THE author of this latest work on Michael Collins forgiven for feeling that the fates have been less than kind in decreeing that it should have been sent for review to what, for better or worse, the publishing world would generally agree is his principal rival in the field myself. Let me therefore get the good news out of the way first, as I will be expressing some reservations later: this is a competent biography, and anyone coming to the story of Michael Collins for the first time will find the plain, unvarnished facts of his extraordinary career set down accurately and reasonably comprehensively.
Dr Mackay based his master's thesis on Collins, and consequently displays a breadth of knowledge of his subject. Nevertheless, anyone with a knowledge of earlier works on Collins may still be justifiably somewhat at a loss as to the raison d'etre for the book. Possibly there is a clue in the publication date, September 16th, which places it well within the octave of a certain, shortly to be released, film starring Liam Neeson.
Normal publishing practice, dictates that when a substantial biography on a given figure has been published relatively recently, and is still enjoying an active shelf life, a rival work should either be delayed to allow the earlier work's memory to fade, or should be distinctively revisionist, or contain new insights, and, preferably, new material.
This work meets none of the last three criteria. Mackay has not contributed anything new of consequence.
The publicity material accompanying the book states that "there are vital lessons to be learned from the life and times of this strong, enigmatic, controversial but above all charismatic figure that have an important bearing on the solution of the present Irish dilemma".
Agreed (although I would quibble with the suggestion that the problem is solely an Irish one), but this reviewer at least failed to derive any "vital lessons" from Mackay's work. Some might reasonably have been expected from Mackay's work. Some might reasonably have been expected from a book on Michael Collins published two years after the squandered IRA ceasefire of 1994. There are almost frightening similarities between Collins's time and our own, in the stranglehold on political progress exerted by the Unionists and the Conservative right wing.
The chief accusation against Collins is that in agreeing to the Treaty he sold out the Nationalists of the Six Counties. Had he lived, Collins definitely intended a Round Two on the North, once lie got possession of twenty six counties - and an army. Alter experiencing the forces they came up against during twenty five years of such a Round Two, would today's republicans who now enjoy the benefit of far greater American support than Collins ever dreamed of continue to criticise him as harshly, particularly after seeing how a Tory backbench/ Unionist alliance much weaker than that in Collins's day could still produce a Drumcree?
And the Tory/Unionist alliance was far from being the worst of Collins's headaches. A question which recent developments have raised concerning de Valera's role in the civil war is, how long would the now rapidly dissolving truce which Gerry Adams engineered in our day have lasted in the first place if Adams had to contend with a political rival of his own stature, publicly whipping up hysteria in the IRA? This is what de Valera did with speeches such as his "wading through blood" utterances.
Mackay alludes to some of my own research into the rumours surrounding Collins's death. Readers may be interested in learning of some new evidence, which demolishes one of the principal "Who Shot Collins?" theories that came to light in State papers released since my book was published, but which does not appear to have come to Dr Mackay's attention.
Three of these theories emanated from Sean MacBride and generated considerable controversy when they were first unveiled. They are: (a) That Collins had virtually been stripped of power by Mulcahy and the other members of the Cabinet before he died; (b) McBride claimed to have come into possession of a hitherto unknown diary of Collins's, which indicated that a few days before his death, he seemed to have discovered that "Thorpe", a legendary but unidentified British spy, might have been the Governor General Tim Healy, who had advised Collins during the Treaty' negotiations; MacBride thought" that Collins may have been shot to prevent him revealing this explosive discovery; (c) that as far back as the time of Parnell and the Invincibles trial, in which he was a defence lawyer, Healy, a member of the IRB, had been working for the British. The British had turned him by blackmailing him over his involvement in the poisoning of Captain Jury, the owner of the then Jury's Hotel. Jury was also a British agent whom Healy had helped to unmask. Hence, MacBride alleged, the Invincibles' execution and Healy's role in Parnell's downfall.
MacBride believed that if I could find the Jury death certificate I would find that it had been altered. I did discover it, and there were some suspicious entries regarding dates and the fact that Jury, a prosperous man, who it was said died of "cholera", the symptoms of which could resemble poisoning, had no one attending him on his death bed in his large home, save a "maid servant".
However, the standard of such entries in those days was often unprofessional. For example, I found that de Valera's baptismal certificate, in St Agnes', New York, contained several errors, including she spelling of his name. His eldest son, Vivion, had actually changed the document, writing across the face of an official record in his own handwriting.
Accordingly, it is literally true to say that the jury is still out on theory (c). I have already disproved (a) in my book, but I can now say that (b) is not true either. "Thorpe" was a British spy, but he was not Tim Healy. In, fact, Thorpe was two British spies, a father and son operation. The son took over the position of informer when his father died. Having operated in an Irish village undetected for several years, he, his wife and children had to flee to the safety of Dublin because he gave evidence in a murder trial at a time when Collins was still a lad living in London.
The British thought so highly of their man that they installed him as a detective in Dublin Castle. However, the fact that his name was known to have been that of a spy in Parnell's time was due to the father's activities and had nothing to do with Healy.
Thus does Collins's name continues to generate legends and books.