Rebel Sisters

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  ‘Where is my dada?’ he demanded, seeing the man’s army uniform.

  ‘Your father is to be shot,’ the man said coldly and her little boy, scared and hysterical, ran back into her arms.

  Muriel began to shake.

  ‘Mrs Muriel MacDonagh, it has been ordered that Mr Thomas MacDonagh, who is convicted of treason, is to be executed at Kilmainham Jail tomorrow. The prisoner has requested that you visit him. You are hereby granted permission by General Lowe to visit the prisoner prior to his execution,’ the soldier said, his gaze unflinching, not even meeting hers.

  Execution … execution … The very words made her feel weak and she tried to steady herself.

  But this was no time for weakness. She had to see MacDonagh. Grace had gone out earlier searching for information, so she was all alone with the children, the baby already asleep, but she would ask Mary to come over and mind them.

  ‘I will come as soon as I can,’ she replied calmly. ‘Please inform Mr Thomas MacDonagh and General Lowe that I will be there immediately to see him.’

  Less than half an hour later she was on her way. Her mind was spinning, but she tried to concentrate on the fact that she was going to see MacDonagh and would be able to talk to him. There must be some mistake, some legal loophole they could find to commute his sentence. She would talk to her husband. She would not think of him being executed.

  The city was still under martial law, a war zone, full of barricades and damaged buildings, so much destruction and debris everywhere. The acrid smell of smoke still clung to the air. The curfew was still in operation and Muriel had to stop at a checkpoint manned by some soldiers with their bayonets.

  ‘You should not be out, missus,’ they warned. ‘Return to your home.’

  ‘A member of your army came to my home in Oakley Road to inform me that I was requested to visit my husband, Mr Thomas MacDonagh, who is imprisoned in Kilmainham Jail tonight,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Show me your permit please,’ demanded an older soldier.

  ‘I don’t have one. The soldier who came never gave me a permit or note from General Lowe,’ she replied, realizing that she had absolutely nothing to prove her case.

  ‘He would have given you a written permit to break the curfew and cross the city,’ the man said knowledgeably.

  ‘I promise you, he gave me nothing. He just told me that he had been sent to inform me that my husband is to be executed and that I have permission to visit him in Kilmainham.’ Muriel’s voice was breaking.

  ‘We have no knowledge of it,’ the army man said testily, ‘and have strict instruction to enforce the curfew as some of the rebels are still at large.’

  ‘Please!’ she begged. ‘Let me through. My husband is to be executed tomorrow. I have to see him … please.’

  She could see three of the soldiers talking behind the older man.

  ‘Must be one of the traitor leaders!’ one called.

  She flinched.

  ‘Please. My husband, Mr Thomas MacDonagh, was a commandant in the Irish Volunteers. He is in Kilmainham Jail and the governor and General Lowe himself have granted me permission to visit him. Don’t stop me doing what any wife would want to do when she hears such terrible news.’

  ‘We cannot let you pass,’ he repeated stubbornly. ‘You get a permit, missus, and return and we will let you through.’

  ‘Where can I get such a permit at this late hour?’ she pleaded. ‘Tell me …’

  He shrugged his shoulders and simply turned away from her. She could hear them all laughing.

  ‘Come back in the morning, after curfew,’ called another younger soldier.

  Muriel ran back to Oakley Road, to the home of neighbours who possessed a new telephone machine and begged them to let her use it to phone Kilmainham or someone in authority to get the necessary pass, but realizing that her husband was one of the rebels her neighbours, despite her pleas, shut the door on her.

  Over the next few hours Muriel frantically attempted twice more to get through barricades and checkpoints, but all to no avail. It was long past midnight when, tearful and exhausted, she returned home, determined that tomorrow morning at first light she would go immediately to Kilmainham to see MacDonagh.

  Still dressed, she curled up in their bed and tried to imagine that he was close beside her, telling her never fear, my love, all would be well and soon they would be together again …

  Chapter 84

  Nellie

  AS DAWN WAS breaking Nellie and her cellmates were woken by sudden gunfire, a whole volley of shots and then utter silence. It sounded close within the prison. The three women sat up in their cell, then got to their feet.

