The only lull in the constant din and pressure of fighting was an agreed truce, morning and evening, to let the park keeper feed and check on the ducks and swans on the lake in St Stephen’s Green. There were strict orders that at these times no one was to dare fire a single shot, and both sides obeyed the order. Nellie was relieved that the birds would be protected from the mayhem around them.
‘I tell you, they care more for those ducks than they care for us,’ joked Bill Partridge, who had a way of cheering everybody up.
The porter and his family were moved down to the basement, as he had been caught sending a message for help and for food and water, lowering it down on a rope from his bedroom window. Nellie felt guilty, as poor Mr Duncan had been forgotten about in all the action, and now he and his wife and child would have to try to survive on the same meagre rations as the rest of them.
The porridge they served was now reduced to a thinner gruel-like consistency and they had to ration it.
‘What are we going to do?’ Kathleen fretted, staring at their almost vanished supplies. ‘Without food the men will not be able to last out.’
The men never complained, but it was clear that they were hungry.
Then Hanna Sheehy-Skeffington surprised them by arriving with some food for the garrison, knocking quietly at the side door with packets of tea, crackers and bread, and swiftly passing it inside before disappearing again.
Good old Skeffy! thought Nellie. She was very fond of Hanna, the women’s right-to-vote campaigner, who had such a kind heart and was such a practical woman.
In the early hours of the morning they were woken by the arrival of two female messengers from the GPO carrying urgent despatches for Michael Mallin. Much to their delight, Elizabeth O’Farrell and Julia Grennan also carried sacks of much-needed bread.
‘We didn’t think we’d get through,’ admitted Julia. ‘The supplementary women are still watching the streets, but with our sacks on our back they presumed that we were looters like them.’
‘Looters?’ Nellie was puzzled.
‘You should see Sackville Street and some of the other streets. The locals have picked the shops clean. They are looting and stealing everything they can lay their hands on!’
‘There isn’t a cup or plate or teapot, or even a seat, left in the DBC café,’ added Elizabeth. ‘They’ve carried them off to use in their homes.’
‘We were lucky we met Mr Sheehy-Skeffington on the way here.’
Nellie was surprised to hear that Hanna’s husband, the well-known pacifist, was about so late.
‘He was trying to stop the looting. He got some lads to assist us carry the sacks part of the way.’
‘James Connolly told us that your garrison needed food supplies urgently as you were under heavy fire, so we brought as much bread for you as we could manage,’ Julia explained with a smile.
‘We’ve been under fire and attack in the GPO too, but so far we are well defended,’ Elizabeth told them. ‘Captain Brennan-Whitmore has taken the corner of Earl Street and we have a garrison in the Metropole Hotel too. We get our food supplies from the hotels on the street – and thankfully they were very well stocked for Easter.’
Nellie could not help but be envious and cursed the fact that their garrison had not had the foresight to take a hotel instead of where they were.
‘We’ll tell Connolly you need more supplies urgently and try to get them to you,’ the two women promised as they set off back to the GPO.
Nellie began to count the loaves. At least the men would have bread in the morning with their mug of tea. They all knew the odds were stacked against them and that every day they managed to hold their position here against the enemy was a victory.
Chapter 79
Nellie
NELLIE WAS REGULARLY despatched to the abandoned houses and buildings they now controlled, running between Grafton Street towards Cuffe Street, hunkering down as she clambered through holes and dust and rubble with her messages, and also with rations for some of the men, who had nothing to eat.
Across Dublin city there were food shortages, with no bread, milk, meat or grocery deliveries. Business was at a standstill. Martial law had been declared by Lord Wimborne, the lord lieutenant. A British gunship had sailed up the River Liffey and, according to the despatches they received, was inflicting massive damage on Sackville Street, bombarding the area all around the GPO and Liberty Hall.
They cheered when reports came in that on Mount Street the Volunteers had attacked the Sherwood Foresters, a large contingent of British soldiers recently landed in Kingstown, as they marched along the route into the city, killing and wounding many. Despite this, more and more British troops were flooding into the city.
