This season, twelve will compete in the top tier, and just eight in the lower.

To read the rest of this guest post, click here to go to Lovely Left Foot.

The Artist is certainly interesting, its main hook being its quirky nature in modern cinema. Few go in for silent films anymore, and The Artist is more focused on being a homage to that specific art form itself rather than being that artwork. Director Michael Hazanavicius is clearly knowledgeable about the genre, and it all feels very authentic, very “silent”, as if you are watching something in a 1920’s movie theatre. It cannot be denied that it is its silent nature that is The Artist’s big selling point, and that it pulls off very well.

With precious little dialogue, The Artist has to find its acting chops through emotive expression and body language, and here it also succeeds. Dujardin and Bejo are to be commended for their powerful performances, as you are never in any real doubt as to the tone of a scene, the direction that a conversation is going. The two leads are able to tell the audience everything they need to know in a specific moment with the look on their faces and that is to be applauded.

It’s a silent movie, so the music must do its part to set the scene, convey emotion, and in this, Ludovic Bourse has done a great job, with a score that remains subtle when it has to be and noticeable when required, capturing a part of the 1920’s movie scene and California living in music form.

But The Artist has plenty of flaws as well. The cast, aside from the leading two does only an average job, largely due to a lack of screen time: James Cromwell’s valet and John Goodman’s studio executive being the only other characters of note, and they fail to really shine with what little they have to do.

The plot is extremely predictable and uninspiring overall: one only has to see an early scene where Valentin derides the introduction of the “talkie” to see where it is all going. Nothing really comes as a surprise all the way up to the ending and the actual characters, while acted well, are as two dimensional as you like. If being judged purely on the merits of its plot, The Artist would be rated as distinctly average.

The Artist varies between obvious and confusing in its allegory and symbolism throughout. The worst example is probably Valentin watching his movie persona get sucked into a pit of quicksand as his self-produced silent film crashes and burns, gazing wistfully at the poor crowd in the theatre. Its very groan inducing at times and you feel the urge to say “We get it”. That is, until you see scenes like an early dream sequence and a later conversation with a police officer which may leave you with the urge to say “Huh?”, as you wonder just what the hell is going on. The director weaves from spelling it out to expecting you to go along with it.

In the end, if it was not a silent movie, it would be a nothing film, which is why I must rate it somewhat negatively. The whole draw, hook and point is that it is a silent movie, and it comes to rely on that quirk over good plot and decent characters. The performances of the two leads and the soundtrack save it, and it is worth a look, but The Artist is not, in my opinion, the masterpiece it is being made out to be.

But they were not defeated. Indeed, they remained quite strong in Britain, only a short distance away. The Ui Imair, the dynasty that had lost Dublin in 902, was for the next decade, active throughout the area, reported in Pictland, Northumbria and the Isle of Man.

It was not until 914 that they made their move back into Ireland, landing a large fleet in Waterford harbour, followed by more over the next few years. More landed near Leixlip, Kildare around the same time.

This was a concerted effort by two men, Ragnall in Waterford and Sithric in the east. Ragnall was a Norse ruler in Britain, seeking to expand his holdings, Sithric a kinsman. They both began raids deeper into Ireland, almost certainly seeking a confrontation with the native Irish.

Niall Glundub was the current King of the Ui Neills, and he promptly marched his forces into Munster to face Ragnall. However, for whatever reason, no battle took place between them in 20 days of standoff. Possibly Niall was waiting for support from allies in Leinster, but this was not to be forthcoming. The King of Leinster, Augaire mac Ailella, had marched his forces towards Dublin to face Sithric. They fought a battle in a disputed location, possibly Confey, Kildare. Regardless of where it took place, the battle was a decisive victory for the Norse, who killed 600 Irish (large numbers for the day), including the King, and proceeded to plunder the rest of Kildare in the aftermath. From there Sithric was easily able to re-assert Norse control over Dublin, and the Viking presence in Ireland had returned on a more permanent basis.

Niall was unable to face Ragnall, reinforcing the Norse victory. He soon left to become King of York, leaving Sithric as the ruler of Dublin.

What followed over the next decade was a period of rapid Norse expansion, as numerous small settlements grew into proper towns and fortresses. These include Waterford, Cork, Limerick and Wexford, dramatically altering the balance of power in the island. No more could Irish Kings focus their efforts on Dublin, no more they could easily deal with the Norse presence elsewhere as Aed Findliath had in Ulster. Of course, something else was already happening to the Norse in Ireland, which would have a far greater effect on them then any battle. More at the end.

In 919, Niall Glundub decided to try his hand again, marching an army against Dublin directly, meeting Sithric at the Battle of Islandbridge. It was another Irish disaster, a decisive victory for the Norse, and again the King of the Irish was among the casualties. Dublin’s position was even more secured. In 920 Sithric left Dublin to take up Ragnall’s position in York after his death leaving the Irish Kingdom in the hands of a kinsman Gofraid.

