The uniforms were of rough material but they felt wonderful. They would change into their Red Cross uniforms later, but for the march they wanted to be part of the military, with the men. Mrs Grant looked particularly magnificent, so used were they to seeing her in chiffon and lace, but she stood proud in her khaki jacket and hat and long skirt. Mary’s favourite part was the badge, a little rifle with the letters CnamB wound around the weapon. Every time she looked at it, she felt a surge of pride.
‘Ladies,’ Mrs Grant addressed them. ‘Today is a momentous day. It is an honour for me to have us serve together in defence of our country, alongside our men. Today we are not servants, or cooks, or ladies, but Irish women, undivided by rank or station. Now, let’s go. Our orders are to present ourselves at Liberty Hall and get further instructions there. Go n-eirí an tádh linn go leir.’
They walked out quietly so as not to disturb Jimmy, who was polishing boots in the scullery. The master had left for work despite it being a Bank Holiday, because as the war raged on in Europe, the demand for uniforms was almost insatiable and the master was making a fortune from it.
Their orders were to meet at Liberty Hall at 11.45. As they marched purposefully down the street, Mary noticed Mrs Grant glance wistfully back at her home once. No matter how things went today, there was a distinct possibility that she would never enter its doors again. Mary had her letters from Rory hidden under her petticoat, and the little medal Mrs Kearns had given her was around her neck on a chain, the only things of value she owned, and she too wondered what was to become of them all.
Eileen fell into step beside her as they walked purposefully towards the city with Mrs Grant and Mrs Kearns behind them. Mrs Carmody knew of Eileen’s involvement, and while she was not a member of Cumann na mBan herself, and was very proud of her son who was fighting in the war on the Western Front with the Royal Dublin Fusiliers, she was a believer in women’s suffrage and so her maid’s activities did have her tacit approval.
Eileen linked Mary’s arm and said, ‘The mistress called me up to the study last night. I nearly had a heart attack. She never does that, so I was sure something had happened to Rory and that she had got the job of telling me.’
Mary breathed deeply. The mention of anything happening to Rory caused her to fret, but she had to stay strong. She was glad of Eileen’s friendship at all times, but especially now as she had no official link to him. Eileen was his next of kin in the city, so word of him would have to come through her.
‘Don’t worry!’ Eileen smiled, squeezing her friend’s arm. She knew how Mary and Rory felt about each other. Mary had confided Rory’s declaration of love and his proposal to her friend on Thursday night. ‘I’m sure he’s fine.’
‘No,’ Eileen continued, ‘Mrs Carmody just wanted to say that she was very proud of me and that if I had to leave for any reason, she would understand, and that there would always be a job for me in her house! I know she couldn’t say anything outright, but ‘twas nice of her all the same, wasn’t it? Poor Maura Hayes was dismissed from her place after her mistress got wind of her involvement with us. We’re lucky to have our employers on our side at least.’
‘Yes. We really are. Though whether or not Mrs Grant will have a house to go home to after today is another thing.’ Mary was preoccupied. All around them as they approached the city, groups of armed men and some uniformed women, Cumann na mBan members, were gathering.
’Surely the British in Dublin Castle aren’t blind? Can they not see what’s happening?’ she asked anxiously.
‘No, they think we’re just going to parade. I heard one of the ladies say it at the meeting the other evening. They think it’s better just to let us parade and be done with it. Are you nervous?’’
Mary was, but she wouldn’t admit it.
‘No, I’m ready. You?’
‘No! I’m ready too. We’ve been preparing for so long. It’s time for action now.’ They walked on in silence, Mrs Kearns and Mrs Grant talking quietly behind them.
They walked on to the headquarters on Brunswick Street where Mrs Grant went in to get their orders. She emerged after a few minutes with boxes of supplies and a handcart.
‘The men and some of the ladies are marching from Liberty Hall. I’m sorry but our task is a little less glamorous.’ She smiled at the girls. ‘Right, we’re to report to the GPO. Padraig Pearse is commanding there. We have bandages, ointment and disinfectant here which we’re to bring with us and set up a first aid station. Eileen and Mary, can you get the rest of those boxes there on the stairs? And Mrs Kearns, if you can help me get them into the handcart?’
