The assassination attempt that put Clontarf on the world map 150 years ago
ONE hundred and fifty years ago, Sydneysiders whipped themselves into a frenzy after an Irishman tried to assassinate the Duke of Edinburgh on the northern beaches.
Manly
Don't miss out on the headlines from Manly. Followed categories will be added to My News.
ONE hundred and fifty years ago this month, Sydneysiders whipped themselves into a frenzy of self-flagellation and patriotic fervour after a paranoiac Irishman tried to assassinate the visiting Duke of Edinburgh at Clontarf, on Sydney’s northern beaches.
Clontarf was one of the most popular of the so-called pleasure grounds that dotted the harbour foreshores in the mid-to-late 1800s and the Duke, along with 5000 other people, was attending a picnic there on March 12, 1868, to raise money for the Sydney Sailor’s Home.
But if Sydneysiders were the only people to have heard of Clontarf before the shooting, after the shooting it was known to virtually everyone in the British Empire.
Prince Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, Earl of Kent, Earl of Ulster, second son of Queen Victoria and future Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha survived the first political assassination attempt in Australian history but Henry James O’Farrell didn’t survive the trial — he was hanged six weeks after firing the non-fatal shot.
O’Farrell initially claimed that he was taking instructions from a local group of Fenians — a radical Irish nationalist organisation — but he later retracted the claim and was shown to be a man with a history of mental instability.
The shooting unleashed an outpouring of anti-Irish, anti-Catholic sentiment — even against Irish Protestant Loyalists — spurred on by sections of the press and by sectarian and opportunistic members of the NSW Parliament.
Within weeks, every city and suburb worth its subservient salt had hosted an “indignation meeting” at which speaker after speaker lamented the “outrage at Clontarf” and expressed their deepest sympathy for “the Royal sufferer”.
Manly’s indignation meeting was held on March 18 in the Church of England schoolhouse, where it was moved: “That this meeting deeply deplores the late dastardly attempt upon the life of his Royal Highness the Duke of Edinburgh and desires to record its utter abhorrence of so cowardly and atrocious a crime”.
The press concluded its coverage of the Manly indignation meeting by writing: “The meeting was brought to a close by singing the National Anthem in a right loyal manner”.
Coverage in the press of the shooting and the prince’s recovery was endless, as were the countless advertisements for indignation meetings.
In fact, the colonial grovelling was so unabashed that some English newspapers mocked the “mass toadying” exhibited by the colonialists, especially as the Duke’s wound was minor and he was back on his feet within days.
On a more sinister level, several parliamentarians, led by Colonial-Secretary Henry Parkes, quickly had the repressive Treason Felony Act passed through Parliament that, among other things, made it an offence to refuse to drink the Queen’s health or to join in any loyal demonstration in honour of Her Majesty or to use language disrespectful of her Royal person.
Even interstate newspapers could see the lunacy of the Treason Felony Act, with one South Australian newspaper asking what would happen if a teetotaller was unable to raise a glass to honour the Queen because he didn’t have one.
“Legislation under the influence of national excitement approaching to a panic is a rather dangerous experiment and yet that legislation the Parliament of NSW has attempted,” wrote the editor of one South Australian newspaper.
Thankfully, the most repressive sections of the Act expired after two years.
But repressive legislation wasn’t enough for Henry Parkes — he even employed private detectives to uncover evidence of a Fenian plot behind the assassination attempt but there was none — O’Farrell was just a slightly mad Irishman with a history of delirium tremens and epileptic fits who had never got over his failure to become a priest.
Thankfully the attempted assassination of the duke didn’t mean the end of Clontarf as a pleasure ground and it quickly regained its prominent place among the pleasure grounds of Sydney.