Unlikely Rebels

by Anne Clare

  There is often, in these post Civil War years, a hint of old animosities in the granting or withholding of privilege. The two ladies appointed as replacements for Kate and Clandillon’s daughter were both married, and in those years that was supposed to bar them. In one of Nellie’s old news cuttings P. S. O’Hegarty observes: ‘Maighred [sic] Ní Ghráda succeeded Mrs Wilson.’ Ní Ghráda used her maiden name for her work, which cloaked the ineligibility of her married status.[8]

  ‘John’ took the new medium in her stride. In an article entitled ‘The Broadcast in Ireland’s Eye’, her use of irony is cleverly sustained.[9] While reassuring the Irish people of their country’s prosperity, she argues, President Cosgrave should rustle the cheque showing the ministerial pay into the mike, and election promises should be woven into a programme of Farmers’ Bedtime Stories. She feels a fog signal would usefully introduce an explanatory programme on the Boundary Question and a West British choir could sing ‘The Ex-isle of Erin’ while a Catholic choir from the north might choose ‘Questions to a Free State’.

  On 4 July 1926, in a programme commemorating American Independence Day, Frank Fay quoted Pitt’s speech on England’s war with America, F. R. Higgins recited the poetry of Walt Whitman, ‘Marching through Georgia’ was rousingly played, and ‘John Brennan’ spoke on American history. She was also responsible for an Irish ballads programme with Gerald Crofts in 1927: the series was called The Ballad History of Ireland and was typical of the station’s determination to sustain a distinctively Irish approach.

  There was often heated debate about such matters as the in-sufficiency of Irish music and language in the station’s programmes, and ‘John’ became what was called ‘the victim of political discrimination’. In 1927, a letter of hers was published in The Irish Times, in which she questioned the action of a senator who had mentioned the Volunteers in relation to the assassination of Kevin O’Higgins. Some members of that organisation were to be tried for O’Higgins’ death. Her words were, ‘If it were to become customary to attack prisoners in the Press or in the parliament while their cases are still sub judice, trial by jury would become a mere mockery.’ The day after the letter appeared, ‘John’ was told that her services were no longer required in 2RN (the station). Her case was remembered in 1946 when Noel Harnett found himself in a somewhat similar position. Passions ran understandably high after O’Higgins’ assassination, and ‘John’ did not regain a much-needed source of income for six years. Seán T. Ó Ceallaigh raised her case in the Dáil and said that, though their political opinions differed, he felt her treatment was harsh. His plea was fruitless, and she was not reinstated until Fianna Fáil came to power in 1932.

  But if two of the Gifford rebels had been dismissed from the broadcasting station, there was a third member of the family waiting in the wings to play her part. Nellie was beset by financially harassing times, and she put pen to paper and launched herself as a freelance journalist. An early offering by ‘EGD’ (Eileen Gifford-Donnelly) entitled ‘The Child and the Cinema’ appeared in an advertising broadsheet in Omagh on 26 December 1926.[10]In January 1927, Máiréad Ní Ghráda (bean stúirthóir [woman’s organiser]) – the lady who replaced Kate as woman’s organiser in 2RN – wrote to Nellie accepting her play for children called Mr Tipps.

  On 22 March 1927, the broadcasting programmes advertised in the daily papers included this item: ‘6.30 Uair I dtir na n-Óg: Songs Síle Ní Ceallaigh; stories Mrs Donnelly and F. J. McCormack.’ On 30 March of that year, Nellie received another letter from Máiréad Ní Ghráda offering a May booking for her story Wow, an engaging tale about a dog. In July 1933, the Director of the Talks Branch of the station was stationed in the GPO in O’Connell Street, opposite the hotel Nellie had entered with James Larkin twenty years before. He wrote offering an engagement to broadcast her submitted talk called Suggestions. It was to last fifteen minutes and carried a fee of two guineas. Her ideas included tourist attractions, waste usage and disposal and lowered kerbs for invalids – all matters later realised and some derived from what she had seen in America.

