Fighting women of 1916.

**The Women of Easter Week

Cumann Na mBan in Stephen’s Green and the College of Surgeons**

**Written by Nora (Gillies) O’Daly

Contributed by Anthony J. Roche. ajroche@iol.ie**

Now when so many have set the good example of publishing, in one form or another, their experiences and sensations during that memorable Easter of 1916 and the events prior to that date perhaps I may be forgiven for seeking in the storehouse of my memory, humble and unheroic though my own part was during those thrilling times, to bring to light, ere the recollections become too dim and faded, incidents which may be of interest to others as having connection with that time, which we now look back upon with a smile that is very nearly akin to tears.

Many marvellously self-sacrificing souls took their place gladly by Ireland in her brief struggle, but of all these noble men and women the memory of the heroic figures of Tom Clarke and Sean McDermott stir my heart more poignantly than any. May God be good to them

Sean McDermott never faltered in his striving for freedom, in spite of continual ill health, both these men’s personality was such as to call forth unswerving allegiance and brought out the best in everybody. ****

Early Training

In 1915 a Branch of Cumann na mBan was started in Fairview, at the inaugural meeting of which I was present. Some ladies of the Executive were there, a committee was formed and our little Cumann began its good work. Our principal study was First Aid. We also did a course in rifle cleaning and sighting, drill and various other things which might prove useful in assisting the men of Battn. 2 to which our Cumann was “attached”. Miss Molly Reynolds was our Commandant and Secretary, and we worked hard, attending no matter what the weather and often sitting at Committee meetings when our feet were wet and frozen after plunging through the floods which often inundated Father Matthew Park, where we held our meetings. Comdt. Frank Henderson was in charge of “F” Coy., Battn. 2 during this time, and I was struck by his good nature and cheerfulness. Nothing ever seemed to put him out and he listened to all requests and complaints with his ever ready smile and always did his best to make matters right for everybody.

Seven months of training in Cumann na mBan in brought us right up against the events of Easter Week. On Easter Saturday three girls and myself were detailed off to watch the Magazine Fort in the Park, bringing in all information as to the number on guard change of guard, visits by officers how and when they were made &c., and I believe we accomplished our mission satisfactorily.

Two of us went up and lounged about the place for some hours chatting with the soldiers on guard, thereby gleaning all the information required. In the course of conversation one of the soldiers remarked that “it is only a matter of form guarding this place, as nothing will ever happen here”. We felt very satisfied with what we had learned and strolled of shortly after the other two girls appeared on the scene, without exchanging any sign of recognition with them. ****

Easter Monday Morning

Easter Saturday was spent in completing all preparations for turning out first thing on Sunday morning. What then was our dismay and consternation when we saw the countermanding order the Sunday papers contained. We came to the conclusion that it was probably a hoax, designed for the purpose of causing confusion in the ranks and resolved to act as if it were a fact. I went to Father Matthew Park and there learned that the news was all too heartbreakingly true.

Comdt. Tom Hunter O/C Battn. 2 was at the Park and upon hearing my declaration that I refused to go home without orders from ” our own Commandant” turned around and said “but I am your Commandant; I am in charge of Battn 2” I hadn’t the heart to tell him that I was very well aware of the fact, but that it was Commandant Molly Reynolds that I referred to.

After some further conversation I saw the uselessness of waiting around Father Matthew Park, and upon being assured that it was only a postponement I returned to our own house “Clunny” which was at the time a regular arsenal of bombs which had been made on the premises, dynamite, gelignite, rifles, bayonets, ammunition and what not.

A car ought to have called to the house to collect all these munitions of war, but the cancellation order upset these arrangements and the owner of the car had gone off in it to have a nice holiday in the country.

As I was finishing a tardy breakfast on Easter Monday morning two girls came to me with the long-looked-for Mobilisation Order, instructing me to call for two more of our members on route. Miss Bridget Murtagh and Miss May Moore. We were to report to the South side of Stephen’s Green without delay.

This order was duly carried out. A Pillar-bound tram was boarded, and when we arrived in O’Connell Street the G.P.O. had already been taken and we could hear the cheers of the newly arrived garrison. Feeling that matters were going ahead rapidly we boarded another car and found ourselves speedily at our post, but to our surprise and disappointment there was no sign of Battn. 2., which we fondly believed were to join us at this point. The Green was already in possession of a small number of the Citizen Army led by Comdt. Malin and Countess Markievicz. ****

In Stephen’s Green

After lingering around for some time in the hope of coming in touch with our contingent we entered the green and were met by Mme. Markievicz who said if we cared to “throw in our lot with theirs” we would be welcome, as they were rather short of First Aid. This we eventually did, as no other course seemed open to us, and after all we were fighting for the same cause.

