reading

For my partner, Mary, and my mother, Bridget,
and in memory of my late father, Jack

‘The life of a politician, especially of an Irish politician, is one long series of postponements and compromises and disappointments and disillustions.’

Redmond with a copy of the Parnellite-supporting Daily Irish Independent. The paper was succeeded in 1905 by the Irish Independent, which became an arch critic of Redmond’s policies. (Image courtesy of the National Library of Ireland)

January 1910 election poster for Liberal Unionist candidate Herbert Pike Pease. (© Bridgeman Images/Private Collection)

Conservative Party poster from 1910 depicting Redmond as the ‘Irish master’ of Prime Minister Herbert Asquith and his government colleagues David Lloyd George and Winston Churchill. (© Lordprice Collection/Alamy)

Redmond addressing the monster Home Rule rally on O’Connell Street in Dublin on 31 March 1912. (© Topfoto)

Edward Carson. (Courtesy of the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division)

Bonar Law. (Courtesy of the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division)

Carson addressing his first major anti-Home Rule rally, at Craigavon on 23 September 1911. (Courtesy of the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division)

An illustration of the scenes in Belfast when Winston Churchill, his car surrounded by angry loyalists, arrives to deliver a speech in favour of Home Rule. (© Topfoto)

Herbert Asquith. (Courtesy of the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division)

Churchill on 10 February 1912, two days after he delivered his Belfast speech. (© Topfoto)

Venetia Stanley, with whom Herbert Asquith carried on an intense correspondence, sharing intimate thoughts and cabinet secrets. (© Mary Evans Picture Library/Illustrated London News)

John Redmond with his wife, Amy, and his daughter, Johanna. (Image courtesy of the National Library of Ireland)

Redmond’s home in Aughavanagh, in the Wicklow Mountains, a former military barracks previously used by Charles Stewart Parnell as a shooting lodge. (Image courtesy of the National Library of Ireland)

Redmond with Amy and their dog at Aughavanagh. (Image courtesy of the National Library of Ireland)

Redmond in his study at Aughavanagh. (Image courtesy of the National Library of Ireland)

Redmond fishing at Aughavanagh. (Image courtesy of the National Library of Ireland)

Edward Carson inspecting the Ulster Volunteers. (Image courtesy of the National Library of Ireland)

The crowds waiting on O’Connell Street in Dublin on 18 July 1912, for the arrival of British Prime Minister Herbert Asquith. (© Getty Images/Topical Press Agency)

Mary Leigh, the English suffragette who threw a hatchet at Asquith outside the GPO, missing him but grazing John Redmond on the ear. She is pictured in 1909 wearing her musical band uniform. (© Heritage Image Partnership Ltd/Alamy)

Redmond’s memo of a meeting with the government chief whip (Alexander Murray, the Master of the Elibank) on 24 February 1910, in which he warned that the Irish Party would withdraw its support for the Liberals unless they moved at once to abolish the House of Lords veto over legislation. The government’s reply, that it has ‘nothing to say’, is also noted. (Image courtesy of the National Library of Ireland)

Redmond with John Dillon (left) and Joe Devlin (right). (Image courtesy of the National Library of Ireland)

A crowd gathering outside Buckingham Palace during the failed talks of July 1914 between the nationalists, the unionists and the British government. (© Getty Images/ Topical Press Agency)

Willie Redmond and his wife, Eleanor. (Courtesy of the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division)

Willie Redmond, John Redmond and John’s son, William, attending a centenary celebration at their old school, Clongowes Wood College, in June 1914. (Image courtesy of the National Library of Ireland)

The funeral cortege of the victims of the shootings by British soldiers on Bachelors Walk in July 1914 passing the scene of their deaths. (© Getty Images/Topical Press Agency)

A page from the Illustrated London News of 16 March 1918, on John Redmond’s funeral. (© Mary Evans Picture Library/Illustrated London News)

Sunday, 31 March 1912. O’Connell Street in Dublin has never seen anything like this. Since mid-morning, when the 64 special trains bringing people from all over the country began to arrive in the capital, its main thoroughfare has been filling from end to end. By early afternoon the street is so tightly packed that you could, as one observer put it, walk from one end to the other on the shoulders of the people.

Many of those present have marched into the city centre to the martial airs of pipers’ bands leading the way from the train stations at Kingsbridge, Amiens Street, Broadstone, Harcourt Street and Westland Row. Thousands of others have arrived on the city’s various tram lines.

The atmosphere is one of excitement, good cheer and expectancy, not just for the tumultuous day ahead, which will not be forgotten by anyone present, but for the great transformation in Ireland’s fortunes that is about to come. A new Home Rule Bill is to be introduced by the British government within days and, after decades of struggle by Irish MPs in the House of Commons, and numerous setbacks, Ireland is once again to have its independence.

For the first time since the Act of Union came into effect in 1801, when London assumed direct control of Irish affairs, Dublin is to have its own parliament and Ireland is to be – in the words of Thomas Davis’s song, which will get many vigorous airings today – ‘A Nation Once Again’.

