that the Brothers did not participate in the 1871 system of payment-by-results, whereby school inspection was formalised with the purpose of making teachers more accountable for imparting the 3Rs (reading, writing and arithmetic). Not alone were the Brothers not prepared to give up using their own textbooks, neither did they envisage compromising on the display of religious nomenclature and iconography or on the timetabling of devotional exercises.14 Even so, because the prevailing educational ethos became so competitive, they, with an exponential increase in the number of pupils under their care, were almost certainly driven by results as much as were teachers in other types of schools, or even more so, due to having something to prove.15
At any rate, in 1899, Mulcahy moved from Gaol Street to Pudding Lane, another Brothers’ school, in order to commence his three-year second-level programme of preparation for the final intermediate certificate examinations.16 These examinations were standardised, written, public tests according to the terms of the Intermediate Education (Ireland) Act of 1878, whereby, for the first time, a student had to pass six subjects in order to get an overall pass result.17 Moreover, there were four courses available: classical; modern literary; mathematical; and experimental science.18 Also, similar to the payment-by-results scheme of the national schools, incentives were built into the system. For instance, capitation grants were dependent upon a school’s examination results and the top pupils were honoured with exhibitions, medals and book prizes. In such a competitive environment, therefore, learning by rote and by grinding became commonplace.19
Mulcahy did well. His aggregate result was sufficiently distinguished for him to be awarded a £20 exhibition and to be allowed to finish his schooling at the relatively up-market Rockwell College, Cashel. However, family circumstances obliged him to refuse the offer. Instead, in December 1902, his father gave him a start as an unpaid assistant in his own post office.20 In all probability Mulcahy had mixed feelings about that. Even so, on balance, he was one of the fortunate ones. For example, in the game of maximising the return from the allocation of school grants, schools withdrew more than half of their final year students, adjudging them incapable of passing the examination in the first instance.21 Also, in Mulcahy’s year, concerning those who actually sat the reformed and expanded examination, there was such a high failure rate that the pass mark had to be dropped from 40 per cent to 30 per cent (except in the case of English), meaning that 8,379 students sat the examination, with 4,938 passing (59 per cent) and 249 (3 per cent) receiving exhibitions.22
At this juncture, therefore, it seems reasonable to ask the following question: to what extent was Mulcahy affected by the process of nationalist, maybe even republican, politicisation which, it is popularly believed, existed in the
