Easter Monday – Count Plunkett describes his audience with the Pope
Easter Monday, 1916, was a holiday, everybody taking a sleep. I have a note in my diary that Dr Cox called at a quarter past eleven in the morning.
At half-past eleven on Easter Monday morning, I must have gone down to the garage to meet Mr Quinn, evidently determined to get the latest news. I found him and had a talk with him on the situation. All I have written down in my diary is, Serious news. I cannot recollect what it was about. It must have been about disarmament, the Volunteer mobilisation, Eoin MacNeill’s countermanding orders and all the news from Kerry. We must have discussed what all this would lead to – disarmament straight away? He would not tell and possibly knew little of military intentions.
Between half-past eleven and noon on Easter Monday, I have noted in my diary that, while I was talking to Mr Quinn down in the garage, a telephone message was brought to me that Seán T. O’Kelly wanted to see me in Rutland Square. I sent word by the messenger that I would be there in half an hour. At that time I had not known that the Rising was going to take place or that it was so desperately close.
Towards noon on Easter Monday I have noted in my diary the page-boy came down again to the garage, where I was still speaking to Mr Quinn, to say that Count Plunkett had called and was waiting to see me. I told the boy I would be there in a minute. I guessed, of course, that there was some new development. At five minutes past twelve I interviewed Count Plunkett. He said he had come to see the Archbishop. I informed him that the Archbishop was ill in bed and that nobody was allowed to see him except the doctor. I gathered, of course, that it was something urgent, obviously on account of the circumstances. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it is not necessary that I would see him personally but, if you would tell him, it would be alright.’
Count Plunkett then told me that there was going to be a Rising, that he had been to see the Pope and that he had informed Benedict XV of the whole Irish situation and the intended insurrection. He briefly went over the incidents of his audience. (Later the Count’s report was confirmed first by letter and then verbally by Monsignor Hagan, Vice Rector of the Irish College at this time.) Count Plunkett informed His Holiness that a rising for national independence was arranged, that the Volunteers would strike in the course of Easter Sunday and that His Holiness should not be shocked or alarmed. Count Plunkett explained that the movement was purely a national one for independence, the same as every nation had a right to. At the end of his discussion, he asked the Pope’s Blessing for the Volunteers. According to him, the Pope showed great perturbation and asked was there no peaceful way out of the difficulty; that the news was extremely grave, and asked had he seen the Archbishop of Dublin. Count Plunkett answered every question, making it plain that it was the wish of the leaders of the movement to act entirely with the good-will or approval – I forget which now – of the Pope and to give an assurance that they wished to act as Catholics. It was for that reason they came to inform His Holiness. All the Pope could do was to express his profound anxiety and how much the news disturbed him, and asked could their object not be achieved in any other way, and counselled him to see the Archbishop. Count Plunkett informed the Pope that he intended to see the Archbishop as soon as he arrived home. At this time, he was only just back in Ireland.
I should still have the letter I received from Monsignor Hagan, confirming Count Plunkett’s audience with the Pope. I have it somewhere and I shall come across it. I don’t know how it got through the post in the following weeks. Of course, there was nothing openly significant in it, and he did not mention Count Plunkett’s name. It read something to this effect: ‘The visitor, who will call on you, was seen by me. He had an audience with the Pope.’ That was the gist of it.
We are informed by telephone that the Rising has begun
I have noted in my diary that, while I was still talking with Count Plunkett on Easter Monday, the telephone bell in the Secretaries’ study rang and I was called to answer it. I said to the Count, ‘Wait a moment!’, and I went to the ‘phone. The call came from a Mr Stokes, a jeweller, who rang me up to say that the GPO was seized by the Volunteers and the Castle was attacked, and he asked could the Archbishop stop it. I told him that was impossible but that I would go down town. I returned to Count Plunkett and told him the Rising had already begun. Count Plunkett, although he implied it was to take place immediately, had not told me when. It was then a quarter past twelve. The count came to tell the Archbishop that it was going to take place. Some delay had occurred as I was at the garage in the lower end of the grounds when the Count called. It was noteworthy that he came on the Monday and not on the Sunday.