I admit that I for one was disappointed in having to make that decision. Here all were strangers (Mme. Markievicz, of course, I had some acquaintance with) and somehow one cannot feel the same confidence in people previously unknown.

The Green, even to a mind untrained in military matters, looked a regular death-trap, and although I was quite to die to help to free Ireland, I saw no reason in doing so if I could help it before I had accomplished the purpose which had brought me hither, namely, to render all the assistance possible to the wounded and to save life wherever possible.

The idea of bloodshed had always been repugnant to me, although the sight of blood has no effect whatever on my nerves, but I considered England’s domination of this country immoral, built on a system of tyranny, favouritism, lying and fraud. In short I believed Ireland belonged to the Irish people, and was willing to go to any lengths in securing our separation, and set about my task with sublime self confidence and belief in my own capabilities – no wonder one smiles on looking back.

We were admitted to the Green by as well as I can recollect, a Capt. Poole, who upon learning our mission directed us to the little summer-house near the centre of the Green. Then we met for the first time with Miss Ffrench–Mullen, and I remember very distinctly how all my doubts and anxieties were dissipated in a moment when I caught sight of this plucky lady. I thought I had never seen a face so calculated to inspire confidence and trust. Honesty, bravery and a quiet confidence were plainly perceptible in her glance and expression. She welcomed us with joy and relief, and repeated the fact that they were rather short of First Aid assistance. We had our haversacks with us in which were a supply of iodine, bandages and such like indispensable articles.

All the time shots were ringing out from the various points in the city and we were told that the Shelbourne Hotel was occupied by British officers, who were using it as a position for sniping into the Green. Trenches were being dug inside the gate and reinforcements kept arriving in small numbers. We were told by someone that the party that took over the Green numbered 30.

A young lady that was accompanied by a British Flying officer was strolling through the Green and sat on a seat to watch proceedings at their leisure. The girl was told to go home, and her escort that to consider himself under arrest, but the fair maiden replied that they would wait until the manoeuvres were over, that it would not disturb them in the least and it was some time before we could persuade them that matters were serious.

During the course of the evening some prisoners were brought in. One a big military man, who was accompanied by some ladies, looked very aggrieved and when the order to search him was given his face was a study, his reason for the emotion was explained when an enormous wad of bank notes was pulled from his pocket, and his bewilderment was complete when they were immediately returned intact. This officer declared that he was a military doctor (which I doubted after he had expressed his opinion on a man whose arm was in a sling and being contradicted on all points said, “well this man is in pain anyway and should be in hospital”). He was released along with his companions owing to the lack of accommodation and effective guard, and very shortly after his exit from the scene the enemy got our range.

Other prisoners were Mr. L. Kettle and Mr. Ashmore, the latter a British Army Red Cross man, who acted very decently throughout. We had our first casualty that night a young chap named O’Brien having been shot in the neck, where the bullet apparently had lodged. He appeared to be suffering greatly and sinking fast. Our difficulty was that if we lit a lamp to examine our patient we would in all probability draw the enemy fire, so we decided to take him into the potting shed where we managed to attend to him, although we were very cramped for room. Having overcome the immediate danger he was removed to hospital to have the bullet extracted. Some civilians volunteered to carry the stretcher to and stepped forward for their burden saying “God bless the work”. How wonderfully encouraging that short phrase was.

Monday night passed by some lying on the seats of the summer-house, the rest of us lay on the cold ground and strange to say a toothache I had suffered from for over a year left me that night never to return. I do not know to this day if I slept, but I remember laughing, in spite of myself at a girl named Bridie Goff, who kept making the most comical remarks anent the snipers who were disturbing her sleep.

On Tuesday morning came the order to evacuate the Green and get into the College of Surgeons. Women and girls were told to go first in batches of twos and threes and to get over the intervening ground as rapidly as possible. Bullets were flying everywhere and sending the gravel up in showers off the path. We managed to get to the College in safety however, and were amazed to find people out sightseeing, some of whom remarked, “Look at them running with no hats on them.” Could this happen anywhere but in Dublin?