Gofraid has a fearsome reputation, even among Vikings, and was soon raiding, pillaging and slaving like never before. His thrusts reached into the north, but there were crucial differences between his attacks and earlier ones. Chroniclers note that, when he seized the important Christian settlement of Armagh, the home of the cult of St Patrick, he did not destroy any “prayer-houses” or butcher the wounded. It is not unreasonable to think that this is evidence of possible Christianization of the Norse by this time. His movements northwards were also more like campaigns then raids, and it seems as if Gofraid was attempting to exert a permanent presence on the east coast, expanding the Kingdom of Dublin.

In this he was opposed by two forces. Muirchertach mac Neill of the Ui Neill and King of Ailech, inflicted several defeats on Gofraid’s forces in 926, described as “routs” in the Annals of Ulster, at Snam Aigneach and Cluain na Cruimtheir. In the latter Gofraid’s son was killed and the survivors besieged, saved only by a swift relieving force led by Gofraid himself. Muirchertach is a famous military figure of the time, described as the “Hector of the Irish”, and he spent most of his life fighting the Norse or his neighbouring Irish Kingdoms. However, he never came close to attacking Dublin.

The second force that opposed Dublin was, as was so often the case, other Vikings. Those who had founded and built up Limerick had become a considerable power in their own right, and in the 920s and 930s open warfare between themselves and the Norse in Dublin was rampant, for the dominance of the Norse presence in Ireland. How or why this conflict started is not known. Gofraid had attacked Limerick directly in 924, but was beaten off with some loss. In 927 Gofraid had left Dublin to try and take up the Kingship of York following Sithric’s death, but wad driven out by Athelstan, an English King, only six months later. In his absence, the Limerick Norse had seized Dublin but Gofraid soon seized it back, by what means is not known.

Throughout all this time, the Irish continued to fight each other and the Norse continued to raid and attack non-Norse settlements – Gofraid razing a place called Derc Ferna, Kilkenny in 930 for example. The lack of cohesive action by the native Irish against the Vikings, as there had been in previous centuries was a major reason for Norse expansion and stability, to the extent that they were able to wage what was almost a civil war in Ireland without fear of total defeat.

That civil war came to an end in 937, when Gofraid’s son and successor Amlaib forced Limerick into submission. A battle is not actually reported, so whether this was done violently or was something akin to a truce is not known. Amlaib went to Britain shortly after to engage in wars against Athelstan.

Dublin was left in the hands of a man called Blacaire mac Gofrith. He stamped his authority and made known his presence by killing Muirchertach mac Neill in 943 near Armagh. However, this success was short lived, as Blacaire allowed Dublin to be sacked under his rule only the very next year by the new High King of Ireland Congalach mac Mael Mithig. Blacaire was expelled from Dublin by Amlaib Cuaran, a kinsman of the previously mentioned Amlaib. Amlaib Cuaran allied himself with Congalach, but was heavily defeated in a battle near Slane by Ruaidri ua Canannain, a rival Ui Neill to Congalach. This allowed Blacaire to retake Dublin, but the following year he was killed “by cunning” – probably assassinated – and many of his followers were butchered were Congalach.

Ruaidri was killed at the Battle of Muine Brocain, by “foreigners” – Vikings – in what, if the Annals of Ulster are to be believed, was a bloodbath with over 2’000 Norse killed. Six years later Congalach was killed by an alliance of Leinster and Dublin at the Battle of Tech Giurann.

What followed for the next several decades is a tangled web or politics, marriage alliances and varying relations with neighbouring Kingdoms, as Amlaib Cuaran warred with Domnall ua Neill, Congalach’s successor, as well as with other Viking groups that raided in Leinster at the time. As with the first Viking age, the settled Vikings were now fully involved in wars of the native Irish. Amlaib and Domnalll were brothers-in-law, through Amlaib’s marriage to Domnall’s sister, but this did not stop what was near constant warfare between them, either directly or through attacks on allies. Both sides had their victories and their setbacks, with Domnall having great success in the midlands while Amlaib maintained Norse control in Dublin and reach throughout Leinster. The war sucked in numerous smaller Kingdoms and dominated life at the time.

Domnall’s sons were killed by Amlaib – how exactly is not known – in 977. Perhaps this is what finally broke Domnall and his will to fight, for he retired to a monastery in Armagh shortly after. Amlaib, an old man now, was the leader of a buoyant and apparently victorious people, who captured and ransomed Ugaire King of Leinster the previous year, a true measure of their power.

Domnall died in 980. His successor was Mael Sechnaill, great-great-grandson and namesake of the man who had achieved several major victories over the Vikings over a century previously. He was also Amlaib’s stepson, but this did not matter, as Mael had already attacked Dublin in 975. Now as High-King, he moved to continue Domnall’s war on the Norse.

His force would have consisted primarily of men from his home Kingdom of Mide, backed up by troops from Leinster and Munster. His opponents called upon their own strength in Dublin, as well as troops from as far away as the Hebrides and the Isle of Man. Amlaib was in no  condition to lead an army at his advanced age, and the Norse were led by his sons.

The forces clashed near the Hill of Tara, Meath. The result was a slaughter, with several Irish Kings and Amlaib’s son Ragnall killed, but a decisive victory for the Irish was achieved. The Norse took very heavy losses, and Mael was able to move on Dublin and take it with ease. Amlaib was forced to abdicate and was replaced by his son Gluniairn – Mael’s half-brother.

