1843 was to have been Repeal Year. A series of huge gatherings, dubbed ‘monster meetings’ by the hostile Times of London, was designed to put pressure on the British government to restore an Irish parliament.

Of course, it didn’t happen, and an almost inevitable consequence of the failure of the Repeal movement was the arrest and prosecution in 1844 of its leaders, the principal motive force being Daniel O’Connell, the architect of Catholic Emancipation.

The charge against The Liberator and a small number of key allies, including his son John, was one of conspiracy. As defined in the mid 19^th century this tended to reverse what we would see as the natural order of justice. Essentially the accused had to prove that they were not involved in a conspiracy rather than the onus being on the Crown to prove that they were.

The fact that, in essence, many potential Catholic jurors were excluded from the jury panel, didn’t help O’Connell’s cause. There were four presiding judges, led by Chief Justice Pennefather, a man described by one of the defendants, the Nation newspaper editor Charles Gavan Duffy as ‘descended from a family of Puritan[s] … gorged with lands and offices during the penal times, but still on the watch for ministerial favours …’ So no help to be expected from that quarter.

The defence case was also placed at a severe disadvantage by the refusal of the Crown to supply them with even a list of witnesses. Try that today and see how far you get. Evidence was introduced by the prosecution from official government notetakers of the allegedly seditious speeches made by O’Connell and others at the monster meetings in evocative locations like Tara.

The almost inevitable result of the lengthy trial was the conviction of the accused, helped by a summing up from the Chief Justice that read like a continuation of the closing address of the prosecution to the jury. Anything Pennefather felt the Attorney General had left out, he generously supplied himself.

Although, at the advanced age of 69 and in bad health, O’Connell became a felon his punishment was, in effect, in inverse proportion to the supposed gravity of the crime. O’Connell and his fellow prisoners were allowed to choose their own place of incarceration. They opted for the Richmond Bridewell, a prison mainly used to accommodate debtors, on Dublin’s South Circular Road.

O’Connell and his fellow inmates actually served out their sentences in the comfort of the homes of the Governor and Deputy Governor rather than in prison cells. In time the entire episode would become known as ‘the Richmond picnic’. Hailed as a martyr for the nationalist cause O’Connell’s Richmond experience was, in truth, ‘martyrdom de luxe’. One of the detainees wrote that ‘the imprisonment proved as little unpleasant as a holiday in a country house.’

Not only were the prisoners afforded the facility of having their spouses present at all times – O’Connell himself was a widower – they were also allowed their own servants. Food was imported from eating-houses outside the walls of the prison or, more often than not, provided by hundreds of well-wishers. O’Connell, enabled to take daily exercise, regained much of hi

OTD – 4.9.1844 HOUSE OF LORDS FREES O’CONNELL

1843 was to have been Repeal Year. A series of huge gatherings, dubbed ‘monster meetings’ by the hostile Times of London, was designed to put pressure on the British government to restore an Irish parliament.

Of course, it didn’t happen, and an almost inevitable consequence of the failure of the Repeal movement was the arrest and prosecution in 1844 of its leaders, the principal motive force being Daniel O’Connell, the architect of Catholic Emancipation.

The charge against The Liberator and a small number of key allies, including his son John, was one of conspiracy. As defined in the mid 19^th century this tended to reverse what we would see as the natural order of justice. Essentially the accused had to prove that they were not involved in a conspiracy rather than the onus being on the Crown to prove that they were.

The fact that, in essence, many potential Catholic jurors were excluded from the jury panel, didn’t help O’Connell’s cause. There were four presiding judges, led by Chief Justice Pennefather, a man described by one of the defendants, the Nation newspaper editor Charles Gavan Duffy as ‘descended from a family of Puritan[s] … gorged with lands and offices during the penal times, but still on the watch for ministerial favours …’ So no help to be expected from that quarter.

The defence case was also placed at a severe disadvantage by the refusal of the Crown to supply them with even a list of witnesses. Try that today and see how far you get. Evidence was introduced by the prosecution from official government notetakers of the allegedly seditious speeches made by O’Connell and others at the monster meetings in evocative locations like Tara.

The almost inevitable result of the lengthy trial was the conviction of the accused, helped by a summing up from the Chief Justice that read like a continuation of the closing address of the prosecution to the jury. Anything Pennefather felt the Attorney General had left out, he generously supplied himself.

Although, at the advanced age of 69 and in bad health, O’Connell became a felon his punishment was, in effect, in inverse proportion to the supposed gravity of the crime. O’Connell and his fellow prisoners were allowed to choose their own place of incarceration. They opted for the Richmond Bridewell, a prison mainly used to accommodate debtors, on Dublin’s South Circular Road.

O’Connell and his fellow inmates actually served out their sentences in the comfort of the homes of the Governor and Deputy Governor rather than in prison cells. In time the entire episode would become known as ‘the Richmond picnic’. Hailed as a martyr for the nationalist cause O’Connell’s Richmond experience was, in truth, ‘martyrdom de luxe’. One of the detainees wrote that ‘the imprisonment proved as little unpleasant as a holiday in a country house.’

Not only were the prisoners afforded the facility of having their spouses present at all times – O’Connell himself was a widower – they were also allowed their own servants. Food was imported from eating-houses outside the walls of the prison or, more often than not, provided by hundreds of well-wishers. O’Connell, enabled to take daily exercise, regained much of his health.

The main source of irritation was the huge number of visitors anxious to meet with O’Connell now that he was no longer a moving target. That was quickly sorted by a ban from the privileged inmates on visits outside of a four hour window from noon to 4.00 pm.

One aspect of the incarceration in which the Irish public were not permitted to share was the fact of O’Connell’s growing infatuation with a woman young enough to be his granddaughter, Rose McDowell, daughter of a Belfast Presbyterian merchant He corresponded with her and may even have proposed to her. To the relief of his family she was not interested in becoming the second Mrs. O’Connell.

The Liberator, despite the massive celebration that marked his release, may well have had mixed feelings when the House of Lords reversed his conviction 171 years ago, on this day.