Four speakers’ platforms have been specially erected for the occasion, each colourfully decked out and with a canvas backdrop making the bold assertion ‘Ireland A Nation’, echoing Davis’s now near 70-year-old refrain. The same three words are emblazoned on a white scroll spanning the vast width of the thoroughfare at its northern end near the Parnell monument.

House fronts along the street are bright with flags and banners fluttering in the light breeze, many of them bearing the simply expressed demand of all those present, estimated to number between 100,000 and 150,000: ‘We Want Home Rule’.

The occasion is a boon for city centre businesses. Some pubs have closed for fear of being unable to manage the crowds, but hotels and restaurants have taken on extra staff for the day and street vendors are doing a spectacularly lively trade, particularly in Home Rule badges and green walking canes. The ‘Home Rule oranges’ are also going down well. ‘On Saturday they were ordinary oranges, of course,’ the following day’s Irish Independent will wryly observe.

The only discordant note is struck by the small, brave bands of suffragettes, who attempt to walk through the throngs carrying sandwich boards with inscriptions such as ‘Down With Government Coercion’, ‘Irish Women Want The Vote’ and ‘Self-Government means Government by Men and Women’. They are generally regarded as an amusing and harmless diversion, though in one unsavoury incident outside the Mansion House – where a reception is being held for the day’s keynote speakers – policemen intervene after a group of the women have their sandwich boards torn from them and smashed. The Independent, reporting that some of the suffragettes lost their hats and had their hair dishevelled, finds the incident ‘exciting, though partly amusing’.

As the time for the speeches approaches, Sackville Street, as it is still officially known – though ‘O’Connell Street’ is already in common usage – can no longer hold the still-swelling crowds, who now stretch all the way across O’Connell Bridge and into Westmoreland Street and D’Olier Street. Thousands of others spill into the side street.

Those closest to the ‘students’ platform’ erected in the shadow of the Daniel O’Connell statue at the south end of the street will give their loudest cheers to young Michael Davitt, son of the great land rights campaigner of the same name who died six years ago in 1906. At a second platform, by the Father Mathew statue, veteran nationalist MP from Dublin John Dillon will make the principal speech. His Belfast-based colleague in the Irish Parliamentary Party, Joe Devlin, will lead the speakers at the platform sited at the junction with Middle Abbey Street.

The early comers, however, have gathered at the ‘No. 1 platform’, the main stage, erected close to the recently unveiled monument to the revered nationalist leader Charles Stewart Parnell. There, the man who was chiefly responsible for having that monument erected and who has done most to maintain Parnell’s legacy since his mentor’s fall from grace and premature death three decades previously, is to be the keynote speaker. And there are few better public speakers around than John Redmond.

Although not given to undue expressions of emotion, the MP for Waterford can be forgiven for feeling exultant. A member of the House of Commons since 1881 and undisputed leader of the Irish nationalist movement for the past 12 years, Redmond has devoted his political career to the cause of self-government for Ireland. And now his life’s work is about to come to fruition. His achievement in bringing Home Rule within touching distance, through a combination of political acumen and perseverance, has made him the most popular politician in Ireland and one of the most respected by all parties in the British parliament.

At 1.50 p.m. Redmond and his wife Amy leave the Mansion House to begin their short journey to O’Connell Street, via St Stephen’s Green, Grafton Street, College Green and Westmoreland Street. The pair, accompanied by Lord Mayor of Dublin Lorcan Sherlock, are in the first of a procession of horse-drawn carriages that is greeted by ever-louder cheers from the masses as it gets closer to its destination. The cavalcade is led by two bands and accompanied by a group of hurley-wielding members of the GAA, as well as representatives, clad in green and white, of the Irish National Foresters, a benefit society that supports the nationalist cause.

The procession that follows includes long lines of members of the United Irish League, the Ancient Order of Hibernians and the National Foresters, marching in branches and accompanied by some 170 pipers’ bands and brass bands. The weather is almost summer-like, the morning’s ominous black clouds having given way to bright afternoon sunshine.

Prolonged cheers greet the arrival of Redmond’s carriage at the platform at 2.20 p.m. The crowd is so dense that many of those who have tickets to join him on the stage – mainly members of Dublin Corporation – have trouble getting access. Nevertheless, proceedings begin 15 minutes ahead of schedule when, at 2.45 p.m., baritone J.C. Browner steps to the front of the stage to begin a rendition of ‘A Nation Once Again’. The tens of thousands gathered there take up the chorus with enthusiasm:

A nation once again

And Ireland, long a province, be

A nation once again!

When the singing finishes, the crowd cheers. And then cheers again. Then the Lord Mayor steps forward to introduce the star turn. Have they confidence in John Redmond, he asks, to loud roars of approval. Do they trust ‘his wisdom, his sagacity, his patriotism’? The response is more loud cheers in the affirmative.

