The Most Famous Irish People You've Never Heard Of E-Book

Colin Murphy

• Herausgeber: The O'Brien Press
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

STORIES OF ADVENTURE & ACHIEVEMENT INVENTORS, GOLD-DIGGERS, MILITARY LEADERS, SPIES, RABBLE-ROUSERS, SOLDIERS, COURTESANS, ACE PILOTS DETECTIVES, ATHLETES, HEROES Irish people have left their mark on virtually every corner of the globe. This fascinating book tells the stories of the Irish who are justly celebrated in their adopted homelands, but virtually unknown in Ireland. - William Melville from Kerry, the First Head of MI5 - Monsignor Hugh O'Flaherty from Cork, who rescued 4,000 Jews and Allied Servicemen from the Nazis - James Hoban from Kilkenny who designed The White House - Jennie Hodgers from Louth who served three years in Union Army during the American Civil War - as a man - George McElroy from Dublin who became one of World war I's outstanding aerial acesAnd many more …

Leseprobe

Reviews

THE MOST FAMOUS IRISH PEOPLE YOU’VE NEVER HEARD OF

‘Fascinating … looks at the Irish who are celebrated in their adopted homelands, but virtually unknown here’Irish Star Sunday

‘Anyone interested in roots … will happily spend a few hours anchored in [The Most Famous Irish People You’ve Never Heard Of]’Irish Examiner

For my mother and father, Eileen & John Murphy.

Acknowledgements

Many years ago, while on a holiday visiting my sister Pauline in Western Australia, she first introduced me to the genius that was C.Y. O’Connor; his was a story that first aroused my interest in Irish people who achieved greatness abroad, but remain largely unknown in Ireland. Subsequent research revealed countless Irish men and women of a similar nature. This book attempts to bring the achievements of a mere handful of those people to light. A thousand other stories remain untold.

This book would not have been possible without the help and support of a great number of people. First among them is my aforementioned big sister, Pauline, in Perth, for my initial insight into C.Y. O’Connor, but also for her suggestion of Paddy Hannan’s inclusion and for her photographs of the prospector’s statue. I would also like to thank Pauline’s friends, Kerry Doust, Laraine Cook and Leith Murphy who went to a great deal of trouble to send me images of the other Hannan statue in Kalgoorlie.

Extreme gratitude to Sean O’Sullivan of the Ballingeary and Inchigeela Local History Society for his invaluable work in helping to track down Mary Harris’ (Mother Jones) lineage.

My gratitude also to Gary McCue for granting me access to his extensive work on John Philip Holland and also to Bruce Ballistrieri, Curator of The Paterson Museum, New Jersey, for his permission to reproduce the images of Holland. Also to Maureen Comber of the Clare County Library for granting me permission to reference their files on both John Holland and Paddy Hannan.

My thanks to Bruce Seymour, author of Lola Montez: A Life, who kindly granted me access to his original research material.

Special mention to Brian Fleming, author of The Vatican Pimpernel, to the staff at Collins Press and especially to Deirdre Waldron of the Hugh O’Flaherty Memorial Society for their assistance in providing images of Monsignor O’Flaherty. Also to Barry O’Sullivan at Fuzion Communications, Cork.

For my research on Albert Cashier I would like to thank Mike Stoecklin, former Mayor of Saunemin, Illinois and also Tony and Marylin Thorsen & Ruth Morehart of Dwight Historical Society, Illinois for supplying me with an image of Albert.

My gratitude to Anne O’Neill at the Philatelic Advisory Committee of An Post for permission to reproduce the James Hoban commemorative stamp.

My thanks to Helen O’Carroll, curator of Kerry County Museum for her invaluable help with research material and images of William Melville and also to Peter Staunton who first introduced me to Melville’s character while climbing a mountain in Kerry! Also to John V. Sullivan and Dan Downing of the Sneem Parish News.

I am also eternally grateful to the following people who gave me permission to use their photographs in the book. Unfortunately due to space restrictions, not all the images could be used, but my thanks nonetheless to: Facundo A. Fernández, Tony Jones, Brian O’Donovan, Andrei Roman, Harry Hunt, Nancy Spraker, Dermot Hurley and Bob Mendelsohn.

For various inputs, assistance and suggestions, my thanks to Donal O’Dea, Brendan O’Reilly, Bridget Costello and my long-suffering family, Grainne, Emmet and Ciara.

Most importantly I would like to express my heartfelt thanks to Michael O’Brien of The O’Brien Press for supporting this book from the word go and also to Helen Carr, my editor. Also my thanks to Emma Byrne for her first-class design and layout and Erika McGann for her work in production.

Lastly, I’d like to thank all the Irish men and women who did their country proud the world over.

