“IT was on a raw, damp morning that I took my last look at Irish land. Soon, we were steaming southwards. My moorings were cut; I am a banished man; - an utter exile.”

So stated John Mitchel, in his famous `Jail Journal`. And he added “As for the disgrace of being a `felon,` - that sits easy on me. To make me a felon needs an act on my part. No ignominious London law can cast a stain on any Irishman. Nor can any disgrace be on the heads of my children.

“But for the thought of those children and their mother, - what inconveniences they may suffer before we are re-united, - I should feel jolly today. There is something independent about setting forth on a voyage of 3,000 miles, attired with an old brown coat on my back, and a few shillings in my tricolour purse.”

Whether Jenny Verner had such prospects in mind, when she fell for the young Presbyterian lawyer in the frontier town, is unlikely. Captain James Verner, whose relatives were extensive landowners, had served with the British Army in India and, according to the biography, `Jenny Mitchel,` was “living with” Mary Ward.

Their home was one of four large houses at Queen (now) Dominic Street in Newry, now demolished. They were owned by the Russell family, two of whom became nuns in California; Matthew was a Jesuit priest; while Charles was appointed first Catholic Lord Chief Justice of England, with the title of Lord Killowen.

“Jenny was brought up in a genteel fashion, attending Miss Bryden’s School for Young Ladies. She had inherited her mother’s beauty, and from her father would have learned the courage to follow one’s chosen path, despite other opinions.” John Mitchel was described as “of good height, with brown hair, worn with long locks. Jenny discovered that his eyes were always touched by melancholy.

“Dressed with the indifferent arrogance of a middle-class intellectual, a thwarted love had sent him roaming the Mountains of Mourne, followed by a sick-bay spell. But John Mitchel responded to Jenny’s eyes, shining with intelligence. She became not just Jane Verner, but my Jenny.”

“Friends described her as `pretty Jenny`, but all were deceived by her delicacy. Her staying power of body and spirit would match John Mitchel’s. And without the stamina to support with unflagging loyalty their own decisions, their future together would not even have begun.

“As Mitchel’s love for Jenny was complete, so would his entry with her into the turbulence of the Irish fight for freedom fill his horizon. Though they came from different viewpoints, Jenny and John shared a background of Newry, which they brought with them into the Australian bush and on the Brooklyn ferry.”

And the biography added: “The frontier town was divided by geography, class and religion, as well as long periods of oppression. It spilled over into violent words and deeds. British soldiers were based in Newry barracks. Jenny had grown accustomed to beggars, as it was difficult to alleviate their distress. Serving the 12,000 souls in 1836 were eight places of worship. There was religion by name, but Christian charity was in short supply.”

Meanwhile, keen sorrow was aroused with the death of Rev John Mitchel in 1840, - the loss being shared by many. An early supporter of the United Irishmen, he was nicknamed `Papist Mitchel` by loyalists. The pulpit from which he had preached was retained within the graveyard, where he was laid at Old Meeting House Green on High Street, and where the remains of his son were lowered in 1875.

Meanwhile, John Mitchel was becoming disenchanted with his role as a small-town solicitor, and attracted to the cosmopolitan scene of Dublin. He did not need excuses for absence from Co Down, being expected in the capital for law court functions. And when sworn as a barrister, there was legal business for clients in Dublin.

“But it was `all a lot of thimble-rigging,` he complained to Jenny and to John Martin. He was `spending time, thought and energy on causes, which were too trifling to engage the law and pay my fee. A wheel of necessity to feed my family is spinning on trivialities.’ Jenny was reluctant to approve a change to the wider world of Dublin, but soon gave over her opposition, sympathising with John Mitchel’s distaste for the narrow life of assize court circuits.

“Daniel O’Connoll’s Repeal movement was a call to action. When the first number of a weekly `The Nation’ was published in Dublin, the young eagles had sighted their cliff-top, - Ireland would never be the same again! John and Jenny Mitchel knew that a voice had been given to them.

“What a tremendous satisfaction to have your husband the chief writer of a newspaper, to which all Ireland turned each week. It was also being scanned at the highest government level in London and Dublin. Jenny was ready to shape history with John Mitchel, to use her strengths in his support. Would they have stayed comfortable in Newry, if they had known the penalties to those who would change the world? Not John nor Jane Mitchel,” the biography stated.

But the crescendo was reached when John Mitchel, who had launched the `United Irishman,` used it to savagely attack British rule, especially the Viceroy; Lord Clarendon, whom he called `Butcher-general’, challenging him to “move against me with all your might.” The Prime Minister, Home Secretary and the Viceroy discussed what should be done about John Mitchel.

A leading Young Irelander, Thomas Meagher, warned that “the sea will run red with Irish blood, before we will allow John Mitchel to be carried away to the hulks (prison ship).” The Viceroy and the government were afraid that it might come to that. John and Jenny Mitchel were afraid that it wouldn’t! Those who pledged to unsheath their swords were presented with a white cockade by Mrs Mitchel.

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