One of Joseph Dennigan’s first tasks when he arrived at Arbour Hill Prison was to write to his wife Madge asking that she bring him spare clothes, a toothbrush and his razor. Dennigan, a political correspondent at the Irish Press newspaper, was less than enthusiastic about his new abode. “The cells are drab green and whole apartments reminiscent of a Connacht railway station waiting room on a wet Saturday evening.”
Imprisonment had clearly not been on his mind when he reported to give evidence at a sitting of the military tribunal earlier on December 29th, 1933. The tribunal was dealing with charges against Edmund “Ned” Cronin on grounds of sedition and membership of an unlawful association, more commonly known as the Blueshirts. Dennigan was called as a witness by Cronin’s legal team. They wanted to know the source for an article he had written about an amnesty for members of unlawful organisations. Cronin claimed that the amnesty had not been extended to him.
Dennigan was shown a copy of the Irish Press from December 9th, 1933. He declined to reveal the source for his story but his claim of privilege was rejected by the president of the military tribunal. By way of a compromise, he was offered an opportunity to write the name of his source on a piece of a paper, which the tribunal president said would be sufficient to close-off the issue, but he also declined.
Before acting on the impasse, the tribunal adjourned briefly to allow Dennigan to ring his editor. When the hearing reconvened, however, Dennigan explained that his editor also agreed that it would be a breach of confidence to provide the information requested. He was duly sentenced to one month’s imprisonment for contempt, and earned the accolade of being the first Irish journalist to be imprisoned for refusing to reveal his sources.
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There was universal criticism of the sentence. The Irish Times joined the chorus of condemnation and said the journalist-source relationship was similar to the confidentiality enjoyed by doctors and priests respectively with their patients and brethren.
Dennigan adapted to an environment where inmates were woken at 6.30am but confined to their cells until 5.30pm except for those volunteering for work which involved sweeping and polishing. Prisoners could wear their own clothes, smoke and read in bed until 10pm. There was, however, a ban on newspapers and a limit on visits and letters.
Some correspondence had been waiting for Dennigan when he first arrived at Arbour Hill. “Canadian newspapermen congratulate your fine stand for integrity press,” one transatlantic telegram read. There was also a handwritten letter from Frank Aiken, the minister for defence. The one-page note from the minister with responsibility for the military tribunal to a prisoner in the care of an institution also under his governmental remit may seem extraordinary (and certainly today similar correspondence would generate significant controversy). The “tongue in cheek” tone in Aiken’s note points, however, to a degree of familiarity between the politician and journalist.
“Dear Dennigan, A thousand welcomes to the Grand Hotel Aiken! It was really good of you to accept my invitation; I was afraid you had forgotten all about it. I am delighted beyond words, and I trust you will enjoy your months stay as much as I will. You may rest assured that every precaution will be taken to prevent you being annoyed by press correspondents trying to interview you either personally or by phone. If there [sic] any books or anything else you would like please let me know.”
Neither Aiken nor others in government circles were overly keen to intervene. There was a sense that had Dennigan worked for any other newspaper than the Irish Press – then the voice of Fianna Fáil – he would have been promptly released. The de Valera government, however, clearly wanted to avoid any accusation of favouritism.
Dennigan was released on January 23rd, 1934, having received the normal remission of one-sixth of his sentence for “special industry and good conduct”. One of his many correspondents was Hannah Sheehy Skeffington, who had herself been imprisoned on several occasions for her role in the campaign against British rule and involvement in the suffragette movement. Sheehy Skeffington commented on the novelty of the universal support offered for Dennigan’s “spirited protest”. She expressed the hope that he had coped with his time in prison, noting that in her own experience “how tiresome and [murderous] such imprisonment can be and how very long a month can seem.”