John Hume The Persuader E-Book

Stephen Walker

• Herausgeber: Gill Books
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 706

Beschreibung

Politician, peacemaker, persuader: John Hume was a titan of Irish history – a tireless architect of the Good Friday Agreement who received the Nobel Peace Prize for his part in ending decades of conflict in Northern Ireland. But who was the real John Hume? What motivated the former history teacher to reach beyond political lines? What sustained him during the bloodiest years of violence? How did he impel the IRA to end its long-running campaign? How did he convince presidents and prime ministers to take risks and back his vision for Northern Ireland? How should he be remembered? In John Hume: The Persuader, Stephen Walker draws on over 100 interviews with family members, colleagues and critics across the political spectrum, as well as never-before-published interviews with Hume himself, to present a probing, balanced and immensely readable portrait of one of the most significant political figures in Northern Ireland and the world. 'The definitive biography of John Hume.' Freya McClements, Northern Editor, Irish Times 'This superb biography does full justice to a towering figure.' David McCullagh, RTÉ Broadcaster and Author 'A riveting portrait of a man who changed Ireland.' Gary Murphy, Professor of Politics (DCU) and Author 'Scrupulously fair, deeply researched and insightful.' Sam McBride, Northern Ireland Editor, Belfast Telegraph

Leseprobe

JOHN HUME

THE PERSUADER

Stephen Walker

GILL BOOKS

For Katrin, Grace, Jack and Gabriel.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedications

Prologue

  1 Wee Johnny Hume

  2 Maynooth Man

  3 Pat and parcel

  4 The Faceless men

  5 Ulster at the crossroads

  6 We shall overcome

  7 Party time

  8 Bloody Sunday

  9 Writing on the wall

10 Yes Minister

11 Follow the leader

12 Ourselves alone

13 The Monkey and the organ grinder

14 Let’s Talk

15 Peace in a week

16 Thumbs up

17 President Hume

18 Down at the Waterfront

19 A night in Olso

20 Doctor’s orders

21 Stepping down

22 Ireland’s Greatest

23 Thank you John

24 The Persuader

Acknowledgements

Sources

Bibliography

Endnotes

Copyright

About the Author

About Gill Books

Photo Section

PROLOGUE

Derry, February 1992

On a Saturday morning in February 1992, John Hume was at home in Derry with his wife, Pat. The Humes would often begin their weekends there and then would travel in the afternoon to their holiday home in Greencastle in County Donegal. On this winter day, the MP and MEP needed a break more than ever. He was exhausted, fed up and highly stressed. Exasperated by the lack of political progress and the endless cycle of violence, his frustration was at boiling point.

As leader of the SDLP, he was particularly annoyed with the back-biting and criticism that was coming from within his own party. The latest talks process initiated by the British government had failed to make any headway, and his colleagues seemed split on whether or not to enter another round of negotiations. Hume wanted to make another attempt. Others, notably his fellow MPs Seamus Mallon and Eddie McGrady, felt the conditions being placed on further discussions would not work.

Hume was hurt and thought his authority was being questioned. He was fed up with being criticised by some colleagues who, in his view, were not prepared to be bold or imaginative. He had always believed that dialogue was the answer to creating political stability in Northern Ireland, so, if his party rejected this new round of talks he wanted to know what the alternative was.

He felt isolated and lonely and, not for the first time, he was depressed. He had read in the press how his leadership was being questioned, and he was convinced that it was time for a fresh start. He had put his thoughts down on paper, and it was now time to follow through with his plan. Someone else could take the flak. His stewardship of the party that he had helped to found was coming to an end. Hume was in a dark place. He felt that he had tried everything to try and advance politics in Northern Ireland. He had talked to Sinn Féin but there was little sign that there would be a permanent IRA ceasefire. He had had numerous discussions with the other parties, but a political agreement was elusive. He was worn out, and it was time to step down.

In another part of Derry, Mark Durkan had finished breakfast and was getting ready to make the 70-mile journey to Belfast. Headhunted by Hume in 1983, he was his assistant, speechwriter and confidante. A former student leader, Durkan was bright, articulate and fiercely loyal to his boss. He was seen by many as a future party leader. In his role as SDLP chairman, he was due to travel to West Belfast to spend the day canvassing. A general election was expected in the coming weeks, and the party had high hopes of taking the seat from the Sinn Féin president, Gerry Adams.

As he prepared to leave his house, Durkan’s home phone rang, and when he answered it he heard a familiar voice. Pat Hume told Mark to come over to the house immediately and speak to John. It was clearly urgent.

Pat, normally the voice of quiet calmness, sounded agitated. In the background, Durkan could hear John wanting to know who she was talking to.

When Durkan arrived at the Humes’s home minutes later, it was clear all was not well. Pat ushered him in and John unburdened himself. He had simply had enough of being SDLP leader. He was battered by the constant criticism, and he was convinced some of his colleagues would not support him in another round of inter-party talks. He felt undermined, he was cross with the press coverage, and he believed resignation was the only way out. He told Durkan that his 13-year reign as leader was over.

Durkan listened and then responded by using ‘John Hume tactics’ on John Hume. He reminded him that he always said ‘you don’t react to reaction’. Durkan argued that he should pause and think. He urged his friend to simply work through the consequences. It was role reversal – the apprentice was advising the master. Hume, so often the dispenser of logic and wisdom to colleagues, was now being urged to heed his own advice. With every response from Durkan, there came another dramatic Hume revelation of what he believed had to happen.

Hume informed his assistant that, as well as quitting the party leadership, he also wanted to give up his Westminster seat. He candidly told Durkan that he needed to be ready to fill his shoes and become the new Foyle MP. Durkan countered this argument by telling Hume that this was not the time for him to step away from parliament. Hume had been having secret conversations with the Sinn Féin president, Gerry Adams, with the hope that the talks could lead to a permanent IRA ceasefire. Durkan made it clear to Hume that, if he quit parliament and walked away from the leadership, ‘this will wreck everything’.1 It was a powerful argument for peace.