  In June 1935, the same director engaged her for a series of four talks but advised that since she would be speaking for the station rather than as an outsider, it would be better to delete any suggestions about the government. He was even prepared to ask for funds for any suggestions sought from listeners. The talks started in August. In October, C. Ní Rodaigh, who also described her office as bean stúirthóir and who was the other replacement when Kate and Clandillon’s daughter were dismissed, wrote accepting three of Nellie’s children’s stories for broadcasting: Wow (a repeat from 1927), Mr Tipps (also a repeat) and Whistling Michael.[11]

  Apart from her success in broadcasting, Nellie also wrote short stories for adults. Her style and subject matter were in complete contrast to ‘John’s’ academic and finely researched work. They included The Turf Fire and a moving story about a little girl called Sheila, the eldest of eight though not yet ten herself: her widowed mother, desperate to make ends meet, has to break the news to the little girl that she must be ‘farmed out’ to work in another house to put some pennies in the family ‘till’. Nellie had seen such poverty in Meath and succeeds movingly in conveying the anguish involved in what amounted to child labour in Ireland in the very early twentieth century. Occasionally she wrote profiles, such as that on Lady Gregory, and dabbled in poetry, though verse was not her forte. All this helped the precarious family budget, and, along with many others all over Ireland, these Gifford sisters were finding their feet in the matter of economic survival in a new state which had major problems, financial and otherwise, to resolve.

  Notes

  [1]Copies of this, and ‘John’s’ following contributions are filed in Military Archives, Cathal Brugha Barracks, Dublin.

  [2]In conversation with Maeve Donnelly in the early 1990s.

  [3]NGDPs.

  [4]Ibid., Isabella’s will.

  [5]Comerford, The First Dáil, pp. 96–97.

  [6]Details of games furnished by GAA Museum, Croke Park, Dublin; NGDPs.

  [7]Richard Pine, 2RN and the Origins of Irish Radio, Dublin: Four Courts, 2002.

  [8]P. S. O’Hegarty, ‘The Early Days of Irish Radio’, Sunday Independent, 8 August 1848.

  [9]An Phoblacht, 2 January 1926, p. 6.

  [10]EGD (Eileen Gifford-Donnelly), Nellie’s name in the USA (NGDPs).

  [11]Whistling Michael had also been accepted for publication by the Educational Company of Ireland in July 1927.

  25 - The New State Remembers … and Forgets

  After the Civil War, the Gifford daughters, diehard republicans though they were, tried to settle down with the new Irish Free State. One of the state’s first hurdles to be vaulted was the Army Mutiny of 1924, dealt with decisively by W. T. Cosgrave. Unfortunately, in 1925, he accepted the iniquitous Boundary Commission Report, which spawned eighty years of strife in Northern Ireland. The following year, de Valera formed a new political party, Fianna Fáil, which was republican and firmly anti-boundary. When he entered the Dáil in 1927, de Valera took the Oath of Allegiance to Britain as ‘an empty formula’, only so as to have the presence and power to abolish it. Significantly, in 1929, the first Prime Minister of Northern Ireland, Lord Craigavon, dropped proportional representation in Northern Ireland – an electoral system that would have helped the nationalists there. In 1930, Ireland became a member of the League of Nations Council, and in 1931 it was given equal status with the other countries in the Commonwealth under the Statute of Westminster. A year later, de Valera was appointed prime minister, when Fianna Fáil swept to power in the General Election. Immediately he commenced dismantling the Treaty of 1921. In retaliation, Britain imposed sanctions against trade; de Valera responded, and so began the Economic War. The Governor General’s powers were significantly curtailed by Dáil Éireann and in 1937 the powers of this office were completely abolished. In 1932 de Valera was elected President of the League of Nations and at his inaugural meeting made a historic app
eal for peace. Also that year the 31st International Eucharistic Congress was held in Dublin. Not often was so much accomplished in such a short time. The infant state would have more teething troubles and growing pains, but it was definitely on its way.

