Chapter 15 
“Possibly I’ll get about two lines in … history if I’m referred to at all.”1
JOHN A. COSTELLO, DECEMBER 1969
“The Taoiseach was indeed very much a dark horse upon his entry into the highest office of State”.2
THE LEADER, FEBRUARY 1951
John A. Costello had no great illusions about his place in history. At the presentation evening to mark his retirement from politics, he spoke of himself as “small fry” compared to people like Seán MacEoin, Richard Mulcahy, Kevin O’Higgins, and Patrick McGilligan. Their names, he said, would be “written into the pages of Irish history … in bright letters and letters of gold. Possibly I’ll get about two lines in that same history if I’m referred to at all.”3
His audience laughed at this suggestion, but in fact it wasn’t too far off the mark. A quick scan of the index of most books dealing with the history of twentieth-century Ireland will show that the third man to head an independent Irish government is mentioned relatively briefly—if he’s mentioned at all. It is perhaps significant that three of the ministers in his first Cabinet—James Dillon, Seán MacBride and Noël Browne4—were the subject of full-length biographies long before Costello himself. A postage stamp marking the centenary of his birth in 1991 is about the only official memorial he has received.5
Part of the reason may lie in Costello’s own modesty, which appears to have been absolutely genuine. The nature of his appointment, as the least objectionable candidate to head the First Inter-party Government, and his evident reluctance to take the job may also have lessened his historical stature in many eyes. As Noel Hartnett observed in 1959, “There is no ‘mystique’ about John A. Costello … He was never called the ‘Leader’ or any such grandiloquent title … Costello is a simple, unsubtle man who has avoided arousing enmity in any of his opponents, even the most mean-minded.”6
His personal qualities were of course the main reason why he became Taoiseach in 1948. Costello was trusted, and liked, by the other parties, and his diplomatic chairing of government was regarded as the main reason they were able to stay together.7 By agreeing to become Taoiseach, Costello made the First Inter-party Government possible; by his conduct as Taoiseach he did more than anyone to make it work. That must rank as a very significant achievement.
That government set a template for politics in the following four decades; it was Fianna Fáil versus the rest. That dynamic, as well as the fact of getting into government in 1948, rescued Fine Gael from a slide to oblivion. After 16 years in the wilderness, the party was relevant again. Of course, a further 16 years on the opposition benches followed Costello’s second government, but at least the possibility of coalition at some stage was on the horizon, and the party never again plumbed the electoral depths of 1948, when it received less than 20 per cent of the vote.
Costello did more than give Fine Gael a taste of power; he fundamentally changed its political direction as well. In 1948, the party was seen as very conservative indeed. That image changed over the following three and a half years, partly through coalition with Labour and Clann na Poblachta, but more fundamentally because of the economic ideas pursued by the Taoiseach. The most obvious sign of this was the introduction of the Capital Budget. As The Leader noted in 1951, “Mr Costello … has introduced a fundamental change of policy and has for some time been steadily moving towards a radically new programme … he has effected a minor revolution in the upper levels of the party.”8
He also presented a more accessible face to the public than the somewhat austere Richard Mulcahy. Saving Fine Gael may well have been Costello’s most significant political achievement between 1948 and 1951, but of course his first term as Taoiseach is better remembered for two controversial episodes: the declaration of the Republic and the Mother and Child crisis. Hopefully, this book has shown that both developments were more complex than is sometimes thought.
Contrary to popular myth, John A. Costello did not declare Ireland a Republic in a fit of temper while he was in Canada. However, he did confirm the truth of a report that his government intended to repeal the External Relations Act. His decision to do so was unwise, unnecessary and almost certainly prompted by annoyance. The wiser course would have been to stonewall—something he would have had no difficulty in doing. In the end, the whole affair worked out all right from the Irish point of view, but this was due to accident rather than design. Had it been otherwise Costello would have had to shoulder most of the blame.