Hume then offered a document to Durkan who started to read it. It was a two-page statement about to be issued to the Press Association announcing his departure as SDLP leader. For Durkan, it was a devastating read. The press release was incendiary and Hume’s guest knew it must not be issued under any circumstances. The two men then talked some more and the atmosphere improved.

Finally, it was agreed that John and Pat would think about things over the weekend and would not say anything publicly. They agreed to go to their holiday home in Donegal, relax and unwind and take time to ‘get their breath’.

Durkan had achieved what Pat Hume hoped he would. He had talked her husband back from the brink. As he headed for the door, he still had the document detailing Hume’s intention to quit.

Outside the house, he said his goodbyes and Pat Hume mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him and held up crossed fingers. She was relieved that the crisis had been averted. Before his guest could drive off, John Hume raised his arm and told him to stop. He then asked for the return of his resignation statement. Durkan’s sleight of hand had not been clever enough.

The Humes headed for Donegal. Mark Durkan went in the opposite direction and drove to Belfast. He had already done a day’s work. A good day’s work – convincing his friend and mentor to stay the course and finish the job.

Sometimes persuaders need to be persuaded too.

1

WEE JOHNNY HUME

‘I was the lucky one, I passed the 11 plus.’John Hume

Derry’s most famous politician was not always known as John Hume. For years he was called Johnny and, to this day, old school friends still refer to him affectionately by that name. It captures a boyish sense of mischief when his world was dominated by a love of soccer, cricket and comics. Even at his funeral in August 2020, when his life was being replayed, there were stories of how Johnny the schoolboy would eventually become John the statesman.

Hume and his home city are entwined. To understand him as a political leader it is necessary to examine his roots and his experience. His childhood and family life shaped his thought process, his language and ultimately his ideas. His upbringing gave him an understanding of history and a sense of place. As a child of the 1930s, he grew up in a recently divided Ireland and, as a young Catholic boy, he was well aware of life in a religiously mixed society. The border was in plain sight and he could see it and experience it. The political consequences of partition were all around. Donegal and Derry, once part of the same equation, were now apart.

As he grew up, he was also surrounded by a list of social ills. The streets were home to bad housing, unemployment, poverty and gerry-mandering by unionist politicians. These were all local issues, yet they would eventually gain national importance. Hume saw the world from a Derry perspective – a place that reflected the competing identities of Britishness and Irishness. It was a city that historically was overshadowed by conflict and division. Even the very name of his birthplace is contested to this day.

Unionists generally call the city Londonderry, which was the title it was given by the trades guilds from London after the Plantation of Ulster. A new walled development was built by the River Foyle and named Londonderry by royal charter of King James I in 1613. The surrounding land was given to companies which encouraged English and Scottish settlers, and at the same time, limited land was made available to Irish tenants. Unionists have always seen the name ‘Londonderry’ as a reminder of their Britishness and their ties to Britain.

History hangs over Hume’s homeplace. The city is central to Orange folklore, and it is revered as the sacred place where Protestants held out between 1688 and 1689 against an advancing Catholic army. This is the ground within the shadow of the walls where the battle cry of ‘no surrender’ was coined. For loyalists, unionists and members of the Orange Order and the Royal Black Institution, the city has a special place in their history. Every year the Apprentice Boys of Derry commemorate the actions of the 13 apprentices who shut the city gates in 1688 and set in train the Great Siege.

For nationalists, the city is equally significant. They feel Derry is as Irish as Dublin and insist that it is ultimately governed by the wrong country. They see the ‘London’ prefix as colonial appropriation. In their eyes, it is a reminder of a past best forgotten. When John Hume was growing up, Derry’s split identity was very evident. The city had a shared history but two very different outlooks – just like Northern Ireland itself.

Born on 18 January 1937, life began for John Hume in a small terraced house on 20 Lower Nassau Street in Derry. His parents were Sam Hume and Annie Doherty, and the couple had married a year earlier. At 32, Annie was some 14 years younger than Sam. He was born in 1890, the youngest of his family who originated in the Scottish Lowlands. Although the Humes were Catholic, one side of the family had Protestant roots.

Sam’s grandfather William Hume, a Presbyterian, arrived in Ireland from Scotland in the mid-nineteenth century. A skilled stonemason, he came to County Donegal looking for a job and would eventually end up in the village of Burt at the base of the Inishowen peninsula. He built station houses for the new railway, and his handiwork has stood the test of time, as some of his stone bridges still survive. He married a young Catholic woman and left behind his Presbyterianism as he experienced his new life in Ireland.

His grandson, Sam Hume, had little formal education. He left school aged 12 and, like many of his generation, he had to leave Ireland to find employment. He initially moved to Scotland to stay with family members where he worked in the shipyards of Glasgow.

When the First World War broke out in 1914, he, like thousands of young Irish men, joined the British Army and in the uniform of the Royal Irish Rifles saw service in France. He survived unscathed but, like many of those who witnessed the bloody horrors of the Great War, the experience left a mark. John recalled one conversation with his father:

I remember saying to him late in life about it, why do you not talk? And he said the terrible memories. He said he was in a trench and a shell knocked his belt off, but it killed his colleagues ... and he’d never forgotten it. And as a result, he was very much against war because of what it means in practice.1

Sam Hume eventually came back to Ireland and later got a job in the civil service where he worked in the Ministry of Food. When the Second World War broke out he switched back to his old work and joined Harland and Wolff shipbuilders, working as a riveter along the banks of the Foyle and helping to service the vessels from the Atlantic fleet. The city was a strategic port and was used as a safe haven for Allied ships and submarines.