When Redmond takes the stage, he has to wait for the cheering to subside before he can begin. All the roadblocks, frustrations and setbacks he has encountered in his long pursuit of his goal can only add to the sweetness of the moment. All the striving for recognition that marked the early years of his political career, such as when Parnell overlooked him for the Wexford seat held by his late father, is now surely an inconsequential memory. His short stint in jail over his support for an evicted tenant farmer probably seems amusing from where he is standing now. Standing before his people, on the cusp of this crowning achievement, Redmond might also be forgiven for thinking that his place in history among the great Irish leaders is secure.

Ever the pragmatic politician, he is more likely thinking about the negotiations with the British government on the contents of the Home Rule Bill that have been taking place behind the scenes. Nevertheless, he cannot resist drawing a parallel between his own position and that of another great orator, Daniel O’Connell. ‘This gathering, its vastness, its good order, its enthusiasm and its unity are unparalleled in the modern history of Ireland. In point of numbers it recalls the monster meetings of O’Connell, but never, at the best of his days, did he assemble a gathering so representative of all Ireland as this meeting today,’ he declares.

Every class is represented here, landlords and tenants, labourers and artisans, the professions of Ireland, Irish commerce, Irish learning and art, Irish literature, are all represented at this meeting [cheers]. In fact it is no exaggeration to say that this meeting is Ireland [cheers].

But Redmond knows that not all of Ireland is represented at this assembly. In the north-east, Protestants loyal to the British crown have organised themselves to resist Home Rule by whatever means necessary. Six months earlier, a hundred thousand of them gathered at a rally in Craigavon to hear their new leader, Sir Edward Carson, tell them: ‘We will yet defeat the most nefarious conspiracy that has ever been hatched against a free people.’ Since then, amid increasing tension, steps have been taken to set up a provisional government for Ulster in the event of Home Rule being enacted. The newly established Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF) has begun military drilling. It is not yet fully armed, but before long it will be. And it has the full backing of Britain’s opposition Conservative Party.

It is against this background that Redmond makes a fresh appeal in his speech, which at just under 20 minutes is unusually short, to the northern unionists. Referring to the ‘one gap in our ranks, one body of our fellow countrymen [who] are absent today’, he asks his audience: ‘What have I to say to them today? I say that for them in this hour of triumph for Ireland a nation we have not one word of reproach nor one trace of bitter feeling.’ The crowd cheers in response.

‘We have one feeling only in our hearts, and that is an earnest longing for the arrival of the day of reconciliation.’ After someone shouts ‘Hear, hear’, Redmond continues: ‘I say to these fellow countrymen of ours, they may repudiate Ireland – Ireland will never repudiate them, and we today look forward with absolute confidence, in the certainty of the near approach of that day when they will form a powerful and respected portion of a self-governed Irish nation, that they will have an opportunity of reviving once more the glories of their own ancestors, the Protestant patriots of Grattan’s parliament.’ Once more, the cheers go up.

They continue and increase in volume as Redmond goes on to make a confident declaration: ‘Believe me, Home Rule is winning. We will have a parliament sitting in College Green sooner than the most sanguine and enthusiastic man in this crowd believes.’

With the finishing line so close and the political wind so strongly at his back, surely nobody now, not even Edward Carson and his putative army, can wreck John Redmond’s dream of delivering self-governance to Ireland, and doing so by entirely peaceful and constitutional means.

A few hundred yards from where Redmond is speaking, another man takes the stage. His speech, from Joe Devlin’s platform at the junction of O’Connell Street and Middle Abbey Street, gets no attention in the following day’s national newspapers. This may be because he is too little known or is considered of no importance. It probably doesn’t help that he delivers some of his speech in Irish.

Patrick Pearse, the headmaster of St Enda’s School in Rathfarnham, tells his listeners that there are many present who desire more than Home Rule within the British Empire, which is what is currently on offer – they would destroy the empire if they could. But he accepts that Home Rule would be for the good of Ireland, which would be stronger with it than without it.

‘Let us unite and win a good Act from the British,’ he exhorts the crowd. ‘I think it can be done. But if we are tricked this time, there is a party in Ireland, and I am one of them, that will advise the Gael to have no counsel or dealings with the Gall [the foreigner] for ever again, but to answer them henceforward with the strong hand and the sword’s edge. Let the Gall understand that if we are cheated once more there will be red war in Ireland.’

These are not views to which John Redmond would subscribe. But if he is told of Pearse’s speech, it is unlikely to concern him. He knows there is little appetite in Ireland for the extreme views held by a small minority of men such as Patrick Pearse.

Herbert Pike Pease, Liberal Unionist MP for Darlington, is battling to avert a catastrophe. A member of the House of Commons for more than a decade, the Cambridge-educated 42-year-old is fighting his third general election. But he has never contested one as important as this, and it is unlikely he ever will. It is January 1910, and Britain is in the grip of a constitutional crisis. How it is resolved will not only chart the future course of British politics, it will also determine the fate of the Irish Parliamentary Party’s decades-long fight to secure Home Rule.

