Rebel Sisters (33 page)

‘Nothing will happen to me,' he reassured her, pulling her into his arms.

He went upstairs to collect some papers and clean clothes; he was getting ready to leave again.

‘Can't you stay a bit longer?' she requested. ‘Please?'

‘I'm sorry, my love, but I have to go,' he replied, buttoning up his jacket.

‘Will you at least be home here for Easter with us?'

‘I have issued an order in our newsletter for manoeuvres to be held on Easter Sunday in every part of Ireland,' he said, kissing her and the children before he left. ‘So don't go making any family plans for me that day.'

‘Your regular manoeuvres?'

MacDonagh deliberately didn't answer her, but quickly took up his overcoat and left.

Muriel's heart was beating so fast inside her chest that she felt almost dizzy. Now she was certain that he was keeping something from her. She was not stupid and realized that whatever he and his friends were planning must be highly dangerous. Why else would he hide it from her? She suspected that, in his usual gallant fashion, her kind husband was desperately trying to protect her.

THE WEATHER WAS
overcast when Nellie cycled into town on Easter Saturday to meet Margaret Skinnider, the young Scottish teacher, at Liberty Hall. Margaret had borrowed a bicycle from Nora Connolly, James's daughter, and Michael Mallin had given Nellie a map with the area around St Stephen's Green park and Leeson Street all marked out. Nellie wondered what was special about this area as the two of them set off, cycling through the city.

Margaret kept asking her questions all along the way, taking special note of side streets and laneways, walking up and down them, recording vacant premises, the rooflines and heights of buildings on the streets that they passed. They strolled around St Stephen's Green itself, no one paying the slightest heed to them.

Nellie discovered that, even though Margaret was from Glasgow, both her parents were Irish and she always considered herself Irish.

‘I'm a member of the Glasgow branch of Cumann na mBan, which Countess Markievicz set up,' Margaret told her proudly as they wheeled their bicycles along. ‘She's a remarkable woman, an inspiration.'

‘Indeed she is!' agreed Nellie. ‘She's a stalwart of the Citizen Army and is one of the kindest women I know. She helped me with the Bureau. She is not at all what people expect, but is always set on fighting for justice and doing what she believes is right, no matter what people think of her.'

‘She brought me to Ash Street the last time I was over as I wanted to see the other side of Dublin. Glasgow is no perfect city, I admit, but, Nellie, I was appalled by the poverty and deprivation that I saw.'

‘That's the great shame of Dublin,' Nellie said angrily.

‘How do the authorities permit so many children and parents to live here in those terrible run-down tenement buildings, crowded together in one room with no sanitation?'

‘No one cares, but it has to change,' Nellie nodded. ‘That's what Jim Larkin and the union fought for, and what Mr Connolly and the countess and all of us believe and want – an Irish nation governed by its own people.'

‘That would be a fine thing.'

Nellie pointed out Harcourt Street station and the canal.

‘I joined a rifle club in Glasgow for good Scottish women who wanted to play their part in the defence of the British empire.' Margaret laughed. ‘I kept going to it because the gun training was excellent. The other ladies didn't care much for guns and shooting, but by the time it closed down I'd become a good markswoman, a sure shot.'

‘I've been trained to use a gun with the Citizen Army,' said Nellie ruefully, ‘but I'm most definitely not a sure shot.'

‘The countess is a very fine markswoman,' Margaret confided. ‘When she advised me of plans for a rebellion, I knew that the opportunity might come for me to be of assistance in the fight for nationalism.'

Nellie studied the earnest young mathematics teacher, her gentle and scholarly demeanour hiding her independent, feisty spirit and determination.

‘So every time I cross over here to Ireland I bring something special. I hid a few detonators under my hat the last time I came.'

‘Detonators!' gasped Nellie. ‘Were you not terrified?'

‘I admit I was a bit afraid that something might spark if I was sitting in a cabin,' she giggled, ‘so I sat out on the open deck in case I ignited or worse still, blew up!'

