Rebel Sisters

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  A handsome young man played the piano and there was singing and later some dancing, which everyone joined in. Grace was off talking with her coterie from the United Arts Club, in a heated discussion about Hugh Lane’s annoyance at the opposition to the audacious new art gallery, designed by Edwin Lutyens, which he proposed be built straddling both sides of the River Liffey. William Martin Murphy and many members of Dublin Corporation were objecting to the plans, as the city was expected to foot half the costs while Hugh Lane paid the other half.

  ‘Lady Gregory will support it and has raised some of the funds for the new venture, but a decision must be made,’ said the countess.

  ‘The city needs a proper new gallery that will garner attention,’ insisted Casimir. ‘Yeats says a refusal of Hugh Lane’s grand plans will discourage a whole generation of artists and leave Ireland considered a huckster nation.’

  Most of the guests at the party agreed with him. Nellie said nothing. She liked the view up the River Liffey and did not think replacing the Halfpenny Bridge with an art gallery that blocked the view was the right thing to do. Surely it would be far better for Dublin Corporation to tear down some of the city’s appalling slum dwellings and instead invest in some decent housing for the poor instead of a gallery? But then she was no artist!

  It was late when they finally said their goodbyes. As they thanked her for the party, Countess Markievicz expressed relief that only a solitary DMP man could be seen loitering near a tall hedge.

  ‘Perhaps his friends have finally gone home for the night. But I fear that they will be back in full force in the morning. John, promise me that you will all return here to the house to join us for breakfast in the morning,’ she urged anxiously as they hopped in a cab for the ride home. ‘I will explain the situation to you then, as I have a very special secret guest and may have need of my friends here …’

  ‘Of course we will come,’ John assured her as they took their leave, all curious as to what the next morning’s visit would bring.

  fn1 Now O’Connell Street.

  Chapter 34

  Nellie

  ARRIVING AT SURREY House on Sunday morning for breakfast, Nellie could see the DMP men were already on duty watching the building.

  Mrs Delaney quickly ushered them inside to the dining room, where they found Countess Markievicz in a slightly agitated state, smoking as she paced up and down the room. A tall man was sitting in the chair watching her. Nellie immediately recognized Mr Jim Larkin, the union leader. Now the reason for subterfuge was clear, for the DMP were searching the city for Jim Larkin. There was a warrant out for his arrest for sedition and disturbing the public peace by raising discontent among His Majesty’s subjects.

  ‘Jim has been staying here secretly,’ confided the countess. ‘Hiding him here among our crowd of friends, we decided, was the best way to confuse the police, but today we need to move him, for he has promised to talk at a workers’ rally on Sackville Street.’

  Only two nights ago Larkin had spoken to thousands of people in Beresford Place, tearing up the legal document banning the meeting, telling the crowd that he cared as little for the king as he did for the magistrate who issued it.

  ‘Jim is set on talking to the workers again today and won’t think of letting them down,’ explained Helena Molony, who was also present, ‘though getting him out of here is going to be difficult as the house is under heavy surveillance.’

  Countess Markievicz made sure she introduced Jim Larkin to everyone.

  ‘This young lady is Miss Nellie Gifford. She is a sister of John and Grace.’

  Nellie felt the union leader’s strong fingers grip her hand.

  ‘Are you an artist too, Miss Gifford?’

  ‘No, I teach cookery,’ she said, suddenly embarrassed by the practical, mundane nature of her work compared to her sisters. ‘I give domestic courses in towns and villages outside Dublin.’

  ‘Then you must get to see all walks of life on your travels around the countryside.’

  ‘Indeed I do,’ she said with a smile.

  She could see understanding in his long face before he was called away by another guest.

  As she drank a cup of rich coffee, Nellie couldn’t help but worry how exactly Jim Larkin would avoid arrest once he stepped outside the safety of Surrey House, but he made it very clear to everyone in the room that he fully intended to keep his promise to his union members to speak on Sackville Street at midday. But surely he must know that both the Dublin police and the Royal Irish Constabulary would be there in full force, ready to arrest and imprison him?

