By Brenda Niall
Pub. National Library of Australia, Canberra
Reviewed By Tony Evans
‘Read no history, only biography’ a father advises his son in a now seldom-read novel by Disraeli, and then justifies his remark by arguing that good biography is ‘history without the theory’.
True to this advice The Riddle of Father Hackett is not only an engrossing account of an interesting life, but also a history of the times in which the subject lived, both in Ireland and Australia.
It is a book that will grip all those who have Irish connections and, further, all those who are interested in the history of the Australian Catholic Church – which should include the majority of readers of The Record.
The author begins by suggesting that biographies of priests are rare because priests lead – for the most part – hidden lives, and much of their work is of a confidential nature – not the sort to attract a publisher. Such might have been the case with Fr Hackett SJ but Brenda Niall, an experienced biographer, had the advantage, when a child, of a family friendship with the priest in his latter years. His humour, his courtesy, his disarming candour and stories of his early life in Ireland, made a lasting impression on her.
Much later, Niall realised that there was a lot more to that spare, quick-moving, bicycling Jesuit than appeared on the surface. This was confirmed when, long after his death from a cycling accident in 1954, the Jesuit archive collection of Hackett’s letters and diaries was made available to her. The result is an exciting, and, at times, a poignant tale.
William Hackett was born into a large middle class family in Kilkenny in 1878. His father was a well-established Catholic doctor whose popularity, reputation and health suffered when he publicly appeared on a platform with Parnell, the tarnished leader of the Home Rule Party in Westminster. Tempers flared and missiles were thrown by an angry crowd.
While riding in a carriage with him, a stone intended for Parnell hit Dr Hackett in the eye, smashed his glasses, and permanently affected his sight.
Charles Stewart Parnell – “The Chief” – was the hope of the Republican cause until his involvement in a squalid divorce case and his subsequent marriage to Mrs Katherine O’Shea.
Here was an act that split the rigorously orthodox Catholic country, ended Parnell’s career, and, in the short term, severely damaged the Republican cause.
The Bishops condemned him; many clergy preached against him. The nation divided on the issue, and even the daughters of Dr Hackett were, for a time, banned from attending their convent school.
The young William, also of school age at the time, could not but be affected by these events.
His loyalty to his father and the family’s friendship with Parnell sowed the first seeds of his life-long Republican sympathies. Later, these grew and matured when, as a young priest, he witnessed the poverty of his people, the injustices of absentee landlords and the revengeful tyranny of the British troops, the ‘Black and Tans’, after the Easter Rising of 1916. The ‘Riddle’ of Fr Hackett SJ is to what extent he was involved in the resistance movement against British rule in Ireland and why he was suddenly sent out to Australia by the Jesuit authorities. Niall makes clear that he was not a participant in military activities, his role was more likely to be as an intermediary, a source of information, a messenger.
His was clearly humanitarian work. What makes the story of his life so compelling at this point was his friendship with the leaders of the Republican cause, with Michael Collins, Erskine Childers, with Eamon de Valera and others. Their revealing correspondence with Hackett enriches the story.
The priest was due to meet Michael Collins in Cork on the night before the fatal skirmish that ended with the untimely death of the Nationalist leader.
Fr Hackett’s closest friendship seems to have been with Erskine Childers and his wife Molly, whose letter to Hackett (then in Australia) recounting the execution of her brave, utterly sincere patriotic husband is almost unbearably moving. Erskine Childers is best known for his classic spy tale, The Riddle of the Sands, revered by all yachtsmen and from which, of course, the title of Brenda Niall’s book is derived. Bound by obedience as a member of his Order, Fr Hackett took up his new life in a Melbourne Diocese in the Spring of 1922. ‘My world has been turned upside down’ he wrote. It is to the biographer’s credit that this second part of the book is no less absorbing than the first. With the autocratic, eccentric Dr Daniel Mannix ruling the Diocese at that time, we are never far from Irish politics and Fr Hackett maintains his connections with his old country. He is appointed by Mannix as chaplain adviser to BA Santamaria’s ‘Movement’, clandestinely set up to fight communist dominance of the Unions. There is much new material revealed here concerning Church politics of the 1950s derived from the author’s employment in Santamaria’s office at that time
With the practical support of Mannix, Hackett set up and directed the Catholic Library in Melbourne (now known as the Caroline Chisholm Library).
He held seminars and lectures and amassed a valuable collection of books which he invariably had difficulty paying for. He believed in the imperative of educating and encouraging a Catholic intellectual elite and for this purpose was closely involved in establishing the Newman and Campion Societies in Melbourne.
In between times, this busy man was variously teacher, priest attached to St Ignatius parish, Richmond, and Principal of Newman College, Kew. The latter post evidently was not one of his successes. He was a poor administrator who favoured intellectual accomplishments in young Catholic men rather than sporting ones, and fell foul of the influential Old Boys Association. The dispute ended in his humiliating dismissal.
Perhaps the most memorable and amusing scenes in the book concern the irksome friendship between Mannix and Hackett and how, for 14 years, Fr Hackett was commanded to accompany the ageing, grey, autocratic Archbishop on his austere six weeks’ holiday at Portsea on Port Phillip Bay. Mannix was demanding of Hackett’s time and relied on his company even though he could appear ungrateful, curt, and at times insulting. Hackett referred to himself as Mannix’s poodle.
This is a fascinating journey through the life and times of a truly meritorious priest who engaged with the world but was not worldly, and who never compromised his vocation to the priesthood.
The Riddle of Father Hackett is clearly ‘history without the theory’ and is highly recommended.
Tony Evans’ biography of the architect William Wardell, Building with Conviction, is to be published by Connor Court early this year.