Birrell resigned as First Secretary after the Rising. Asquith received his resignation with tears in his eyes when Birrell came to him to say goodbye to office and his career in public life. A Royal Commission of Inquiry set up in London on 18 May under the chairmanship of Lord Hardinge of Penshurst, made a scapegoat of Birrell, stating that he was primarily responsible for the situation that was allowed to arise and for the outbreak which occurred. Nathan was blamed for not having sufficiently impressed upon the Chief Secretary during Birrell’s prolonged absences in London, the necessity for a more active policy. Although he was removed from his post in Dublin, he went on to have a distinguished career in the public service.
A number of very different factors combined with the executions to complete the swing of post-Rising sentiment from the government to the insurgents. These were the effects of the Bowen-Colthurst murders, the North King Street atrocities and the refusal by the authorities to reveal the details of the in-camera court martials. Lurid accounts of these interacted with reports from the condemned prisoners, and their families’ accounts of their last moments. Captain Bowen-Colthurst, a member of a prominent Anglo-Irish family and a former ADC to the previous Viceroy, Lord Aberdeen, ordered his men to shoot six innocent civilians, including the pacifist Francis Sheehy Skeffington, in and around Portobello Barracks, during the Rising.
The Army had been made aware of his conduct during the fighting but took no action to stop the Bowen-Colthurst murders, and then tried to cover up his actions. Major Sir Francis Vane, who raised the matter, lost his rank and was dismissed from the service. Sheehy Skeffington’s widow complained to Asquith, who at first did not believe her, but after inspecting the Army’s handiwork for himself in Dublin, apparently changed his mind. Bowen-Colthurst was court-martialled on 6 June, 1916, found guilty but insane and was sent to Broadmoor Criminal Asylum.
Bowen-Colthurst’s court martial meant that the details of his atrocities entered the public domain. But it was not until the year 2001, as a result of New Labour’s policy of openness and improved Anglo-Irish relations brought on by the Good Friday Agreement, that official papers63 were released by the British Government confirming what had really happened in the Church Street-North King Street area. It had been generally suspected that fifteen civilians who lost their lives, allegedly during the fighting, were in fact, either shot or bayoneted after the ceasefire by members of the South Staffordshire Battalion.
The officer in charge of the troops, Colonel Taylor, refused to turn up at the inquest on two of the victims, Patrick Bealen and James Healy, whom the Staffordshires had buried in a cellar. Instead he forwarded a statement giving the Army’s version of events. He could find no military witness who could throw light on how the men came to be killed: ‘…no persons were attacked by the troops other than those who were assisting the rebels and found with arms in their possession’. After giving examples of the difficulties encountered by the troops in the King Street, Linenhall Street, Church Street area, the Colonel pointed out that it had taken the troops:
…From 10 am on the 28th of April until 2 pm on the 29th to force their way along King St. from Linenhall St, a distance of some 150 yards only; and that the casualties sustained by the regiment (the great majority of which occurred at this spot) included five officers (including two Captains) wounded, eleven NCOs and men killed and twenty eight wounded.
‘I am satisfied’, he said, ‘that during these operations the troops under my command showed great moderation and restraint under exceptionally difficult and trying circumstances’. What the Colonel’s statement did not contain was the fact that Maxwell had personally ordered a Mount Street Bridge-type assault on the North King Street area and the troops used, the South Staffordshires, had been used to relieve those who had survived the Mount Street Bridge slaughter. Tough hard men from a tough hard place, the industrialised ‘Black Country’ of Midlands England, they marched from the tales of horror around Mount Street to write fresh chapters in North King Street. The subsequent fighting was amongst the most intense, if not the most intense, of the week, although the death toll was nothing like that of Mount Street. Fighting in close, dark, dirty confines through most of Friday night and Saturday morning, the troops rarely saw their enemies, but they saw the wounds which the Howth rifles inflicted.
They were further maddened when from behind a tenaciously held barricade, Daly’s men began an impromptu concert, singing every ‘scaffold song’ they could think of. The troops would grit their teeth while the singing continued and then pour a ferocious volley towards the barricade when it ended. When the songs finally died away and the barricades were captured, the events which led to the Coroner’s Court being held began. The Court refused to accept Colonel Taylor’s statement. It said that it was satisfied that Patrick Bealen had been shot by the troops while ‘an unarmed and unoffensive prisoner’, and that if the military authorities ‘had any inclination’ they could produce the officer responsible. The authorities had no such inclination. Instead, one of the ‘inquiries’ which have traditionally followed British military transgression in Ireland was held. In this case it involved a huge identification parade at Straffan Camp, in which the entire Staffordshire Battalion was paraded, ostensibly, to enable the mothers and wives of the dead to identify the killers. Not surprisingly, none was identified. For example, two soldiers, a Sergeant Flood and a Corporal Bullock, who shot Bealen and Healy, had been shipped back to England. But it was obvious that more than two lowly NCOs had been involved in the murders.