CONTENTS

Reviews

Title Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Introduction

1 Paddy Hannan and Charles Yelverton-O’Connor

2 Alejandro O’Reilly

3 Albert D.J. Cashier aka Jennie Hodgers

4 Mary ‘Mother Jones’ Harris

5 James Hoban

6 Lola Montez

7 Guillermo Brown

8 George McElroy

9 William Melville

10 John Philip Holland

11 Monsignor Hugh O’Flaherty

12 Ireland’s Unknown Olympians

References

Picture Credits

Plates

About the Author

Copyright

Other Books

Introduction

In virtually every corner of the world you’ll find Irish people have left their mark – and still continue to do so. But some more than others made an enduring impression on their adopted homeland. Occasionally on our travels as tourists, we stumble across clues to their endeavours – streets with Irish names in remote South American villages, plaques on walls in Australian towns, imposing statues of Irish men or women in some European or North American square, many of them born long ago in impoverished Irish villages yet still today proudly staring down at us from the past. In foreign fields far and wide they became famous, or occasionally, infamous. But in the land of their birth, most of them remain virtually unknown. This book attempts to set that record straight for at least some of these remarkable individuals. And if we only learn one thing from throwing a light on their accomplishments, it is probably that Ireland was so much poorer for their loss.

Paddy Hannan and Charles Yelverton-O’Connor

Paddy Hannan Prospector who discovered the Kalgoorlie goldfields and set in motion the largest goldrush in history

Charles Yelverton-O’Connor Legendary Australian civil engineer

RICH MAN, POOR MAN

They were two very different men from utterly diverse backgrounds, yet the roads they took in their lives, their fates, seemed to be intimately coiled around each other like a double helix. To our knowledge, these two roads never actually crossed, yet between them, they would lay the foundations for developing what is the largest state in the world, Western Australia.

They were both born in Ireland in the early 1840s, Paddy Hannan making his debut in the world on 24 April 1840 in the village of Quin, Co. Clare to proud parents John Hannan and Bridget Lynch. Less than three years later, Charles Yelverton O’Connor would be born in quite different circumstances a hundred miles to the east in Gravelmount, Co. Meath, about six miles north-east of the historic town of Kells.

The 1845 Parliamentary Gazetteer of Ireland describes Paddy Hannan’s birthplace as ‘a wreched collection of poor cabins’, the population of the broader townland comprised over three thousand Catholics and forty Protestants and, although the Gazetteer doesn’t mention it, 95 per cent of the wealth was in the hands of that tiny minority. The poor were poor indeed and though it would have seemed impossible to them at the time, things were about to get a lot worse.

One of those thousands of impoverished Catholics was Paddy Hannan who was just six years old when the Great Famine struck. By the time its dark cloud had passed over the land, fifty thousand Clare natives would have died, almost a fifth of the county’s population. The same number would have fled aboard tall, creaky ships to unfamiliar far-off lands that at least offered the prospect of a life with dignity.

Not much is known about Paddy Hannan’s early life except that he was one of a family of seven children and he was educated in the village’s National School, although he was eight before he first set his bare foot inside its door. This was to be the sum total of his education, at basic primary level, although he was a bright youngster who friends would later recall, ‘wrote with a remarkably good hand and a habit of precise thought’.

It’s not known if Paddy Hannan lost any of his family in the famine, though if they survived unscathed they truly were an exception. One way or another, by the time he was a young man he would have a wealth of experience of two things: poverty and death. Yet the career he would eventually choose for himself may have found it roots in another experience from his childhood home. Just two miles from Quin in the parish of Doora was a lead and silver mine, which had been accidentally discovered in 1833 by a farmer cutting a drain though his bog. The deposits were found to be high grade and an extensive mining operation was put into place. It is highly likely Paddy Hannan like many of the local men, bereft of wealth after the ravages of famine, obtained employment in this mine.

His uncle, as well as many of his brothers, had already emigrated by the time the 1860s arrived and Paddy would soon down tools himself and board a ship for a land as far removed from Clare as is possible on this earth, in every sense. It would be six months before the golden sands of Australia appeared over his horizon and he would walk down the gangplank in Melbourne and place his foot on the soil that would bring him fame and fortune.

The farms in Paddy Hannan’s home county were, like most in Ireland at that time, in the hands of a wealthy Protestant ascendency who leased tiny plots to hundreds of tenant farmers, who in turn endured a subsistence living in which 90 per cent of their diet consisted of potatoes. When the blight destroyed the entire crop, the people starved and many landlords did little or nothing to help. Rents were still demanded and, with their livelihoods wiped out, it was impossible for people to pay, so they were frequently evicted. The shocking lack of human compassion of these wealthy individuals would become the wellspring that would ultimately feed a surge in growth of Irish nationalism and lead to armed rebellion.

But not every landlord in Ireland could be tarred with the same brush. A number of them did everything they could to help their tenants, some walking themselves to the edge of bankruptcy. One such was John O’Connor in Co. Meath. An 1837 topographical dictionary of Ireland describes his property as follows: ‘Gravelmount … in the occupation of J. O’Connor, Esq., is a spacious and handsome house; the demesne comprises about 160 statute acres, and the grounds are tastefully laid out. A manufacture of tiles, garden pots, and all kinds of coarse pottery is carried on at this place.’

While part of the relatively small estate’s business may have been devoted to making pottery, the majority of it was allotted to tenant farmers. While the more arable soil of Co. Meath allowed for a greater diversity of crops, most of the farmers still allocated a large proportion of land to potatoes as they in turn supplied a large proportion of the body’s nutritional needs.

When John O’Connor’s young wife Mary Elizabeth announced to him in the spring of 1842 that he was to be a father, he must have been overjoyed. They had their health, a fine late-Georgian style country home, they had a considerable income, contented tenants and now the prospect of a family. In just a few short years that future would have been erased.

