Between c.1350 and c.1750 a small group of professional hereditary physicians served the Gaelic communities of Ireland and Scotland. Over fifty medical kindreds provided advice regarding health maintenance and treatment with herbs and surgery. Their medical knowledge was derived from Gaelic translations of medieval European Latin medical texts grounded in the classical works of Hippocrates and Galen, and the Arab world. Students studied in medical schools where they copied and compiled medical texts in Irish, some for use as handbooks. Over 100 texts are extant. Political upheaval and scientific advances led to the eclipse of this medical world. Through examination of the Gaelic medical manuscripts and other sources this article provides an assessment of medicine in Gaelic Ireland and Scotland from the mid-fourteenth to the mid-eighteenth centuries.

Recent decades have witnessed a continued interest among historians in Ireland's eighteenth-century penal laws. Earlier broad surveys of the laws and their impact have given way to case studies that have highlighted the varied experiences of individual families, with many focusing on the strategies, whether legal or otherwise, that were utilised in attempts to circumvent these restrictions. Despite these advances, however, our understanding of the laws remains incomplete. This is particularly the case in relation to the gavelling clause within the 1704 popery act. This was one of Ireland's most infamous penal laws, yet it remains one of the least studied and least understood set of restrictions against Catholics. It is clear that the restrictions it placed on the sole inheritance of land could be circumvented in certain instances, but how exactly this was achieved without suffering prosecution requires further study. This article will advance our understanding of the gavelling clause through an in-depth examination of the law and its interpretation by Irish courts, which in turn will highlight the avenues that were open to Catholics in their attempts to either neutralise or evade the restrictions and other related legal provisions. This will demonstrate how successful circumvention did not depend on breaking the law per se, but instead relied upon loopholes in the law itself.

The visit of George IV to Ireland in the summer of 1821 prompted an effusive display of royalist emotion. It left a visible and material legacy in Dublin in the form of Kingstown, the Round Room in the Mansion House, King's Bridge, and a variety of prints, paintings, commemorative coins and ephemera. The idea of constructing a palace to facilitate future royal visits was even floated. The visit was reported on extensively in the newspapers of the day and was the subject also of a range of poems, verses and songs. A royal visit made on a whim, together with vested interests and carefully managed propaganda, combined to produce mismatched expectations of what the visit would achieve. This article assesses the visit and argues that while the Dublin administration viewed it as a success, there was, in fact, little positive outcome.

During the worst year of the Great Irish Famine, ‘Black ’47’, tens of thousands of people fled across the Irish Sea from Ireland to Britain, desperately escaping the starvation and disease plaguing their country. These refugees, crowding unavoidably into the most insalubrious accommodation British towns and cities had to offer, were soon blamed for deadly outbreaks of epidemic typhus which emerged across the country during the first half of 1847. Indeed, they were accused of transporting the pestilence, then raging in Ireland, over with them. Typhus mortality rates in Ireland and Britain soared, and so closely connected with the disease were the Irish in Britain that it was widely referred to as ‘Irish fever’. Much of what we know about this epidemic is based on a handful of studies focusing almost exclusively on major cities along the British west-coast. Moreover, there has been little attempt to understand the legacy of the episode on the Irish in Britain. Taking a national perspective, this article argues that the ‘Irish fever’ epidemic of 1847 spread far beyond the western port of entry, and that the epidemic, by entrenching the association of the Irish with deadly disease, contributed significantly to the difficulties Britain's Irish population faced in the 1850s.

This article explores the spatial history and ‘afterlives’ of Galway jail, where an innocent man, Myles Joyce, was executed in 1882 following his conviction for the Maamtrasna murders; in 2018 he was formally pardoned by President Michael D. Higgins. The article traces how the political and cultural meanings of this incident were instrumentalised in the building of Ireland's last Catholic cathedral on the site of the former Galway jail. It analyses how the site was depicted – in different ways and at different moments – as one of justice, of injustice, of triumph, and of redemption. It investigates how these different legacies were instrumentalised – or at times ignored – by Irish nationalists and later by the Catholic bishop of Galway, Michael Browne. It uses Joyce's execution to explore the site's legacy, an incident that at times dominated its representations but at other moments faded from prominence. The article situates the former jail site within theoretical writings on memorialisation, ‘difficult’ heritage, and studies of architectural demolition, while also commenting on mid twentieth-century Irish Catholic politics and culture.

While scholars have rightly recognised that the First World War transformed twentieth-century Ireland, this article queries assumptions regarding the scope and scale of public support for hostilities during 1917 and 1918. Eleven elite boys’ schools are used as case studies to assess civilian reactions to the ongoing war effort, food shortages, and the 1918 conscription crisis within specific institutional communities, illuminating the importance of socio-religious affiliations and political aspirations in determining late-war behaviour. Drawing on school magazines and newspaper coverage of college events, it is argued that alternative visions of statehood underpinned divergent reactions to the conflict; Protestant schools clung to fundraising and militaristic activities seen to support continued union with Britain but Catholic establishments rejected such endeavours in the wake of increased separatist sentiment. This research also casts new light on the interplay between conflict, educational socialisation and politicisation in revolutionary Ireland. Constitutional nationalist reputation aside, wartime mobilisation in elite Catholic schools proved extremely lacklustre, while the unionist expectations their Protestant counterparts had for the post-war world ultimately went unfulfilled. Prestigious colleges across the denominational spectrum demonstrably navigated late-war pressures on their own terms, shaping Ireland's political landscape both throughout and beyond the conflict's most contentious years.

The publication in 1908 of The making of Ireland and its undoing, 1200–1600 by the London-based Irish historian, Alice Stopford Green, provoked a controversy that reveals much about the deepening political tensions at the heart of historical practice in the decade before 1916. Stopford Green took a deliberately controversial approach to the rewriting of medieval Ireland that triggered a bombardment of both positive and negative reactions. Supporters of Irish home rule applauded the work for its innovative analysis and contemporary relevance. But the book elicited a flurry of exasperation from a united front of ‘history men’, who dismissed Stopford Green and her work as ‘political’ and largely fictitious. Anticipating the reaction from a profession that was predominantly sympathetic to a unionist interpretation, Stopford Green had a well-prepared plan that harnessed both her gender and her transnational networks of influence to maximise the dissemination of her radical reimagining of the late medieval Gaelic world. By understanding these deeper strategies of defiance, Alice Stopford Green's history might be reclaimed as a key intervention in the structuring of both Ireland's national tradition and collective consciousness in preparation for independence.