  Nellie stood on the stool on tiptoe, peering out over the narrow windowledge, hoping to see anything outside in the prison yard other than the high stone walls and the grey-streaked dawn.

  It sounded as if a few soldiers were shooting together. The women’s senses were on alert as they wrapped their blankets around them.

  After what seemed only about fifteen or twenty minutes there was another loud volley of shots, then silence and stillness; and fifteen minutes later a repeat of loud simultaneous gunfire again.

  She and Winnie and Julia all looked at each other, unwilling to say the words but each of the same mind.

  The soldiers were shooting the prisoners one after another …

  Chapter 85

  Grace

  IT HAD BEEN an awful night, Grace filled with a deep sense of unease about Joe, poor Muriel in a terrible state, waiting for the sun to rise and the curfew to end so that she could visit MacDonagh.

  Grace had a strange premonition that she must go to Joe immediately. Ever since she was a child she had had a sense of telepathy about things and she knew that she must act on it. Fate had brought her Joe’s letter, written in Richmond Barracks and delivered by a soldier to her parents’ home yesterday; Liebert had brought it over to her at Muriel’s.

  Joe wrote telling her that the only thing he cared about was that he was not with her. He had heard that he would be sent to England, but said it might be possible for them to be wed by proxy and that she should go and talk to Father Sherwin about their marriage. Grace sensed that she should not delay …

  Muriel was just getting ready to leave the house to go to Kilmainham to see MacDonagh when an early-morning bread-delivery van stopped outside. A priest got out of it and knocked on the door, asking to see her sister.

  Grace’s heart sank. Had he word of MacDonagh?

  Father Aloysius came inside and took Muriel by the hand. Gently, he told her that her husband, Thomas MacDonagh, had been executed by firing squad earlier that morning in Kilmainham Jail.

  Muriel gave a strange piercing inhuman cry, her skin like alabaster, listening to his words, then she quietly asked the priest to repeat them, over and over again …

  Father Aloysius had been with MacDonagh before he was shot and had given him the last rites. He told her how much her husband loved and cared for her and his two children – his last thoughts were of them – and that he died with no rancour or bitterness in his heart.

  Grace felt as though her own heart would break with the sadness of it. She made tea and fetched a warm blanket, then held Muriel and tried to comfort her.

  Father Aloysius told her that Padraig Pearse and Tom Clarke had also been executed that morning and that unfortunately, more executions of the rebel leaders were planned over the coming days.

  Fearing that Joe, instead of being deported, would surely meet the same fate as his best friend MacDonagh, Grace knew she could not delay any longer.

  Mary arrived and promised she would look after her distraught sister, who had finally begun to cry and weep for the loss of her beloved husband. Their brother Liebert, having heard the news of Thomas MacDonagh’s execution, also came to the house to see if he could do anything to help, promising Grace that he would stay with their sister.

  Grace set off immediately to town to meet Father Sherwin, determined to try t
o get the necessary licence for Joe and her to wed. Father Sherwin advised her to talk to the priest in the same parish as Kilmainham – perhaps he was the one who could help organize a marriage in the prison. He gave her a note for Father Eugene MacCarthy, who was the prison chaplain, as he might be able to get permission from the governor of Kilmainham, Major Lennon, to perform the ceremony.

  ‘I have to get married to Joe,’ she confided to the priest tearfully as he promised to help them.

  It was getting late and some of the shops on Grafton Street had begun to shut. Grace was keenly aware of the staff putting up shutters and winding back canopies, getting ready to lock doors as the final customers in their shops left. The large jewellery shop was still open and she glanced quickly at the tray of rings on display in their window before pushing the door open.

  A man stood behind the counter covering the trays of expensive jewellery in heavy velvet cloths, ready to store them in the shop’s safe.

  ‘I’m sorry, but we are getting ready to close, miss,’ he said, barely looking up at her.

  ‘Please, I need to see your wedding rings,’ she said, trying to keep control of her voice.