Here is the end of the Viking age. Why so? Because they were no longer a great power, but more importantly they were no longer Vikings. For generations they had been mixing with the natives, producing a race dubbed the “Norse-Gaels”. Dublin had a large Irish population, albeit with a Norse elite, but the integration of the Norse into Irish culture cannot be denied. Added to this is Christianization of the Norse, the inter-marriages with the royal families of Ireland and the cessation of traditional Viking activity. They were becoming more Irish then Norse. That is not to say that the Norse impact on Ireland was done, but they certainly were not “Vikings” anymore. Neither really were the other Norse settlements throughout Ireland, from Waterford to Limerick, who were suffering their own defeats to other Kings.

Tara ended the Norse as a military threat to the rest of Ireland, and the subsequent occupation of Dublin was a sure sign of native dominance over them. The Saxons were pushing back against the Norse in Britain, as were the Picts. All over the isles, Viking power was on the wane, transformed into something else.

Warfare was becoming larger in scale as the records would indicate, the casualty figures grander in scale than ever before. Battles and military affairs were still much the same as they had been though, with the heavy emphasis on the shield-wall, the packed line of infantry, with little time for cavalry or missile weapons.

The Norse still had a role to play in Ireland, as an enemy to a near legendary figure, soon to rise. The Viking star was falling, just as a King in Munster became prominent. His story is that of the next entry and his name was Brian Boru.

To read the rest of this guest post, click here to go to Lovely Left Foot.

I really do like this moment though, the good guys beleaguered, because you get a real sense of dread, that they think they are all for the chop any second. They’re selling it, any rate.

The eagles arrive from out of nowhere, and turn the battle by their very presence, the return of hope, much like Aragorn’s banner being unfurled at the Pelennor Fields. They get stuck into the Nazgul, as the forces below drive back into their foes with some renewed vigour (though, we can remember that poor little Pippin is lying crushed under a bad guy somewhere). The enemy is suddenly witless, his will fading.

Gandalf is the one who perceives, of course. Aragorn and the others have made much of this being his life defining moment and here he is, taking centre stage. He proclaims that “the hour of doom” is here, as Mordor trembles, shakes, topples and falls, its towers broken, its armies scattered to the winds. It is a wondrous reversal, and the Hoist of the West, much like the reader, can only look on in awe of this change in fortunes.

Gandalf knows that the Ringbearer has been successful of course, that the great gambit has worked. And as Mordor crashes to the ground, a great shadow fills the sky, in human form, the closest we will get to a proper look at Sauron in the whole bookm. He looks down, lightning crowd, with an air of malevolence, then vanishes, blown away upon the winds of change, the same kind of winds that have spelled defeat for him already in this story. Sauron falls with a whimper, like a dandelion being poofed out.

Tolkien is not so in love with his dues ex machine ending as to make it all so easy, and we are left informed that the battle will rage on. The feeble minded Orcs might have fled, but the men of the east, who made the fully conscious choice to follow Sauron, decide to stay and fight it out, knowing that they have nothing else to do. I really liked this bit of info, showing that the forces of darkness, some of them anyway, have a bit of spine for the fight. It is left for Aragorn to guard over the rest of the fight, and we don’t get any further details of this last battle, unfortunately.

Instead, Gandalf hops a ride on an eagle and away they go towards Mt Doom. This little plot point has proven perhaps the biggest source of “Hang on a sec”s that The Lord Of The Rings has been targeted with. Why didn’t the free peoples just fly an eagle to Mt Doom from the start and throw the Ring in then?

The eagles aren’t pets of course, and much of Tolkien’s writings on them emphasise their very independent nature. They don’t take orders from anyone and show up when they damn well please. They have no great love for mankind at all, and are only really here probably on the word of Galadriel and Gandalf.

And maybe they just didn’t want to risk a dangerous flight into Mordor, carrying the Ring of Power, with the Nazgul lurking around. They only fly into Mordor when that threat is gone, which is telling.

On the volcano, Frodo and Sam give into what they see as the inevitable, choosing to no longer run from the flows of lava surrounding them. I suppose this is the culmination of the cynical, depressing viewpoints of previous chapters, where both of them decided to not even bother thinking about what happened after the mission. Doesn’t seem to matter now.

Sam is busy thinking about his legacy in what appear to be his final moments, a not uncharacteristic thing to do. It’s very much something that you might think about when facing death after all, how people will remember, in what form. He’ being previously obsessed with songs and lays, wonders if they’ll get the same treatment.

They can’t take much more and collapse shortly after, only to be found and saved by the white light that is Gandalf. The “unexpected allies” trope has fired one more time – the last time really – and the eagles have gotten the plot round all of that depressing “realism” when it came to dealing with the aftermath of the Ring’s destruction. Of course, this is pretty much one of the only ways that Frodo and Sam were going to be saved, so what can you do?

Here begins the long conclusion of the book, three and as half chapters that is nothing more then celebrations and the trip home to the Shire. These chapters have come in for some criticism, for their length and overly sentimental tone, and I’ll offer some thoughts on that at the end of them.