‘Are you nervous about tomorrow?' Nellie asked as they cycled back together in tandem to Liberty Hall.

‘A wee bit, but I volunteered to come over to Dublin because I want to be part of it all.' She shrugged as they passed along the quays.

Liberty Hall was in a state of high excitement and preparation as Nellie and Margaret arrived back there. Men were busy polishing and oiling their guns, while the women were organizing food rations, with joints of meat being prepared, batches of scones and loaves of bread baked. Medical supplies and equipment were also being checked and packed for tomorrow.

James Connolly gave them last-minute orders to parade at 3.30 p.m. on Easter Sunday in full uniform at Liberty Hall, where they would join with the Volunteers.

People were in and out of the building and the air of expectation for the next day and what it would bring was palpable. Many of the men agreed to stay overnight while Nellie, like most of the women, headed home, excited about what tomorrow would bring.

IT WAS ALMOST
mid-morning when, to Grace's surprise, Mick Collins called at Temple Villas.

‘Is it Joe?' she asked, fearing bad news. ‘Is he worse? Am I to go to the nursing home?'

‘Ah Grace, it's nothing like that,' he told her kindly. ‘He sent me to give you these.'

He passed her a package. Perhaps it was a message about their wedding tomorrow, but it felt strangely heavy and she immediately opened it. It was a revolver and also there was £20 in notes wrapped up beside it.

She suddenly felt terribly afraid.

‘Mick, why do I need a gun?'

‘Joe wants you to have it if you need to defend yourself. The money is in case you have to bribe some of the military. He's afraid you may be captured, Grace, or might be arrested because of him.'

‘Arrested?' Grace gasped out loud.

‘Ssshhh,' Collins warned, stepping forward and taking her arm.

‘Mick, do you think they will come here?'

‘Who can say what they will do or what they might be planning, but Joe just wants you safe. He's checked out of the nursing home.'

‘But he's far too sick! The doctor told him he had to stay – why would he do such a silly thing?'

‘You know what he's like when he wants something, Grace, how determined and set about things Joe can be.'

She nodded dumbly.

‘He's got a room at the Metropole Hotel and he asks you to come in to see him this evening.'

‘Tell him I'll be there,' she promised, watching as the tall figure of Michael Collins, message delivered, disappeared back outside.

She felt the heaviness of the gun and touched the trigger. She had never even held a gun in her life and could not imagine herself ever using one. Aiming at another human being and killing or injuring them – it was something she could not personally contemplate, even if Joe did want her to have it for self-defence.

Running upstairs, she hid the revolver and the money in her bag, hoping that she would never have to use either.

‘Who was that man that called to see you?' asked her brother Liebert curiously.

‘Just a friend giving me a message,' she said lightly.

Grace took a tram into Sackville Street, arriving at the Metropole Hotel around six to see Joe. She was surprised to see him suddenly appear down the hotel stairs. He looked terrible: his hair was shaved tight to his skull, he had lost weight and now even in his new uniform and hat he looked positively skeletal. She ran to greet him and they embraced. Tomorrow morning they would be wed.

‘I was about to give you up as a bad job,' he said, touching her face. ‘Why didn't you come earlier? I waited in all the afternoon for you.'

‘But I was told to come only now,' she said, trying not to get upset.

‘No matter about the muddle, you are here,' he said tenderly. ‘But I am afraid I will have to leave in a few minutes.'

They found a quiet spot and sat down beside each other.

‘Joe, why did you leave Mrs Quinn's? You should be in bed resting.'

‘Grace, I promise this is no time for rest. There is far too much for me to do, but I needed to talk to you about tomorrow,' he said quietly, holding her hand. ‘I'm so sorry, my love, but there will be no wedding in the morning in Rathmines. We have to postpone it.'

‘Why?' she demanded loudly.

‘Ah Grace, there was some awful mix-up with the priest about our banns and they haven't been read, which means that we cannot get married tomorrow with Geraldine and Tommy like we planned.'