Pike Pease’s election poster leaves no room for doubt about the potential calamities confronting his country, boldly declaring:

THE BRITISH EMPIRE has flourished and its people have lived happily under its ANCIENT CONSTITUTION.

THE RUIN OF THE EMPIRE AND ITS PEOPLE is now threatened by a CONFEDERATION of LIBERALS, RADICALS, SOCIALISTS and IRISH HOME RULERS.

Citizens of the Empire Up and Defend your Inheritance

SUPPORT THE UNIONIST PARTY – which stands for a SOUND AND WELL-BALANCED CONSTITUTION.

Out with the Wreckers AND PROMOTERS OF DISUNION Vote for Pike Pease, the Unionist candidate.

The chief radical and wrecker in Pike Pease’s mind is undoubtedly the Chancellor of the Exchequer, David Lloyd George, whose ‘people’s budget’ of the previous year has unleashed nothing less than class warfare. The Chancellor’s plan to impose a ‘super tax’ on the wealthy and to introduce new taxes on estates to help pay for his ‘war on poverty’, in the form of pension and welfare payments, has been blocked by the House of Lords.

It’s not the first time the Tory-dominated upper house has vetoed Liberal Party legislation, but never before has it had the temerity to throw out a budget passed by the House of Commons. The Liberals, in government now for four years and long since fed up with the partisan approach adopted by the Lords, have called an early election to seek a mandate from the British people to alter the balance of power between the two houses of parliament.

So the choice now facing voters is not simply between the Liberal Party and its Conservative and Liberal Unionist opponents, it is a choice between sweeping out the old order or maintaining Herbert Pike Pease’s ‘sound and well balanced constitution’.

In all of this, John Redmond and the Irish Parliamentary Party, which he leads, are far from disinterested observers. No party has a greater stake than the Irish nationalists in seeing the removal of the Lords veto, which was used to stop a Home Rule Bill in its tracks in 1893 after Charles Stewart Parnell had brought the issue of Irish self-rule to the forefront of British politics. Now Parnell’s disciple Redmond, who has succeeded the master as leader-in-waiting of the Irish nation, is set to play a key role in the unfolding political drama.

For the Irish Parliamentary Party, the election campaign has begun well. In a keynote address at the Royal Albert Hall on 10 December, Prime Minister Herbert Asquith left no one in doubt about the Liberals’ determination to curb the House of Lords’ powers. Indeed, he and his fellow Liberal ministers would not hold office, he said, unless they had secured the necessary safeguards to ensure that ‘the party of progress’ could govern effectively. To that end, the absolute veto of the House of Lords would have to go.

Referring in the same speech to Ireland as ‘the one undeniable failure of British statesmanship’, he pledged Liberal Party support for ‘a system of full self-government [in Ireland] in regard to purely Irish affairs’. In other words, Ireland is to have its long-sought Home Rule parliament should the Liberals be re-elected.

Few in Ireland saw the announcement coming, given the Liberal Party’s previous abandonment of the Home Rule policy promoted by its late leader William Gladstone. As a result of that, the Liberals’ standing among Irish people is low. And Lloyd George’s ‘people’s budget’ is no more popular in Ireland than it is in his party. It includes a proposed tax on whiskey that has provoked bitter opposition because of its potential damage to the distillery industry, one of Ireland’s few economic success stories.

Asquith’s sudden conversion to Home Rule, however, came as no surprise to John Redmond, who had been negotiating quietly for such a declaration from the prime minister and had been informed of it in advance. Redmond’s approach had been a simple one: he had told the Liberal Party that if it did not make Home Rule for Ireland a part of its election manifesto, the Irish Parliamentary Party – or Irish Party, as it is widely known – would urge its supporters in Britain to vote against the Liberal candidates. He had even warned the party in writing that a failure by Asquith to declare in favour of Home Rule in his 10 December speech would be ‘fatal’.

The election results in a stalemate, with the Liberals returning to the House of Commons with 274 seats – just two more than the Conservatives and their Liberal Unionist allies, who finish in second place despite having won a greater share of the popular vote.

For Herbert Pike Pease, the result is a personal disaster. He loses his seat to Ignatius Lincoln, a Hungarian con artist, born Ignácz Trebitsch, who will go on to serve time in prison for fraud and to add ‘German spy’ and ‘Buddhist monk’ to his colourful CV. John Redmond, though, can celebrate an unqualified victory. In spite of opposition at home from William O’Brien’s All-for-Ireland League, which takes eight seats in Cork, the Irish Party emerges with 72 seats and now holds the balance of power in the Commons. With the Liberals committed to introducing Home Rule and removing the House of Lords veto, Redmond now has a clear path to achieving his lifelong goal – the reestablishment of a Dublin parliament to rule over Irish affairs.

His first task is to ensure that the inconclusive outcome of the election does not cause Asquith to waver in his determination to – in the words of another Liberal Cabinet member, Winston Churchill – ‘smash up the veto’.