Low in food and ammunition, near midnight Michael Mallin and the countess sent Nellie and Chris Caffrey to Jacob’s Biscuit Factory garrison where MacDonagh was the leader.
‘The British are servicing their machine guns, so you may be able to get to Jacob’s,’ Mallin said.
Chris had dressed up in a black shawl and black veil, for all the world looking like a widowed allowance woman with a badge and corsage.
‘I found it in the bedroom of one of the houses and it’s a godsend for moving around the streets unnoticed,’ she explained. ‘Here, you put this on, Nellie.’
She passed Nellie a widow’s black felt hat and scarf.
Nellie tucked her hair up under the hat and wrapped the itchy woollen scarf around her shoulders and chest.
The college was in darkness as they left, as they could use barely any candlelight in case it attracted enemy attention or sniper fire. As they neared Jacob’s they spied a group of women hanging around on nearby Aungier Street, but fortunately the women ignored them. The factory was heavily barricaded, but walking around the back Chris gave the signal and code. A voice told them to get around to the north side, where a window was opened and strong arms reached down to pull them safely up into the factory.
Nellie was surprised to find that Maud Gonne’s former husband, Major John MacBride, was part of the garrison.
The biscuit factory was huge, spread out over a number of floors, the giant machinery silent. They were led to meet MacDonagh.
‘I see you’ve been under constant fire and attack from their heavy machine-gunners up on the roof. No wonder you need ammunition and more men and supplies,’ her brother-in-law sympathized as he read the despatch. ‘Ammunition we can help you with. Commandant Mallin wants me to release any Citizen Army men here to his garrison, which I will consider. Food-wise, I believe there are still some cakes and sacks of flour, but I’m not sure what use they are to you.’
Nellie indicated that she would be grateful to be shown and suddenly Maire Nic Shiubhlaigh, an actress friend of hers, appeared.
‘Nellie, we’ve some enormous sacks of flour and salt and baking powder, and some oats on the next floor,’ she explained as they walked around the factory. ‘But eggs, and most of the butter and a bit of milk that was left, are gone.’
Nellie noticed some dried fruit, desiccated coconut and chopped nuts.
‘We still have a few fruit cakes, but I warn you they seem to play havoc with the men’s stomachs. Most of the men prefer the plainer biscuits and crackers, but to tell the truth we are all getting mighty sick of them,’ Maire admitted. ‘Too much of a good thing.’
‘We’ll take anything you can spare,’ Nellie said, grateful for any nourishment she could bring back for their garrison.
As she returned to the main floor, Jack MacDonagh appeared, enquiring about the situation in the College of Surgeons as he led her back to his brother.
‘It is far too dangerous for you ladies to be out on the streets,’ MacDonagh said, trying to persuade them to stay with his garrison. ‘Muriel would kill me if I let anything happen to you, Nellie. I promise that I will send men with supplies to your garrison, but you two must stay with us here.’
‘We are expected back,’ replied Chris curtly, ‘with some ammunition and
some food.’
‘MacDonagh, I know you are only thinking of our safety, but we have our orders from Commandant Mallin to return to the college,’ said Nellie. ‘We are needed there.’
As they prepared to leave, Major MacBride issued them with a supply of ammunition which they hid about their persons while Maire gave them some flour, dried fruits, tins of biscuits and cakes.
‘What have we here?’ jeered the supplementary women, appearing out of nowhere in the darkness of the street outside as they began to walk back to the college.
‘Brazen hussies!’ yelled a stout woman, her face red with anger.
‘We are decent widow women like yourselves, with hungry children,’ retorted Chris, standing her ground.
Before they knew it, two of their biscuit tins were given up to the women, who then grudgingly agreed to let them pass. But as they approached York Street Nellie became aware of footsteps following them again.