Life was economically tough so the cash from the wartime work was much needed by Sam and Annie Hume. They started living in one room in the Bogside area of the city and had to wait several years before they could find a bigger property. Soon John was joined by brothers and sisters. There were four boys, John, Harry, Patrick and Jim, and three girls, Annie, Sally and Agnes.

Family life was very busy at 10 Glenbrook Terrace, which was the first home the Humes could call their own. It was rented accommodation and was a very cramped two-up, two-down terraced house. It was simple and functional but, for a large family like the Humes, it meant there was little space or privacy. There were two bedrooms upstairs, with Sam and the boys sleeping in one room and Annie and the girls sleeping in the other. On the ground floor, there was a living room and a kitchen. There was no indoor bathroom; the family used an outside toilet in the yard.

When the war ended in 1945 so too did Sam Hume’s work as a riveter. The timing could not have been worse as he was now in his mid-fifties and had seven children to feed. He would not work again, though others in the community had a need for his talents.

He had a way with words and was particularly talented at letter writing and administrative work, so neighbours and friends would often call at the Hume house for help with filling in official documents. John Hume’s son Aidan recalls how his grandfather Sam helped people: ‘He was unemployed for years but he was very gifted. There would be a line of people outside the door. He was never involved in politics, but it was almost like he ran a constituency clinic. You would have a line of people out the door looking for him to write a letter.’2

With his exquisite handwriting, Sam Hume became a man in demand. His years in the civil service had given him an understanding of bureaucracy and a head for figures, so friends with financial problems very often made a beeline for his door.

There was no payment for his assistance; occasionally a packet of cigarettes would be left behind by a grateful caller. Sometimes the small Hume house would be full of people seeking help. As John recalled:

Our main room was where we ate and did everything at the wooden table. I’d be sitting doing my homework every night and my father would be sitting at the table writing letters. And the people would be queuing up and coming in to get him to write letters for them about their problems to government departments … because not only was he a first-class letter-writer, but he knew the inside of the whole government system. So what I always say about that, is that from when I was no age the problems of our people were normality to me and I think that shaped a lot of my thinking because … it’s childhood that makes you what you are.3

Sam Hume was a supporter of trade unions, and his politics would have been rooted in helping the community. John says his father was not interested in the constitutional question: ‘My father was fundamentally, I think, a Labour man, which in those days in Derry didn’t exist as a political party. His view was that politics should be about people’s living standards.’4

It is clear Sam Hume had an enormous influence on how his eldest son John would come to view the world. He introduced him to the concept of public service, although Sam Hume would have passed it off as simply helping his neighbours. Hume’s father is credited with passing on a series of anecdotes about life that John would quote in later years. He advised him to stay away from the flag-waving politics of nationalism. The much-told story goes that Sam and 10-year-old John happened upon an election meeting in the street where nationalists were waving flags and there was much talk about Irish unity. Hume Senior told his son that he should stay away from such things. When young John questioned this, his father said it was because ‘you cannot eat a flag’.5

The phrase became part of John Hume’s political vocabulary, and when he was being interviewed by journalists during his political career it was a tried and tested soundbite. In later years, Hume was often criticised by his political rivals and journalists for endlessly repeating phrases. The flag story became a well-worn anecdote and was often cited as an example of Hume’s so-called ‘single transferable speech’, which was the nickname the media gave to his stock-in-trade answers. Hume said the advice from his father in 1947 was his first political lesson. He said it taught him that it does not matter what flag you identify with; the most important thing is giving people a decent home and food on their table. To Hume, politics had to be much more than national identity. It was about making people’s lives better and giving citizens opportunities. Looking back at his childhood, Hume says his parents never talked about party politics: ‘Politics of any description were never discussed in our family – they were not part of our world.’6

As a child, his relationship with his father was good. Sam Hume was very sociable and enjoyed reading and telling stories. John would also have witnessed his father holding court with his neighbours and friends, and he inherited his ability to tell stories. Life for the Humes in post-war Derry was difficult, as it was for many thousands of people in the city’s working-class communities. Good housing and jobs were hard to come by. Money was not just tight – at times it was completely non-existent. Hume would later recall: ‘Looking back on it, not only was it extreme poverty; I wondered how my mother actually succeeded in rearing us.’7

John Hume was eight years old when his father lost his job. It was a crushing blow to Sam Hume and the household. Reflecting on his father’s unemployment, John felt he had been poorly treated: ‘I found that incredible because given the job he had during the war, I would have thought someone like him would have got a job but it underlined the unionist control in this part of the world.’8

Like many other Derry women, Annie Hume became the main breadwinner when Sam lost his job. As Annie Doherty, she was born and lived in a street that became world-famous and was home to the iconic Free Derry Corner in the Bogside. With a limited education, she had begun her working life as a child. John recalled how her childhood and his were very different: ‘My mother’s life was very much like many in her time. She was obviously a very highly intelligent woman, but she never went to school because in those days people didn’t.’9

Annie Hume brought extra money in by working as a seamstress from home and she prepared shirt collars at night for Derry’s busy textile trade. John, as the eldest, would stay up with her and help: ‘I remember I used to do her secretarial work for her. I used to tie [the collars] up and write the numbers and all the rest of it.’10

If Hume inherited his father’s sense of public duty, he was also clearly influenced by his mother’s work ethic and determination to survive in the most trying of circumstances. He also had a very good relationship with Annie’s mother and was a frequent visitor to his grandmother Doherty’s home:

She always encouraged me with my schooling, and we were very fond of each other. Her house was nearer to my school than my own, so I went to her for lunch every school day. She was an excellent cook and, while she prepared the meal, I would run errands for her, such as buying her snuff for which she had a great fondness.11

Aware that the family finances were tight, young John contributed by doing a daily paper round and delivering newspapers round the streets in the early evening: ‘I did my best to earn money because we were poor. I used to deliver newspapers every night.’ The extra cash from delivering copies of the Belfast Telegraph, which amounted to a few shillings a week, all went into the Hume family coffers. The newspaper round did not just provide much-needed income, but it indirectly added to the young schoolboy’s understanding of current affairs. Hume would read the papers as he delivered them and felt he was ‘fully informed as to what was happening in the world’.12

At St Eugene’s Primary School, he was regarded as a clever boy who worked hard in class. He got on well with a teacher who instilled a belief in him that schoolwork opened the door to opportunity. He started to excel academically and at eight years of age won a class prize which attracted the grand sum of half a crown. Hume was well aware that he was in possession of serious money which could help the family finances. However, others in the school had different plans for Hume’s winnings.