The unconvincing election result has led to speculation that Asquith is indeed about to waver, by postponing a confrontation with the House of Lords – and the Conservative opposition – in favour of getting Lloyd George’s budget passed by agreement. This is a menacing scenario for Redmond and the Irish Party. If the budget is passed and the Lords veto remains in place, Home Rule will remain as out of reach as ever.

In a speech in the Gresham Hotel in Dublin on 10 February, before the new parliament has convened, Redmond spells out what he expects from the British prime minister. As he rises to address a large crowd of supporters and fellow Irish Party MPs in the hotel’s Aberdeen Hall, there is an air of riotous celebration over the outcome of the election, and he must wait for the cheers and a rousing rendition of ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’ to subside before he can begin. After some swipes at the ‘factionists’ – namely William O’Brien and his colleagues – who competed against the Irish Party for the nationalist vote, he turns to the serious business at hand.

Having reminded his audience of Asquith’s pledge that neither he nor his Cabinet colleagues would ever take office again without an assurance that they could curb the veto of the House of Lords, Redmond, as quoted in the following day’s Irish Times, goes on: ‘I have always regarded Mr Asquith as a man of his word,’ to which somebody responds ‘hear, hear’.

His word sometimes has not gone as far as I would wish it to go, but I have never had the slightest reason to believe that he would not stand by his word as it was given. I say it is inconceivable that in this matter he should now waver in his purpose or palter with his pledges.

[A voice: ‘Don’t let him!’]

To do so would, in my humble judgement, and I speak with great diffidence, would be to wreck the Liberal Party [cheers], to drive them for the next 20 years into the wilderness. I will not insult him by suggesting he has any such intention [cheers].

He asks if it is seriously suggested that the House of Commons, ‘having won a victory at the polls against the Lords, should send the budget back to the Lords with a request that under the existing system of the Constitution they would be kind enough by favour to pass the budget into law’.

Now, I venture to say that to do so would be to give the whole case against the Lords away [‘hear, hear’ and loud applause]. To do so would be to allow this great constitutional crisis that has arisen, the greatest for 200 years, to fritter out [‘hear, hear’]. To do so would mean to slack down the fires of enthusiasm among the democrats of England [‘hear, hear’]. To do so would be to disgust every real democrat in Great Britain [‘hear, hear’] and let me say that to do so would be to break openly and unashamedly the clear and explicit pledges on the faith of which, at any rate, Ireland gave her support to the government at the last election [applause].

When parliament reconvenes, Redmond’s concerns are vindicated. On 21 February, the King’s Speech setting out the government’s agenda for the upcoming session of parliament is one of the shortest on record. There is, in effect, only one item on the government’s agenda – the House of Lords veto. But the wording used is ambiguous. King Edward speaks of forthcoming proposals to ‘define the relations between the houses of parliament’ so as to secure the ‘undivided authority’ of the House of Commons over finance and its ‘predominance’ in legislation.

Whatever this means in practice, and nobody is sure, it hardly amounts to an all-out assault on the House of Lords and its powers.

When Asquith stands up in the Commons to respond to the King’s Speech, he gives Redmond and his followers further cause for alarm. Until this moment it has been widely understood that the prime minister has secured a commitment from the king that, if it proves necessary, Edward will exercise his royal prerogative to flood the House of Lords with a sufficient number of new Liberal peers to ensure a bill abolishing the veto is passed by the upper house.

But now Asquith insists he has received no guarantees of any kind from the king and that it is his duty to keep the sovereign out of politics as far as possible. He goes on to talk about the necessity of passing the budget rejected last year by the Lords, and of some urgent measures needed to ensure Britain continues to meet its financial obligations.

For a moment, it appears that the political crisis that has paralysed the country since the Lords’ rejection of Lloyd George’s budget has finally eased. Asquith has pulled back from the brink and is now taking a much softer line on the veto than he did in his fiery Albert Hall speech. That illusion is immediately shattered, however, by Redmond. Speaking directly after the prime minister, his response to Asquith gives the political establishment an unexpected jolt.

He first explodes the notion that Irish Party support for the Liberal government can be taken for granted. ‘Your British politics do not concern us, except so far as they impinge on the fortunes of our country,’ he tells the house.

We therefore necessarily belong to no English party, and I take leave to say to those who have been so glibly including us in calculating majorities in this house that they have no title or warrant to do so, and that our votes will in this parliament, as in past parliaments, be directed by one sole consideration – by what we regard to be the interest for the time being of Ireland.

He then reminds Asquith of his pledge in the Albert Hall not to assume office unless he could be certain of removing the House of Lords veto – a pledge repeated by several Cabinet ministers during the election campaign. If the widely held interpretation of his Albert Hall speech – that the prime minister had a guarantee of support from the king if necessary – was incorrect, Asquith has had plenty of time to contradict it, but he hasn’t done so.