But they are super sentimental, as the next passage details, where Sam wakes up among friends, including one that he thought was dead. Sam is unable to express exactly how he feels, indescribable happiness, and it is a very happy moment, a pay off for the misery of all that has gone before. The bad guys are done and dusted (it appears) and its time for the slaps on the back to begin in earnest. Even the dead have come back to life, though their does not appear to be so many questions about that.

Off they go to meet “the King” who of course is Aragorn. Sam, very neatly, still calls him “Strider”, the country hobbit set in his ways. Aragorn is very much the King now, decked out in the finest robes, holding court, taking the lead in celebrations. He kneels before Sam and Frodo, a nice gesture, that I’m sure works will for propaganda purposes back home. That’s humble Aragorn though, realising that all that he has done to win the crown of Gondor pales in comparison to what these two hobbits have done.

And in perhaps the most sentimental moment of the ending, Sam gets his lay tale about his own adventures, an indulgence towards him that I am willing to forgive Tolkien for, despite the smalshiness.

Things aren’t all happy and light-filled. A somewhat dark and unsettling passage follows, where Frodo initially refuses to carry a sword, then tries to give his away. It’s Frodo trying to reject violence and his past, and Gandalf isn’t in a mood to let him do either, and neither is Sam. Frodo appears to not be thinking quite clearly a bit and Gandalf has to talk to him in a very parent-like way in order to get him to relent.

We finally get a look at Merry and Pippin now, conspicuous by their absence (Frodo and Sam weren’t asking about them either) but here they are now, all well and good. Merry is back to fitness and Pippin is not smushed under an Orc. Happy days. Merry and Pippin take the time to smirk about their new appointments, a nice touch.

So Frodo and Sam get the catch-up they need, and everyone synchronises their accounts. This is a nothing chapter really, that could be summed up in a couple of sentences, but it’s just there to set up the rest of the ending. Tolkien has to get the reunions out of the way and tie up some of the plot holes.

Pippin is one of them as it is revealed that Gimli found him lying nearly dead after the last battle. Gimoi, a character who has actually faded from view a fair bit in the last while, gets some last use for Tolkien here as Pippin’s rescuer, which echoes the after math of the Battle of Five Armies in The Hobbit.

Since Gimli and Legolas are practically inseparable now, the Elf has to get a bit of time as well. He’s been just as fading a character as Gimli and his last few moments ofreal spotlight are far more depressing, as he talks about his kindled desire to travel over the sea, forsaking Middle-Earth. Yeesh. It’s supposed to be a party man, tone down the maudlin a little.

It is left to Sam to close out the chapter, remarking on the nature of everyone else’s adventures, that he “missed a lot, seemingly” about as down to earth and grounded response as you would expect from a hobbit like Sam. Its countryside casual, is what it is.

The movie cuts out nearly the whole chapter, save for a reunion at Frodo’s bedside laden with sentimentality. Not too bad a choice, considering how much there is in the ending.

Next up, the real return of the King.

For more Chapter by Chapter reviews of The Lord of the Rings, check out the index here.

You should study history because of its stories. No other discipline can claim to be as much a chronicle of human endeavour and life then history. There is no tale, novel or epic that can claim to outdo the recorded past, in terms of fascination or even entertainment. Most of them are influenced by the past anyway, to some degree.

Anything you want, anything you like. The grimmest or most heroic of war stories, from the ranks of Caesar to the beaches of Normandy. The political intrigues and machinations of our species, from the Borgia to the Samurai. Our expansions, from the Mongols to the wild west. Our great biographies, from those who first laid down laws to those who tore them down and built again. History is our story, and it is the greatest story of all.

Everything is there. First hand personal accounts of every type, every subject, for those who want to see the human story. The sweeping large-scale narratives of great nations and Empires, which are far more then the moving of lines on a map, for those who want to see the big picture. The critical moments of the past, their contemporary insignificance paling in comparison to the effect they may have had in all our lives, for those who want to be thrilled.

It may not all be non-fiction, but half the fun is in determining what is real, what is not and what may be a pleasant mixture of both.

I may have studied history for a wide variety of reasons, some of which I have yet to expand upon, but I’ll admit this is one of the big ones. I love history, in a way that cannot be explained by its more logical and cold applications. I love reading about the events of the “then”, the thrill of looking at past endeavours of significance, the battles, the journeys, the elections, the things that were.

If you are a writer, or a creator of any kind, you would do well to look into the past for your inspiration. In fact, you simply must, because odds are someone else has already done it, and you seek a way to do it better. I’ve looked backwards when moving forwards on nearly everything I’ve written, fiction or non-fiction. I’m far from the only one, the constant presence of historical drama in our media evidence of the trend of looking into the past to make the entertainment of today.

One of the great lies about history is that it is “boring”. This is simply not true and it is not in the eye of the beholder either. History is too big, too grand, too varied of a story to be labelled so simply. If you think history is boring, you are not looking hard enough. There is something for everyone there.

And we add to that great chronicle every day of our lives.

To read the rest of this guest post, click here to go to Lovely Left Foot.