I had to hasten up and tell the Archbishop all about Count Plunkett’s report and the telephone news of the seizure of the GPO. He thought less of the poor count than of Eoin MacNeill. He looked on the Count as a simple soul and could not conceive a man like him being at the head of a revolution as it really was. Never in my life did I tell so much or so grave a report in such a brief time. I told the Archbishop, ‘I’ll go down town’ – I did not say ‘and see Seán’ – ‘to the GPO to see the situation’. I also said I would call in to the Pro-Cathedral.
I visit Seán T. O’Kelly at 25 Parnell Square
I got on my bicycle and went to see Seán T. O’Kelly. By this time I saw a few Volunteers in the streets, evidently going down town to mobilise. They were in uniform. I was amazed. I saw at least two groups, including one of three; and I remember seeing one individual standing in the doorway of the Christian Brothers Past Pupils’ Union building.
I found Seán T. O’Kelly in 25 Parnell Square, as cool as you could imagine. I told him that I knew already what he was going to tell me but that, unfortunately, all those delays had occurred. He confirmed the news. He told me what had happened the evening before and that Pearse had determined to go on with the Rising. He did not tell me that he had seen Pearse himself. He gave me a packet to give to Miss Kit Ryan. He told me that, if anything happened to him, I was to give this packet to Kit Ryan. I guessed already what that meant. It was the first hint. I already knew that Seán was not what he used to describe as a ‘gun-man’. But the organisation insisted he should be a Captain in the Intelligence department. Then he told me he was going out. Up to that, Seán T. always gave me the impression that he was supporting Mac-Neill rather than the extremists; but he never for a moment spoke formally and definitely regarding his own personal position. I gathered that his views coincided with mine, that there should be no resort to arms before disarmament or a German invasion, or the delivery of German arms. I am not quite sure now. Seán T. then confirmed that the GPO was seized. I was scarcely ten minutes with him.
I visit the GPO and am asked to procure a Priest at the Pro-Cathedral
Leaving Seán T. O’Kelly in his office, I cycled down at once to the GPO. There were several hundred people, perhaps over a thousand, between Abbey Street and Henry Street. I saw Mr Rock, one of the officials in the GPO who described how the Volunteers had marched in and ejected the entire staff out to the street. I asked him to bring my bicycle over to the Pro-Cathedral presbytery. The first person I saw in the portico outside the GPO was James Connolly in uniform with a huge Colt revolver, shouting out orders. Volunteers were battering out window-panes. When James Connolly saw me, he called out, ‘All priests may pass!’, as the Volunteers were keeping the inquisitive on-lookers at some distance. The crowd then showed comparatively little excitement. I passed in to the building. The newly arranged central hall was a scene of immense activity but nobody was unduly excited. It must have been then shortly after half-past twelve (Easter Monday).
Speaking to one of the first Volunteers I met in the GPO, I gave my name and said I wanted to see Mr Pearse. ‘Commandant Pearse?’ he corrected. ‘Yes’, I said. He went off and got Pearse whom, of course, I knew well. He was flushed but calm and authoritative. I at once said that we had just got word by telephone of this attack, that I had informed the Archbishop
of the position and told him I was coming down to ascertain the facts and that, if there was anything that could be done, I would do it. ‘But,’ I said, ‘I see now that nothing can be done.’ ‘No,’ he said, ‘we are going to see it out.’ ‘You know my feelings; if there is any possible thing I can do, I will be very glad to do it,’ I said. I thought there might possibly be some message or other. ‘No,’ he said, ‘but some of the boys would like to go to Confession and I would be delighted if you would send over word to the Cathedral.’ I promised I would do that, left the GPO and went over to the Pro-Cathedral.
I noticed, when I came out of the GPO, a body of about ten or twelve police – DMP – with an Inspector, lined up at the foot of Nelson Pillar, doing nothing but obviously very tense.