  ‘I’m afraid I have put some of them away already.’

  ‘I saw some in the window – please may I see them?’

  Reluctantly stopping what he was doing, he walked over to the window, leaned in and took out the velvet-lined tray, carrying it over to the dark mahogany counter and placing it in front of her.

  ‘Gold bands, rounded, and a few straight. Some young ladies like a traditional narrow band and others prefer it wider,’ he recited.

  Grace touched the curving bands with her fingers.

  ‘May I try one or two of these rings on?’

  The jeweller looked pointedly at the clock.

  ‘A marriage band is for life, the fitting and choice and purchase of which is not something usually to be rushed,’ he advised.

  Grace blushed and swallowed hard, standing resolutely at his counter.

  ‘Please, I wish to try this one.’ She indicated a simple, narrow gold circle from the centre of the tray and he took it out and passed it to her. She put it on her finger, but it was far too big.

  ‘Try this one,’ he offered, handing her another ring.

  It was still too big.

  ‘We usually size the ring to fit your finger exactly,’ he explained kindly. ‘I promise that it will only take us a few days to make one to fit you perfectly.’

  Grace felt like crying and pointed urgently to two more rings.

  One was tiny and only fitted her little finger; the other was a curving design which she did not like.

  ‘Please – you must have more,’ she begged, trying to keep the hysteria out of her voice. ‘I need to buy a wedding ring today that fits me. I have to find one.’

  The jeweller stopped and considered for a few seconds before putting the tray aside. She was clearly a lady of quality, so he went down to the far end of the shop and returned about a minute later with another cloth-covered tray which he set in front of her.

  ‘Have a look at these, miss. This one here is very popular with our brides. It is eighteen-carat gold and what we call a classic design.’

  Grace went to slip it on her finger but it stopped at her knuckle. Disappointment threatened to overwhelm her.

  ‘Never mind, miss, I’m sure I have another that will fit,’ he offered, leaning over and studying the tray. ‘Try this.’ He pulled out a slim gold band.

  Grace held out her hand and he slid the wedding ring smoothly on to her finger. He tried to move it back and forward. It wasn’t too tight and sat perfectly on her long, narrow finger.

  Grace studied her hand with the gold band – her wedding band. It was just what she needed. As she looked at her finger she could feel tears welling up in her eyes and was filled with such a deep sadness at the absolute unfairness of it all and what might befall Joe. She began to shudder and cry.

  ‘I’ll take this ring,’ she sobbed, her voice breaking, aware of the man’s concern as he stared at her.

  ‘Weddings are a beautiful time but emotional for everyone. Why don’t I put this ring aside for your young man to come in and pay for it later in the week?’ he suggested. ‘Wrap it up all nice for him.’

  ‘Please, I have to buy the ring now,’ she insisted tearfully, slipping the band off her finger and giving it back to him. ‘He cannot come in, so I will pay for it.’

  ‘Very well, I will wrap it for you,’ he agreed slowly.

  ‘Please, I don’t need a fancy box – just something simple to carry it in,’ she said, shaking.

  ‘Are you all right, miss?’ he asked, worried, reaching under the counter for a small wine-coloured box. ‘Are you in trouble?’

  She guessed that brides in such a state of upset and tears in his shop were a very rare occurrence.

  ‘Please do not cry, miss. I’m sure your wedding will be a fine, happy occasion. When is it to take place?’

  ‘I am to be wed tonight,’ she whispered.

  ‘Tonight?’ he repeated, puzzled.

  ‘My fiancé is Mr Plunkett. He is one of the rebels being held in Kilmainham,’ she explained slowly, awaiting his hostile reaction as she reached into her purse. ‘We are to be married there tonight, for I fear that he is to be executed.’

  She gripped at the counter to steady herself as dizziness swamped her.

  ‘Oh my dear – I am so very sorry. The whole city is full of what happened to some of the leaders there this morning …’ He trailed off. His sheer kindness threatened to undo Grace as she found the notes and passed them to him.