A quick-thinking teacher soon appeared at his desk and rattled a charity collection box under his nose. He turned to Hume and said: ‘I hear that somebody is carrying a lot of money here. I think the black babies will do well today.’13

The box was rattled and Hume remained still and looked ahead. The box was shaken vigorously again and young Johnny Hume stayed calm and stared into the distance. The standoff continued until the teacher gave up. Hume did not give way. He believed the cash would be much better in his mother’s hand than in the collecting tin. He would later establish a reputation for kindness but, with an unemployed father and six siblings, he believed the charity donation would have to wait for another day. To Hume’s watching classmates it was an early indication of his stubbornness and singlemindedness.

By now, he was also becoming increasingly fascinated by the workings of the Church, so much so that he became an altar boy at St Eugene’s Cathedral, the large imposing nineteenth-century gothic church which towered over the Bogside. There were daily masses during the week and services at the weekend, so the young John was constantly making the short journey from the family home to the church grounds. There he would often be in the company of the Bishop of Derry, Neil Farren, who lived beside the cathedral.

Hume remembers the early starts: ‘I would go to the cathedral every morning to serve mass. And, of course, when you become a sort of senior altar boy, the Bishop would choose you to be his permanent altar boy. I used to regularly go to Bishop Farren’s mass at half eight every morning in the bishop’s house.’14

The Humes lived in an area of Derry known as the Glen. The streets were mixed, with Catholics and Protestants living together. John Hume recalled: ‘In our street, there were three Protestant families and we were extremely friendly. There was no question of any differences between us at all.’15

However, he added: ‘There were other streets in the district that were totally Protestant and other streets that were totally Catholic. One became very aware of that.’16 Hume said life as a child was great fun and he said the space outside his house was his playground:

In my street, there was only one motor car. He was a taxi man, Johnny Bradley. He did not own it, but he was employed. Nobody else could afford a car and, for that reason, we were able to play football on the streets and tie ropes on the lampposts and create swings. We created our own games.17

John Hume captained the Glen Stars football team and in one memorable final they beat a team from Rosemount to win the Father Browne shield. As a football-mad boy, he was understandably thrilled and said it was ‘one of the proudest days of my life’. His brother Patsy recalls how John was carried shoulder-high by his team mates. John enjoyed his childhood and said his days in the Glen were ‘the best period of my life’.18

By 1947, a dramatic law change would alter the course of Hume’s life. The Education Act, which had been introduced in the rest of the UK, was finally brought into Northern Ireland. It provided compulsory secondary education for all that would be funded by the state. It meant children could be lifted out of poverty and could be offered a grammar school education, and Hume was one of the first to benefit from this new legislation. He sat the 11 Plus examination and, not surprisingly, passed. That meant he had a scholarship to attend St Columb’s, Derry’s Catholic grammar school which had previously only been accessible to those children whose parents were able to pay fees.

Hume had to explain to his mother how the scholarship worked:

I will never forget coming home and saying ‘Mammy, I am going to college.’ And she said, ‘We can never afford to send you there.’ I said, ‘But you don’t have to pay for me, I have got a scholarship.’ And she said, ‘What is that?’ And that just underlined to me that ordinary people knew nothing about this whole area because they were never involved in any way.19

Education offered John Hume something many of his parents’ generation could only dream of. He admits he was fortunate: ‘I was the lucky one. I passed the 11 Plus in its first year and got educated. And then I got a university scholarship. And without those things, I would never have been educated, because before my time nobody in our community got educated unless you belonged to a family who had a business or were professional.’20

When he walked into his new school for the first time Hume had a sense of unease: ‘I felt that inferiority complex because we were the first 11 Plus – the first generation to go to St Columb’s College – and as we grew up that was the place that only the wealthy went to.’21

Founded in 1879, St Columb’s, at its heart, had a strong Catholic ethos and a reputation for academic excellence and discipline. Many of the staff were priests and they often encouraged their best pupils to consider a future in the church. Faith was already an important part of Hume family life, as John recalled in an unpublished interview in 2003: ‘In those days our religion was central to our lives. And, of course, in the evenings my mother would say the rosary with all the family. And that was very normal and almost all the families in the street would do the same thing.’22

As an altar boy and someone with a strong faith, John Hume was a prime candidate to go into the priesthood. It was what he wanted, and he felt comfortable in the company of priests. Although most of the St Columb’s boys were encouraged to play Gaelic games, the young Hume, by now universally known as Johnny, was mad about soccer. At St Columb’s, the boys would play matches at break time with the city boys pitched against the country boys. Seán McCool, from Carndonagh in County Donegal, was the same year as Hume and he also ended up studying for the priesthood at Maynooth, which was Ireland’s major Catholic seminary. McCool says Hume was a ‘very stylish’ player and good with a ball at his feet.23

Jim McGonagle, who was two years his junior at St Columb’s, remembers Hume playing soccer in the schoolyard and how he loved ‘holding onto the ball’. Hume loved the game and ‘he could talk soccer all day long’. He specifically remembers Hume getting excited about Derry City winning the Irish Cup in 1954.24

In the summer months, he would often spend all day playing cricket. His love of the sport, the most English of games, was quite unusual for a Catholic schoolboy. He started to go to a place known as the ‘Big Field’ where he would mix with Protestant boys and they would form teams and play endless games. He loved cricket and he was a good bowler, coming to the attention of an umpire who had influence with one of the local clubs.