Charles Yelverton-O’Connor was born on 11 January 1843, the ‘Yelverton’ an inheritance from a famed family connection on his mother’s side. When he was three the famine struck and, luckily for his tenants, John O’Connor proved himself quite the exception to the landed gentry of the time. Many of his kind were absentee landlords residing in England who delegated the responsibility of rent collection to land agents, so could comfortably turn a blind eye to the horror of what was happening in Ireland. John O’Connor, on the other hand, witnessed the effects of the famine first hand. He was of a compassionate nature and over the course of the tragedy he first sold his estate piece by piece, and finally sold his home to provide food and shelter to his tenants. By the time the famine had passed in 1850 he was almost penniless. One of the few things he had left to bequeath to his son was his conscientious character.

Left with no choice, John O’Connor went in search of work and secured an appointment as the secretary of the The Dublin, Wicklow and Wexford Railway Company, a move that would play a major part in the direction of his son’s life. While his father worked to rebuild his life, Charles was sent to live with his aunt who provided him with his basic education until his father’s work brought the family to Waterford. Here Charles resumed his studies at Waterford Endowed School, also known as Bishop Foy’s School; their choice of school is a pointer to the fact that they were still struggling financially, as Bishop Foy had specifically set up his schools to provide a free education to the poorer class of Protestant boys.

At the age of sixteen, Charles was apprenticed to one of Ireland’s leading civil engineers, Mr J. Chaloner Smith, his father’s connections with the railway company no doubt a factor in his choice of career. Chaloner Smith was a much-admired man who among other things was responsible for the Loopline Bridge across Dublin’s River Liffey. Smith would come to like and admire his new apprentice and instructed him brilliantly, not only in railway construction and surveying, but also in mathematical and accounting skills, a necessity when working on major public infrastructural projects. Despite his youth, Charles also displayed a talent for organising and instructing the men who worked for him Besides surveying lines for railways, one of the major projects he was assigned was the construction of a number of weirs on the River Bann in the north of Ireland, his first experience of construction in an aquatic environment. Many of the weirs are still in existence today.

In 1863, the year that Paddy Hannan emigrated to Australia, Charles suffered a double tragedy when first his father and then his mother fell ill; they died within months of each other. This event must have had a profound influence on him for within a year he had decided to leave his homeland behind, and perhaps also the terrible childhood memories of the famine and the sudden loss of both parents. With the successful conclusion of his apprenticeship in 1864, Charles purchased a ticket on the ship Pegasus and followed in Paddy Hannan’s wake towards the burgeoning colonies of Australasia.

NEW BEGINNINGS

Paddy Hannan didn’t see a great deal of Australia’s famed sunshine during his first years in his new home. Upon arrival in Melbourne he’d headed about sixty miles north to the town of Ballarat, the site of Australia’s first real gold rush and the home of his mother’s brother, William Lynch. There he quickly secured a job as a miner, working underground for up to twelve hours a day. The town was well established in 1863, having enjoyed a frenzied influx of treasure seekers a decade earlier when gold had been discovered.

Gold rush fever brought mixed fortunes to those infected with the desire to become wealthy overnight. Instantaneous wealth was possible, but rare. Some Australian goldfields literally consisted of large beds of nuggets lying scattered around on or near the surface and ‘mining’ involved sticking a shovel into the ground and shaking off the excess dirt leaving the heavier metal behind, often in pieces the size of a walnut. But like the angler describing the size of the fish he’d caught, tales of beds of glistening gold were usually exaggerated and early prospectors had discovered quickly that the quest for gold often brought severe hardship under a merciless sun and worst of all, a terrible isolation for months on end.

Instead of nuggets, the gold was often in the form of pieces not much bigger than grains of sand and because water was so scarce, no sluice systems could be used to separate the two. Early Australian miners used a hand-shaker, a series of sieves mounted one above the other. This was backbreaking work carried out in boiling heat with little or no shade. Countless would-be millionaires, unused to the harshness of the Australian outback, died poor and alone in the wilderness before they’d even seen their first glint of gold.

When a rich goldfield was discovered however, the rewards were potentially great, especially for the first to stake a claim. After a number of years’ work on a site, the surface gold would be exhausted and the only way to mine it would be with larger, commercially-orientated, steam-driven machinery. Miners would often sell their claim to a company and move on, leaving the giant mechanical diggers and drills to open up an underground world of wealth. And it was in one of these that Paddy Hannan found himself still toiling in 1868, digging gold to put into someone else’s hand. It was time, he decided, to go in search of his own glittering prize and, thanks to another Irishman, he knew just where to go.

BREAKING NEW GROUND

Charles Yelverton O’Connor had spent a great deal of his voyage around the globe studying the use of a sextant, a parting gift from his employer John Chaloner Smith. Bypassing Australia, where his future lay, he instead navigated his way to the north island of New Zealand.

After a brief stay on the North Island he was offered the position of assistant engineer for the Westland Province, an impressive appointment for a man so young. Among his first tasks was to survey the construction of a road and rail link over the Southern Alps to facilitate the rush to the new found goldfields at Hokitika. The problems he faced were literally mountainous. The terrain was rugged and steep, constantly subject to heavy rains and bitter cold even in the summer months. His superiors noted his skills in handling his men and his ability to overcome obstacles with unique solutions and his work moved along on schedule and in budget. In effect he opened up the region to the thousands waiting to exploit its golden harvest; among them was Paddy Hannan, freshly arrived in 1868 from Australia.