Now it seems, says Redmond, that the Irish MPs are being asked to vote for the budget and end the financial crisis, work through the ‘humdrum’ details of parliament, and wait for a veto bill that will pass through the Commons only to be inevitably kicked out by the Lords. That, he concludes, ‘is a policy which Ireland cannot and will not uphold’.

When Redmond sits down, the Commons is enfolded in what one newspaper the next day will describe as a ‘dramatic silence’. Nobody rises to speak after him, and within minutes the debate is adjourned to allow all parties time to reflect.

A renewed political crisis of several weeks’ duration ensues as the Liberal government scrambles for a way out of its predicament. Without Irish Party support, it does not have a workable majority in the House of Commons and will be unable to get its budget through the lower house, never mind the Lords. Redmond, however, must proceed with care. His party holds the balance of power, but it needs the Liberals to stay in government, as there is no prospect of the Conservatives introducing Home Rule.

Nevertheless, at a meeting on 24 February with the government Chief Whip, Alexander Murray (known by his title, the Master of Elibank), Redmond says that unless the government moves ‘at once’ to abolish the House of Lords veto, the Irish Party will consistently oppose it in the House of Commons.

During the following days and weeks, Redmond continues to put pressure on the government to act on the veto issue. The potential immediate fall of the government is averted on 28 February when Asquith secures approval from MPs to postpone all Commons business for the next 24 days other than the financial measures necessary to keep the state afloat. He promises that as soon as that period is up, on 24 March, he will bring forward resolutions on relations between the two houses of parliament. These will include proposals to exclude the Lords ‘altogether from the domain of finance’ and to limit its power of veto in other areas.

This is not enough for Redmond, who in response says that the prime minister has neglected to say what will happen if his veto proposals are rejected by the House of Lords. Will he then go to the king and ask him to exercise the royal prerogative, in other words to create enough new Liberal peers to ensure that the veto is abolished? ‘I ask him, first of all, that this obscurity shall be cleared up,’ Redmond adds.

I ask, is it the intention of the right honourable gentleman, when his resolution is suspended or rejected by the Lords, to ask for guarantees, and, if they are refused, does he propose to continue – contradistinction to what he said in his Albert Hall speech – does he propose to continue responsible for the government of the country?

Lloyd George tells Redmond, in the same debate, that there is no question of the government shirking its pledges on the veto issue. But he insists that it cannot ask the king for guarantees until its proposals on the matter have been passed by the House of Commons and the Lords has been given a chance to consider them.

Privately, Lloyd George also tells Redmond that he is prepared to offer concessions on the budget, including movement on the whiskey tax, in order to secure the Irish nationalists’ support for it. Redmond, however, sticks fast to his policy, now coined as ‘no veto, no budget’. Unless the government moves on the veto, there will be no ‘people’s budget’.

Finally, in early April, the Cabinet relents and gives in to Redmond’s demands. First, on 29 March, Asquith tells the Commons that he proposes to remove entirely the House of Lords veto in relation to financial matters and to limit its power in relation to other bills so that it may delay them, but not reject them.

Redmond supports the proposals, but sees no prospect of them getting through the House of Lords unless Asquith delivers on his pledge to resign from office in the absence of a guarantee from the king that he will use the royal prerogative if necessary to see the resolutions through. The first of the two veto resolutions is passed by the Commons on 7 April and then, a week later, comes the breakthrough. Following a vote in favour of the second veto resolution – proposing to replace the House of Lords’ absolute veto with a power to delay bills only – a sombre Asquith stands to tell the house he wishes to make a statement.

It’s 11 p.m., but the chamber is full following the vote that has just taken place, and Redmond is among those in his seat as the prime minister says what the Irish leader has been pressing him to say for the past several months.

If the Lords fail to accept our policy [on removing the veto], or decline to consider it as it is formally presented to the house, we shall feel it our duty immediately to tender advice to the Crown as to the steps which will have to be taken if that policy is to receive statutory effect in this parliament.

What the precise terms of that advice will be – [an MP interrupts: ‘Ask Redmond!’] – I think one might expect courtesy when I am anxious, as the head of the government, to make a serious statement of public policy – what the precise terms of that advice will be it will, of course, not be right for me to say now; but if we do not find ourselves in a position to ensure that statutory effect shall be given to that policy in this parliament, we shall then either resign our offices or recommend the dissolution of parliament.

The interjection from the unnamed MP is evidence of the dominant position Redmond has attained in British politics, as is the scornful response to Asquith’s announcement by the leader of the opposition, Arthur Balfour. The statement just made by the prime minister, he says, is obviously the result of a deal done with another group in the house, a clear reference to the Irish Party.

As I understand, the honourable and learned member for Waterford [John Redmond] and his friends have agreed to swallow the budget, their aversion of which they have not concealed, which is a growing aversion, as the feeling in Ireland makes more and more manifest …

The Irish Party are going to accept a budget they dislike, and are going to accept it because they think that that policy conduces to that larger object they have in view, namely, Home Rule for Ireland. They are going to get what they do not want in the shape of the budget, but I am not sure that they are going to get what they do want. [Several MPs: ‘Wait and see!’]