Hume later recalled: ‘He spotted me bowling and he went to City of Derry, which was a senior cricket team, and told them he had found a great young bowler and they should take me on. And they approached me. I was astonished. I ended up playing senior cricket for City of Derry. Most people find that hard to believe, but that’s true. I was the City of Derry’s left-arm spin bowler.’ In later life, Hume says people were often surprised that as a Catholic he was so good at cricket: ‘When people remind me of that these days I just say to unionists, well, I was always good at playing you at your own game!’25

Away from the sports field, Hume excelled in the classroom. Throughout his time at school, his grades were good and, as he progressed through the years, his desire to be a priest remained undiminished. He discussed his career plans with his parents and they were fully behind him. His mother, Annie, who was a devout Catholic, was particularly thrilled at the prospect of having a priest in the family. Life for the teenage John Hume was very busy. His schoolwork was intense and with little opportunity at home to read books and write essays in peace he often had to wait until his siblings had gone to bed at night before he could seriously study. His days were long and hectic but very productive. The schoolboy Hume was introduced to a wide range of new subjects. He began a lifelong love affair with French and he excelled in History, two subjects he would later study together in detail at Maynooth. He was also taught Latin and Greek, as the school wanted to encourage boys to consider the priesthood and both subjects were seen as essential.

The young student particularly liked the English classes and enjoyed the way the subject was taught. The school is famous for producing several acclaimed writers, amongst them Brian Friel, Seamus Heaney and Seamus Deane. They got to know Hume and lifelong friendships developed among all four. Heaney remembered Hume from his time at St Columb’s and said that even in those early days Hume gave ‘the impression of somebody with a very steady moral and intellectual keel under him, somebody reliable and consistent, who operated from a principled and definite moral centre’.26

Looking back, Hume did not gloss over his time at St Columb’s. In the 1950s, school life was tough. Like at other institutions, staff at the college used physical punishment if boys underperformed or misbehaved. He recalled one occasion when his classmates were given six slaps for failing to remember the Greek alphabet. It was accepted at the time as standard practice: ‘If you were wrong you got slapped. Being slapped was a very normal form, in those days of school, of ensuring that people were disciplined. It was the normal way of maintaining discipline in schools in those days and it was normally accepted by everyone, including parents.’27

As a pupil, John Hume continued with his afternoon paper round but was keen to keep it secret from the school authorities. He didn’t want them to know that his family needed the cash:

I remember one night my teacher, Rusty Gallagher, saw me and I tried to hide and he mentioned it to me the next day in school. But he obviously understood my sensitivity and he was praising me. He said, ‘God, it’s great to see you earning money for your parents.’28

Pupils at St Columb’s were divided into two categories – day pupils and boarders. Jim McGonagle, who went on to have a long career as a priest, was a boarder and remembers Hume’s kindness towards those boys who lived on the premises. He recalls John offering hungry boarders extra portions of food.

Away from studying and schoolwork, there was still time for fun and friendship, and Hume became good pals with Joe Coulter who lived close by. Joe, like John, had a strong Catholic faith and was interested in the priesthood. He was the older brother of Phil Coulter, who would go on to establish himself as a world-renowned songwriter and performer.

Phil Coulter also went to St Columb’s, although he was several years behind Hume. He remembers him coming into his house:

John and my brother, Joe, were big buddies. So John would have been knocking about our house quite a bit. Our house was one of those houses where there were three boys in the family. It was a kind of open-door house. So John probably spent as much time in our house as he could.29

Hume thought much of Joe Coulter, and they were model students who shared a love for education and had a strong desire to go into the Church. The expectation at St Columb’s was that they would go off to Maynooth and become priests. Hume was not just a friend of Joe Coulter. He was also a close pal of Phil’s, and in later life, the two men often performed in public singing the song ‘The Town I Loved So Well’. It was written by Coulter in 1973 and became an unofficial anthem for Derry and John Hume. Phil Coulter says Hume had a good voice: ‘The thing about people in Derry generally, John included, is everybody in Derry believes they can sing. Whether they can or not, it doesn’t really matter, but they believe this with fervour. They have this kind of pact with God.’30

Hume’s singing almost became as famous as his speeches. In correspondence with this author, Senator George Mitchell recalled how he met Hume at the US ambassador’s residence in Dublin when he witnessed the Derry politician entertaining the crowd: ‘As a politician myself I had often spoken before large gatherings, but I had never sung solo at one. I was pleasantly surprised that John’s singing was as good as his speaking.’31

Over the years Hume and Phil Coulter formed quite a musical partnership. Their friendship would last a lifetime and the composer would perform when Hume was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in Oslo in 1998.

When the time came for his final year at St Columb’s, Hume sat a series of tests including the Bishop’s Examination. He also had to sit a Latin examination, and not surprisingly he passed them all. That meant he had secured a prized place at St Patrick’s College in Maynooth.

A new life was about to begin.

2

MAYNOOTH MAN

‘It takes a good man to go in but it takes a better man to walk away.’Sam Hume

John Hume’s new home was now some 16 miles west of Dublin. Maynooth was a world away from Derry and with his pal, Joe Coulter, he quickly had to adjust to this regimented world. Soon, life was made up of meditation, prayers, lectures and silent retreats. The freedom the two boys had enjoyed at home was now curtailed and they were soon on a fast learning-curve trying to absorb the countless rules and regulations.