C.Y. O’Connor was still moving up, meanwhile, not over mountains, but back down to sea level where, as Senior Engineer to Westland Province, he was given the task of developing the ports on the west coast, valuable marine experience that would stand to him in later life. In 1872 he secured the prominent appointment of District Engineer for Canterbury Province and as a result he was responsible for a great deal of the infrastructure around Christchurch, much of it still visible today.

But he’d also been busy building a relationship, and on 5 March 1874 at the age of thirty-one, he married Susan Laetitia Ness, a girl of twenty-five from Durham in the north of England. Susan would bear him eight children, all but one of whom would survive.

Over the next decade he gained extensive experience on a broad range of infrastructural projects, including hugely expanding the island’s rail network, building ports, roads and bridges. By 1883 his works had so impressed that he was appointed Under-Secretary for Public Works for New Zealand. He continued to lay the foundations for the country’s development over the next seven years, winning the praises of public, press and politicians. And yet in 1890, after almost a quarter of a century’s work, he was bitterly disappointed not to be offered the position of department head. He immediately began to survey the horizon for another job.

Then in the early spring of 1891, a letter fell through his letterbox that had begun its journey in the office of the Premier of Western Australia, Mr John Forrest.

John Forrest was himself a skilled surveyor and also a successful explorer, having led expeditions into the burning heart of Australia and along its southern coastline. He’d eventually be appointed to the prestigious job of Surveyor General and in 1890 been made the first Premier of the State of Western Australia.

Forrest knew the daunting task facing him. Perth was one of the most isolated cities on the planet, the vastness of the Indian Ocean to the west, the Southern Ocean to the south and in every other direction for a thousand miles lay a wilderness of mostly desert. If the colony were to survive and thrive it would need to overcome infrastructural problems that were in many ways unique. As Premier he could not undertake the task himself. He was quickly made aware of C.Y. O’Connor’s work in New Zealand and as a surveyor himself he could appreciate the achievements the Irishman had made in demanding environments. Charles was just the man he was looking for and he wrote to him personally with an offer of a salary of £1,000, an impressive amount for its time. Charles turned him down, despite the fact that the job in New Zealand only paid £750! But Forrest was determined to get his man and having batted it back and forth a little, Charles finally accepted the post for the sum of £1,200, plus the costs of relocating his family. New Zealand’s loss was Australia’s gain and in May 1891 the O’Connor family moved into their new home in Fremantle, the then tiny port which provided one of the state’s few connections with the rest of the world. That was about to change.

THE EUREKA STOCKADE – THE BIRTH OF AUSTRALIAN DEMOCRACY?

In 1854, the Victorian town of Ballarat was the centre of a vast mining operation involving as many as twenty-five thousand miners, or ‘diggers’ as they were known, the majority of whom were Irish. Unrest had long been brewing at the enforced payment of a miners’ licence, irrespective of whether one found any gold or not. On top of that, the digggers had no vote and the police were also widely believed to be corrupt. The seething discontent exploded into armed rebellion and violence when a small group of miners hoisted the Southern Cross flag above a hastily-assembled stockade of carts and timbers. Their appointed leader was one Peter Lalor from Co. Laois. The password at the so-called Eureka Stockade was ‘Vinegar Hill’ – scene of the battle in the 1798 rebellion in Ireland.

The authorities refused to bow to any demands and sent in a large force of troops. The ‘battle’ was little more than a slaughter, lasting ten minutes. Reports indicate that the soldiers killed indiscriminately, even after some diggers had surrendered. Twenty-two diggers died along with five soldiers. Yet when word of the rebellion and the killings leaked out, there was outrage and the government found it had a public relations disaster on its hands. Ultimately they backed down and virtually all the diggers’ demands were conceded, including revoking the licences and the right of men to vote (this excluded Aborigines). Peter Lalor, who had an arm amputated as a result of the battle, would go on to have a noteworthy career as a politician and in later life be elected Speaker of the Legislative Assembly of Victoria.

Some historians view the Eureka Stockade incident as a labour rebellion against powerful business interests, others a revolt in the name of freedom against a monarchy and others as the birthplace of true democracy in Australia. On a visit to the Victorian goldfields in 1895, Mark Twain said of Eureka – ‘… It is another instance of a victory won by a lost battle. It adds an honorable page to history; the people know it and are proud of it. They keep green the memory of the men who fell at the Eureka Stockade, and Peter Lalor has his monument.’

HEART OF GOLD

After many years and modest success in New Zealand, Paddy Hannan had returned to Australia some time in the 1870s and resumed his new-found passion of prospecting for gold. He was a tough man, well used to enduring the hardships demanded of the prospector. But he was never rash and always set out well prepared, usually in company and with horses. He also learned to source water before trying to source gold, because in the wilds each was as valuable as the other.

As the century progressed the earlier finds to the east of the country were beginning to play out, at least for individual exploitation. Most of the goldfields in Victoria and New South Wales enjoyed a reasonable sprinkling of rain, moderate temperatures and closer proximity to civilisation. But the discovery of gold in the west demanded a new genus of prospector, altogether tougher and more resilient, patient and level-headed. If C.Y. O’Connor’s qualities made him the ideal candidate for the job of Surveyor General, Paddy Hannan’s character and skills likewise made him the perfect man for the job of disappearing into the desert for months on end, eyes on the ground and nose to the grindstone.

