I thank the Leader for so readily agreeing to these statements.
Yesterday's ceremony at Messines was long overdue but, nonetheless, welcome. It brings to an end decades of neglect and at times a shameful conspiracy to write out of national history one part of our story. Yesterday the State acknowledged in powerful symbolism that this is a pluralist state, that to be Irish is not just to be Nationalist and to be a Nationalist is not just to be of the Sinn Féin tradition. For too long the official version of Irish history denied these essential facts.
Let us base what we say today on truth and face up to our past. In the 1920s the survivors of the war and their relatives held yearly ceremonies of remembrance. Remembrance for most of them was of people recently dead, of events recently over and these ceremonies were often tinged with the real rawness of recent loss. For the most part they held these ceremonies without interference, their grief and pride respected by their neighbours and by the Governments of the day.
In the 1930s that changed. In the then mood of intense nationalism more and more they found their parades were unwelcome, their manifestations greeted with hostility. There was intimidation, some overt, some silent, but the message was clear — Irish republicanism was an exclusive creed and these Irish people were not welcome. That continued to be the case for decades. Official Ireland did not want to know. Republican Ireland, or at least sections of it, saw them as an enemy, a symbol to be shunned, a remembrance of things best left unremembered. Let us recall that it is just over a decade since the Irish State was officially represented at a Remembrance Day ceremony at St. Patrick's Cathedral. What is happening now is welcome, but it is also a rebuke to years of neglect, indifference and hostility. Above all, it is a rebuke to an old intolerance, to an old and bitter version of nationalism, a version we hope is passed for good.
Above all today, let us remember those who died, fought and who came home to obscurity and often hardship just as their fellow soldiers did in all the other countries which were involved in that war. Nothing about the Great War was good. It was brutal and barbaric. It was the breakdown of civilisation. It created and unleashed forces which led directly to the emergence of international fascism in the 1930s and the unfinished business of that war led almost directly to the Second World War, 21 years later.
I hope we have learned; I believe we have.
Today the former enemies of Europe are integrated in common cause. International understanding has never been greater, even if war is still an ever-present threat.
It is important for us, as parliamentarians, to remember that two Irish parliamentarians died in the Great War. They are commemorated today in the Parliament at Westminster. Captain Willie Redmond, the Nationalist MP for Clare, a decent self-effacing patriotic man, died at Flanders. That tortured genius, Tom Kettle, MP for Tyrone and professor of economics at my university, UCD, died at the Somme. Incidentally, the son of the third parliamentarian to die, Charles Lyall, a Scot, is well known to many people in these Houses as a founding member of the British-Irish Interparliamentary Body.
Tom Kettle wondered why he had volunteered to fight in the Great War. He asked himself whether his rightful place was there or with the men of 1916, many of whom were his friends. His last poem, written to his daughter just before his death at the Somme in 1916, gave his reasons. It was written in the brutality, the horror and the nightmare of the trenches. He wrote:
So here, while the mad guns curse overhead,
And tired men sigh with mud for couch and floor
Know that we fools, now with the foolish dead,
Died not for flag, not king, nor Emperor,
But for a dream, born in a herdsman's shed,
And for the Secret Scripture of the poor.
These same sentiments troubled another poet who found himself at war. Francis Ledgwidge ended his days questioning the why of it all. His lines, again written in the trenches shortly after the 1916 Rising, called to mind the death of his great friend, Thomas MacDonagh.
He shall not hear the bittern cry
In the wild sky, where he is lain,
Nor voices of the sweeter birds
Above the wailing of the rain.
But when the Dark Cow leaves the moor,
And pastures poor with greedy weeds,
Perhaps he'll hear her low at morn
Lifting her horn in pleasant meads.
Here were two great ordinary talented Irishmen, both of whom found themselves answering the call in 1914, questioning why they were fighting in the Great War and each explaining in his own way. Today we, as a nation, are coming to a maturity. We can recognise that to pay tribute and give honour to the memory of those Irishmen who died in that war is not to threaten the place of those who sought our independence in a different way. All of them wanted a sovereign Irish state and an independent Irish parliament. In some ways they came by different routes but all had the same objective in mind. Above all, today is a day when we honour the memory of the dead without quibble, equivocation or any sort of reservation, we salute their memory and we hope this is the beginning of genuine reconciliation.