Rebel Sisters (35 page)

Back outside, Grace crossed over the busy street, unsure of what to do. She saw another group of Volunteers walking towards her.

‘Are you going to Liberty Hall?' she asked them.

‘Why?' replied one.

They looked suddenly shifty, wary of answering her. Reaching into her bag, Grace took out her small drawing pad and scribbled a brief note for Joe to tell him that she was nearby. She would go to the Imperial Hotel and wait for him there.

‘Do you know Mr Plunkett, Joseph Plunkett?' she said, trying to keep the note of hysteria she felt from her voice. ‘I would be very grateful if you could give him this note.'

There was no one offering.

‘I am his fiancée,' she explained, trying to smile.

One of the men stepped forward.

‘I know him, miss. I'll try to give it to him if I see him,' he promised.

‘If you by chance don't see him, can you give the message to Mr Michael Collins?' she added. ‘I believe he is with Mr Plunkett.' She could see the fellow was embarrassed, presuming it was some kind of love note. ‘I am very grateful to you,' she said, passing him the folded paper.

She watched as they went off down the street, hoping that somehow Joe would get her message.

NELLIE HASTENED HER
pace, the Easter Monday trams already busy. She had not expected to encounter her sister Grace this morning of all mornings. Her sister may be engaged to Joe Plunkett, but Nellie found it hard to ascertain how much she knew of the planned Rising. Grace had always had a way of hiding what she was thinking or what she knew, which Nellie found exasperating. Grace got away with everything when she was a child as she always appeared uninvolved, able somehow to disguise her emotions, while the rest of them often got into trouble with Mother or their nanny.

How much had Joe actually told her? Yet Grace had given her the gun Joe had sent her, so she must have a definite sense that something was happening today. Perhaps Joe, whom Nellie knew was a member of the IRB's Military Council and was deeply involved with planning the Rising, had deliberately kept things from Grace so that if she was arrested and questioned she would not be able to give much information to the DMP or the army.

At Liberty Hall, a number of men stood outside in the sunshine guarding the building and she could smell breakfast being cooked for those who had stayed overnight. She doubted they had got much sleep, so she went to work serving tea and bread, and helping make sandwiches. Tom Clarke, Padraig Pearse, Sean Mac Diarmada and James Connolly were talking together, grim-faced, as small groups of men willing to fight began to appear. MacDonagh and his brother Jack were there too.

Nellie watched as members of the Volunteers, the Citizen Army and the Cumann na mBan women gradually began to assemble. James Connolly looked serious as he moved among them; he had his fifteen-year-old son, Roddy, with him. His daughters Nora and Ina had been despatched to the north with messages for the garrisons there, telling them to rise up. Commandant Mallin had stayed overnight with most of the Citizen Army men and now went around talking and encouraging them as they began to get organized. Nellie set about helping as they cut bread on a slicing machine and issued rations of bread and meat to all the men and women. She checked the remaining food – sandwiches, scones, tea, crackers and other provisions were all ready for transport to the different garrisons.

Today it's for real, she thought as she felt the gun heavy against her hip.

Dr Kathleen Lynn was busy supervising all the first aid supplies and with a few helpers was issuing everyone with a personal first aid kit. Rosie Hackett had been assigned to work with Madeleine ffrench-Mullen and was given a long white coat with a red cross.

‘It's a bit big!' she laughed, for she was small and it came down to her heels; she quickly had to set about shortening it.

Nellie's mouth felt strangely dry as she checked all the last-minute supplies, so she sipped a cup of water. Margaret Skinnider came over to have a chat.

‘Today's the day,' she said quietly, her gun and ammunition at the ready.

Suddenly Nellie saw Joe arriving with Mick Collins and another man, both of them helping him walk. Connolly and Pearse went over and greeted him warmly. She could not disguise her surprise: she had thought Joe was still in hospital. He looked wretched and had some sort of scarf or bandage wrapped around his throat. He was carrying what looked like a Japanese sword.