Just as Paddy had preceded Charles in his departure from Ireland by one year, again he preceded his arrival in Western Australia by a single year, getting his first glimpse of the immense dry plains of the state interior in early 1890.

The Western Australian goldrush wouldn’t begin in earnest until 1893, when it would become the largest gold migration in history. But the whole thing was really kickstarted on a much smaller scale by another Irishman, Mick Toomey, and his fellow prospector Thomas Risely when they found gold at the town of Southern Cross in 1888. Actually it wasn’t a town at all then, but a bit of outback in the shire of Yilgarn – in the middle of nowhere, 370 km from Perth, but they named the spot for the constellation that had guided them there. The same stars soon guided thousands more, including Paddy Hannan, but the glittering light they sought came not from above their heads, but from below their feet.

By the time Paddy had caught up with the thousand other prospectors around Southern Cross, pickings were slim, yet he persisted for a couple of years in his efforts to locate a commercially viable field. He’d been almost three years in Western Australia when, on 17 September 1892, an Australian called Arthur Bayley hit the jackpot at a place called Fly Flat, the east of Southern Cross. This was a larger find than the first and the snowball that had begun rolling a few years earlier now gathered momentum as it hurtled further east into the desert, picking up thousands more fortune seekers as it rolled. The town of Coolgardie was born around Bayley’s find; today it has a population of eight hundred, then it had about twenty thousand. Paddy Hannan was happy to number himself among them as this time he’d gotten in early.

Violence and theft were a common feature of the various gold rushes, for the thief it could be all too easy to simply kill someone in the middle of nowhere and walk away with a fortune in his saddle bags and with only the lizards as witnesses. This was one of the reasons Paddy Hannan rarely travelled alone, that and the innate human requirement for company. As a general rule of thumb, people aligned themselves with others of their own nationality, the largest groups of prospectors being Irish, British, Australian and Chinese. Paddy Hannan formed a friendship with two other Irishmen, Thomas Flanagan and Dan O’Shea, both of whom had arrived in Australia about ten years after him and both of whom had previous experience of prospecting in the eastern rush.

But Hannan had been in the Yilgarn the longest and was the most experienced at coping with the particular demand of the terrain and climate and the Irish lads were keen to accept his guidance. Their efforts around Coolgardie were reasonably successful, but really sufficient only to keep the ball rolling by financing continued prospecting into 1893.

Like Charles O’Connor, Paddy Hannan had been in search of a substantial success for over a quarter of a century. In O’Connor’s case, when a letter had dropped into his hallway he had no idea that within its folds lay his destiny. Similarly, on 10 June 1893, Paddy Hannan had no idea that the footprints he would leave in the sand that day would soon be obliterated by a stampede.

‘RAILWAYS, HARBOURS, EVERYTHING…’

When C.Y. O’Connor had at one point written to John Forrest to enquire the precise nature of what he was expected to oversee, the Premier had immediately cabled him back ‘Railways, harbours, everything.’

Indeed, when he arrived he quickly realised the task he was facing would require a Herculean effort. But mountains had failed to stop him before, deserts, oceans and isolation from the rest of the civilised world were simply other obstacles to be surmounted.

In his early years in Western Australia, or WA as it was known, O’Connor undertook two mammoth projects, the development of the railway system and the expansion of Fremantle Harbour. With the discovery of gold at Southern Cross, the demand for a rail line became deafening. The trains were needed to transport not just gold-hunters to the region, but more importantly, water.

In the summer months the demand for water became so great that any enterprising individual who managed to transport a large container of water the three hundred or so kilometres into the Yilgarn could have literally sold it at the same price as whiskey and made a small fortune. One of the more unusual modes of transport to appear on the scene were camels, which could carry up to three hundred kilograms of water and food each. A team of Afghan Muslim cameleers had arrived in the southern port of Albany with a hundred camels when word of the problems in the west of the continent reached their ears. They were soon operating a thriving business and would develop into what was then the largest Muslim community in Australia.

At that time the railway ‘network’ in the region was woefully inadequate, consisting of about 190 miles of track. To put this in context, the Yilgarn region alone was just under half the size of southern Ireland. The ‘network’ was poorly designed with over-steep gradients, excessively heavy rolling stock and under-powered engines. The maintenance depot was situated at Fremantle, which was a totally unsuitable location for hub.

O’Connor immediately surveyed and re-built the existing lines, turning its annual loss of £40,000 into an operating profit. But his efforts to shift the central depot to Midland Junction (about sixteen kilometres from what is now Perth) were met with political fudging and manoeuvring. The government did vote to build a line to the Yilgarn, but didn’t provide the necessary money. He was having some early lessons in the political wrangling and bureaucracy that would ultimately be his downfall.

A couple of frustrating years dragged by, but eventually the funding was approved to properly complete the rail line to Southern Cross in 1893. But of course building a train track into the middle of a desert isn’t as simple as it seems. The engines ran on steam and as the prospectors could have told you for nothing, water was in pretty short supply. So besides the hundreds of workers surveying land and laying track, many others had to be engaged in building reservoirs at key points along the way, many of these are still in existence today. It was a huge logistical undertaking.