At 17, Hume had rarely been far from the famous walls of his home city and now he was in unfamiliar surroundings mixing with people he hardly knew. He had signed up for a three-year undergraduate course in History and French, intending to do an additional four years of theological study. He would also be learning Logic and Philosophy in what was seen as a very intensive course. The expectation was that he would be in the seminary for a full seven years and then he would enter the priesthood.

Within days, as he settled into his spartan room, he began to experience a rather basic lifestyle. There were long periods of silent meditation and prayer beginning shortly after 6 a.m. Students were instructed to rise and get dressed in silence. After breakfast, most mornings were taken up by study periods and lectures. Lunch, which was generally small and uninspiring, was followed by more lectures, silent study and then a spiritual talk at around 7 p.m. After supper, there was some free time and then all students were expected to be in bed by 10 o’clock.

It was all controlled, as Hume recalled:

You had to [go to] your room at a specific time to study. Unlike in university where you could not bother until you had to. Therefore, you did study. But in the between time was when you met with your colleagues and the habit there was you met at a particular point in the grounds and the groups of every district met together and you stood there chatting.1

Monsignor Brendan Devlin is well-placed to have a view of what life at Maynooth was like. He experienced days there as both a student training for the priesthood and as a teacher offering guidance to seminarians. He studied at St Patrick’s from 1948 until 1952 and later returned to teach Modern Languages. He says there was a reason behind the timetabling: ‘The general theory of the thing was that you never had a minute to yourself except the long period of recreation in the middle of the day was long enough to organise and play, let’s say, a game of football.’2

The authorities at Maynooth were keen to impress on their young seminarians a strict moral code, and rules on behaviour were made clear as soon as the boys arrived. There was a ban on alcohol, and smoking was only allowed on the grounds. There was no access to newspapers, radio or even television, and contemporary current affairs magazines were prohibited. It seemed the outside world would stay just that – outside.

Some seminarians who had experienced boarding schools found the transition to Maynooth relatively straightforward. Seán Donlon, who was there from 1958 to 1961, was one of those.

Ultimately, he would not enter the priesthood but instead would spend thirty years in the Irish Civil Service, including a spell as Irish ambassador in the United States. He and Hume would become close friends in later life and he would play an important behind-the-scenes role in Anglo-Irish relations. As a young man, he enjoyed his time at Maynooth and learned a lot but says students lived life in a ‘bubble’ and college staff tried to shelter them from the outside world. For example, the authorities were keen to keep the young seminarians away from members of the opposite sex. Donlon recalls: ‘You did not see a woman in the grounds.’3

If a pupil’s sister was visiting, she would not be admitted to the building and instead would be confined to the fringes of the college grounds. Donlon remembers how pals who wanted to see a female sibling had to ‘go and see her at the gate lodge’.4 There were also rules that students were only allowed in each other’s rooms if they were sharing the accommodation.

Hume settled in quickly and took to his studies with the same determination and application he had shown at St Columb’s. His love of history was encouraged and developed by his tutor Tomás Ó Fiaich, a charismatic individual who would later go on to become a cardinal and serve as Catholic Primate of All Ireland.

Ó Fiaich would play a seminal role in the Catholic Church in the 1980s and he became a key figure in the political life of Northern Ireland during the Troubles, although he and Hume would often take conflicting positions. As a lecturer and role model, he would have an enormous personal impact on Hume’s time at Maynooth. A fellow northerner from Cullyhanna in County Armagh, Ó Fiaich had been a brilliant student at St Patrick’s a decade earlier. He graduated in 1944, with a first-class degree in Celtic Studies, and later went to St Peter’s College in Wexford where he was ordained as a priest in 1945.

Ó Fiaich also studied at University College Dublin and Louvain University in Belgium. Appointed initially as a lecturer in Modern History at Maynooth, he later became a professor and eventually assumed the title of president of the college. A talented linguist who spoke Irish, French and German, he had a reputation as an innovative and enthusiastic lecturer.

Hume and Ó Fiaich got on well together and the young Derry scholar was one of his first students in Maynooth. The two men had much in common. They were both from the North and shared a passion for history, as well as a love of sport. Unlike other lecturers, Ó Fiaich was keen to seek out his charges away from the classroom and engage them in conversation as they walked around the grounds. Ó Fiaich was a smoker and although smoking was banned inside the building it was allowed outside, so he would often chat to students as he enjoyed a quick cigarette between lessons. Hume said he learned much from Ó Fiaich: ‘He brought history alive by the very way he talked about it and I never forget taking notes all the time at his lectures.’5 The admiration, it seems, was mutual.

Monsignor Brendan Devlin knew Tomás Ó Fiaich well. The two men were colleagues and shared a deep interest in the Irish language. They enjoyed history and Irish culture and spoke in Irish when they met. Devlin says Ó Fiaich had a high regard for his young protégé: ‘One of the early things Ó Fiaich turned John towards was the local history of Ulster. Now, being a Derry man, John didn’t need much pushing.’6

Hume was fascinated by history and embraced the course and, in particular, he relished Ó Fiaich’s approachable teaching style. This was Hume’s first detailed introduction to history and it opened up his mind to the study of different cultures and communities. He, like Ó Fiaich, was intrigued by the twists and turns of Irish history and he mastered the course quickly. He also made an impressive start by ending his first year with honours. Seán Donlon also had experience of Ó Fiaich and says he was brilliant at helping students who showed promise in history. He was taught by him after Hume left Maynooth and remembers that if you worked hard and engaged in the subject, ‘Ó Fiaich almost adopted you if you wanted to learn.’7

The history lecturer was popular with students and often bent the rules. Donlon recalls how the GAA-mad teacher would love nothing more than talking about the latest All-Ireland results. He was particularly keen to discuss the performance of his home county of Armagh. Donlon remembers how he would regularly tear out a match report from a copy of the Irish Independent on a Monday and share it with the pupils. As newspapers were initially banned for pupils, this act of defiance naturally caused a stir around the classroom. Donlon recalls that Ó Fiaich was careful not to pass on the whole newspaper in case the boys would be distracted by ‘adverts for women’s underwear’.8