‘I told you – they’re Sinn Feiners,’ a voice shouted accusingly, as the supplementary women came chasing after them. Nellie and Chris ran as fast as they could. Reaching the side door of the college, they hammered frantically to be let in. A voice demanded the password before they were safe in its sanctuary.
True to his word, a few hours later MacDonagh sent a group of about fifteen of his men to their garrison with supplies of ammunition, heavy sacks of flour and cakes. Bill Oman, the young bugler who had sent them off only a few days earlier, was among them, following orders to stay and fight with Michael Mallin.
Exhausted, Nellie slept, but she was woken in the early hours by an absolute barrage of gunfire. They were under a massive attack. In the darkness their enemy had positioned another machine gun on the roof of the nearby University Church and had placed more snipers in position around them while they slept. They now had three heavy machine guns trained on them. Slowly and stealthily they were being surrounded. Nellie took her turn on duty a few hours later with some of the other women, all with their guns at the ready in front of the tall windows of the council room as the men were ordered to rest and, if possible, sleep.
Disaster struck when Margaret Skinnider, Bill Partridge and a small team were despatched to try to destroy the new enemy gun position by approaching from the Russell Hotel. They were spotted and young Fred Ryan was shot dead. Margaret was badly wounded too. Bleeding heavily, Bill and the other men somehow managed to carry her back to the college despite coming under intensive fire.
Nellie could see her friend had been seriously wounded by four bullets and was barely breathing. Madeleine ordered them to lay the young Scots woman gently on a bed in the Red Cross area as she examined her wounds. Commandant Mallin wanted to transfer her to one of the hospitals, but Margaret managed to indicate she did not want to go. The countess paced up and down, smoking and anxious, as the Red Cross women treated her. A huge closeness had grown between all the women of the garrison and none of them could bear to contemplate anything happening to their friend.
Rosie and the other women in the Red Cross area were rushed off their feet tending to the large number of casualties they had suffered. Margaret now lay among them, her face ashen, her body shivering and shaking with shock and blood loss.
Nellie brought a cup of hot tea to a shocked Bill, secretly wondering how much longer they would possibly be able to remain here, for, even though they had finally found the college’s hidden arsenal of sixty rifles, the situation in the garrison was worsening day by day.
Chapter 80
Nellie
THE SKY WAS red. It was eerie, the streets quiet and deserted, and above them the sky an intense, burning, reddish-orange glow, while a thick, black, smoke-like cloud covered the centre of Dublin. Nellie had never seen anything like it before. Maybe the British army had decided to burn them out and had set the GPO and Sackville Street ablaze. The air was heavy and humid, and she had a strange sensation of ash in her mouth and lungs. How could anyone survive such an inferno? The sound of heavy artillery and machine-gun fire seemed to be coming from all across the city on both sides of the river.
Up on the roof of the College of Surgeons they were under heavy fire too, Nellie moving among the exhausted men with cold water for them to drink and some of the remaining cake and broken biscuits. It was like being in hell up on the narrow parapet and she tried not to feel giddy as she looked down into the street and park. Sniper fire and machine-gun fire peppered the air around her.
‘Hold my gun,’ begged one of the young lads as he slumped against the roof and thirstily drank some water she offered him, closing his eyes. She could see his hands were raw and scorched from the heat of the gun, which had given her a fright when she touched it. He was close to collapse.
‘Soldier, you are relieved,’ barked one of the older army men beside her. ‘Tell the countess to send a man up to replace you and get some salve on those hands.’
The past twenty-four hours had been desperate, many of their men collapsing with tiredness, hunger and lack of sleep. The commandant was trying to rotate and relieve them, and everyone had to take a turn up on the roof while others were sent down to try to rest.
Nellie kept hold of the young man’s gun as he scrambled past her on the narrow ledge, grateful to be sent down to the college hall to rest.
‘Will you stay on watch until his relief comes?’ asked the captain.
Nellie nodded and settled down into position.