She went over to see him and he told her that, although he was still recovering from his operation, he was determined to play his part. He introduced her to Captain William Brennan-Whitmore, a former army man who had come up from Wexford. She was relieved to see that he had Mick Collins by his side too, keeping a protective watch over him. Joe disappeared upstairs to Connolly's room with no one, not even Countess Markievicz, allowed to disturb them.

Later there was a flurry in the middle of the hall as Joe's two younger brothers appeared.

‘We came by tram – I paid for tickets for everyone,' George Plunkett laughed, followed into the hall by a group of about forty Volunteers who lived and trained at Larkfield. ‘But Jack's come on the motorbike and a few lads cycled.'

‘The day we all have waited for and trained for is finally here!' Bill Partridge said solemnly as he surveyed the group.

Liberty Hall was filling up, but it was very clear even to Nellie that far fewer people than yesterday had turned up prepared to fight. James Connolly and Padraig Pearse appeared, standing together to address the group, and announced that today the members of the Irish Volunteers and the Citizen Army would fight together as one force, one army – the Irish Republican Army.

MacDonagh nodded over to say goodbye as he and his brother left for where the 2nd Battalion was to mobilize. As the various companies began to assemble outside Liberty Hall, Nellie's head was filled with thoughts of what lay ahead and the impossible odds they were facing with such reduced numbers, but like everyone else she was prepared to fight, to play her part in taking the city.

James Connolly, as his eyes roved over the gathering, confided to one of his men that he feared they would be slaughtered. By twenty to twelve it was clear that the full quota of those willing to participate in the Rising were present, perhaps about four hundred or so, and they could wait no longer. Glancing around, Tom Clarke was clearly worried by the numbers too.

‘We should have gone yesterday,' he said, shaking his head in disappointment. ‘We've lost the advantage of numbers.'

Nellie was relieved to see so many stalwarts of the Citizen Army ready to do their part. Margaret Skinnider, who was on a bicycle, was sent on ahead of them to scout their route. Captain Kit Poole ordered bugler Bill Oman to sound the command to fall in and Michael Mallin ordered them into formation, ready to move out.

She observed as the other garrisons left. Captain Richard McCormick's small troop went first – they had been ordered to Harcourt Street station; then Sean Connolly and his men, who were headed for Dublin Castle. Everyone was strangely silent: there was no waving to comrades or calls of goodbye or good luck, and it gave Nellie a sense of the gravity of their mission. James Connolly, Padraig Pearse, Joe and Captain Brennan-Whitmore led the next garrison off. She watched as Mick Collins, Connolly's young son, the Plunkett brothers and their large contingent left Liberty Hall for Sackville Street, with Tom Clarke and Sean Mac Diarmada, who had a bad limp, driven there by motor vehicle.

Then it was their turn. Commandant Michael Mallin gave the signal and Nellie and her garrison left Liberty Hall and began to march proudly from Beresford Place up along the quays.

GRACE ENQUIRED AT
the Imperial Hotel's reception desk and did not know whether to be relieved or upset that a room was still booked there in the name of Plunkett.

‘It is one of the bigger ones that overlooks Sackville Street,' explained the young porter as he showed her into the very room where she and Joe should have spent their wedding night. She had left a message for Joe at the desk to say where she was and that she was waiting for him.

Hoping that she would not encounter Joe's sister and her new husband, who were also booked to stay there, she fled through the heavy mahogany door of the luxurious bedroom with its grand view of the street and the crowds milling around below. She kicked off her shoes and stretched out on top of the bed for a few minutes, but did not dare nap in case Joe arrived. She prayed that he would get her message and come soon. Once everything was in order they would immediately go ahead with their marriage plans. Father Sherwin would surely agree to officiate, or perhaps the priest at the Pro-Cathedral, where they both liked to worship.

Getting up, Grace gazed out over Sackville Street. Many of the shops and businesses were closed for Easter Monday, but the large General Post Office across the street from the hotel was still open to sell stamps and for people to post letters and parcels or collect their army pensions or the Supplementary Welfare payments they received while their husbands and sons were away fighting. She watched the constant flow of these ‘supplementary women' entering and leaving the building. Some were widows, their pension earned by the death of their husband in some muddy trench on an unknown battlefield.