  Plans were afoot to transport him secretly, with talk of hiding him inside a funeral casket in a hearse, but unfortunately no undertaker could be found who would agree to provide one.

  ‘We have to somehow get him to Sackville Street without being recognized,’ the countess appealed to them.

  Nellie took in the striking six-foot-four figure with his strong features, long, distinctive nose and his Liverpool accent. She suspected that unless he were hidden in a funeral casket it would be nigh impossible.

  ‘Our only hope is to disguise him, like we do with actors on the stage,’ suggested Helena. ‘We could use wigs and make-up and a costume to transform him.’

  ‘Do you think it would possibly work, Helena?’ the countess asked seriously.

  ‘Yes, maybe. To carry it off Jim must acquire a different persona. Then hopefully he can be safely transported from here to Sackville Street without being recognized by those awful police. An elderly gentleman, perhaps in the care of a relative – a daughter or a niece … Jim cannot talk or utter a word at all in case it gives the game away.’

  Larkin listened to their plan. Realizing that there was no alternative, he agreed to wear some kind of disguise. Gussie McGrath was sent to book two rooms in the Imperial Hotel under the name of Donnelly, with a request that the rooms have a balcony overlooking Sackville Street so that Larkin could talk as intended to the crowd below.

  The transformation of Jim Larkin into an elderly gentleman would be undertaken by Helena, who, as an actress, was well used to theatrical make-up. Countess Markievicz fetched the boxes of wigs and theatrical props that she and her husband used for their own stage productions. The count, who was almost as tall as Larkin, searched his own wardrobe for something for the union leader to wear.

  ‘Who will accompany Mr Larkin to the hotel?’ worried the countess.

  John, excited by the adventure, immediately volunteered.

  ‘I’m afraid, my dear, that you, like Helena and myself and most of us here, are far too well known by those hound dogs that sit outside the house or at Liberty Hall and so are used to seeing you visiting me.’

  John then suggested Grace.

  ‘I’m not much of an actress,’ admitted Grace, who far preferred painting backdrops and sets or making costumes to being on stage.

  ‘My dear, I’m also afraid you are far too striking and well known to take on this venture,’ agreed the countess, who had witnessed Grace’s lack of stage ability in her own plays.

  ‘What about my sister Nellie?’ suggested John. ‘She’s certainly not known to the police.’

  All eyes turned to Nellie. She blushed. She would have liked to strangle John there and then for volunteering her.

  ‘Nellie, would you be willing to accompany Mr Larkin in this risky endeavour?’ asked Countess Markievicz, coming over to her. ‘You could be of great help and service to us in this dangerous plan.’

  Nellie was conscious of everyone watching her and awaiting her response. She held the renowned union leader in high regard and very much believed in his cause, but attempting to fool the DMP was a different matter … Then, pushing all caution aside, Nellie decided that despite her misgivings she would at least try to help him.

  ‘Yes,’ she found herself saying. ‘I’ll accompany Mr Larkin.’

  ‘Thank you, young lady,’ he said as Helena whisked him upstairs to transform him.

  About fifteen mi
nutes later a stooped, elderly gentleman of the church in a silk hat, long black frock-coat, high collar and striped trousers walked slowly down the stairs. His thick, dark hair was now coloured grey, and he had a grey-white beard and moustache, bushy grey eyebrows and wore gold-rimmed glasses. Lines had been painted on his face and brow to age him.

  ‘Perfect!’

  ‘I can’t believe it!’

  They all gasped as he stood before them, for Jim Larkin had been utterly transformed. He now looked smaller and much frailer. He was now Reverend Donnelly, a country rector, up in Dublin for a medical appointment at the hospital.

  It was coming near midday, so a cab was ordered and they were given two pieces of luggage. Just before Nellie got ready to leave, Helena quickly handed her a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles and a floral-patterned shawl.