So what should we make of Ó Fiaich’s influence on John Hume? Monsignor Brendan Devlin says it is clear Hume’s thinking was influenced by Ó Fiaich, but he insists that the young student would have still questioned much of what he was being taught: ‘I would not run away with the idea that it was Tomás Ó Fiaich who turned Hume onto politics. Hume was well able to make his mind up. Hume was not the kind of guy who was just influenced by an eloquent teacher.’9

Seán Donlon insists that whilst Ó Fiaich was influential and introduced his students to new ideas, Hume and his tutor had a very different political outlook. He says Hume was never on Ó Fiaich’s ‘wavelength’ politically.10

As a student, John Hume had a reputation for being his own man and making his own decisions. As part of his course, he studied Logic under the tutelage of Professor Dermot O’Donoghue. For Hume, this part of his degree was revelatory: ‘I was very interested in Logic because of its promotion of thinking … my Professor of Logic was Father O’Donoghue … a strange man but I found him very, very good because he promoted thinking, and good thinking and logical thinking’.11

Hume undoubtedly did a lot of deep moral and philosophical thinking in Maynooth and it laid the foundation for his political ideals. So how did this impact his growing political thoughts? Dan Keenan observed John Hume at close quarters, both from his time working as an SDLP press officer and as a journalist in Belfast and Dublin. He later wrote a PhD thesis examining Hume’s Derry origins. Keenan believes Hume’s time in County Kildare made an impact on his politics: ‘I think a lot of the Hume worldview emanates from Maynooth.’ He makes the point that Hume was, after all, at a Catholic seminary and hoping to become a priest so, ‘he is going to reflect many of the aspects of the philosophy that the church has or had at the time’. Keenan also observes that Hume defined himself as a social democrat and he believes Hume’s social democracy is ‘steeped in a wider definition of Christianity as he practises it’.12

Whilst Hume spent much time studying and examining ideas he would continually return to his personal experiences, as Monsignor Brendan Devlin recalls: ‘John Hume, in a sense, was the embodiment of Derry. He was a Derry man first, last and all the time. He talked like a Derry man and thought like a Derry man.’13

Devlin speculates that Hume’s fascination with history and his study of the past may have started to provoke some rather personal and political queries. He suggests that it got Hume to think about his background and experience:

You begin to ask questions … how did this come around? I grew up in a city surrounded by battlements. Everything inside the battlement was Protestant and everything in the slums was Catholic. Is this normal in the city? Is this a normal city? And if you have any brains at all you begin to find out it is not. You know, it’s not normal and the government of the city is gerrymandered. My crowd is getting no show at all. There must be a reason for this. And, of course, John got into all that.14

Hume did not just perform well in History in his first year. He also excelled in French and was fortunate to have an impressive professor from the Lorraine region of France called Hubert Schild. Under Schild’s guidance, he immersed himself in the French language and culture, and conversations in the classroom were rarely in English.

In the summer holidays, his language skills improved when he took a break from Maynooth and left Ireland for the first time and travelled to France, visiting Saint-Malo in Brittany. As a young man, he was now spreading his wings and experiencing a slice of life that could not be more different from the cloistered world of Maynooth. Yet, in one sense he may have felt at home when he walked down the streets of Saint-Malo. Like Derry, it is a famous walled city and as he gazed up at the tall granite stones it probably all looked very familiar.

As a budding ‘Francophile’ he also attended language classes in Paris. This was the beginning of Hume’s love affair with France. It was a place he would relax and holiday in for the next five decades. Whilst at Maynooth, he became proficient in spoken and written French:

Most of the students who came to Maynooth had done Greek because of their choice in earlier years … I was probably the only honours student or maybe there were two or three, but what it meant in practice was that the honours conversations were in French, the result of which is that I became a very fluent French speaker.15

John’s family took great pride in their eldest son’s language skills as Hume recalled: ‘Nobody on the parents’ side would ever have spoken another language, you know, and they were amazed that I would be doing that.’16 Hume’s fluency in French was a life skill that turned out to be most useful, particularly when he became an MEP and regularly travelled to Strasbourg and Brussels. Such was his proficiency in the language, and love of it, that he also learned several French songs which he was able to perform, both word-perfect and in tune.

Away from the classroom, there were opportunities for other activities and he played sport and began to hone his debating skills in weekly competitions. There was much to occupy young minds at Maynooth. Hume was busy and found time to edit the college magazine and even persuaded his old St Columb’s pal Seán McCool to become a contributor.

McCool says all the staff ‘thought the world’ of Hume and he and his old schoolmate spent many happy days strolling the grounds of St Patrick’s. Whilst luxuries were limited for the seminarians, Hume did manage to get his hands occasionally on sweets or other treats. Renowned for his ‘sweet tooth’, Hume used to like nothing more than devouring a bar of chocolate. McCool recalls that Hume had a reputation for kindness, but when it came to sharing his chocolate things would be different. He jokingly remembers Hume telling him to ‘get away on and get your own’.17

Hume seemed at home in the surroundings of Maynooth. He was popular, well-liked and progressing well. On the surface, it appeared that he was content with life in County Kildare, but as time moved on things started to change. He began to privately question whether he really wanted to be a priest and dedicate his life to the Catholic Church. Journalist Paul Routledge wonders if Hume’s disillusionment ‘may owe something to the prolonged glimpses of the outside world he experienced during the summers he spent in France’.18

The young Derry man may have started to find the world of Maynooth rather claustrophobic. With its detailed rules and regular timetabling, St Patrick’s had the feel of a strict public school. Hume had never been a boarder, unlike some of his contemporaries, so may have found the move to Maynooth harder than most. In this closed world, Hume was beginning to find the regulations suffocating and was starting to wonder if he was on the right path. Fundamentally, he had to ask himself a question – did he want to be a priest? Was this how he wanted to spend the next 40 or 50 years of his life? There may also have been other reasons which made him start thinking about an alternative career. During his time at St Patrick’s, John Hume had the reputation of being an industrious student, who was serious about his vocation. However, an incident in his final months may have helped him decide that a life in the priesthood was not what he wanted.