In North King Street as in the Mount Street area, the military mindset was again a causative factor in the deaths. Here again, apart from Maxwell’s ordering men into rifle fire from determined, barricaded rebels, operating in a warren of slum streets, General Lowe’s orders were involved. As part of the Inquiry into the King Street killings, a secret report was prepared headed: ‘Reports of courts of inquiry into cases of alleged shootings by soldiers’. Significantly, this hand-written description was crossed out by the Army lawyer charged with giving an opinion on the Inquiry, and the words ‘Civilian shootings’ added. The Inquiry documents contained the following damning facts:
It is to be noted that Colonel Taylor, commanding the troops at this point, stated in evidence that he had attended the meeting with Brigadier-General Lowe, commanding the operations, and that General Lowe instructed him and other officers ‘to the effect that no hesitation was to be shown in dealing with these rebels; that by their action they had placed themselves outside the law, and that they were not to be made prisoners’.
Referring to one of the cases, that of James Moore, the Investigating Law Officer wrote: ‘I have no doubt, however, that if the evidence were published, there would be a demand that he (Sergeant Flood) should be tried for murder.’
Such considerations meant that none of the Staffordshires was so tried, nor were the facts presented at inquiries revealed. It was made clear that acting on the instructions of officers, people captured after the fighting had ceased were taken into yards and shot, and sometimes not even taken outside. Some of the evidence considered, both made this plain and indicated that the Staffordshires’ actions may have been directed by their officers. The Inquiry included the testimony of a woman with regard to the case of Paddy Bealen:
They brought Paddy down to the cellar again, and when they brought him down to the cellar they were told to shoot him. The woman said she asked the soldier: ‘Why couldn’t you let him off?’ and he said: ‘No, because the officers had seen him’. The woman continued: ‘The soldier said that the man said his prayers and though he was not of his creed, the soldier helped him with his prayers, because he pitied him, and then they said they could not shoot him fair-faced. They told him to go to the foot of the stairs, and then they let bang at him’.
General Maxwell’s appended comment on the North King Street cases was that the deceased met their deaths: ‘in North King Street during heavy fighting and the responsibilities for their deaths rests with tho
se resisting His Majesty’s troops in the execution of their duty’. The legal expert, however, while agreeing that the facts of the North King Street Inquiry should not be made public because of the risk of generating ‘hostile propaganda’, noted: ‘If the case had occurred in England, the right course would be to refer the cases to the D of PP [Department of Public Prosecution].’ He went on:
The root of the mischief was the military order to take no prisoners. This in itself may have been justifiable – but it should have been made clear that it did not mean that an unarmed rebel might be shot after he had been taken prisoner. Still less could it mean that a person taken on mere suspicion could be shot without trial.
But the emotion which the stories circulating around the North King Street killings enflamed was as nothing compared to the effect on the public imagination of the in-camera court martials and executions of the leaders. A number of Irish MPs sought to have the court martials made public, but the Adjutant General’s decision was that:
I do not hesitate to say that in the event of further disturbances in Ireland the difficulties of a successful and hasty suppression of rebellion or disturbance would be greatly increased and the interests of justice would be defeated if it were realized that the evidence of witnesses given in camera would, in all probability, after the Rebellion or disturbance had ceased, be given publicity.
Significantly, the AG commented that he had spoken to Sir John Maxwell on the subject, and that he was:
…Very strongly of opinion that publication would be not only a grave indiscretion but also a distinct breach of faith with those who took the decision that the court-martials were to be held in camera. As I have before observed publication is in my opinion a complete admission that there was no justification for trial in camera (which in itself is a grave reflection upon the discretion of Sir John Maxwell) and as I have reason to believe that in certain cases the evidence was not too strong the inevitable results of publication would be that a certain section of the Irish community will urge that the sole reason for trial in camera was that the authorities intended to execute certain of the Sinn Feiners whether there was evidence against them or not. This is an argument which in my humble judgement would be extremely difficult to meet successfully if, as I think, the evidence in some of the cases was far from conclusive.
One of the arguments cited against publication of court martial proceedings which might indeed have led ‘the Irish community’ to believe that the authorities had their minds made up to execute the Sinn Fein leaders ‘whether there was evidence against them or not’ was the case of Eamonn Kent. It was pointed out that he had summonsed as one of his witnesses, Thomas MacDonagh. The court martial had been told that: ‘Thomas MacDonagh was not available as a witness as he was shot that morning’. Another fact which would no doubt influence public opinion had they been able to read it was the Adjutant General’s minute that: ‘There is no legal justification for a Court Martial to be held in-camera, either in the Army Act, or in any regulation under the Defence of the Realm Act’. Not surprisingly, therefore, although Asquith had promised that copies of the proceedings of the courts would be published (Hansard, 24 October, 1916), the military authorities objected and succeeded in stalling publication until Asquith’s coalition was replaced by that of Lloyd George. The increased Unionist representation in the Cabinet supported the cover-up, so that the foregoing details did not see the light of day until the New Year 2001.