  ‘Put these on, Nellie,’ she advised. ‘The glasses, like Jim’s, are for the stage and you must try to make sure you hide your hair well up under your hat.’

  Nervously slipping on the glasses and shawl, she joined the other guests, who were all filing outside, saying loud goodbyes to the Markieviczs and thanking them for breakfast as the cab arrived.

  ‘Be careful,’ whispered the countess as Nellie helped Larkin into the cab and gave instructions for the driver to take them to the Imperial Hotel. Larkin, lost in contemplation, remained silent during the journey.

  Nellie’s hands began to tremble when she saw that a crowd had already gathered in expectation of his appearance on Sackville Street and prayed that none of his union members or those that frequented Liberty Hall would recognize him. The Dublin Metropolitan Police formed almost a cordon around the Imperial Hotel and her heart froze as she wondered how they could possibly pass them.

  The cab driver came to a halt outside the hotel and she immediately paid him, dismounting from the cab as the driver fetched the two suitcases. She could see a DMP man staring at them as Larkin slowly and rather erratically began to climb out, keeping his face down. The cab driver rushed over to give his elderly passenger a hand.

  ‘It’s all right, Uncle,’ she said soothingly, taking his arm firmly, and Larkin gave her a reassuring squeeze as the cab pulled off.

  ‘Sir, what is your business in this place?’ enquired the DMP man and his fellow officer.

  Larkin said nothing, his eyes downcast, his features unchanging.

  ‘I’m afraid my uncle cannot hear you, Officer. He is deaf,’ Nellie replied on his behalf, ‘very deaf.’

  ‘Are you visiting this hotel?’

  ‘My uncle is booked to stay here for the next few nights. He’s in Dublin to attend medical appointments at the hospital tomorrow,’ she explained slowly, trying not to shake.

  ‘I’m sorry to hold you up,’ the officer apologized, stepping out of their way. ‘It’s just that we are expecting a bit of trouble today with the strikers.’

  ‘My uncle and I wouldn’t want to be caught up in that.’ Nellie smiled weakly as a hotel porter took their luggage and she helped Larkin slowly to the desk, where she checked him in. Another DMP officer stood observing the desk as she dealt with the clerk.

  ‘We have reserved rooms,’ she stated, doing her best to appear confident.

  ‘What is the name, please, madam?’

  Nellie stood frozen with sudden panic. She had totally forgotten the name and she knew that Larkin dare not utter a word lest he gave himself away.

  ‘Sorry, madam – what name is your reservation booked under?’ the clerk persisted politely, trying to be helpful.

  She could see the policeman looking over towards them.

  ‘Reverend Donnelly and Miss Donnelly,’ she blurted out, suddenly remembering.

  Her heart was hammering as they went slowly up the stairs, Larkin holding her arm. Relief washed over her as a curly-haired porter opened first one door and then another to a room overlooking the street and deposited their luggage inside.

  The door firmly shut, Larkin immediately went to the long, tall window to see the street below where the crowds were gathering. He went to open the balcony door to step outside, but the window wouldn’t open fully as a large flower planter was positioned outside on the balcony.

  ‘This is no good!’ he shouted. ‘I need to get into another room.’

  Nellie watched as he ran frantically along the corridor to see if he could find an open room. At the far end was a dining room with windows that overlooked the street and a veranda-type balcony. Guests were partaking of Sunday lunch and coffees when Larkin rushed through. Realizing that he was too well disguised to be recognized by the crowd outside, he began to peel off his beard and whiskers and shake the powder from his hair as he went outside on to the balcony. Nellie slipped back into the bedroom in case he returned.

  Watching from the window, she heard the crowd give an enormous roar as Jim Larkin stepped outside and began to address them.

  ‘Comrades and friends, the police have forbidden a meeting to take place on Sackville Street today, but I am here to speak and will remain till I am arrested …’

  All traces of the elderly Reverend Donnelly were gone and Larkin’s voice boomed as he spoke to the workers and poor of Dublin below.