  As he wrote her a receipt in his book, Grace dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief, fighting to compose herself. He held the door open for her as she left.

  ‘Good luck, miss,’ he said gently as she turned her attention to getting to the prison to see Joe.

  Chapter 86

  Grace

  GRACE STEELED HERSELF as she approached Kilmainham Jail, notorious in the past as the place where thieves and murderers met their end, many hanging from a high noose swinging outside the prison entrance. She shivered as she thought of Joe and his friends now held captive there. It was after six o’clock when she walked across the cobblestones and knocked on the door for admittance.

  A soldier questioned her roughly and for a moment she felt like running away, but she stated her name and address and her reason for being there, and showed him the official piece of paper that the priest had given her. He went off to check something, then came back a few minutes later and led her to the office of Major Lennon, the governor of Kilmainham. Grace tried to control her fear and trepidation as she was ushered inside.

  ‘Marriage in prison is an unusual request,’ Major Lennon said gruffly, barely looking at her.

  ‘I have all the necessary church documents and permission here,’ she said, pushing them on to his desk.

  ‘It would be one of the prison chaplains from St James’s parish that would perform such a ceremony if it is authorized,’ he said, reading them.

  ‘I have spoken with Father MacCarthy already,’ she explained.

  Grace said nothing more. It was clear this decision now rested in his hands; Major Lennon would be the one who would decide her fate.

  ‘You do know Mr Joseph Plunkett has been tried and found guilty of all charges, and by order of General Maxwell is due to be executed with the rest of the leaders of the Sinn Fein rebellion?’

  Grace swallowed hard, shaking her head. She did not want to believe the dreadful words he had spoken.

  ‘Mr Plunkett and I had planned our marriage before this,’ she said firmly, trying to control the desperation in her voice. ‘It was our intention to have been married at Easter, but events delayed it. We both love each other very much and it is Joe’s last wish that we are wed.’

  He nodded understandingly.

  ‘I have to wed,’ she continued, unable to hide the panic she felt. ‘Joe and I have to be wed. D
o not deny us this, Major Lennon, for it is all both of us want.’

  Silence hung between them.

  She considered telling him that her brother Claude was away fighting in France, that Liebert was in the navy and that her twin brother, Cecil, was about to enlist, and begging him to help her, but perhaps he would consider that she had shamed her family enough.

  She watched as he studied the documents in front of him.

  ‘Miss Gifford, everything seems to be in order,’ Major Lennon agreed. ‘You and Mr Plunkett have permission to marry today.’

  Relief washed over her as she was escorted outside by a soldier to a small waiting area. She and Joe were going to be wed.

  ‘When will I see Mr Plunkett?’ she asked.

  ‘Relatives are to wait here,’ the soldier explained curtly, disappearing as she sat on a small wooden chair in the damp, chilly room. Hopefully it would not be too long till she and Joe were reunited and would have their wedding, be officially married as they had planned, and that something good would come out of this terrible situation. Of course she had never imagined being wed in a place like this with a prison priest, but then she had never imagined that she and Joe would be caught up in such a tragedy.

  Grace waited and waited. Eventually she called out, asking to be allowed to see Joe, but there was no response. Precious time was ticking by and she was filled with a desperate anxiety that perhaps they were playing some kind of trick on her.

  She could hear distant footsteps, men shouting, men calling out.

  Did Joe even know that she was here? Rumour had it that her sister Nellie was also being held in Kilmainham. How she longed to see her and talk to her.

  She thought of MacDonagh, shot by a firing squad only a few hours ago. She would always remember his kindness, his generosity and good humour, and his deep, abiding love for her sister. His death was unbearable. He and Joe were always the best of friends, and now the two friends would meet the same fate.

  It felt as if the room was closing in on her, so she slipped out to a small enclosed yard with towering stone walls. It was hard to believe that she was in the city, as all she could see from here was the sky and a few birds flying high above her. She could hear cabs and horses and the hooting horn of a distant car, but otherwise this place entombed her as she walked and walked around the yard, trying to calm herself so that mounting panic didn’t overwhelm her.