What were circulated, however, in the wake of the Rising, sometimes in print (often tellingly inscribed on black-bordered memorial cards) or by word of mouth, were the accounts of relatives’ last words with their condemned loved ones, and in some cases the statements of the accused at their flawed court martials. Every paragraph, every poem, became another potent draught of emotion from the, by now, free-flowing fountain of Irish Nationalism. Readers may judge for themselves the effects of the following selection of such valedictions.64
Connolly’s daughter, Nora, who with her sister Ina had taken a message from Pearse to the Volunteers in the north that the Rising was to take place after all and had subsequently had to walk all the way from Dundalk (almost sixty miles) to Dublin, described her father’s last moments in Dublin Castle. He was propped up in bed with his leg in a cage. Nora told him that her brother Rory, who had served under his father in the GPO, had been in prison. Connolly replied: ‘So Rory was in prison, how long?’ ‘Eight days,’ Nora replied. Connolly commented: ‘He fought for his country, and has been imprisoned for his country, and he is not sixteen. He has had a great start in life, hasn’t he, Nora?’
Nora was disconsolate both at her father’s circumstances, and the fact that her northern mission had been in vain. She told him that she felt that she and her sister had done nothing. But Connolly hugged her, saying ‘I think my little woman did as much as any of us’. But he warned his daughters that the fact of his being wounded would make no difference to his fate, saying ‘I remember what happened to Scheepers in South Africa. He was wounded and they executed him. That will have no effect on what they decide to do, and that’s that.’ However, he assured his distraught wife Lily that he was in no pain from his wound. Nora and she were back in Dublin Castle three days later in the early hours of 12 May. Nora’s statement said:
We were wakened up at about one o’clock in the morning. There was an Army lorry at the door and a British Officer told us that the prisoner James Connolly wished to see his wife and eldest daughter. Mama had an idea that he wasn’t well, that he had taken a turn for the worse. But it jumped to my mind immediately. All the signatories of the Proclamation had been shot except Papa and Sean MacDermott. I immediately said to myself: Papa is going to be shot. Anyway we got ready. We went down and were taken in the Army lorry right through town. (We were staying in William O’Brien’s house). It was an awfully queer eerie trip. There was still a horrible smell of burning in O’Connell Street. There was curfew and not a soul to be seen, not even a soldier, until we came to the bridge. There were a number of them there. When we were shown in, Papa said: ‘Well Lily, I suppose you know what this means?’
She said: ‘Oh no Jim. Oh no!’ and he said: ‘Yes, lovie’, and then Mama broke down, sobbing, with her head on the bed. Papa said: ‘I fell asleep for the first time tonight and they wakened me up at eleven and told me I was to die at dawn.’
Mama said: ‘Oh no!’ again, and then crying bitterly, ‘But your beautiful life, Jim, your beautiful life!’ and he said: ‘Wasn’t it a full life, Lily, and isn’t this a good end?’ And she still cried and he said: ‘Look Lily, please don’t cry. You will unman me.’
So she tried to control herself. I was trying to control myself too. Then Papa said to me: ‘Put your hand down on the bed.’ So I put it down on the bed and he said: ‘That’s a copy of my statement to the Court Martial. Try and get it out.’ The piece of paper was folded up very tightly – very small. So I took it anyway.
And we stayed there talking of little things. He was trying to plan a life for us after he’d be gone.
One thing he said to Mama I remember: ‘The Socialists will never understand why I am here. They will all forget I am an Irishman.’
And then they told us the time was up and that we’d have to go. (He was to be shot at dawn.)
So Mama – we couldn’t get Mama away from the bed and the nurse had to come and help her away.
And I went to the door. And then I went back again to him. And that was the last I saw of him.
Fifty years after the Rising, Clarke’s widow Kathleen, who had been arrested after the Rising ended, gave me this account of her last meeting with her husband:65
I thought that in the morning we were likely to be brought before the commanding officer, so I had taken off my blouse and skirt and hung them up so that I wouldn’t look too bad. There were six of us and we had only one blanket over us. We had been very annoyed at some young British soldiers coming to flirt with us. It was outrageous. Then an officer came and said I had per
mission to see my husband. ‘My God, Kathleen’, said one of the girls, ‘what does that mean?’ ‘It means death,’ I said. ‘Oh no,’ said the girl; Marie Perolz was her name. ‘Look’, said I, ‘do you think that if the British government were going to send my husband on a journey any shorter than to the next world that they’d get an officer and a car out at midnight to go for me?’ ‘You’re a stone’, said the girl. I was.
We were stopped several times. There were snipers on a lot of rooftops and I didn’t think we’d be let go on. But the officer showed his pass and we got through. Kilmainham was terrible. The conditions! There was a monk downstairs. He told me that my husband had put him out of the cell. There was no light in it, only a candle that a soldier held. [Other relatives’ accounts noted that the prisoners did not have candles in their cells either, author.] ‘Why did you surrender?’ I asked Tom. ‘I thought you were going to hold out for six months.’ ‘I wanted to’, he said, ‘but the vote went against me.’ We talked about the future the whole time. I never saw him so buoyed up. He said that the first blow had been struck and Ireland would get her freedom but that she’d have to go through hell first.
1916- the Easter Rising Page 14