Max Hastings latest, All Hell Let Loose, is another triumph from the man, who brings such life and vigour to the over-done history of the Second World War. But his book contains one glaringly notable passage for me in particular, when he discussed the policy of neutrality that Ireland maintained during that turbulent period. That passage reads:

“Ireland had gained self-governing Dominion status only in 1922…as the former mother-nation began its struggle for survival against the U-Boat, Winston Churchill was tempted by the notion of reinforcing his country’s claims upon these naval bases and air bases…The Atlantic “air gap” was significantly widened, and many lives and much tonnage lost in consequence of the fanatical loathing of Irish Prime Minister Eamon De Valera for his British neighbours. The crews of almost every warship and merchantman that sailed past the Irish coastline in the war years felt a surge of bitterness towards the country which relied on Britain for most of its vital commodities, and all of its fuel, but would not lift a finger to help in its hour of need.”

It was after reading that passage that I decided to write the following. I’d like to respond to some of things that Hastings said in the above.

Hastings says that Ireland “would not lift a finger to help in its (Britain) hour of need”. The actual sentence here may be trying to speak in the guise of one of the seamen that he mentions, so it’s possible Hastings does not actually think this. Regardless of whether he believes this statement or choose not to respond to it, it is absolutely and utterly false. Ireland did plenty to aid Britain “in its hour of need”. Briefly:

Irish firefighters helped to put out the inferno that blazed in Belfast when it was bombed by the Luftwaffe in 1941. De Valera sent those fire crews northwards without a second thought, and they stayed on scene for three days, before doing it all again three weeks later. Ireland kept open the “Donegal corridor” for British aircraft, reducing their flying time in the area round the north of Ireland. Ireland passed on weather reports to British military and merchant shipping. Ireland passed on any reports of submarine activity and unknown aircraft activity off the coast to British authorities. Ireland allowed the British the full use of Lough Foyle, a shared lake between the north and south, which included British aircraft flying in Irish airspace. Ireland allowed British airman who crashed on Irish soil to depart to the north and eventually to Britain, while German pilots were interned for the remainder of the war, as well as interning any escaped Germans from Northern PoW camps (one of whom was shot dead while trying to escape). Thousands of people from Ireland served in the British armed forces, with no check made upon them doing so (after the war was a different story for these men, but no one stopped them leaving). Ireland hunted down and captured all German agents who entered the country seeking to join up with IRA dissidents. Ireland accepted refugees from British cities during the German bombing campaign.

All of this is well known, none of it debatable, was acknowledged by the British in the Cranbourne Report, and shows clearly that Ireland was far from strictly neutral, and if anything, strayed a dangerous line with non-belligerence towards Britain. Ireland may not have given their troops to the British cause, and may not have given their Navy safe berth in our ports, but it is a total fabrication to say, in any way or form, that Ireland “did not lift a finger” to help Britain.

Hastings claims that De Valera had a “fanatical loathing…for his British neighbours”. It is certainly fair to say that De Valera did not like Britain (why would he?) but he was not so filled with hate that he was unwilling to acknowledge the benefits of an Allied victory to Ireland. He had acknowledged the danger to Ireland if Britain’s independence was “threatened” as far back as 1920 and even earlier, had committed himself to the policy of maintaining Ireland’s freedom from the control of any external power, especially if such a power wanted to threaten Britain.

De Valera was no fool, and no “fanatic” when it come to these matters. He could see the fall of Denmark, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, Belgium, Albania and Greece for himself. He knew that Hitler and Mussolini had no qualms about rolling over small states. He knew that Ireland would, if it came to it, be no more invulnerable to attack then any of the others had been. He even made his deference to Great Britain known to Berlin in 1938. To that end, he knew that a British victory in the War would be the best outcome for Ireland, hence the myriad of aid and effort that the country gave to Britain in the course of the war. Hastings comments on “Dev” stem from the overly simplistic view that many British historians have of Irish political figures of the early 20^th century.

Much more than that, De Valera was, despite his alleged “loathing” of Britain, prepared to invite its forces into Ireland, both in the event of a German invasion of the country, and also in the event of a German invasion of Britain. When France fell, the respective militaries collaborated on contingency plans if Ireland was to be a victim of an invasion, as they both knew it would be in British interests to intervene. Much more importantly, the Irish Air Corps facilitated the possible use of Irish Airfields to the RAF, in the event that Britain fell, and the British plans needed bases from which to continue the fight, as outlined by Donal McCarron in his history of the Irish Air Corps. This would indicate that De Valera would not have jumped for joy in the event of a successful German invasion of Britain, and would have recognised the awful position that Ireland would have been in because of it.

And it should go without saying if Germany had invaded, I am sure that Britain would have sent forces to fight in Ireland out of their own self-interest only, not ours.

Hastings also over-estimated De Valera’s power. The neutrality of Ireland was a policy that was supported all but one of its 138 TDs. “Dev” was Taoiseach, not a dictator.

And briefly, Hastings says Ireland was dependent on Great Britain for “all of its fuel”. This is factually incorrect, as Ireland made substantial use of turf cuttings during this period to make up the numbers in regards to decreasing volumes of oil and petrol.

Moving away from that, which is well established, the question must be asked: Why should Ireland have joined the war as an Ally?

Well, the most obvious point is that it was not our fight. Germany made no direct, purposeful aggressive moves on Ireland before or during the Second World War (“accidental” bombings can be debated I suppose). Neither did Italy, or any Nazi satellite nation.