After four years in the job the rail network around Fremantle had been transformed. Although O’Connor’s demand for a new depot wouldn’t be realised for another six years, he had yet succeeded in providing new lines to Yilgarn (now extending beyond Coolgardie) as well as lines to the south-west and the north, each with important branch lines. The network was slowly spreading like a spider’s web across the entire region.

In a reflection of his father’s character, it was noted that C.Y. O’Connor was always concerned for the well-being of the rail workers. He reported that they were underpaid, overworked and poorly trained. He insisted on improved conditions, believing that a more contented workforce is a more efficient workforce. His recommendations were taken on board and new recruits had the education and training necessary. Within a few years the entire operation was turning a profit.

THE IRISH WOMAN WHO WENT WALKABOUT

Among the most unusual and fascinating Irish people to gain fame in Australia was Daisy Bates, born in Tipperary in 1859. At the age of twenty-three, she emigrated to Australia (after rumours of a sexual scandal in the house in which she was governess) and embarked on a life that was in many ways pioneering and in others highly controversial.

She was married at least twice, the second time reputedly bigamous, and eventually, through her interaction with the Aboriginal people (both her husbands were drovers and bushmen) became a champion of the natives’ human rights. She would ultimately spend most of her life living among them, making major anthropological studies of them and writing almost three hundred articles and books, most controversially about Aboriginal cannibalism.

She wore a pistol to protect ‘her natives’ and fought to protect Aboriginal women against sexual exploitation by whites and against the incursion of European culture, technology and disease. Yet she cut a strange figure in the outback – insisting on wearing traditional Victorian dress. Her work prompted governments to introduce laws to givethe Aboriginal people some measure of protection and she was awarded the CBE in 1934. She lived to the grand old age of ninety-two.

SEA CHANGES

C.Y. O’Connor was an incredibly disciplined man with a logical mind, capable of thinking his way around almost any obstacle. One might imagine such a character to be clinical and distracted by the cogs and wheels constantly turning in his mind. And yet he seems to have been quite the opposite. He was completely devoted to his family and though he travelled a great deal on his various surveying expeditions, he desperately tried to make up for it when he was back in their Fremantle home in Quarry Street, overlooking the Swan River. Visitors to their home without exception commented on the warmth of the welcome they received, his Irish hospitality having accompanied him to Australia.

He was an accomplished horseman and often rode out in the mornings accompanied by one of his daughters, usually the eldest, Aileen, sometimes bringing her on casual ‘inspections’ of his ongoing works in which she had developed a keen interest. (His horse, Moonlight, would win the first Hunt Club Cup run in Western Australia in 1901, bearing his emblem of Irish harps against a shamrock green background).

One of the projects he frequented on his early morning rides was what he regarded as his finest personal achievement – the complete reconstruction of Fremantle Harbour, a colossal undertaking even by today’s standards.

At the time, trade with Perth had to be serviced through the natural harbour at Albany, which was about four hundred kilometres away to the south. Goods would then be transported on a privately-owned sub-standard rail line, which was very costly and extremely slow. Fremantle couldn’t offer the natural shelter afforded by Albany – it was shallow and exposed to winds and, worst of all, it faced directly into the powerful currents created by the Indian Ocean. The Swan River, which emptied into the bay, had a shallow, rocky bar that was actually exposed at low tide. Yet Premier Forrest wanted a harbour that could accommodate some of the largest ships afloat at the time, huge trans-oceanic steamers carrying goods and mail from all over the globe. An earlier report had indicated that there were serious problems with extensive sand travel and that any attempts at deepening the harbour would fail as it would soon silt up again.

O’Connor set about months of investigation, surveying the minutiae of every aspect of the harbour and its environs. He consulted local fishermen and visited ships’ captains, building up an extensive knowledge of the area’s winds and currents. His earlier harbour development in New Zealand stood to him. He worked up detailed budgets and after seven months’ planning, he presented them to Premier Forrest.

Initially sceptical, Forrest was nonetheless loyal and accepted O’Connor’s assurances that the project was viable. There was fierce opposition from other engineers sceptical about O’Connor’s claims. The costs would be astronomical, it couldn’t be achieved in any reasonable time frame, it would silt up and prove to be the greatest white elephant in Australian history: opponents threw everything they had at O’Connor. But Forrest held firm and ultimately forced the plan through, though the bickering did delay the work for a couple of years.

At a ceremony in 1892 to mark the commencement of the project, John Forrest gave a speech that gives us a fair indication of the nature of C.Y. O’Connor:

‘Last year I was not in favour of C.Y. O’Connor’s plan because I thought then it would cost too much money and there was too much risk connected with it. But the Engineer in Chief has stuck to his scheme, he urged it with all his power, and Parliament decided we should have the works as he planned them. In this action of the engineer you see the character of the man; he was not afraid to take responsibility of this great work. I believe that in him we have an able and energetic, a brave and a self reliant man, and I only hope in this great work he has undertaken that he will be successful.’

The entire plan would take eight years to complete and would cost £800,000, an enormous outlay at the time. Besides the deepening and widening of the Swan it also envisaged the construction of two harbour moles – massive stone walls constructed in the sea as a breakwater to protect ships at anchor from the destructive power of the ocean. The larger of these would stretch a kilometre out into the ocean.