As a consequence of the breakthrough, Redmond and his party do indeed ‘swallow the budget’, which now passes quickly through both houses of parliament. For Redmond, accepting an unpopular budget is a fair price to pay in return for a major step forward in his pursuit of Home Rule. His tactics are seen to have won the day, to the deep vexation of the Tory press. The Daily Mail labels him ‘the dictator from Dublin’, while the London Times complains that Redmond is now the country’s ‘real master’.

John Redmond has been the undisputed leader of the Irish Party for a decade now, but his standing has never been so high – at home or abroad. Within weeks, however, British politics is convulsed yet again, this time by a development that threatens to undo all the progress he has made.

On Saturday, 7 May 1910, Britain wakes to an unseasonably chilly day and what The Times newspaper describes as ‘overpowering’ news: ‘King Edward VII is no more.’

Few are unmoved by the sudden death of the popular monarch known to all as Bertie. Britons of all classes liked their wayward, philandering, gambling, party-going, cigar-smoking, pheasant-shooting king, whose nine years on the throne were a welcome relief after the stifling 63-year reign of his mother, Queen Victoria. But his demise is not only a cause of shock and genuine sorrow among the masses; it also transforms the political situation to the detriment of the Irish nationalist cause.

It’s not that King Edward was a supporter of Home Rule. He was outraged, indeed, at the notion that he might be asked to inundate the House of Lords with new Liberal peers in order to ensure the passage of a bill limiting the powers of the upper house. He strongly held the view that before he could even consider such a step, a further general election would be required to ascertain the views of the people on the matter. And he had conveyed this opinion to the prime minister, Herbert Asquith.

The king was fuming, then, when he received a letter from Asquith in April advising him that the government intended to press ahead, during the current parliament, with its plan to address the veto issue. Asquith told the monarch that, if the House of Lords failed to co-operate in its own disempowerment, the government would ‘tender advice to the Crown’ on the necessary steps to be taken.

‘It is simply disgusting,’ Edward wrote to his private secretary, Lord Knollys, on 16 April. It was plain, he said, that Asquith was going to ask him ‘to swamp the H[ouse] of Lords by a quantity of peers … I positively decline doing this – besides I have previously been given to understand that I should not be called upon to agree to this preposterous measure. Certainly the PM and many of his colleagues assured me so – but now they are in the hands of Redmond & Co they do not seem to be their own master.’

Despite his refusal to commit to creating the new peers as demanded by the government, and his obvious hostility to John Redmond and the Irish cause, the king’s death just a few weeks later is a double setback for the Home Rule movement. First, it dissolves some of the bitterness between the government and opposition as the two sides unite in mourning the dead king, thereby stimulating a new spirit of compromise. This is a troubling vista for Redmond, who is convinced that there is no middle ground to be found on the issue of the House of Lords veto. If the veto doesn’t go, there will be no Home Rule.

The other difficulty created by the king’s death is that it weakens Asquith’s hand. The prime minister was reluctant to press King Edward to use the royal prerogative to create the additional Liberal peers needed to ensure a veto bill is passed. He committed to doing so only after being harried at every turn by Redmond, and it is surely unthinkable that he could try to force such a radical manoeuvre on Edward’s inexperienced successor, George V.

After all of his efforts since the election to keep the government focused on the removal of the veto, Redmond has reason to fear that everything is suddenly back in play. And sure enough, there is soon talk of a conference of the party leaders to be called by the new king in an effort to find common ground.

Redmond repairs for a break to his home at Aughavanagh, an old military barracks once used by Charles Stewart Parnell as a shooting lodge. It is in this secluded residence in the Wicklow Mountains that the Irish leader likes to spend his rest time, in the company of his family. Ten years after the premature death of his first wife, Johanna, the mother of his three children, Redmond married Ada Beesley, an Englishwoman thirteen years his junior, in London in 1899. He calls her Amy; she calls him Jack. While at Aughavanagh, he lives the life of an archetypal country gent, walking, hunting and fishing for leisure, and occasionally entertaining guests.

For Redmond, it is an ideal location at which to take time out from the House of Commons for reflection and to recharge his batteries before returning to face the demands of parliamentary politics. His critics, and even some supporters, believe this lifestyle leaves him cut off both physically and emotionally from the people he represents.

While at Aughavanagh in early June, he receives a letter from T.P. O’Connor, the Irish Party’s Liverpool MP, who has news of the government’s thinking. O’Connor – the only Irish nationalist representing a constituency outside Ireland – has just been out to dinner with Chancellor of the Exchequer David Lloyd George and government Chief Whip Alexander Murray. The outlook is not good from the Irish Party’s perspective. Lloyd George told O’Connor that he believed a conference between the party leaders was now inevitable, as it would be ‘disastrous’ for the Liberal Party to refuse an invitation to talks from the king.