‘There’s a sniper over there,’ called out the captain. ‘But don’t engage him.’
Bullets ricocheted all around her until her ears rang with the sound. Suddenly there was an explosion and the roof tiles and granite around her disintegrated in dust as she ducked her head.
‘On the right – have you got him, lads? Can you see him?’
With all the dust and smoke Nellie found it hard to see anything.
‘We’ve got him!’ they yelled as they began to fire.
Despite the barrage of shots the sniper seemed to dive and disappear, leaving only the tip of his rifle visible.
‘He’s on the lower part of the roof, hiding beside the gutter.’
The captain and two men took immediate aim. Then came a cry of ‘We’ve got him! Hold fire!’
A few minutes later they could see the injured sniper scuttling from the roof towards safety. Nellie was relieved that he was alive but no longer a threat to them.
Time passed. Nellie didn’t know how the men stuck it up here for hours on end, unable to rest or move away, so surrounded did the enemy have them.
Dublin was burning, fires across the city getting worse, the fighting concentrated on the other side of the Liffey as the army gunship kept up its unending bombardment.
They were in a hopeless situation, but all were determined to fight on for as long as they could possibly last out. She thought of MacDonagh and his men, and of Joe Plunkett, James Connolly and all the people she cared about who were caught up in this desperate battle for freedom. Muriel and Grace must be worried out of their minds. She preferred to be up here in the heat and sweat of the roof, serving with her garrison, than at home imagining what was happening. No doubt Mother would be horrified to know that she was so deeply involved in the rebellion.
The bullet-marked tricolour flag still flew high overhead, flapping lazily in the breeze, somehow surviving the constant hail of bullets. Nellie felt tired and overwrought herself, needing to sleep. Her eyes were sore but she dared not shut them: she had to remain alert and on watch.
A few hours later she was happy to pass the gun to one of the former Jacob’s men and resume her duty bringing water to their sentries. They all looked so tired and she urged them to eat a bit to try to keep their energy up.
‘But I don’t eat raisins,’ one grumbled as she managed to cajole him into swallowing a few.
Looking around her, she had absolutely no idea how much longer they could last under such conditions. They had lost a few good men and a number of their company had been badly injured, but so too had many i
nnocent citizens, children too, shot crossing the street or getting caught in gunfire. It grieved Nellie deeply to think of them.
The fire was getting worse, the sky black with smoke, ashes blowing in the air throughout the next twenty-four hours. It seemed the whole city was burning, building after building destroyed. At night the garrison joined together to say the rosary, the countess joining in the litany and repetition of prayers. Some sat in silence, writing letters for their families. The countess quietly asked Michael Mallin to witness a letter she wrote. Nellie suspected it might be her will, for she was certainly a wealthy woman compared to the rest of them. Nellie had a huge regard for her and her enthusiasm, utter loyalty and bravery, and was very proud to have served as her aide-de-camp over the past few days.
They were all aware that it was only a matter of time until they faced certain bombardment and an all-out attack by their British enemy, who now had them totally surrounded.
Chapter 81
Nellie
AN AIR OF desperation hung darkly over their garrison on Sunday morning as their isolated situation became clearer. Heavy military cordons and barricades were now set up across most of the city, and they were hopelessly outnumbered by the British military. From the flames and smoke they suspected that the headquarters at the GPO and much of Sackville Street were most likely destroyed. They had no communication or despatches about the safety of their leaders, James Connolly, Tom Clarke and Padraig Pearse.
Yesterday they had managed to get some food, including flour, sugar and eggs from a pastry shop, and a large piece of bacon which they had served to their hungry and exhausted fighters. As they eked out the last of their provisions Nellie suspected they might be starved out of their garrison.
A knock on the York Street door was answered to Nurse Elizabeth O’Farrell. This time, instead of bearing bread, Elizabeth was grim-faced. She was waving a white flag of surrender and carrying orders from General Lowe, commander of the British forces, for Michael Mallin.
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