Ireland was under no legal obligation to join the war. The Anglo-Irish treaty expressly left defence and foreign affairs under the Irish people’s purview and had no references to defence pacts. The “Treaty Ports” had, as the treaty outlined, been left in the hands of the British, but they had surrendered them back to Ireland in 1938, with the “Eire Act” at the end of the 1930’s trade war. Hastings uses ridiculous words regarding Churchill and his possible military action to retrieve “his country’s claims upon these naval bases and air bases”. But Britain had no claims on them, legal or moral, at all. None. They had given them up, just over a year before the war started and Ireland did not force them to do so.

Ireland had made no guarantees for the independence of Poland, or any other European nation, as Britain had. It is simply put: from the most cynical, realpolitik angle, the Second World War was not Ireland’s fight.

Moving beyond that, it would be impossible to ignore the traditional enmity between Ireland and Britain. Today it is an almost friendly rivalry. Then, less than twenty years after the Revolutionary period, and within a few years of the Economic War, wounds were still fresh. Hastings’s uses another ridiculous term in that above paragraph, “mother-nation” to describe the relationship of Britain to Ireland. 1940’s Ireland did not see Great Britain as its “mother-nation”. Far from it. Such a maternal description does not do justice to the bitter and ugly warfare of 1916 to 1923, the centuries of failed rebellions, the massacres and the oppression. I am not one to blindly follow the line of England bad, Ireland good, (see here for an example) but even I can only deride the use of the words “mother-nation” in this context. Britain was rarely motherly towards Ireland in the long history of the two nations.

In that context, the British are doing a disservice to their own intelligence if they were (or still are) shocked that Ireland did not race to join the other Dominion nations in declaring war on Germany. Ireland and Britain were not friends at the time. Plenty of people in Ireland (though less than many today make out) would have cheered a German victory. If Britain was relying on Irish support, it was a truly stupid assumption to make.

Of course, the aggressive posture that Britain occasionally held against Ireland is another reason. Churchill had plans to seize the Treaty ports by force if needs be. The Prime Minister of Northern Ireland encouraged him to invade and occupy the entire south of the island, instituting military rule. In his victory speech in 1945, Churchill spoke almost casually about how easy it would have been to do so, with the tone of someone who thought he should be congratulated for resisting the impulse. “Mother-nation” is certainly something you can imagine Churchill thinking. With all that, why should Ireland have leaned towards engaging in a war alongside Britain, whose leaders were so willing to plan for its re-subjugation, the same kind of subjugation that Iceland suffered under the realm of “the greater good”?

Another brief point. Hastings suggests Ireland should have helped Britain in its struggle for survival against the U-Boat. Aside from the fact that Ireland did plenty, Hastings himself in the same book expands at length how over-estimated the U-Boat threat was to Britain, especially by 1942. He cannot do so, and then change his mind when he needs a stick to beat Ireland with.

The question has been asked, what about the Holocaust? That horrific event that made the Second World War such a vital struggle, worthy of casting aside such trivial disputes as those between Britain and Ireland? The Nazis were butchers and evil, no doubt. All should have united to stop them.

All true…if the details of the Holocaust had been known. I’ve seen people throw this argument in the face of those who defend Irish neutrality in the war – Godwin inverted I suppose – but the facts are clear. Very few outside continental Europe knew the extent of Nazi “solutions” for their Jewish “problem” until after World War Two ended, Ireland even more so since it was not a belligerent and had no troops to see the evidence for their own eyes. Rumours abounded of course, but who could possibly have believed it? Who wouldn’t have suspected Allied propaganda? How could you have comprehended, if you had been Irish in those times, the idea that Germans were gassing people for the crime of their race and religion? Would you have honestly believed it? As is so often the case when we look back on events past, we apply our own modern sense of outrage and foresight. The liberation of the Belsen camp in 1945 was the first really incontrovertible evidence of the Final Solution to be realised to public at large at a time when the progression to victory was being counted in weeks. Ireland’s behaviour towards Jews during the war was hardly sympathetic of course, but we are no more guilty of that then most European nations of the time.

And any attempts to “guilt” Ireland into feeling bad about its policy of neutrality from Britain are hilariously hypocritical, considering the behaviour that the Empire undertook throughout the war. Hastings goes into extraordinary detail about the abandonment of the south-east colonial holdings when the Japanese attacked, how refugees who didn’t happen to have white skin were left to fend for themselves, the oppression in India throughout the war, the famines in Bengal and other places, all down to a lazy and corrupted British administration and political system, more concerned with a largely pointless fight in North Africa (Hastings feelings) then feeding the people they claimed to be a “mother-nation” to. Britain has little moral high ground with which to cast aspersions down on Ireland (to be clear, Hastings does not use the Holocaust as an argument against Irish neutrality, but I’ve heard that argument made).

Much is also made sometimes of the “offer” (that Hastings wisely ignores) from Churchill of a United Ireland if De Valera would only agree to play ball. This little nugget of history should only ever be treated for what it was: a joke. The idea that Churchill would just hand over the six counties in return from support is laughable and De Valera knew it. Can you imagine how the northern Unionists would have reacted if that had happened?