Five years on and the bed of the Swan had been lowered so far that it now offered depths of thirty feet at low tide and its mouth had also been widened to two hundred feet. Within a couple of years the harbour was welcoming ships of 10,000 tons, something unthinkable a few years earlier. There was now almost two kilometres of wharfage, a rail bridge spanned the river, the moles were completed, huge cargo terminals rose all around the harbour, and everything had been completed on schedule and on budget. Some years after C.Y. O’Connor died, the HMS Hood berthed in Fremantle. She was then, at 42,000 tons, the largest ship afloat on the world’s oceans.

In 1900, Fremantle became the official port serving Perth. The project had been a huge triumph for O’Connor and Forrest. Cynics were silenced – at least for the time being. Over a century after C. Y. O’Connor completed his harbour, which critics claimed would silt up within a few years, it remains, despite constant use by heavy shipping, as deep, as calm and as sound as ever.

But his work was not done. As Paddy Hannan had, in the meantime, presented Premier Forrest with a serious logistical problem, one that could only be solved through the largest civil engineering project Australia had ever undertaken.

SITTING ON A GOLD MINE

There are slightly conflicting accounts of what exactly happened under the warm outback sun on 10 June 1893, about fifty kilometres east of Coolgardie.

Rumours were abroad all over Coolgardie of a substantial find further to the east at a place called Mount Youle. Just about everyone, the Irishmen included, decided to set off to the area in search of a claim of their own. This so-called find turned out to be fruitless and hundreds of men were left to make the sad, dejected journey back to town as poor as when they’d left.

According to some accounts the three Irishmen, Hannan, Flanagan and O’Shea, were together. Other versions, including Hannan’s, say that O’Shea had gone on ahead alone while the other two sought to buy horses. The legend is that they actually found gold while looking for a stray horse, but again Hannan’s version doesn’t mention this. What is more likely is that the horse went astray earlier, delaying their departure from Coolgardie which led to their being separated from the hordes who had already left. With just the two men alone, they were free to wander the outback without the prying eyes of hundreds of other gold-hungry prospectors.

Three days out of Coolgardie they arrived at a slight rise known as Mount Charlotte. They then began a thorough search of the area, inch by inch as far as a point called Maritana Hill. To his great excitement he and Flanagan spotted gold simply lying on the surface. Hannan himself said that Flanagan actually picked up the first nugget, but as he was the one to volunteer to go and register the claim, his name would forever be associated with the largest gold rush in history. It is interesting to note that the two locations of Mount Charlotte and Maritana Hill are now virtually in the centre of Kalgoorlie, the town that sprang up around the claim. Paddy Hannan stated in his account that as Dan O’Shea was their mate from previous outings, they went in search of him so that he could share in their find, though O’Shea refuted this when he was an old man, claiming he found the first piece of gold! As he was unable to give accurate accounts of where and when he had precisely made his find, Hannan’s version was generally believed.

Whatever happened, it was decided that Paddy Hannan, being the youngest of the three men, should ride back to Coolgardie as quickly as possible to officially register the claim. But they still had one major problem – they were perilously short of water, with only four pints left between them. It is very possible they might have perished where they sat and their dust ended up mingling with the very gold dust they craved. But as though the gods had smiled upon them, that very day the heavens opened. He recounts:

‘The water difficulty, which was usually great, was solved. Rain began to fall when I was on my way into Coolgardie, and continued for some time. The fall was fairly heavy, and, of course, exceedingly welcome. The downpour left plenty of water in the lake, and the supply lasted till the following November.’

When he arrived in Coolgardie, he immediately went to the ‘office’ – a tent with a sign outside – to register his claim. He was carrying a package of gold as evidence of the find and as it was not made common knowledge how much or of what quality the gold was, naturally wild rumours began to circulate. When his claim was posted, in keeping with the law, there was a virtual stampede out of town. It is estimated that within two days there were seven hundred men scouring the area and that Coolgardie had been reduced to a virtual ghost town in a matter of hours.

In their excitement, many left unprepared, without proper equipment, maps or water. Some were lost in the outback and some only made it after days of wandering. But for the majority, their nose for the rich scent of gold led them straight to the area. By the time Paddy Hannan returned a couple of days later, Flanagan and Shea had collected over a hundred ounces of gold, a huge return in such a short time. To put this in context, at today’s prices that would be worth approximately 50,000 euro – not a bad return for two days’ work.

Within a fortnight, over a thousand prospectors were furiously digging into the arid earth around Mount Charlotte, praying with each thrust of the shovel to feel the solid clumps of once molten gold clink against the metal of their spades. What had just weeks before been a small area of infertile outback, indistinguishable from the vast open countryside that surrounded it, was suddenly a tented city. It gives an indication of the continued influx of new arrivals that before Christmas, two hotels had been built and a solid town was beginning to spring from the desert. This was the birth of Kalgoorlie, the town called after the Aboriginal name for an indigenous scrub, ‘galgurlie’.