  Some of its begetters did not live to see those times – not only those who had died in the insurrection and the Civil War but also those whose span of life had ended naturally. Many mourned the death of Countess Markievicz, including the Giffords. Her funeral, in 1927, was very large, and most of the mourners were not dignitaries but the poor of Dublin, whose poverty and wretchedness she had highlighted. They had always had a problem pronouncing her name, but got round that obstacle by calling her ‘Madam’ or, more often, ‘Madam Dear’. They followed her hearse in their shabby clothes; she was one of themselves in so far as she had died in a public ward in Sir Patrick Dun’s hospital. Nellie’s daughter Maeve recalled how, after Dr Kathleen Lynn had founded St Ultan’s Children’s Hospital, at Christmas the Countess would bring Maeve and the Coughlan children, in whose home she was staying, to visit Woolworths.[1]Their task was to choose presents that would be suitable for the boys and girls at the hospital. Armed with the choices of her marketing advisers, ‘Madam’, at this stage by no means flush with money, made her purchases for the children at St Ultan’s.

  It was not until the advent of the Eucharistic Congress and its coinciding with the third (and last) resurrected Tailteann Games that Nellie made her last important contribution to the Irish Free State. She had written, as far back as the mid-1920s, to Dudley Westropp, who was Keeper of the Art and Industrial Division at the National Museum, suggesting the desirability of collecting and preserving material relating to the Rising and the subsequent War of Independence.[2]He had agreed that it would be a good idea but nothing came of the suggestion. However, the influx of foreign visitors for both the Congress and the Games provided an international audience, and this acted as a spur to Nellie, especially after a casual meeting with an old comrade from Easter Week. They inevitably reminisced and talked of memorabilia they both had of that time. Nellie said what a pity it was that no effort had been made to conserve these mementos and, with a child’s simplicity, her daughter Maeve asked, ‘why don’t you do it?’[3]The seed was sown, and though it was very close to the Congress, Nellie could see that it was an ideal time to exhibit souvenirs of Ireland’s struggle for freedom.

  This middle-aged lady, without benefit of either car or bicycle, and with a small daughter to care for, set out, single-handedly, to start what became the impressive collection called ‘Pathway to Freedom’ in the National Museum, which is now an even more impressive collection in Collins Barracks, Dublin. She began by seeking an interview with Dudley Westropp, to whom she had written many years before.[4]He still liked the idea but this time Nellie realised she had to take the initiative and that she needed support, so she approached the 1916 Club. At a specially convened meeting a resolution was passed to set up a research committee to start an exhibition of the 1916–21 struggle for freedom. At the first meeting, on 21 April 1932, Nellie was appointed Honorary Secretary. She proudly set out the full title of the committee in her minute book:

  1916 Club

  Cumann Saighdíurí na h-Éireann

  Irish Republican Soldiers’ Federation

  10 Lower Abbey Street, Dublin.

  Historical Research Committee.[5]

  The Honorary Secretary did much of the work and never missed a meeting of the committee. Kate, much taken up by the Aonach Tailteann, attended once and sent an excuse a second time. ‘John’ attended once also, and, though Grace never attended, she publicly stated her belief in the importance of such a collection and willingly gave important items on loan.

  Nellie’s first approaches for accommodation were to Éamon de Valera and, through him, to Minister for Education Tomás Ó Deirg, whose department encompassed the museum. She had both their approvals, and when the Minister referred her to the museum officials she was cordially received. She baulked, however, at the suggestion of Dr Adolf Mahr, keeper of Irish Antiquities at the museum, that the proposed exhibition be housed in the basement, along with the uniforms of the Napoleonic era. A compromise was reached and Nellie was offered space for three large glass cases for her exhibits, above the basement. One was furnished by J. P. Cassidy, a tailor from Pearse Street; the other two were loaned by George Messias, another tailor, from Eden Quay. Nellie called to the premises of these two men. Maeve was with her and remembered Messias pointing to a bale of dark green material on the counter which had been ordered to kilt patriotically the members of the Dáil. It had never been used.

  A letter Nellie wrote to The Irish Press seeking exhibits was published and received a generous response.[6]She also wrote letters to known contacts and received no rebuffs. They had discussed at committee meetings the necessity of authenticity, but her knowledge of the period, and of many of the donors, stood her in good stead.