Which brings me neatly to my final point. What was in it for Ireland? No United Ireland, no gains of territory, little chance of reparations or spoils of any great deal, in return for what? More dead in bombings and sunk ships? Better relations with Britain, the nation that would have had to threaten us into joining the war? Cynically speaking, there was no substantial gain for Ireland in joining the struggle against Hitler.

It is easy for Max Hastings to criticise from 60 years away from the events. But there was no convincing reason for Ireland to join the Second World War as an ally of Britain, and many reasons for us not to. Ireland played a delicate game in the war years, but it worked out. We may have been left behind in the wake of the UN (temporarily) and Anglo-Irish relations suffered (not that they were stellar to begin with) but how can we expect Ireland’s leaders to have taken the plunge in 1939 or 1940, with the outcome so in doubt? We cannot judge. Ireland remained neutral, and got through the war without huge loss of life or destruction of the nation. Maybe’s, buts, perhaps, could haves, should haves are meaningless. Alternate courses and counter-factual histories are impossible to analyse. We know only what actually happened and the results of the same.

I would not expect an accomplished historian like Hastings to spend too much time in such an ambitious undertaking as All Hell Let Loose to discussing the pros and cons of Irish neutrality, But it would have been better if he had ignored the topic completely then to come out with such a badly flawed commentary.

The men who attacked Lambay were Norse, probably from the area Norway is today. In becoming seaborne explorers and raiders, they had gone “viking”, the Norse term for the activity and thus they have been known ever since: the Vikings. Such is the length of their time and impact on Ireland, the period in question is generally split in two, from 795 to 902, then 914 to 980.

That first raid was small and was followed up by similar attacks at Brega, the Connacht coast and the Skellig Isles. The golden age of Christian Ireland had created many monasteries and communities that had substantial wealth, which was targeted by the new arrivals. In those opening years of Viking attacks, the raids were always small, consisting of no more than a few ships, with men who attacked fast and didn’t stick around, departing to more friendly ports in the British Isles as fast as they had arrived. These early attacks lacked any kind of focus or direction, and were probably just free enterprises. They were attracted by wealth and easy targets initially, and it was only later that they began seeking land to settle on and control. In those early years of Viking attacks, it isn’t clear if any royalty was even involved. For those Vikings, it was just easy money.

The sources for this period are largely fragmented, or suspicious in nature: many are written from a Christian perspective. As a result the Vikings are painted frequently as hated, heathen figures who terrorised the island of Ireland for generations, the Irish who fought them being heroes. More confusing are the myriad of figures who might be one and the same person, differing names not being evidence of separate people on occasion.

Viking attacks kept occurring in the early ninth century, with rises and falls in frequency, but the rivalries of Ireland’s native Kingdoms continued all the while, defined by the divide between the north and south, the Kingdoms of the Ui Neill’s and Munster. The first Irish leader credited with fighting the Vikings directly was Niall Caille of the Ui Neill, who defeated a force of them in Derry in 833, after which Viking activity seemed to focus more on the south. By now, Vikings were using the advantage of their shallow drafted boats to sail up rivers for newer targets. One of these was the Liffey, and it was along its course that the first of the more permanent Viking settlements was established. In 841, a Viking group conquered a small ecclesiastical settlement near the “Duiblinn”, a dark pool on the joining of the Liffey and Poddle rivers, setting up a fortified encampment dubbed a “longphort” which rapidly grew. This was the beginning of Dublin as we know it today.

While Dublin was not the first time the Vikings had decided to stay for a longer period in Ireland, it quickly became their main fortress on the island, evidence of a change in mindset towards Ireland. Raids would still go on as before, but from this point the Vikings would be impacting on the political life of the island in a larger way.

The Viking raids were getting larger and more co-ordinated after 820, with more and more of them choosing to overwinter in Ireland in longphorts rather than continue hit-and-run tactics. By the establishment of the “Dubh Linn” settlement, they had become a far more serious threat to the island then their early raids. A warlord of the Norse, Turgesius, emerges as a leader in this time, co-ordinating attacks as part of a campaign to exert control on, or perhaps even conquer, Ireland on behalf of a King (whose identity has never been firmly established) back home. Now Viking activities took on the form of attacks upriver followed by retreats back to coastal bases. Targets were found all over the country, as Viking fleets reached bigger and bigger sizes, and more settlements were created (mostly to the east). It was Turgesius who is credited with attacking the church at Clonmacnoise in 844 which, located in the centre of the country, is evidence of his reach. The Vikings seemed to be able to operate at will, along the coast or up waterways. In 845 Turgesius was killed by the King of Mide, Mael Sechnaill, an event that is indicated to be a decisive blow to Viking expansion.

The Norse, wherever exactly they were from, where keen to grab land wherever they could, hence the attempted permanent expansion into Ireland. The Kings and High Kings of Ireland could no longer ignore this threat, which up to that point seems to have been treated in an almost casual way by native rulers.