Bound by its long list of strict routines, St Patrick’s College posed a challenge to any rebellious student. Hume was by nature not a rule breaker but in his third year he ended up being disciplined. He unwittingly allowed another student to come into his room. Regulations dictated that only roommates were allowed in shared accommodation and Hume was seen by the dean chatting with a visitor in his room.

Days later, he appeared before a disciplinary committee. He outlined why he felt he had not broken any rules but his explanation was not accepted. He was sanctioned by the college authorities. The reprimand meant he would not be awarded a ‘tonsure’. This was the ritual shaving of a small part of the scalp which was done before students took holy orders. According to the journalist Barry White, Hume was ‘sickened by the way he was treated’.19

A severe stomach complaint led to a period in hospital and he missed his final honours exams. He was laid up for several weeks so his graduation was indefinitely put on hold. The time away from the classroom also gave him an opportunity to reassess his future and he decided that he would not go into the priesthood but instead would leave Maynooth. It was undoubtedly a difficult decision. He agonised over it, but if he felt he was letting his parents down he need not have worried. His father was supportive and he told John, ‘It takes a good man to go in but it takes a better man to walk away.’20

Jim McGonagle, who took the same path as Hume from St Columb’s to Maynooth but who ultimately entered the priesthood, says in one sense it would have been ‘easier to stay than to go’.21 After three years inside a seminary, Hume was now stepping out into the unknown, and his future career was shrouded in uncertainty. It was a tough call but not an uncommon one. Some young men who entered Maynooth found the demands too much and wanted to get married and have a family. Others had a crisis of faith or preferred a career where the financial rewards were greater. Those who turned down the opportunity were often referred to in unflattering terms as ‘spoiled priests’. Seán McCool and John Hume lived parallel lives for a while. Both ex-pupils of St Columb’s and Maynooth they both ultimately rejected the priesthood and embraced teaching. McCool says he and Hume did not talk about their career choices but says he found the decision to reject the priesthood ‘traumatic’. He remembers what it was like leaving Maynooth: ‘You feel alienated when you go home.’22

At St Patrick’s there were unwritten rules if students decided to leave. Seminarians were encouraged not to initially inform their classmates but instead to keep their decision private. The protocol was that a staff member should be informed and then a series of behind-the-scenes discussions would follow. This may have been an attempt to buy some thinking time and give students an opportunity to reconsider.

Tony Johnston, from Derry, was at Maynooth at the same time as John Hume and left after his degree. He says there was no pressure placed on students if they rejected a career as a priest. He recalls that the teaching staff accepted the decision and usually just ‘shrugged their shoulders’.23

As a senior figure and good communicator, Tomás Ó Fiaich would often be tasked with meeting departing students to discover why they wanted to quit. Ó Fiaich’s approachability and down-to-earth manner made him the ideal person to chat to seminarians who were thinking of leaving. In 1961 Seán Donlon’s time at Maynooth came to an early end. He decided to leave and met Ó Fiaich to have a conversation about his future. The pair travelled in the lecturer’s Morris Minor to a Dublin hotel where they enjoyed a meal together and chatted about the future. The history tutor showed Donlon great kindness by helping him make the transition from St Patrick’s to a course at University College Dublin where Ó Fiaich had studied. He drove him across the city to the UCD campus and he introduced him to many of his contacts. Donlon says he never fell out with Ó Fiaich and says the academic was always ‘very generous’.24 Hume had a similar experience. He also got a trip to a Dublin hotel and a meal courtesy of the authorities at St Patrick’s. The good food and the warm words did not alter his final decision.

John Hume would never become Father Hume.

3

PAT AND PARCEL

‘There would be no John Hume without Pat.’Phil Coulter

John Hume was soon back home on the familiar streets of Derry and living once again in cramped conditions with his parents and siblings. At 20 years of age, his life had come full circle and he needed a job urgently. This was not how he imagined life would have turned out.

Despite the uncertainty of what lay ahead, he had at least come to some conclusions and had decided that his career lay in the world of teaching. However, he knew that this decision would not be straightforward. With no teaching experience or training qualifications, he knew it would be difficult to persuade any school principal to give him a start. With fortuitous timing, he secured a job at the Christian Brothers Technical College teaching French and Irish. It was an ideal opportunity, and since he was competent in both languages it suited him perfectly.

Hume took to teaching in the same way he approached studying at Maynooth, and he threw himself into this new role with enthusiasm and vigour. He was a natural communicator and quickly established a reputation as a popular teacher who was capable of getting the best out of students. He had no formal training, so his style and manner were based more on instinct than anything else. He tried to bring both languages alive for his pupils by getting them to talk before they began to concentrate on the niceties of grammar.

He returned to Maynooth briefly in 1958 to sit his finals. He then had the joy of graduating, and with a degree to his name, he hoped that other teaching posts might arise. When a new secondary school opened in Strabane in 1958, an ideal opportunity presented itself. Hume joined the staff at St Colman’s and embraced the teaching of French with his trademark enthusiasm and creativity. The pupils at St Colman’s were different to the scholarship boys Hume would have mixed with during his days at St Columb’s in Derry. The new school was made up of those students who had failed the 11 Plus and whose career aspirations were often for manual or semi-skilled jobs. Hume faced quite a challenge teaching students whose knowledge of French was limited or, in some cases, non-existent.