The story about making a rash announcement while in a fury was believed because Costello was widely—and rightly—seen as a man with a temper. Ken Whitaker remarked that “he had a fieryness of spirit which he sometimes didn’t control fully”. Whitaker remembered there was a dynamism to him, but an impatience, a brusqueness and a dogmatic streak too.9 In a letter to his friend John Burke in 1944, Costello wrote that “though I am emotionally somewhat tongue-tied I have a deep and abiding feeling of friendship and gratitude for you”.10 In fact, Costello was anything but “tongue-tied” emotionally; his emotions were very close to the surface, in politics and in life. This was seen in his temper, in his enduring loyalty to his friends, in his charity, and also in his tendency to read too much into gestures of courtesy, whether from Mackenzie King in 1948 or from Eisenhower and Nixon in 1956.
In the second great controversy of his first government, the Mother and Child crisis, the Taoiseach’s behaviour, while overly obsequious to the Church in general and to Archbishop McQuaid in particular, seems to have been motivated by genuine concern about possible State control of medicine. He did his best to reach a compromise between the doctors and his young and inexperienced colleague Noël Browne. When this proved impossible, he attempted to reduce the threat to his government by using the Church to neutralise Browne. With any other politician, this probably would have worked. The failure of the stratagem put Costello on the wrong side of history, though this wasn’t clear at the time. It is, of course, dangerous to judge Costello’s attitude to the Church by the standards of today. As Tom Garvin succinctly put it, “the Irish democratic political process was heavily tinged with theocracy, for the overwhelming reason that the majority wished it to be that way”.11 On this question, John A. Costello was most certainly with the majority in Irish society.
His second period as Taoiseach was less successful than his first. Niamh Puirséil has suggested that the Second Inter-party Government “is a contender for the worst administration in the history of the state …”12 Perhaps, although there is stiff competition from the Fianna Fáil government which preceded it, and from any of the governments in the decade after 1977 (it is too early to reach a conclusion about more recent administrations).
The defining characteristic of the Second Inter-party Government was the curious torpor that seemed to grip it. Very little was done until economic crisis and the IRA Border Campaign forced it to act. Liam Cosgrave noted that there was “less nonsense talked with MacBride and Browne missing”.13 This was, no doubt, true; but their absence also removed the radical cutting edge which made the First Inter-party Government so unpredictable and so interesting.
The main charge which can be levelled against Costello is the failure to act sooner on the economic agenda which eventually led Ireland out of the dark days of the 1950s—policies which he knew were needed, such as the abolition of the restrictions on foreign investment, the shift towards more productive capital spending, and a greater concentration on exports.
However, while he was slow to move, he did move in the end, and his October 1956 Policy for Production was an important step on the road to a new economic dispensation in Ireland. The tax relief for extra exports signalled in the speech and introduced two months later was of major importance, as was the stated intention to attract more foreign investment, which implied the final demise of protection and the opening of the Irish economy to free trade. These were significant developments for which he was to get little credit, because he had hesitated too long and lost power before the new ideas could take effect.
Two things might be said in his defence. Firstly, we have seen at other times of economic crisis that drastic medicine only becomes acceptable when the depths have been plumbed—this was evident in the 1980s, when measures were introduced after 1987 that would have been unthinkable before. The same dynamic has been seen in more recent times, with Budget 2010 cutting social welfare rates and public service pay, developments that would have been impossible six months previously. Secondly, Jack Costello was not the only one to hesitate before pushing for change. Seán Lemass showed similar hesitation.14 At least when Lemass returned to office and pursued a new course, he knew that Fine Gael was committed to very similar policies and would not oppose him.
Costello’s role in foreign affairs, and in relation to the North, was also significant at this time. His pro-American views, set out during his visit to the United States and in a subsequent memorandum for government, set the tone for Ireland’s first appearance at the United Nations. At the same time, though, he was wary of matching his words with action, and reacted cautiously to a top-secret American request for military facilities at Shannon Airport.