Arrived in the College we found it in the hands of a small part of the Citizen Army, who were holding it for us. Windows were barricaded and everything possible was done to make the place impregnable. I found my hands full in fitting up a suitable First Aid Department, as I had been put in charge of this section. We had some very serious cases, my first patient (Doherty) having received fifteen wounds. The large blind upon which lantern slides were shown (to illustrate lectures in the College) was drawn down and that end of the lecture room was sectioned off for Red Cross work only, no one but First Aid assistants being allowed past the barrier. These consisted of Miss Rosie Hackett, Miss. B. Murtagh, and myself; later on a Mr. Owen Carton rendered valuable assistance, and still later in the week we were joined by another Cumann na mBan helper, who had been until then engaged elsewhere. ****

Casualties

On Wednesday evening, we had a visit from a doctor, who when he learned that I had not been known to sleep since I entered the Green insisted on injecting something (I believe opium) into my arm. After a wordy battle I submitted and slept in peace (such peace!) until about four in the morning when I was called to attend on Miss M Skinnider who was very badly wounded. This girl showed wonderful bravery during the whole week and bore her frightful wounds with the greatest fortitude.

I had a rather narrow escape during the week, I cannot remember which day, a shot-gun being accidentally fired and the charge passing quite close to me. I did not realise how “near to it” I was until my attention was drawn by a boy named Keogh (Christian name forgotten). He had a very bad wound in the wrist himself, and had got eight stitches in his wrist without an anaesthetic and he stood it like a hero.

Another man named Murray was very badly wounded, a missile having entered under the eye. He also bore his sufferings without a murmur. He was removed to hospital after receiving First Aid, but died there three weeks later. There were many minor cases. Mr. Partridge had received a wound on the top of his head which I dressed and bandaged. He told me the next day that since the bandage was put on, he was free from a headache, which he had suffered from for years. I remember seeing in some newspaper report afterwards that he had a bandage but no wound. Such is British propaganda! ****

Contradictory reports

We received all sorts of contradictory reports during the week. On Wednesday we were all conquering according to these which led to my making a disappointing mistake. After the report had come in Miss Ffrench-Mullen came into the room I was in and said “anyone who wants to go home can do so now.” Imagine my delight! The construction I put on this was that all Dublin was ours, and we were free to visit our homes and return to our posts without let or hindrance. I thought Miss Ffrench-Mullen looked surprised when I declared my intention of availing myself of this permission and on asking was there no doubt our being able to return to the College was told that I would have to “take my chance of getting back.” That, of course settled it. It wasn’t a glorious opportunity of visiting anxious relatives; it was only the last chance for those who had had enough and wanted to get away, so I did not go. ****

A Teetotal Garrison

One day was so much the same as another in the College that it would be hard to describe the events of the week progressively. Food was never plentiful but from being very scant in the early days (when I saw men coming in off guard being regaled with two cream crackers each before lying down to rest) it became less strictly rationed, as the citizens in the adjacent streets became aware of our necessity and eagerly volunteered to fetch the required foodstuffs. I had charge of the alcohol, which consisted of a couple of bottles which remained untouched, although opened, on the first aid table in case of immediate medical necessity.

There was no a grumble to be heard from any of the men, either those who were wounded or those who had luckily escaped the bullets. Mrs. Sheehy-Skeffington visited us during the week , but did not stay long. I have very kind remembrance of little Rosie Hackett of the Citizen Army, always cheerful and always willing; to see her face about the place was a tonic in itself. ****

News of Surrender

On Sunday to us came the news of the surrender which had already taken place the previous days at some other posts. There were many who would have preferred the alternative of the enemies bullet, but obedience is one of the first essentials of a good soldier and they obeyed, bitter and hard though it was. We were marched out into York Street, men first, women following. I carried the Red Cross flag, as some extraordinary stories were afloat to account for the presence of women amongst the garrison. We proceeded to Ship Street Barracks. A soldier who was behind me kept creeping up close to hiss in my ear what he believed and hoped would be our ultimate (and sanguinary) fate, although he was several times ordered to “keep four paces to the rear”. A crowd ran behind us but at Grafton Street a cordon of soldiers kept them back and we went forward accompanied only by our guards.

On the way soldiers going the opposite direction frequently shouted. “Wot you goin’ to do with this lot?” and the rejoinder was invariably “Ow, goin’ to biyenet ‘em like the rest” This put into my mind the story I was told of a certain Sergeant in the British Army who always used to say as a preliminary to bayonet drill “Nar, wen I ses ‘fix’ down’t fix – but when I ses ‘biyenets’ wipp ‘em out and wopp ‘em on.” There was a good many around on that march who would have gladly have wipped‘em out and wopp ‘em on.” If they had been allowed to practice on us. ****

Bloodthirsty British soldiers

We made a short stay in ship Street, and continued our journey in the direction of Richmond Barracks. As we were passing in through the gateway of the latter a special messenger dashed up on a bicycle and gasping something about ‘orders’ snatched the Red Cross flag out of my hand. Why, I wonder? Was the community not to be aware that we had been assisting the wounded? However, his trouble was in vain. I had carried the flag through the whole city.

