She could not bear to watch and went downstairs. Nellie brought her a soothing cup of tea in the drawing room from where she refused to budge until she saw the priest leave her house. Muriel went home and a night nurse arrived to take over from her colleague.
Frederick appeared calmer, more relaxed.
‘He’s holding his own,’ the nurse informed her.
The following two weeks were exhausting, but Frederick clung tenaciously to life. Every time he took a small sip of water or tried to swallow a spoon of clear broth Isabella was sure it would be his end.
MacDonagh had not returned to Temple Villas and she hated the coolness that now existed between her and Muriel. Christmas would soon be here. She wanted her daughters and her grandchildren around: this might be the last Christmas they would all share together.
Burying her pride, Isabella took out her pen and wrote to MacDonagh, asking for his forgiveness and inviting him, Muriel and the children to join them at Temple Villas for Christmas dinner.
Chapter 56
Grace
GRACE LISTENED TO the Palestrina Choir singing some Handel as she sat in the crowded wooden pew. Their voices were pure and beautiful, the music so stirring that tears pricked her eyes. The long mass in Latin seemed no hindrance, as the voices of the choir filled the roof and dome of the great cathedral.
The boys and young men of the Palestrina well deserved their reputation; it was the finest choir she had ever heard. They were like a host of angels singing and it moved her deeply. Joe had told her that the world-famous tenor John McCormack, when he was younger, had trained and sung here, his first audience the poor from the nearby tenements who were able to listen to such a voice sing at their masses.
This church was so very different from their church in Rathmines, for here no well-to-do Dublin families were given pride of place and positioned in the front pews. St Mary’s was a church of the people. Some of the families she recognized from Liberty Hall and from serving school dinners with Maud Gonne and her sisters – factory- and dockworkers kneeling to pray alongside shopkeepers, students and bankers. Mother would have hated it.
Grace’s faith had always been assumed, marching to Sunday school and service with her family. Now she was an adult and she wanted to make a choice about it. To Joe his spirituality and faith meant so much. Father, despite Mother’s disapproval, had kept his faith, praying in his own church. It had seemed weak when she was young, but now she realized the hidden strength that Father possessed.
Kneeling down, she put her head in her hands and prayed.
She thought of her father. Getting up to leave, she stopped in front of the brass candlestand with its little flames flickering in front of a large statue. She reached into her purse and dropped a few pennies into the stand, taking a small candle and lighting it.
‘Lord, this is for my father. Look after him, please.’
Mother was sitting quietly reading in the drawing room when she returned home. The nurse was upstairs minding Father. Mother looked tired. Father’s illness had taken its toll on her too.
‘Mother, I want to talk to you about something important.’
Her mother put down her novel and looked up.
‘Are you all right, dear?’
‘Yes … Mother, I’m engaged to be married – to Joe Plunkett.’
For a second Mother looked confused.
‘The Plunkett boy with the car and the motorcycle? You intend marrying him?’
‘Yes,’ she said, keeping her voice level. ‘We love each other.’
‘How can you even consider such a marriage?’ snapped Mother. ‘The Plunketts may be wealthy property owners, but I have heard of creditors and unpaid bills. They say the countess is a law unto herself and does what she pleases.’
‘Mother, I am not marrying the count or countess, I am marrying Joe. Joe Plunkett is the man I love. I will not let religion be a barrier.’
‘Why am I so afflicted with such daughters?’ Mother sighed dramatically. ‘There are also rumours that that Plunkett boy is consumptive and has to travel abroad for his health.’
‘He has had pleurisy but is much better now,’ Grace returned angrily.
‘But what if his tubercular illness returns? You could be left a widow.’
‘Mother, with the war thousands of wives will be left widows. I can’t think of such a thing. Why would you even say it?’
‘I am only thinking of your good.’ Mother’s eyes flashed.
‘Can’t you be happy for me, that I have found someone to love and be loved by? I am twenty-seven years old, nearly twenty-eight – do you not want to see me married like my sisters?’
‘Grace, I want only what is best for you.’
‘Then be happy for me, for marrying Joe Plunkett is my happiness.’
Mother said nothing more and picked up her novel.
‘I wanted to tell you, as Joe and I intend officially announcing our engagement as is the custom.’
She went upstairs and sat beside her father. He had lost weight and could not stand, walk or talk. One side of his body was still weak. She reached for his hand and his eyes opened.
She told him about Joe.
‘I am happy, Father – very happy.’
He tried to talk and she knew that he approved of their engagement. Grace kissed his cheek and sat with him awhile.
1916
Chapter 57
Nellie
JANUARY BROUGHT COLD weather and the British Prime Minister’s announcement of the Military Service Act introducing conscription for all single men between eighteen and forty-one years of age in Great Britain.
‘Thank heaven that Ireland is not included,’ sighed Nellie, who suspected that her employment bureau would be inundated with Irish men returning from England. She was greatly relieved that her artist brother, Gabriel, had made the wise decision a few weeks ago to escape the war by leaving London and sailing to America.