  Nellie grew alarmed when, from the window, she saw about a hundred members of the police armed with batons suddenly converging. A few ran directly towards the entrance of the hotel. A few minutes later she heard a huge commotion as Larkin was arrested, with people protesting and some cheering for the union leader.

  She heard the sound of broken glass and watched, horrified, as the crowds below swelled with people coming from mass in the Pro-Cathedral. Suddenly they were surrounded by a huge group of policemen, who with raised batons began to charge. Appalled, she realized that many were just women and children out for a Sunday stroll. Panic ensued as they tried to run away to escape the riot and many innocent people were attacked and injured, beaten by the police until they lay down on the ground.

  Nellie could not help shaking. She had never witnessed such a terrible thing – young and old screaming in terror, many left lying bleeding and wounded on the street. Fearing for her own safety, she hid the spectacles and shawl and fled from the room just as the police began a search of the hotel corridor for Larkin’s accomplice. The stairs were blocked by policemen so she turned instead to join the crowd of guests on the dining-room veranda, hoping not to attract attention.

  However, ten minutes later two policemen stopped her, saying they wanted to interview her about Larkin. Nellie tried not to give into the mounting panic she felt, but despite her protests of innocence she was led away for questioning.

  There was sheer bedlam at the police station; crowds of people had been arrested. Sitting in a police cell, she was determined to give little away. When she was interviewed she gave her name, her employer’s name and told them she was lodging in Meath at present. She suspected that if she gave her home address in Rathmines they might well connect her with John and the countess. She concocted a story that she had simply gone to the hotel to meet a friend for lunch when mayhem broke out below them on the street.

  ‘No wonder she left me high and dry – she must have been terrified, like we all were, by what happened,’ she said tearfully.

  The officer looked rather sceptical and asked her if she had any involvement with Mr Larkin’s union. ‘No, I’m not a member of the union or associated with it,’ she replied truthfully.

  With no proof of her wrongdoing, Nellie was eventually released.

  When she returned home hours later she heard from her sisters that Jim Larkin was in jail and that there had been a huge amount of fighting and violence on the streets. Countess Markievicz, who had driven into Sackville Street, had got caught in it too and had been injured by a blow from a policeman and needed medical treatment.

  The violence continued throughout the night, while the police raided homes all across the slum areas of the city. Hundreds of innocent people were hurt and two men died from injuries they received from the police. M
any were calling it ‘Bloody Sunday’.

  Nellie could not put the awful scenes she had witnessed from her mind. She feared greatly for Jim Larkin and the strikers, and for their families now caught up in this battle for fairness and justice.

  Chapter 35

  Nellie

  NELLIE RETURNED TO work in Athboy in County Meath the next week, lodging with a poor family who eked out an existence selling eggs; she felt glad that her rent payment would provide some income to them. She was still haunted by the sight of the charging police using their batons on unarmed civilians. So much blood and terror. The situation in Dublin was worsening, from what she could gather, as more workers decided to join the strike and the employers became even more entrenched in their opposition to the workers’ union.

  Nellie was called to a meeting with her supervisor. As she dressed in her green tweed suit and white blouse she wondered why she had been summoned. Perhaps he wanted her report on the new stove: it was proving much easier to use for her demonstration lessons than the previous model, which had been more cumbersome to move by cart from place to place and most definitely suffered temperature problems.

  ‘Miss Gifford, please sit down,’ gestured her supervisor, Mr Hughes.

  ‘You will be glad to hear that my new stove is working perfectly,’ Nellie smiled. ‘It is proving an excellent model.’

  ‘That is good to hear,’ he said, making a note in his book. ‘However, I’m afraid that is not the issue I wanted to discuss with you.’

  Of late her employers had complained that she was too familiar with the families with whom she lodged and she had been reprimanded for attending a local wake; it was considered inappropriate, given her position. They constantly reminded her that she must keep a professional distance from those she was instructing.