Utter disappointment overwhelmed her, but Grace was a lady and would not create a scene or cry in such a public place. With all Joe's talk of rebellion and the slow recovery from his operation, the possibility of their marriage on Easter Sunday had become more remote over the past few days. She had already quietly steeled herself for such news, but she was still deeply hurt and upset.

‘But I promise you with all my heart, once the banns are read and we have permission from the Church, we will be wed immediately. I want you to be my wife,' he pledged. ‘Somehow in the next few days in some nearby church we will take our vows, be husband and wife, and all that is mine will be yours. Just be ready, Grace, when I send you word.'

‘I will,' she promised.

‘Grace, I wish that I could stay here with you, but I have to take a cab to an urgent meeting on important Volunteer matters. Come with me.'

She sat with him in the back of the cab, her hands in his, fearful suddenly that she would never see him again. Joe kissed her gently before getting out at the bridge near Gardiner Street, which was only a few minutes away, and saying goodbye. He seemed relaxed and fearless as he waved to her.

Grace resisted the temptation to run after him …

She could not bear the thought of returning home to Temple Villas and instead ordered the cab driver to take her to Muriel's house on Oakley Road.

MURIEL FOUND IT
hard to disguise her mounting disquiet as all day a stream of visitors called at their home on Oakley Road, seeking directions and orders and information about where to go for tomorrow's Easter Sunday Volunteer manoeuvres. She was acutely conscious of the DMP men watching the goings-on and taking notes to report to their superiors. Visitors were given the information they needed and sent immediately on their way.

MacDonagh had still said nothing to her and was constantly away at meetings of some sort or another.

Grace arrived at the house, overwrought and upset after meeting Joe in town. ‘The wedding is postponed,' she said tearfully.

‘I'm so sorry,' Muriel said, hugging her sister and making her sit down.

‘I should have gone to the Metropole Hotel earlier,' Grace reproached herself. ‘I barely had time to see Joe or talk to him.'

‘Grace, I'm sure that once the banns are read you and Joe will get married in a few days,' Muriel consoled her. ‘You just have to be patient and wait.'

‘I don't want to wait,' her sister insisted, sounding strangely frantic. ‘We have to get married now, as soon as we can.'

MacDonagh returned home and Grace joined them for tea. Sitting at the table he refused to be drawn on the large-scale event that they were planning in Dublin and around the country for the next day.

‘It's a bit of a stir to celebrate the anniversary of the Battle of Clontarf,' was all he would say.

Muriel suspected that it was far more than that.

Later Grace went off in a car with MacDonagh and his brother John to a meeting being held in Seamus O'Kelly's house in the hope of meeting Joe there, but she returned disappointed.

When MacDonagh came home he was in a state. He had seen Eoin MacNeill and Arthur Griffith at the meeting and it was clear there had been some terrible disagreement or falling-out between them.

‘After all our planning and organizing, Eoin wants to call tomorrow's events off,' he said angrily, banging the table. ‘There are admittedly problems – we've lost a shipment of arms down in Kerry, but I don't believe that means that we should cancel the arrangements for tomorrow.'

Muriel tried to look sympathetic but she hoped that his old friend Eoin's voice would hold sway. They barely got a chance to speak of it, however, as MacDonagh quickly packed a suitcase, took his Volunteer uniform and a few days' rations then disappeared off into the night once again.

‘Every night it's the same. The children and I miss him terribly, for he's hardly ever at home these past weeks,' she told Grace. ‘And I'm so worried for him.'

‘Joe's the same. Tomorrow should be our wedding day, but instead of making our vows in the church, he is caught up in these plans with the Volunteers. It's madness – he's not fit for manoeuvres and should still be in hospital.'

They stayed up for hours, talking late into the night like they used to when they were younger, sharing their fears and worries. It was so strange, both of them in love with men who were such close friends and who were so deeply dedicated to the cause of Irish nationalism.

‘Perhaps we should have been good daughters and married stalwart, sensible Protestant solicitors and doctors like Mother wanted us to do,' Grace mused.

‘Too late,' laughed Muriel wryly. ‘We followed our hearts …'