Unfortunately, she and Marie could no longer use the upstairs room in Countess Markievicz’s building, but MacDonagh, hearing of their plight, arranged for them to have space for a small office in the Volunteers’ headquarters in Dawson Street. Nellie was filled with gratitude for her brother-in-law’s kindness.
Asquith’s announcement of conscription triggered an immediate exodus from Britain of young Irish men returning home, many coming to the Bureau for assistance. They urgently needed to find both employment and accommodation. A few were already members of the Volunteers and many others were now prepared to join.
The bureau was busy but she and Marie dealt with each man’s situation discreetly, James Connolly helping as much as he could to find jobs for them on the docks or in warehouses or factories. Joe and the Plunkett family had generously offered to help too and had agreed that some of the men could stay in Larkfield, their home in Kimmage. The Volunteers already used the place for training. Set in acres of land, with outhouses, large barn, bakery and mill, it was ideal and provided much-needed accommodation for those anxious to avoid conscription.
Joe called into Nellie’s office.
‘Joe, we are very grateful to you and your family for helping the men,’ Nellie thanked him. ‘It’s a relief to know that we have somewhere for those coming from Liverpool and London to stay if they need it.’
‘The men are welcome,’ he nodded modestly. ‘Some of them have started our own unit of the Volunteers.’
‘No finer fellows,’ she smiled.
‘Nellie, if by any chance you come across a chap looking for work who is a bookkeeper and well able for accounts, I could do with him,’ he sighed, cleaning his glasses. ‘The accounts are in a state. Mother has gone off travelling and I’m stuck with all her ledgers and figures and trying to keep track of things, while Geraldine is at the end of her tether with so much to do, so we need to find someone.’
Nellie knew that the Plunketts owned property and collected rent all over Dublin; they were rumoured to have built many of the finest houses in Rathgar, Rat
hmines and Donnybrook.
‘I have some important business of my own I must attend to and don’t have the time for it,’ he went on. ‘If we could find someone to help out a few days a week it would be ideal.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she promised.
A few days later she was interviewing a young man from west Cork named Michael Collins. He had just crossed from London, where he had been a very active member of No. 1 Company of the Irish Volunteers. Both his parents were dead and he told her that he was keen to find work. He was twenty-six, with an excellent head for figures. On moving to London he had worked in the Post Office Savings Bank in Kensington, then for a stockbroker and for the Board of Trade; lately he’d been employed in the Guaranty Trust Company of New York’s London office. He’d done his civil service exams and was well used to double-entry systems and balance sheets.
In her opinion, the young man from Clonakilty seemed extremely bright and capable, a likely bookkeeper for the Plunkett family. Nellie contacted Joe immediately. He returned to the Bureau where Nellie introduced them and the two men seemed to get on very well. They were soon deep in conversation, ranging from the Gaelic League and the influence of Arthur Griffith to plays Collins had attended on the London stage. Nellie smiled as she watched them walk out to Joe’s car together.
The interview was successful as Michael Collins was employed by Count and Countess Plunkett and Joe to work a few days a week at Larkfield managing their financial affairs, while the rest of the time he spent working in the nearby offices of an accountancy firm.
Nellie was pleased that her employment bureau had managed to find him work and Grace soon told her that Mick Collins was proving invaluable to Joe, and also that he had become immediately involved with helping to run Larkfield’s local Volunteer group.
Chapter 58
Grace
GRACE PULLED ON her sturdy boots, warm coat, hat and gloves as she set off to visit Larkfield. Joe was ill, laid up there with a bad throat and a chest infection. Even though he wrote, she missed him terribly and longed to see him.
She took a tram to Kimmage and briskly walked the rest of the way along the muddy road and avenue to Larkfield. It was an imposing mansion surrounded by fields, cottages and outbuildings. Approaching the house she noticed a large group of men standing near the barn, while others were kicking a football around.
Inside, the old house was rather ramshackle, with a fine staircase on either side of the large hallway with a balcony overlooking it.
Joe looked pale and drawn, his eyes huge in his long face, and he seemed even thinner than usual, his dark hair standing up in greasy tufts.
‘Oh Joe, what is the matter with you?’ Grace gasped, unable to hide her alarm at seeing the large swelling on his throat.
‘Don’t worry Grace, I am fine,’ he reassured her. ‘The old glands always give me trouble when I am low, but I’m on the mend and feeling better for seeing you.’
A fire blazed in the grate, warming the room which had maps and diagrams of the city scattered over the floor. On a table in the drawing room lay a wireless radio with pieces of wire and metal which he was tinkering with. He fiddled with some of the dials and buttons, causing the machine to buzz alarmingly. Grace was startled.
‘It won’t bite or burn or hurt you, I promise.’
Dubious, she tested the equipment, as he demonstrated to her how to use it to transmit signals and Morse code. He also showed her another, smaller wireless he was working on.
‘The aim is for this one to be easily portable,’ he explained.
‘Who will use it?’
‘The men use it to send messages and to keep in contact with each other and other Volunteer units.’
Despite being ill it was clear that Joe was involved in planning some kind of large mission with the Volunteers, judging by the equipment and charts that were scattered around the place.