  The museum authorities laid down ground rules: they would not finance the exhibition in any way, nor should their staff be asked to help in its presentation. Nellie willingly agreed to all conditions. She had her venue and her glass cases, and the exhibits started to pour in. They included precious republican pamphlets and books long out of print, the green jacket Countess Markievicz had worn in the Royal College of Surgeons and the watch (donated by Nellie herself) which was used to time the dispatches there. There was a revolver used by the same man in both the Fenian Rising of 1867 and during Easter Week, as well as a Carson rifle inscribed ‘For God and Ulster’, Thomas MacDonagh’s MA gown and his kilt and brat, Pearse’s barrister’s wig and gown, Joseph Plunkett’s crucifix, and the much-reported bracelet Grace had given him before he went into battle. In addition, there were anti-conscription ribbons, a Citizen Army uniform, the flag flown from the Four Courts, a Howth rifle and baton, and beautifully crafted objects from Frongoch. Nellie also selected material from Henry Sinclair, a jeweller from Nassau Street.[7] All 250 items received were authenticated and an official receipt supplied. It was a labour of love, not only for Nellie but for all those who lent their precious relics.

  Everything was businesslike: duplicates of the descriptive receipts would act as indicators for any future exhibition as to from where and from whom the exhibits had come; labels were meticulously typed by Nellie in an eleventh-hour rush to beat the opening of the doors of the exhibition. It was worth it all: the visitors came, they saw, and they were conquered. One notable reaction was that of the foreign reporters who, having done this visual crash course in modern Irish history, were astonished to find that members of the professions in Ireland had been leaders and martyrs for Irish freedom.

  Eulogies were the order of the day, and the role played by Mrs Eileen Gifford-Donnelly was enthusiastically acknowledged.[8]In a letter to The Irish Press, Mrs Kathleen Clarke questioned her in naming Pearse First President of the Republic.[9]This had been an understandable mistake made as far back as 1917, but it was true that Thomas Clarke, though not to the fore in the GPO, had been so elected. However, that aside, Mrs Clarke said, ‘Mrs Donnelly deserves great credit for doing a work which will be of immense value to those who come after us.’ She went on to envisage a greater collection should the museum authorities guarantee the safety of the exhibits. An enhanced exhibition, she added, would be ‘a monument to one woman’s energy and perseverance’.

  Mr Gogan, of the museum, added his own appreciation in writing to Nellie:

  The remarkable success of your exhibition seems to me to be wholly due to the capacity and enthusiasm you brought to the task and I would regret very much indeed if your efforts and those of your Committee are thrown away. As I think I told you several times, the 1916 collection has, to my own observation, attracted an extraordinary amount of public attention and I have seen the material it contained studied with avidity by people of all ages and especially by the young.[10]

  The Irish-American press also took notice, and John Devoy’s paper, The Gaelic Am
erican, gave an enthusiastic report and concluded with the almost inevitable hope that a permanent exhibition would result.[11] Admittedly, Devoy might have been less enthusiastic had he known the exhibition contained the letter Arthur Griffith had smuggled to him, introducing Nellie, which Devoy treated casually and disinterestedly, never using it and handing it back to her as ‘a souvenir’.

  Having heard of the exhibition, Madge Daly wrote to Nellie from Tivoli, Limerick.[12]They had in common that Edward Daly (Madge’s brother) and Joseph Plunkett (Nellie’s brother-in-law) had both been shot in the early hours of 4 May 1916 in Kilmainham Gaol. This is only one example of the close ties Nellie had with exhibitors. Another shared interest was that Madge disclosed that she had a receipt for the £100 received by Liam Mellows after the surrender to enable him to escape, Nellie having helped to dye his hair. Madge offered many important articles, but there was a stipulation attached to their being given: she envisaged a permanent exhibition and wanted her items kept separately from others.

  Another letter, from Bridie Clifford of Kilcoman, Killarney, reflected the heart-warming evocativeness of the undertaking:

  I know how hard you worked in the museum trying to make the 1916 event such a success. I have heard several people talk of it since the Congress; they were all so glad to see their memory live once more … Kindly thanking you for your very great attention to our beloved martyrs.[13]

  Bridie Clifford also promised a picture of her brother, one of Kerry’s Volunteers, in the event of a permanent exhibition. Not all the items offered were confined to the twentieth century. A late offer came from the Secretary of the Pharmaceutical Society of Ireland which jolted memories for Nellie of the yellow handkerchief she had received from Bridget Hamill; it was a cannonball, fired at the battle of Clones by Bridget’s hero, Owen Roe O’Neill, three centuries before.