I arrived at the Pro-Cathedral and made sure my bicycle was there. I told the priests who were gathered in the Administrator’s room that I had been in to the GPO, had seen Pearse, that he had asked me to send over one of the priests and that I had told him I would do all I could. They were anxious about the Archbishop. I gave them an account of what happened to us in the morning – of the Count’s visit, of my conveying his report to the Archbishop, partly because I knew one or two of them were not friendly; others of them were. I assured them that the Archbishop was fully informed of the state of affairs up to midday and that we would try and keep in touch with them. I telephoned Archbishop’s House, reported all the information I had, saying I would remain on. I took lunch at the Gresham Hotel.
Having spent not more than ten minutes in the Pro-Cathedral, I returned to O’Connell Street. The first incident I observed – and I must say it made an unfavourable impression on me, from a military point of view – was the sight of a number of Volunteers trying to overturn a tram in Earl Street. One Volunteer on his stomach got under the tram, with something like a line of cord, and put a match to a fuse that was apparently to set off a bomb to overturn the tram – and a rapidly increasing number of people all about! Not only that, but he failed even after two or three attempts. That is all they understood about explosives. Later on, before I left, I saw that they had succeeded in overturning the tram. It blocked the thoroughfare and interrupted traffic. It was not a barricade that could be used to fight behind.
It was either during my absence in the Pro-Cathedral or while I was at lunch in the Gresham (I think the latter) that the flags were hoisted on the GPO. As far as I remember, there were only two. My diary notes that one was a green flag with the words ‘ Irish Freedom ’, and the other the then new green, white and orange. I am morally certain that the tricolour was at the Henry Street corner and the other at the Prince’s Street corner.
I remained until after 3.30 in O’Connell Street. About 1pm, as I have noted in my diary, a squadron of 100–150 lancers appeared from the Rotunda. Riding up Upper O’Connell Street in single file, the first two who passed the Pillar were shot in the throat. Either four or six were killed. I attended one, but he was dead. He had a medal. Such is the note I have in my diary. I saw the cavalry riding up, heard the shots, witnessed the moderate commotion. It was much less than I have seen on occasions of civil or political disturbance. In a few minutes several people ran to me to say that one of the soldiers shot was a Catholic and asked me to attend him. I found him lying dead on the west side of O’Connell Street, half-way between the Henry Street corner and Gill’s bookshop (52 Upper O’Connell Street). A ‘miraculous medal’ about his neck led these simple people to believe he was a Catholic, but at that time hundreds of English Protestant soldiers wore Catholic medals as charms. It transpired that only one soldier was killed but the number got exaggerated from mouth to mouth. The cavalry were at once withdrawn to the space in front of the Rotunda Hospital. There they remained for an hour or two.
Before 2pm the crowds had greatly increased in numbers. Already the first looting had begun; the first victim was Noblett’s sweetshop. It soon spread to the neighbouring shops. I was much disgusted and I did my best to try to stop the looting. Except for two or three minutes, it had no effect. I went over and informed the Volunteers about the GPO. Five or six Volunteers did their best and cleared the looters for some five or so minutes, but it began again. At first all the ringleaders were women; then the boys came along. Later, about 3.30pm when the military were withdrawn from the Rotunda, young men arrived and the looting became systematic and general, so that Fr John Flanagan of the Pro-Cathedral, who had joined me, gave up the attempt to repress it and I left too.
After I had attended the soldier, I passed into Lower O’Connell Street. Standing at the corner of Clery’s, Sackville Place, I remember seeing a half-drunken British soldier striding along and giving vent to anti-Irish language. As the people were beginning to handle him roughly, I more or less came to his rescue. Immediately opposite, at the corner of the other side of the street, was a chemist standing at the shop door which had a little railing. I asked the chemist to open the railing and hustled him into the shop. I had no sooner got the soldier into the chemist’s shop than I noticed a commotion. A Volunteer was being carried along by two men. He seemed seriously wounded and I was told his wounds were due to a bomb exploding accidentally. I gave him Absolution and he was brought off immediately, through Prince’s Street, down to Jervis Street hospital.