At Richmond Barracks we were given tea and biscuits and put on parole not to try to escape, so that a guard need not be stationed inside the room. A soldier (a sergeant, I think) was placed outside for our own protection, and this was perfectly justified, as I could judge from a conversation which I subsequently heard carried on on the landing. The officer who took charge of us here acted in the decentest manner possible, but we were not long to remain under his supervision, as the order was given to lodge us in Kilmainham Jail and hither we were finally marched, arriving after dusk and being received by the light of candles, which only served to intensify the gloom and did not prevent soldiers getting as close as possible to tell us as many blood-curling stories as they had time to repeat.

Finally our quarters were allotted, one cell to each four prisoners, and one blanket and one ‘biscuit’ each doled out to us. Our cell doors were banged and we were left to make the best we could of the means at our disposal. ****

In Kilmainham Prison

Strange to say, with the shifting about from one barracks to another, that ceremony was so familiar, namely, searching, had been completely omitted. Madame was smoking a cigarette when we were brought to an upper landing, and was rudely ordered by the ‘Civilian Governor ‘ to “put out that fag” and very promptly took no notice, whereupon he violently struck it out of her hand. Her self-control was wonderful; she completely ignored him; he might as well not have existed, and after that he did not, as far as we were concerned, for the next day the military took over complete charge.

Our food was brought to us by military deserters in charge of a sergeant. These men were not allowed to place even one foot inside the cell, but used to put the ‘tinnies’, as they called them on the floor and shoot them the cell. They took every occasion they could to inquire if we had any ‘fags’ and although these were never forthcoming the requests did not cease. Sometimes they asked what were we ‘in’ for, and gave us gratuitous information about their own sentences and the sergeant’s character, which latter was portrayed by drawing a finger across the windpipe.

We were waked at 7 a.m. by a bang on the door; for breakfast at 9,30 a.m., we got cocoa without either milk or sugar, and for the first few days, prison biscuits and after that about one-eight of a loaf of bread dry. Dinner at noon consisted of stew and bread or potatoes, but we were not allowed knife, fork or spoons so we had to keep some of the biscuits for the purpose of taking up the meat, etc., and as they were not suitable for anything else, except perhaps doorsteps, they stood the wear and tear admirably. Efforts to break these ‘biscuits’ proved fruitless. Our only other meal was ‘skilly’ at 5 p.m. ****

The Executions

We were all called by numbers (mine was 202) and had to make “statements” as to why we were with these “fright-full rebels”. My only care in making these statements was to incriminate no one else, in which I was successful.

We were not allowed to indulge in Irish dancing at ‘exercise hour’ on penalty of being kept in our cell.

Thus passed a week. On Sunday we were allowed to hear Mass in the jail Chapel in the gallery. That morning Eamonn Ceannt received Holy Communion and the girls who were in the front seats told me that he did so with his hands fastened behind his back.

On Monday as we were preparing to retire for the night our cell doors were flung open and we were ordered into one of the central halls, where we were lined up, 60 of us (all women and girls) and those whose names were called out were to step across to the other side of the hall as they were for release.

I was among those thus named, only five or six being kept back. Amongst those were Dr. Kathleen Lynn, Miss Ffrench-Mullen, Madame Markievicz, and as far as I remember, Countess Plunkett, the latter having being arrested during the week.

It was on the Monday we learned for the first time, with a heavy heart, of the executions which had taken place and the news sent my mind back to an occurrence during our detention and which had remained unexplained up to now. One morning we were awakened at the first grey of the dawn by a shot which appeared to be within the building. This was followed by the ringing of a few hasty steps and a hurried explanation of which I caught the following fragments, “all right, this man” referring to the sentry on our landing, “thought something was wrong, rang alarm bell” and the commotion died away. After that these shots in the grey dawn were the rule rather than the exception, I wonder am I wrong in connecting them with the executions.

In recalling the events set forth I have realised to my regret, my lack of military knowledge, and that I might have produced a more interesting article had I but committed to paper my recollections whilst they were still fresh in my mind.

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