Irish Party deputy leader John Dillon is copied in on O’Connor’s letter and is alarmed by its contents, describing them to Redmond as ‘as bad as well could be’. He writes back to O’Connor with instructions – subject to Redmond’s approval – that he tell Lloyd George that the Irish leadership favours ‘bringing on’ the crisis over the veto by the middle of July at the latest, and sees no reason for postponing matters.

On 6 June, two days after his first letter, O’Connor reports on a further meeting with senior members of the government. This time Lloyd George was accompanied by Home Secretary Winston Churchill and Irish Secretary Augustine Birrell. The Cabinet, O’Connor has been informed, has met that day but taken no decision on how to proceed. All three ministers have assured him, however, that there is no question of the Liberals surrendering their principles on the veto in the event of a conference with the Tories. They believe the conference will involve nothing more than an informal, non-binding exchange of views between Asquith and Conservative Party leader Arthur Balfour. ‘Birrell laughed outright at the idea of any wavering,’ O’Connor concludes: ‘so did they all.’

Redmond, however, is anything but reassured. He remains convinced that the only way to curtail the powers of the House of Lords is for the government to confront the upper house head on, and as early as possible. Writing back to O’Connor on 8 June, he says that he regards the prospect now before them as ‘extremely serious’, and that any compromise by Asquith on the veto issue would be regarded as ‘a betrayal’ by the Irish Party. ‘I really think,’ he concludes, ‘lest there should be any misunderstandings, that you ought to read this letter to Mr Lloyd George.’

Redmond’s protestations and advice have no effect, and a constitutional conference of the party leaders – to which he is not invited – duly begins deliberations. Having apparently had the government in his hands just two months previously, events have suddenly spun beyond his control.

To the consternation of Redmond and his colleagues, the talks between the Liberals and Conservatives/Unionists turn into something far more durable than a mere exchange of views between Asquith and Balfour. At the end of July, Asquith tells the House of Commons that the parties are making progress and intend to continue the talks. Eventually, however, the Irish question proves to be the sticking point, with the Liberals refusing a Conservative demand that Home Rule be excluded from any deal to limit the Lords’ veto, and in November the talks collapse.

Redmond is on the Atlantic when he learns of the breakdown, on the way home from a successful fundraising tour of the eastern United States with Joe Devlin, the Belfast MP who, as head of the Ancient of Order of Hibernians, is the Irish Parliamentary Party’s organiser in chief. If ever the party needs to ensure it has a supportive crowd for a rally, Devlin is the man to make sure it gets one. T.P. O’Connor has been to Canada for the same purpose, and between them the two missions raise $100,000 – about £20,000 – for the Irish nationalist cause.

A stalemate has now been reached on the House of Lords veto issue and another general election is called. As the campaign rages through late November and into December, Redmond is dubbed the ‘dollar dictator’ by the Conservative opposition, who are infuriated at the sight of an Irish nationalist politician holding such a powerful position in British politics, and worried too about the money at the Irish Party’s disposal following the successful fundraising tours of the USA and Canada.

Redmond is now the Conservatives’ bogeyman and each day’s newspapers bring new reports of his having been denounced the previous evening on some Tory campaign platform or other. Lord Lansdowne, Henry Petty-Fitzmaurice, owner of a vast estate in southwest Ireland and leader of the Conservatives in the House of Lords, tells a crowd of nine thousand supporters in Portsmouth on 30 November of the dire consequences to flow from the Liberals’ determination to make Home Rule its first priority if returned to office. ‘If the Liberals come in,’ he thunders, ‘all these great questions of Poor Law reform, of unemployment, and of other great social and ameliorative measures will have to stand to one side while Mr Redmond is being served first.’ The London Times devotes half a page to the speech the following day.

Redmond, too, is making headlines as he campaigns energetically in both Ireland and Britain. In a speech on a Liberal Party platform to an audience of six thousand in Walsall on 2 December, also reported in The Times, he sets out what his party stands for:

By Home Rule I mean what Parnell meant, what Gladstone meant. I mean this, and this only, that there shall be created by statute of the imperial [Westminster] parliament, a parliament of Ireland elected by the Irish people, charged solely to the duty of managing purely Irish affairs, with an executive responsible to it for the administration of those affairs, subject, as every Home Rule parliament within the empire is today, to the supremacy of the imperial parliament.

The occasion underlines the extent to which Redmond has come to be viewed by Liberal supporters not only as a champion of Home Rule, but also as a great campaigner for constitutional reform. To cheers from his listeners, Redmond tells them that he comes as a friend of ‘the democracy of Great Britain’ to aid them in ‘ending once and for all the most intolerable tyranny ever endured by an educated and enfranchised people’.

The whole world, he says, is laughing at the English hereditary system of government. The vote of one man, whose ancestors – by whatever ‘dirty or disgraceful means’ – obtained a peerage, the vote of one such man, be he ‘imbecilic’ or ‘utterly unfitted by character for the company of decent men’, is more powerful today than the votes of fifteen thousand electors, he tells his audience.