Censorship in Ireland

Above: Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms, one of thousands of books once banned.

Above: Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms, one of thousands of books once banned.

In 1923, James Montgomery was the first Irish Free State censor. He was an affable man, but could also be taciturn. He once said, “I know nothing about films, but I know the 10 commandments!” And so began an Irish Taliban period led by DeValera and Bishop McQuaid. Between 1923 and 1940, 2,500 films were banned and 11,000 films cut, including Casablanca, Gone with the Wind and many other fine films.

Newspapers and magazines were monitored. Many were banned outright, and very few English papers slipped through the net. The word “pregnant” never appeared in print until 1960 – it was always printed as “She is expecting a happy event.” Even in Dáil Eireann the Taliban were very vocal. Oliver Flanagan TD actually said, “There was no sex in Ireland until TV started.” The mind boggles.

As I am writing this, John Lennon’s great song, Strange Times Indeed, comes to mind. Yes John, this was our Ireland 50 or 60 years ago.

Books, of course, were banned willy nilly. Every great book and author was banned, except James Joyce’s Magnum Opus, Ulysses. This has always puzzled me, as it was banned worldwide.

Music was also heavily hit. I remember well in the early 50s clearing our shelves in Tara Records of that lovely song Answer Me by Frankie Laine and Nat King Cole. It was banned because of its opening line, “Answer me Lord above”, which was later changed to “Answer me o my love”.

Above: Jazz, here being played by Louis Armstrong, was considered the music of “savages” by many local councils.

Above: Jazz, here being played by Louis Armstrong, was considered the music of “savages” by many local councils.

Dozens of songs were banned. In 1934, Dublin Corporation debated this new mongrel, jazz. Leitrim Council declared jazz was for African savages. All Christian churches viewed Jazz as a Jewish/Negro conspiracy. In Mohill, 3,000 people marched against jazz, and the Leitrim Observer warned its readers not to “disgrace our Irish Saints and expel the music of John Bull, niggers and cannibals”.

The theatre also suffered hard censorship issues. We had riots at the Abbey regarding a Sean O’Casey play. In 1953, Alan Simpson opened the Pike Theatre and in the late 50s he was charged with producing a profane and indecent play, The Rose Tattoo by Tennessee Williams. Simpson spent some time in jail after Gardai raided The Pike. Judge O’Flynn later ruled he was not guilty.

Above: The censor’s cert which had to be shown before every film.

Above: The censor’s cert which had to be shown before every film.

In 1958, Bishop JC McQuaid ruled that no mass would be said for the opening of An Tóstal because of two plays, Bloomsday and Sean O’Casey’s Drums of Father Ned. The An Tóstal Arts Festival died a short time later, such was the power of censorship in Ireland.

Yours truly had some minor brushes with our moral guardians and thought police in the late 50s. I flew to London sans luggage, as it was a one-day trip, to see the Stan Kenton Big Band. I got the last flight back that night on the magnificent Vickers Viscount turbo fan jet.

On arrival, this little Stazi official shouted at me, “Where’s your luggage?” I explained I had no luggage. He then seized a book I had bought at Heathrow. “Ha ha, this book is banned,” the Stazi creature said. I replied, “What the hell are you talking about? This is A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway. It is a classic study of World War One. There’s nothing untoward in this book.”

This nasty person told me to write to the censor, which I did. Some six weeks later he replied. It was a load of baloney, section this, section that, blah blah. The bottom line was it’s banned because the girl had a child out of wedlock. The mind again boggles.

On another occasion, I was upstairs in our lovely apartment above Tara Records shop. I was entertaining one of our well-heeled and valued buyers when I heard a rumpus downstairs. Later, Michael told me a priest from Westland Row had berated him for selling pornography. “That’s news to me Michael. We only sell records, albums, music books etc.” At this, Michael brought me out into Tara Street. In the window was a 12-inch album cover of a group of young people in swimsuits on a California beach having fun. I know Dublin is full of fine people, but there’s some oddballs, so I told Michael to remove the album cover as I did not want to offend any weirdos who might smash the window, or worse.

Let’s leave the last word to that great man of letters, Oscar Wilde, when he said, “I may be lying in the gutter, but I’m looking at the stars.”

Finally, I wish all at NewsFour and all our loyal readers a Merry Christmas.

By Noel Twamley