Paddy Hannan remained to mine his fortune early into the following year until he decided he’d earned sufficient funds to leave himself comfortable for the rest of his days. He was fifty-four years old and wasn’t feeling in the best of health on top of which he ‘hadn’t seen the sea in five years’. He decided to go on an extended holiday and sold his original claim. He was by no means a rich man, not actually realising the extent of the goldmine he’d discovered. But Hannan, Flanagan and Shea’s find did make many a millionaire. Within a year the alluvial gold had pretty much yielded up its riches and it was left to the mining companies to dig deep into the rich reefs of gold that lay hidden far beneath the surface. In 1895 literally hundreds of companies speculating on the yields were floated on the London stock exchange and by the end of the decade Australia had become the world’s largest exporter of gold. It is estimated that the Kalgoorlie field contributed £100,000,000 to the Australian economy.

To Premier John Forrest, news of the extent of the find was greeted with elation; it was just the economic boost the fledgling territory demanded. But of course it immediately threw up new challenges. Thousands were now flocking to the area, all in need of transport and more importantly, water. Carrying it by train simply wasn’t practicable, it was logistically impossible to supply that much water; even if the trains ran day and night they couldn’t hope to cope with the demands. He had to find another solution. And he knew just the man to help him.

MAKING IT BIG

Born in Castlebar in 1852, Louis Brennan would become one of the best-known inventors of his day. Excelling at all things mechanical as a child, when his parents moved to Australia, Louis received an education in a Melbourne Technical College and aged twenty-two, his first successful invention was the steerable torpedo for which the British government paid the extraordinary sum of £100,000 for the patent. (It was trialled in Crosshaven in Cork in 1877).

He was responsible for countless inventions, including a futuristic monorail train kept upright by a gyroscope, an early helicopter, a miniature recording machine and mechanical starting devices for internal combustion engines. Sadly a car powered by such an engine struck him while on holiday in Switzerland in 1932 and he died as a result of his injuries, aged eighty.

PIPE DREAMS

By the spring of 1895 it was reported that the miners in Kalgoorlie had been reduced to surviving on four pints of water a day, a trifling amount in the arid, sun-baked landscape. The demand for a solution became a clamour and C.Y. O’Connor was handed the task of somehow satiating the ever-growing thirst for a commodity that seemed to be in shorter supply than gold.

He turned his attention to the east of Perth towards a low escarpment rising to about six hundred metres called the Darling Ranges, which were cut by a series of deep ravines. After an extensive study of over thirty potential sites, he settled on a ravine in the Mundaring area cut through by the Helena River.

His proposal was considered by some foolhardy and by others simply outlandish. He proposed to build a dam across the ravine trapping a vast reservoir of water which would first have to be pumped over three hundred metres upwards over the escarpment and then through a pipeline stretching another 530 kilometres across the plains to a second reservoir at Coolgardie, delivering 5,000,000 gallons of water every day. To meet the needs of the towns and farms, which were springing up along its path, water would be reticulated at key points.

Greeted with intense scepticism, O’Connor was yet convinced his design was practical and could be constructed within three years and within his budget of £2,500,000.

In 1897, C.Y. O’Connor finally received official recognition for his earlier works, particularly Fremantle Harbour and was invited to London to be invested with the Order of the Companion of St Michael and St George by the Prince of Wales, an honour granted for making an outstanding contribution to the development of the Commonwealth. And while undoubtedly delighted to be so praised, ever the pragmatist, while there he also took the time to consult with Britain’s leading civil engineers on his proposed pipeline. While expressing the view that the design would be the largest civil engineering project of its kind ever undertaken, they also endorsed it as highly achievable.

Despite political and media opposition, parliament approved the plan and work commenced on the Mundaring Weir, an immense project in itself. The Helena River had to be diverted, a rail line built to supply the work, a towering retaining wall constructed some three hundred metres across the valley and to a height of forty metres enclosing a reservoir with a surface area of almost seven square kilometres. To ensure it would contain the huge volume of water, the foundations had to be dug by hand thirty metres straight down into bedrock. Such was the brilliance of O’Connor’s design that when the weir height was raised by another ten metres half a century later, no further reinforcement of the foundation was deemed necessary.

Alongside this, a pumping station was constructed and the first of the pipes began to snake their way up and over the escarpment and out into the wilds. But this was no ordinary water pipe. It requires 60,000 sections, each nine metres long and weighing one ton, connected together with a newly-developed interlocking system. Much of the pipeline would have to run underground depending on the terrain, which involved a huge digging and tunnelling operation; to maintain the pressure a whole series of pumping stations at intervals along the pipe’s length would be necessary.

The logistics were simply incredible and yet somehow O’Connor managed to keep the entire project on course and on time and that despite the biggest obstacle the pipeline was facing – not a mountain or impermeable rock or a cliff face, but the bitter wrath of the press.

TRIUMPH AND TRAGEDY

By 1902 the pipeline was nearing completion. But Sir John Forrest had by now moved on and the engineer’s support in Parliament was waning. Competing political factions were using the cost of the project as a political football and O’Connor was being unjustly berated by much of the press. The Australian Sunday Times, in particular, was vitriolic in its attacks, labelling O’Connor a ‘palm greaser’ and accusing him of having made a personal fortune from the project. This would prove to be completely without foundation.

He fought back, rebutting all of the accusations made against him and continuing to fight for his vision, just as he had during the construction of Fremantle Harbour. He was forced to attend commissions of inquiry while continuing to oversee the work, which put him under mental and physical strain.