Thatcher Suggested 'cromwell Solution' For Northern Ireland

[4588686]

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2001/jun/16/northernireland.catholicism Margaret Thatcher horrified her advisers when she recommended that the government should revive the memory of Oliver Cromwell - dubbed the butcher of Ireland - and encourage tens of thousands of Catholics to leave Ulster for the south. A year after she was nearly killed in the IRA's 1984 Brighton bomb, the then prime minister expressed dismay at Catholic opposition to British rule when they could follow the example of ancestors who were evicted from Ulster at the barrel of a Cromwellian gun in the 17th century. Lady Thatcher's extraordinary solution to the Troubles has been disclosed by her advisers at the time of the negotiations on the 1985 Anglo-Irish agreement. Sir David Goodall, then a diplomat who was one of the most senior British officials negotiating with the Irish government, told a BBC four-part documentary, Endgame in Ireland, that Lady Thatcher made the "outrageous" proposal during a late night conversation at Chequers. "She said, if the northern [Catholic] population want to be in the south, well why don't they move over there? After all, there was a big movement of population in Ireland, wasn't there? "Nobody could think what it was. So finally I said, are you talking about Cromwell, prime minister? She said, that's right, Cromwell." Her interest in him is likely to turn her into an even greater hate figure among nationalists, who have never forgiven her for mishandling the 1981 republican hunger strikes. Catholics were slaughtered in their tens of thousands in the 1640s and 1650s by Cromwell's forces. Virtually all Catholic landowners were hounded out of Ulster. Lady Thatcher's "outrageous" plan did not stop at reviving the memory of Cromwell. Sir Charles Powell, then her private secretary, told the programme that she also called for Northern Ireland's border with the republic to be redrawn. "She thought that if we had a straight line border, not one with all those kinks and wiggles in it, it would be easier to defend," he said. The zigzag border is notoriously difficult to patrol. But Lord Armstrong of Ilminster, then cabinet secretary, told Lady Thatcher of the folly of her idea. "It wasn't as simple as that because the nationalist communities were not all in one place, not all in Fermanagh and Tyrone and South Armagh and so on," he told the programme. "There were many in Belfast, and the idea of partition in Belfast or moving large numbers of population didn't seem to be very attractive." However, she would not abandon her idea and called for a "security zone" on both sides of the border to help the British army and the RUC to chase IRA terrorists who used to slip over the border after attacks in the north. This was rejected out of hand by the Irish government. The border remained intact, and Lady Thatcher signed the Anglo-Irish agreement in November 1985, giving Dublin a consultative role in Northern Ireland in return for greater cross-border cooperation on security. Her view of Ireland may have been tainted because her political ally Airey Neave was killed by a car bomb planted by the Irish National Liberation Army two months before her 1979 election victory. In 1990 Ian Gow, her parliamentary aide, was killed by an IRA car bomb.

[Luigi]

It was a passing comment during a late night game of checkers. It was hardly and idea, much less a policy decision. SHEESH!

[4588686]

It was a passing comment during a late night game of checkers. It was hardly and idea, much less a policy decision. SHEESH!

 

 

Well, the attitude she expressed that night was totally out of line with the tone and practice of her administration towards the plight of Catholics in Northern Ireland.  Oh, wait.  

[Era Might]

An Horatian Ode upon Cromwell’s Return from Ireland

BY ANDREW MARVELL

The forward youth that would appear

Must now forsake his Muses dear,

         Nor in the shadows sing

         His numbers languishing.

’Tis time to leave the books in dust,

And oil th’ unused armour’s rust,

         Removing from the wall

         The corslet of the hall.

So restless Cromwell could not cease

In the inglorious arts of peace,

         But thorough advent’rous war

         Urged his active star.

And like the three-fork’d lightning, first

Breaking the clouds where it was nurst,

         Did through his own side

         His fiery way divide.

For ’tis all one to courage high,

The emulous or enemy;

         And with such to enclose

         Is more than to oppose.

Then burning through the air he went,

And palaces and temples rent;

         And Cæsar’s head at last

         Did through his laurels blast.

’Tis madness to resist or blame

The force of angry Heaven’s flame;

         And, if we would speak true,

         Much to the man is due,

Who from his private gardens where

He liv’d reserved and austere,

         As if his highest plot

         To plant the bergamot,

Could by industrious valour climb

To ruin the great work of time,

         And cast the kingdom old

         Into another mould.

Though justice against fate complain,

And plead the ancient rights in vain;

         But those do hold or break

         As men are strong or weak.

Nature that hateth emptiness

Allows of penetration less,

         And therefore must make room

         Where greater spirits come.

What field of all the civil wars

Where his were not the deepest scars?

         And Hampton shows what part

         He had of wiser art,

Where, twining subtle fears with hope,

He wove a net of such a scope

         That Charles himself might chase

         To Carisbrooke’s narrow case,

That thence the royal actor borne

The tragic scaffold might adorn,

         While round the armed bands

         Did clap their bloody hands.

He nothing common did or mean

Upon that memorable scene,

         But with his keener eye

         The axe’s edge did try;

Nor call’d the gods with vulgar spite

To vindicate his helpless right,

         But bowed his comely head

         Down as upon a bed.

This was that memorable hour

Which first assur’d the forced pow’r.

         So when they did design

         The Capitol’s first line,

A bleeding head, where they begun,

Did fright the architects to run;

         And yet in that the state

         Foresaw its happy fate.

And now the Irish are asham’d

To see themselves in one year tam’d;

         So much one man can do

         That does both act and know.

They can affirm his praises best,

And have, though overcome, confest

         How good he is, how just,

         And fit for highest trust;

Nor yet grown stiffer with command,

But still in the republic’s hand;

         How fit he is to sway

         That can so well obey.

He to the Commons’ feet presents

A kingdom for his first year’s rents;

         And, what he may, forbears

         His fame, to make it theirs,

And has his sword and spoils ungirt,

To lay them at the public’s skirt.

         So when the falcon high

         Falls heavy from the sky,

She, having kill’d, no more does search

But on the next green bough to perch,

         Where, when he first does lure,

         The falc’ner has her sure.

What may not then our isle presume

While victory his crest does plume!

         What may not others fear

         If thus he crown each year!

A Cæsar he ere long to Gaul,

To Italy an Hannibal,

         And to all states not free,

         Shall climacteric be.

The Pict no shelter now shall find

Within his parti-colour’d mind;

         But from this valour sad

         Shrink underneath the plaid,

Happy if in the tufted brake

The English hunter him mistake,

         Nor lay his hounds in near

         The Caledonian deer.

But thou, the war’s and fortune’s son,

March indefatigably on;

         And for the last effect

         Still keep thy sword erect;

Besides the force it has to fright

The spirits of the shady night,

         The same arts that did gain

         A pow’r, must it maintain.