On the North, he pursued a more restrained and effective policy in his second administration. He eschewed the “sore thumb” tactics of Seán MacBride, stressing co-operation rather than confrontation with Stormont, and beginning the policy of seeking improvements for nationalists within Northern Ireland rather than constantly harping on partition.
There has been criticism of his failure to act sooner and with more severity against the IRA. Certainly a more proactive policy in 1954 or 1955 might have derailed plans for the Border Campaign. And, as de Valera’s government would show, it took emergency measures to defeat the IRA. Costello’s moderate response has usually been attributed to the need to retain the support of Clann na Poblachta. But there was another reason. Adherence to the rule of law was a principle for him throughout his career. It can be seen in his reluctance to contemplate emergency measures as Attorney General; in his criticism of government by decree during the Second World War; in his desire to bring Republicans within the constitutional fold in 1948; and in his Declaration of the Republic, which he frequently characterised as an attempt to “take the gun out of Irish politics”.
And it shouldn’t be forgotten that the Second Inter-party Government did move against the IRA at the start of 1957. It may have been too little, too late, but Costello and his colleagues paid a high price for their actions, which caused an election at the worst possible time for the Government parties. Clann na Poblachta’s withdrawal of support consigned Fine Gael and Labour to the opposition benches for 16 years. It also, of course, consigned MacBride’s party to the dustbin of history.
His time as Taoiseach was only one aspect of Jack Costello’s long and varied career. He was one of the nationalist students in pre-First World War Dublin who expected to come into their political inheritance under Home Rule; he lived through the War of Independence and the Civil War, though as an observer rather than a participant; he became Attorney General and was deeply involved in the development of the Commonwealth in the 1920s; a defender of the Blueshirts in the legal and the political sphere, he played a role in the development of the new Constitution; and he continued to influence legislation as a backbencher well into his seventies.
Above all, of course, he was one of the leading barristers of his day, and remained deeply involved in the profession until shortly before his death. Lemass, who like de Valera took a dim view of lawyer TDS, told a young colleague that legal training was the worst kind for a political career. He argued that lawyers reached a conclusion, and then considered how the facts could be used to support it; a politician should arrive at conclusions based on the facts.15 On the other hand, barristers have a way with words, and this stood Costello in good stead in the political sphere—he was able to argue a case with force and passion, and this came through in his Dáil contributions. He also had a good grasp of the details of legislation and what the practical implications of changes were.
As a barrister, he tended to become utterly convinced of whatever case he happened to be arguing: “… he threw himself into a case with immense zest, apparently utterly unable to conceive that his client might be in the wrong”.16 Once, he told his children about a case involving a nurse who was minding a baby when a hot water bottle leaked and the baby was scalded. The children immediately expressed sympathy for the baby, to the indignation of their father. “Poor baby? Poor nurse! The hot water bottle was faulty!”17No doubt his attitude would have been different had he represented the parents rather than the nurse.
Jack Costello’s professional belligerence and desire to win an argument could at times be taken to extremes—even a guest appearance at a student debating society could see all the oratorical skills of the courtroom applied to demolish an auditor’s inaugural paper. Historian Ronan Fanning was very unimpressed with such a performance in the mid-1960s when Costello “tore into the Auditor as if he was dealing with Dev in the Dáil. It was choleric, bad tempered and utterly inappropriate.”18
Within the family circle, and with close friends, the belligerent pose of the advocate disappeared. His son Declan recalled his amazement as a child when he first saw his father on a political platform, hearing the kindly man he knew at home transformed into “a fierce orator”.19 Those who experienced the kindness which lay under his pugnacious manner always spoke well of John A. Costello. One of those was Noel Hartnett, the former Clann na Poblachta activist who fell out with MacBride, and by extension with Costello. In the 1959 profile of the former Taoiseach quoted above, Hartnett referred to Costello’s reluctance to take on the job as Taoiseach, and commented, “Politically he had greatness thrust upon him. Future generations will discern that he fully measured up to his responsibility.”20 That seems like a fair assessment.