What followed is a series of defeats inflicted on the Vikings. Cerbhall mac Dunlainge, King of Osraige defeated Dublin based Vikings at Carn Brammet in 847. Mael Sechnaill defeated a force in Westmeath the following year while the combined armies of Munster and Leinster defeated them at Sciath Nechtain in Kildare, killing Tomrair, a high ranking member of the Lochlann (the name used to describe the Norse Kingdom of origin) monarchy. With the Vikings reeling from these defeats, the Dublin settlement was attacked directly in 849, plundered and destroyed. It’s possible that this series of Irish victories was a co-ordinated assault on the Vikings, but this is not recorded. What is for sure is that the Vikings were now fielding armies on the island as opposed to focusing on naval raids, and that they weren’t up to scratch against the natives, whether it was a case of being outnumbered or in a poor tactical position. The Norse were invading foreigners after all, which always brings difficulties of supply and support in a foreign country.

It was not long before the Norse returned in force, a fleet of 140 long ships arriving that same year in Dublin, a probable response to the setbacks by the King of Lochlann (or perhaps, just normal Vikings who turned up fortuitously). They recommenced their attacks almost immediately. In 853 another Norse royal, Olaf, arrived to take control of the Vikings in Ireland and along with his more famous kinsman Ivar “the boneless” in Britain, he would be active in the area for most of the next two decades, with the attacks on Christian monasteries and Irish towns continuing. While defences, most famously in the form of round towers, were improving, civilian settlements were still vulnerable to assault from the Norse. It should be noted that monasteries and the like were attacked by Irish forces as well, Clonmacnoise reporting 27 assaults from Irish natives compared to seven from Vikings between the 8^th and 12^th centuries.

With the arrival of Olaf and Ivar, Viking strategy in Britain and Ireland seemed to change significantly, as they now began to enter into alliances with native rulers, including some of those they had previously fought with. These unions were usually short – Olaf allied with Cerbhall of Osraige against Mael Sechnaill in 858, before later fighting both at the same time in conjunction with the northern Ui Neill.  While the Vikings had re-established their strong position in Dublin, along with smaller settlements throughout the coast, they frequently found themselves on the losing side of these Irish wars. Mael Sechnaill, now High-King, defeated them again and again, a constant thorn in the Viking side until his death.

The seeking of alliances with natives is a common theme in the rest of Viking history in Ireland, and seems to indicate that they had abandoned any attempt to conquer the island fully (if they ever really held that aspiration) and were content to simply stake their place. Many Norse had been on the island for a good period of time at this stage, and were starting to become more integrated with native culture. Certainly, Irish Kings allying with Viking factions indicates that they were not simply thought of as the godless heathen foreigners that many surviving accounts paint them as.

The Ui Neill in the north easily had the most long-term success against the Vikings, with the Norse unable to gain a lasting foothold there. King Aed Findliath, who followed Mael Sechnaill and whose reign was otherwise unexceptional, was noted for destroying all Viking encampments in the north in 866, possibly while Olaf was distracted with warfare in Pictland.

Both Olaf and Ivar died around the same time, 871/2, another heavy blow to the Viking cause. The Norse devolved into civil conflict for many decades afterwards, lacking a strong unifying figure. This was nothing new to the Vikings, different groups of which frequently fought each other in Ireland, especially after the fall of Dublin in 849, but this period was particularly devastating. The history of the Irish Norse in this time is complex, a mix of rival factions, assassinations, raids, hostages and conflicting dynasties, all while Irish Kings still fought with the Vikings on occasion.

This in-fighting left the Vikings in a weak position as the tenth century began, and in 902, the alliance of Cerball mac Muirecain of Leinster and Mael Finnia mac Flannacain of Brega launched a pincer assault on Dublin. The result was the expulsion of the ruling Viking hierarchy. The battle was decisive, the Vikings fleeing headlong, leaving many of their ships behind, the Norse escaping to various sites and settlements throughout Europe. While many “common” Norse people remained, Dublin was now an Irish town. While it may have seemed that the Viking presence in Ireland was done, this defeat only marks the end of the first Viking age. Numerous smaller settlements remained (the beginnings of most modern Irish cities, from Waterford to Limerick, had already started even if these were just basic, temporary longphorts at the beginning of the 10^th century) and the Vikings were still a power abroad.

What of Viking tactics and military action? Warfare of the time was a mixed bag. The Vikings early raids were focused on speed, and were not fought against opposing armies. Their long boat was suited to the fast attack and quick exit, to carrying out the most plundering possible before they had to face a defending force.

When they came to a fight against a military opponent, the Vikings used basic tactics of the time, notably the shield-wall. It was in naval battles that they excelled more than land based combat, but the Irish Kings rarely (if ever) challenged the Norse on the waves. Missile weapons like bows were becoming more common, but were still not the decisive weapon of battle, seen instead as an instrument to harass and soften up the enemy before the big clash of arms. The Vikings fought with shield, helmet, mail and spear, while swords were reserved for the more privileged. Axes were also plentiful, a rarity for the time. Cavalry was not a Viking strong suit, and it’s likely only their leaders rode horses into battle.

Contrary to popular belief, they probably never had horned helmets, but they were certainly one of the first opponents of the native Irish to place greater stock in armour. The Vikings put their faith in the shield-wall and their strength, but also their famous “berserks”, vicious warriors who would enter battle in a trance-like state, seeming impervious to pain and wounds. Norse armies were not large, usually no more than 7000 at most. For the vast majority of the period, the Vikings focused their strength at non-military targets.

The Vikings would return, a story for another day.