For a few minutes they carried heavy boxes of bandages and loaded up the handcart as high as they could before setting off. They passed companies of Volunteers taking orders and preparing to dig in at various strategic points around the city. Mary wondered for the thousandth time that morning where Rory was.
She was interrupted from her thoughts by Eileen’s good natured grumbling.
‘God Above! These boxes weigh a ton! Surely there must be more than just bandages in here?’ And she heaved another box onto the handcart.
‘They’re flour bags from Boland’s Mill. That’s why they’re so heavy,’ Mrs Grant explained. ‘The girls working there have been taking bags out for months and storing them here, unbeknownst to the Boland’s, of course.’ She smiled.
‘Well, I think that’s about all we can carry for now. Well done, girls. Let’s get to our position and hope we don’t need to use all these bandages.’
As she turned to go, Mary noticed something shoved into Mrs Grant’s belt that had not been there before. It was a Webley handgun. The reality of what they faced in the coming hours dawned once again on Mary. She caught Eileen’s eye and drew her attention to the gun. They squeezed each other’s hands in solidarity as they all manoeuvred the handcart over the cobblestones towards Sackville Street.
There were what seemed like hundreds of Volunteers and Cumann na mBan members taking over the General Post Office when they got there. As they entered by the side door as they’d been instructed, a girl about her own age was being ordered to leave by a senior Volunteer. As the man marched off, the girl looked stricken and approached Mary.
‘Ah here, yez can’t do tha’. Tha’s me bike. I saved up for three years to buy tha’ and I didn’t know this was goin’ ta happen. I’ll only be a minute please!’ she pleaded with Mary.
Before she had time to answer, she heard a voice she knew behind her, ‘Look, go on and get it, but be quick.’
Mary and Eileen spun round in the direction of the voice. She couldn’t believe her eyes. ‘Rory!’
‘Hello, ladies, and welcome to the headquarters of free Ireland. Now I think ye are to set up a first aid station, is that right? Well, maybe upstairs at the back is the safest place for that, so find a corner there and get to work.’ He winked as he gave them their instructions and gave Mary a quick squeeze as she passed.
‘I saw that!’ Eileen joked.
Chapter 22
Eileen, Mary, and Mrs Kearns strained to hear the voice of Padraig Pearse as he read the Proclamation, declaring that Ireland was now, by order of the Provisional government, an independent Republic.
The stirring opening words filled the men and women who heard him with resolve. Mary, who had never felt part of anything before her life in Dublin, found herself filled with emotion, all fear forgotten. Though she had no blood relatives that she knew of, she was part of a family, this family of compatriots, and for a moment, she almost imagined the ghosts of heroes of the past were walking among them, giving them strength. Rory and Mrs Grant had given her books to read about brave Robert Emmet, the mighty O’Neill and O’Donnell, the brave men at Vinegar Hill in 1798, all making their generation’s bid for freedom from the hands of the oppressor, and now she felt their strength and approval. All the talk and meetings and endless lessons in bandaging and firing rifles were over and the day had come. The revolution was
a reality, and she, Mary Doyle, a nobody, was part of it.
‘Irishmen and Irish women’ were called by Pearse to their nation’s flag, to strike for Ireland’s freedom. Mary and Eileen stood mesmerised as he looked so handsome and brave, saintly almost. There was something other-worldly about him. Perhaps the fact that he was a poet and a scholar rather than a soldier made him so. The other leaders, Connolly and Tomas Clarke and MacDiarmuida, were different, brave and inspiring as well, but they seemed to be made of flesh and bone, whereas Pearse was different. She said it once to Mrs Kearns, feeling a little foolish to be going on with such fanciful notions, but to her surprise the housekeeper agreed with her.