Young ladies in their spring finery, with fashionable new dresses and Easter bonnets, paraded along Sackville Street with their beaus and husbands.

Suddenly, coming from the corner with Abbey Street, Grace espied a large group of men marching into Dublin's broad main thoroughfare.

It looked like the Volunteers and Connolly's Citizen Army! What were they doing?

She pressed her face to the glass as they drew nearer, immediately recognizing Padraig Pearse and James Connolly at their head, with Joe and another man. Joe looked pale and gaunt, but despite that he was wearing his uniform, breeches, boots and a hat, a silk scarf around his neck to hide his recent surgery, marching steadily with them and brandishing the shining sabre he kept at Larkfield. Mick Collins, ramrod straight and tall, was marching behind him. Women from Cumann na mBan, heads held high, and boys from the Fianna marched with them. A number held rifles with bayonets and shotguns, others had only pikes and an assortment of other weapons.

Grace searched for sight of her sister or MacDonagh, but couldn't see them. She recognized Michael O'Rahilly's car and could see George Plunkett leading a group of the Larkfield Volunteers, marching along in good spirits while his younger brother, Jack, was on the motorcycle up near the front. Two horse-drawn carts filled with weapons and supplies followed as part of the strange parade. Passers-by glanced at them briefly, but continued with their own business.

Grace was tempted to run outside on to the street to call Joe, beg him to come and join her, forget whatever they had all planned. She held her breath as the group came to a stop outside the large classical building that dominated the street – the General Post Office. James Connolly seemed to say something, give an order, and suddenly they all charged at the building, swarming in through the main entrance, gaining entry and overrunning it in only a few minutes.

Shocked, Grace stood watching as terrified customers fled the Post Office and the doors were locked to prevent others entering. A group of supplementary women gathered at the door of the GPO, shouting and howling abuse at Padraig, James, Joe and the rebels for locking them out and preventing them from collecting their weekly money, which was all they had.

Grace held her breath as snipers in Volunteer uniform appeared up on the high roof of the GPO. Suddenly two flags were hoisted up into the air, unfurling as the breeze caught them: the green Sinn Fein flag and the green, white and gold Irish flag, blowing high across the city for all to see.

The windows of the building were smashed and knocked out, glass covering the street. Quickly they were sandbagged and protected with papers and books.

What were they doing, Grace asked herself – did they intend holding the mighty GPO for a few hours or even overnight to teach the British a lesson?

There seemed little movement, from what she could see, except for shadows behind the remaining windows and more glass being broken. A few pieces of furniture were moved outside to make barricades. There was no sign of the Dublin Metropolitan Police or the army appearing to eject the rebels.

Grace stood transfixed at the window, worried for Joe. A small crowd had gathered around the building. Suddenly Padraig Pearse came out on to the street, flanked by Tom Clarke, James Connolly and Sean MacDermott, and began to read loudly from a large sheet of paper. Unfortunately she could not hear what he said, but while some people listened to the words of a great orator, others simply ignored him, turned their heads and left. A few minutes later Padraig and the group went back inside the GPO, but a young Volunteer headed towards Nelson's Pillar with printed pages and left them there for people to read.

The street was unusually quiet for what seemed an age. The trams had stopped. Suddenly Grace became aware of a commotion coming from the top end of the street, up near the Rotunda. It was a brigade of the Royal Irish Lancers on horseback, riding along slowly at first down the centre of the street, then suddenly building up speed, urging their horses on faster.

She could barely see, but the Volunteers seemed ready for them and were putting up a fight near the Parnell Statue. She could hear shooting as the Lancers tried to charge down Sackville Street to attack the rebels. Most were held back, but a few broke through and she could see about twenty horses and their riders nearing the front of the GPO.

There was a huge burst of rifle fire and two or three horses were shot, falling down on the ground with their riders, the others wheeling around, trying to turn back up the street to escape from the rebels' attack. A few of the Lancers were clearly badly injured. Grace was shocked by the gunfire and blood. She watched the huge horses whinnying pitifully and one lay dying on the street. It was terrible to watch the terrified animal, yet she felt immense relief that Joe and the rebels were safe for the moment.