‘Are all the men outside Volunteers?’ she enquired, watching them from the window; a group of them seemed to be drilling.
‘Yes, some of them have only recently arrived from Liverpool to avoid conscription.’
‘Poor Nellie is rather swamped trying to help them.’
‘My parents have agreed that they can stay here. It’s out of the way and they are safe and have shelter. It’s good to see them training.’
‘It’s like an army,’ she laughed.
‘Have you ever thought of joining Cumann na mBan?’ he asked lightly. ‘Or the Citizen Army?’
‘Joe, can you imagine me in tweeds and boots, marching and learning how to clean and store guns and use bandages?’ she joked, running her fingers through her hair. ‘You know I’m not at all like Nellie or your sisters.’
They had tea together – Grace made him tasty Welsh rarebit from some cheese, bread and Worcestershire sauce.
‘Joe, I want to tell you something,’ she said firmly as they sat by the fire.
She could see a look of concern fill his dark eyes.
‘I have decided that I want to become a Roman Catholic.’
‘Grace, there is no need for you to convert on my behalf,’ he said quietly, taking her hand in his. ‘My love, it will make no difference to us marrying.’
‘I know that, Joe, but I have been considering it for a long time. Attending masses in the Pro-Cathedral has renewed my faith and given me great spiritual comfort. I’ve talked to your friend Father Sherwin in the University Church and he has very kindly agreed to instruct me and baptize me formally. I want to convert before our marriage so that you and I will share the same faith and can have a Catholic wedding ceremony.’
‘Grace, you know how happy this will make me,’ he admitted, ‘but what of your family?’
‘Mother will be livid and disapproving. That is why I want it to be our secret.’
‘Very well, we will keep it quiet if that is what you want,’ he agreed.
Geraldine and their brother George appeared then, so, as it was starting to get dark, Grace walked back up the avenue to catch the tram home. She hated leaving Joe and couldn’t help but worry about him; he looked so unwell despite his assurance that all was bully as they hugged goodbye.
Chapter 59
Nellie
‘I DO THINK you girls should consider joining the VAD,’ urged Mother enthusiastically as they sat having tea. ‘As part of the war effort, the Royal College of Science has set up a sphagnum moss depot which sends moss to the army field hospitals.’
‘Sphagnum moss – it sounds disgusting!’ Grace said with disdain. ‘I’m far too busy to spend my time sorting heaps of some dirty old moss.’
‘Dorothy says it is a miracle plant. Far better for healing wounds than ordinary bandages and dressings, and they are using it in all the hospitals,’ said Mother defensively. ‘Her daughter and daughter-in-law both find the work in the depot very rewarding.’
Nellie had heard of the great success army surgeons on the front had, using moss with the badly injured, but she was stretched already with her work in the Bureau and at Liberty Hall.
‘Nellie, you could volunteer to help out, surely? They are urgently trying to recruit some more ladies.’
‘Mother, I am already working hard for the war effort,’ she protested. ‘I am trying to stop young Irish men being conscripted into the army so that they will never fight or have need of moss dressings to treat their battle wounds!’
Mother looked disappointed. She was already involved with the church committee, sending parcels of knitted socks, scarves and gloves, along with cigarettes and sweets to the regiments on the Western Front.
Nellie sighed, for nothing she ever did seemed to please her mother. Grace was different because Mother could see her work and boast to her friends that Grace had a sketch in the paper, or had designed the theatre programme for a play they attended. Nellie, on the other hand, was involved in all the type of things that Mother despised.
‘I was just thinking about your brothers and that it would be good to see the women
of the family involved in the war effort too,’ Mother continued doggedly.
‘The boys shouldn’t take any part in it,’ Nellie blurted out. ‘This war is not their fight.’
‘This family has always been loyal to the crown and the empire,’ Mother reprimanded her. ‘Your brothers all know their duty and will decide what to do for themselves.’
‘Even if it is the wrong decision.’
Mother flushed and Nellie felt immediately contrite. Her mother was bound to be worried about her brothers: she spent much of her time attending memorial services or calling to give her condolences to friends who had lost a son in the war.
‘I’m sorry, Mother, but I cannot get involved,’ she apologized.
‘Nor me,’ added Grace.
‘I would offer my own services if I hadn’t your father ill at home to contend with,’ Mother said pointedly before taking her leave of them.
‘Moss – did you ever? I have all kinds of arrangements of my own to make for the wedding,’ Grace confided when she was sure Mother was well out of hearing.
‘When are you going to tell Mother about it?’
‘As late as possible, for if she had her way Joe and I would never marry.’
‘Is everything all right?’ Nellie probed, for of late Grace was rarely at home and had become somewhat secretive.
‘Fine,’ she replied, giving little away. ‘Joe and I are just busy planning things.’
Nellie could not help but feel a little envious, wishing that she was married like Kate or Muriel, or even engaged like Grace. Sometimes it seemed that love was passing her by. Every day she was surrounded by men and yet she had never been in love, never had a man write her a love letter or tell her that he loved and cared deeply for her.
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