Pearse stood for everything she hoped Ireland could become. He, and the country he represented, recognised her as an equal with the men who stood beside her. She felt so deeply now, as a result of all the people she’d met and loved since arriving in Dublin three years earlier, that she wanted to be part of a society where all children were cherished equally. She had never felt like she had power before in her life since her very existence was the result of a sinful act, and she was a worthless drain on the nuns’ resources, unworthy even of a family or a home. And yet now here she was, in the GPO in Dublin, her nation’s capital city, taking an active role in fighting to free her country, alongside her best friend and the man that she loved with all her heart.
The first aid station was set up, and the other Cumann na mBan women came to inspect progress. James Connolly, leader of the Irish Citizen Army, was downstairs and had been heard arguing with some of the Volunteer officers, it seemed. He was a socialist and also a supporter of women’s rights. He wanted the women armed and fighting with the men, but Pearse wouldn’t hear of it. He recognised women as equals on some levels and was happy for the women to be there, but only as cooks, doing first aid, and running messages to the other strongholds throughout the city. She smiled as she recalled Mrs Grant chastising him a few weeks before when he had voiced his opinions on the topic. Rising up to her full five feet two inches, she had said imperiously, ‘Chivalry is all very well and fine, sir, when it comes to carriage doors and matters of little consequence, but it has no place in securing a nation’s freedom.’ Despite the women’s protest however, the mildly spoken poet was unmoved.
‘At least Pearse lets us in,’ Eileen whispered to Mary. ‘De Valera is below in Boland’s Mills, and he’s refusing to allow any women in there at all!’
The shooting began that afternoon, albeit sporadically, as reports were coming in from all over the city. The British officers had gone to the races in Fairyhouse that day, leaving Dublin Castle with only a skeleton staff. It was a good day to strike. The news, brought by women couriers, was mixed. There had been a few victories, but as the night wore on, the by now startled British got more resources into Dublin. There was confusion down the country, but it seemed that, based on sketchy reports, Eoin MacNeill, the founder member and chief of staff of the Volunteers, had countermanded the order to rebel, leaving battalions unsure of what to do next. Roger Casement, an ardent nationalist who was living in Germany, had been asked to procure weapons. He was arrested trying to bring in rifles, and MacNeill thought that without the supplies the Rising would fail. The Volunteers were fuming at MacNeill’s actions but tried to make the best of a bad situation. The rebels had to focus on taking the city, and hoped to spread the rising nationwide once the capital was secured.
The casualties were coming quickly now, and Mary and Eileen removed bullets and bandaged wounds as best they could. They were frugal with supplies, fearing they would run out. There were a few doctors around for very urgent cases, but mostly they were left to themselves.
Mrs Kearns came up from the makeshift kitchen every few hours bearing hot soup and sandwiches when she could, and she greeted the girls warmly each time. Mrs Grant was acting as courier on a bicycle around the city, delivering messages between the various locations captured by the rebels. Mary and Eileen marvelled at her bravery, but Mrs Kearns, who had known the mistress for years, was circumspect.
‘She’s a strong lady right enough. Sure she’s all in now anyway, that thundering so and so she married won’t have her back now either way, nor us either most likely. I just pray to God she doesn’t get in the way of a bullet. God knows there are enough people being shot out there, and they only going about their business. Not to mention what would happen if she’s caught since there’s no telling what they’d do to her.’
‘They threw a lad out of a cart last weekend, on Leeson Street; the patrol had picked him up the day before. One of the Volunteers was telling me that even his mother didn’t recognise him by the time they were finished with him.’ Eileen’s shuddered as she spoke, her voice low, as wounded men were lying all around on makeshift stretchers. Some were half conscious, others agitated.
‘We live in dangerous times, girls, and what can we do except keep on going? Now I better get back to my pot of soup below. I’ve a small fella coming with bread from a house up along, in a minute, sure people are kind and we have right on our side, remember that! Now stay back from them windows, do you hear me?’ As she spoke, a bullet whizzed past them, hitting a stone column three feet from them. Squeezing their hands, she turned, and was gone downstairs.