The hurriedly entered notes in my diary that Easter Monday evening do not quite record the events of the day in their strict sequence, but the next incident I have noted is: Soldiers – about eight – fired at intervals from the walls that project from the ABC office. These British soldiers were behind the low walls, three or four feet high, at the ABC office, which is the present Tramway office (60 Upper O’Connell Street) and the Pillar Picture Theatre. They were on their knees, with their rifles propped up against this parapet, and from time to time they sniped at three Henry Street windows of the General Post Office which were facing towards the Rotunda. Volunteers occupied these windows and from time to time interchanged shots with the soldiers. They might as well have been firing at Windsor! By this time, O’Connell Street was crowded, particularly from Pro-Cathedral Street to Abbey Street. As time went on, the crowds grew more and more reckless, passing under the line of fire of the soldiers and Volunteers.
I turned back towards the Rotunda Hospital where I knew I would find these Lancers, in order to make a report about the dead soldier I had attended previously. I saw the officer on horseback and went over to him. The Lancers so drawn up in front of the Rotunda Hospital could not be seen from the vicinity of Nelson Pillar. I informed the officer that I had attended this soldier who had died, as I was under the impression that he was a Catholic, but that I had learned he was a non-Catholic.
While I was reporting to the officer, I took occasion to make a representation. ‘Your soldiers,’ I said, ‘are firing at the corner windows of the Post Office over the heads of the people. They are doing no earthly good, and people will be killed. You ought either to withdraw these men or disperse the people.’ Wrong as the soldiers were, I think it was more indefensible on the part of the Volunteers because the former, being low, could have some control of their fire but the men up on high could not. It may have been in the gaiety of their hearts but it looked desperately alarming.
I am sure that eye-witnesses that late afternoon and next day would say that what most impressed them, and impressed them most unfavourably, was the frivolity and recklessness of the crowd, most of all of the women and children. That is the explanation of the Archbishop’s letter which I suggested to him to write. I had in the back of my mind the idea that the less people were on the street, the less looting there would be. At the time it occurred to some that the explanation of the Volunteer firing was to frighten off the crowds and looters.
At the time it I went again to the Pro-Cathedral to get my bicycle and had a talk with Fr Flanagan. I think it was Fr John O’Reilly CC, who went over first to the GPO to hear confessions. I think he was on duty that day. He was a rather timid man. I have a record that Fr Bowden who was Administrato
r was also there. Fr Flanagan was the last to go and he had to remain in the GPO as he could not get back.
It was after my return from the Rotunda that I noticed that the ten or twelve policemen with their inspector, whom I had seen at the foot of Nelson’s Pillar some hours previously, had now moved right under and against the wall of the GPO, near the corner of Henry Street. They were very tense. I spoke very strongly to the DMP inspector, saying it was a scandal to leave the police there with the firing going on. There they were almost under fire. I think I added that the situation was one for the military and not for the police. Two or three minutes afterwards they moved off. Quite unhindered they went off towards Store Street. That was some time coming on to three o’clock. Not a hair of these ten or twelve policemen was touched while they stood at the Pillar or while the firing went on. The DMP suffered no interference from the Volunteers. Their fight was against the British. They did not fire at the DMP at the Pillar.
I was also very much struck by the restraint of Volunteers in the case of another drunken soldier who was an Australian. This happened when I first went to the GPO and met Connolly. The soldier was not quite drunk and was standing eating something, in an attitude of bravado, right under where the Volunteers were firing. Yet the Volunteers did not fire or even disturb him. The soldier was not armed, of course.
I reported to the Archbishop when I returned on Monday evening and told him what had taken place. I recall that what was uppermost in my mind and in my report was the amazing recklessness of the civilians, that I was certain many of them would be killed and that the women and children were the worst. I have noted in my diary that everything was quiet from 10pm on Easter Monday until 1am on Easter Tuesday morning when firing recommenced towards Cabra and Glasnevin.
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