By Tuesday afternoon the shelling was constant and the number of casualties ever growing. A girl who had been acting as a courier down to Boland’s was hit in the shoulder and was in terrible pain. They laid her down and managed to get a doctor to remove the worst of the damage, but she needed to be in hospital. Mary stopped two young lads, no more than fourteen, who were laying sandbags for protection.
‘I need ye to carry a girl up to the hospital. She’s badly hurt and she needs to be...’
‘But Missis, we won’t stand a chance out there if we have to carry someone. We can run between buildings and that ourselves, but the British are shooting anything that moves...’ one of the boys was reasonable.
‘Alright... can you get us more supplies, bandages, disinfectant and anything else you can find?’
‘Leave it to us.’ And they were gone.
The hours wore on relentlessly and despite their best efforts, some of the wounded died. Mary found that instead of being overwhelmed or distraught, she managed to remain practical, and with the help of Eileen each did her job as well as she could. At one point Pearse himself came up and spoke to them briefly, thanking them for their commitment and offering them encouragement. Eventually, other women came to help, allowing Mary and Eileen to sleep.
They lay down on some sacking near the back wall and felt the building shudder repeatedly, as incendiaries went off outside. Despite the mayhem surrounding them, Mary fell into an exhausted sleep, woken only occasionally by the screams and groans of the injured as they were carried bleeding to the first aid station.
The two other girls that had taken over were trying valiantly to cope with the casualties, coming now in ever faster waves. Once, she and Eileen went back to their positions, feeling guilty for lying down when the others needed all the help they could get, but Countess Markievicz was on her rounds and insisted they leave the first aid station.
‘You need rest, my dears, otherwise you are of no use. Working while exhausted means mistakes, and we need to keep these men alive, so get some rest and we’ll manage here.’ Her tone, while kind, brooked no discussion. Gratefully, they returned to their makeshift bed.
Mary woke to a strange sensation. Someone was stroking her head. Forcing her eyes open, she saw Rory’s dark features come into focus. He was sitting beside her on the floor. She sat up but immediately panicked,
‘What’s happened to you? Oh Rory, are you injured?’ His uniform was filthy and blood ran down from a cut on his temple and another over his eye.
‘No, I’m grand, just a scratch.’ he said, but winced as he tried to smile.
‘Here, let me see.’ She sat up and crossed to the first aid station and took some bandages and a basin of water. Gent
ly she began to clean the cuts and noted with relief that he was right, the wounds weren’t deep.
‘What happened to you? Were you outside?’ she whispered so as not to disturb Eileen.
‘I was at Dublin Castle. We were hoping we could take it, what with all the officers either still at the races or sleeping off the effects, but we failed. Some others tried to get Trinity College too, but no good. Dev is dug in below at Boland’s Mills, and Michael Mallin has Stephen’s Green. The Four Courts and the South Dublin Union are ours as well, and we managed to do a fair bit of damage up in the Phoenix Park. So all in all, it could be worse.’ He smiled and sighed, exhausted.
‘It’s going to get worse though, isn’t it?’ she asked, knowing the answer.
‘Well, they’re not happy, that’s for sure. They think we have some cheek to demand our own country back, and when the mighty British Empire is riled, well…’ He shook his head. ‘You will remember our conversation won’t you, the day in the park?’
‘Of course I will. But we’re going to make it through this, Rory, I just feel it. Both of us. And then sure you can make an honest woman of me!’ Mary tried to inject her voice with humour. She knew from her meetings that the women had more to do than deliver messages and bandage wounds. Mrs Sheehy-Skeffington and even the Countess were constantly reminding them of the need to stay strong. She remembered the countess’ voice ringing over the crowd in Wynne’s Hotel. ‘Sisters in arms, it is absolutely imperative not to show weakness in the face of the enemy, but also, perhaps even more so, for our men who are being so brave. It is unhelpful and demoralising for them to see their women weeping or carrying on, making things even more difficult for them. Sacrifices are being made, and have been made for our beloved Ireland, and these pains have to be borne, however terrible, by men and women.’
Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars Page 53
