DUBLIN BASKED IN the dog days of late summer and Nellie took an early tram into Sackville Streetfn1. She needed to purchase a sturdy pair of walking shoes and a few aprons before returning to work in Meath next week. She would get off at the Nelson’s Pillar stop, as it left her closest to Tyler’s boot and shoe shop and MacInerney’s Drapery on Henry Street.
The tram had barely crossed over the bridge on to Sackville Street when, without warning, the crowded passenger vehicle came to a grinding halt in the middle of the street.
It must be some kind of mechanical failure, for Nellie could see the tram driver and conductor were standing outside on the street, agitated, talking. Then she realized that all the other trams around them on Sackville Street had also come to a halt, some in the middle of busy junctions. No doubt a fault with the electricity system. Was it safe, she wondered anxiously.
There was confusion among the passengers, but suddenly their conductor returned briefly to inform them of the situation.
‘We are on strike!’ he announced defiantly. ‘Mr Murphy and the Dublin United Tramways Company have forbidden us from joining the Irish Transport and General Workers’ Union and threaten us with dismissal if we do join. Mr Murphy has sacked forty men who worked for his newspaper for joining the union and now he wants to sack us too. We are all on strike until the matter is resolved.’
‘Young man, what about getting to the horse show in Ballsbridge?’ enquired a grey-haired man. ‘Will those trams run?’
‘There are no trams or transport in the city.’ The conductor shrugged. ‘If you want to get to the horse show you’se will have to walk or take a carriage.’
As she got off the tram Nellie felt only sympathy for the tram-workers, who were rumoured to be poorly paid and treated. She hoped that the tram company would deal fairly with their employees and resolve the dispute. Later, having completed her purchases, she was fortunate to find a horse-drawn cab to take her home.
By the next day the trams were running on schedule again, manned by new relief workers. The strikers were now protesting against the employment of scab workers by the tram company.
Dublin was in a strange state of unease as the tension between the tram company and other businesses and their workers throughout the city worsened. William Martin Murphy and the city’s other large employers were united in their hatred of Jim Larkin, the union leader, and his demands for improved pay and conditions.
‘Don’t go into town,’ warned Father. ‘The police are expecting trouble with all this union business. They’ve been ordered to keep the trams running for the Dublin Horse Show and there may well be fighting and disturbances.’
‘Nellie, do say you’ll come to the party in Surrey House this evening,’ cajoled John. ‘Count Markievicz has just returned from Poland today and the countess is having a big party to celebrate. Their parties are always splendid affairs.’
‘It will be fun with the three of us together,’ agreed Grace.
A party with her sisters would most definitely be fun and Nellie was delighted to show off the new cream silk dress she had just purchased in Arnotts. Grace urged her to wear her beaded headband too. John was in her usual blue satin, while Grace wore a striking layered chiffon dress that she had designed and made herself. She was obsessed with style and creating an individual look, and she pirouetted in front of the bedroom mirror for them.
‘You’ll turn heads tonight,’ Nellie teased.
‘Well, that is the intention!’
Satisfied, they set off for Surrey House, which was only a few minutes’ walk away on Leinster Road in Rathmines. The three-storey red-brick building was all lit up, its windows flung open on such a warm summer’s night, and the music playing inside could be heard from the road.
As they approached they noticed a group of Dublin Metropolitan Police officers standing outside the house, watching it and the comings and goings of guests.
‘Why are they here?’ Nellie asked.
‘The Castle hate Madame – they keep her under watch at times,’ whispered John. ‘They know she’s a supporter of Larkin and his union.’
Count and Countess Markievicz’s housekeeper, Mrs Delaney, opened the door to them. She was like a guard dog, protective of the countess, and for a moment Nellie was aware of her steely gaze raking over her; however, as John had become close friends with her mistress, she welcomed them warmly inside.
The party was in full swing, the house thronged with people, abuzz with noise and laughter. Countess Markievicz, dressed in a purple lace gown with some kind of feathers in her hair, immediately came to welcome them, telling them that Casimir, her husband, had just returned from Poland and the party was in his honour.
The house was full of books. They were everywhere – on tables, shelves and sideboards and stacked on the floor. The walls were covered with paintings, for the countess, like Grace, had studied at the Slade and was a very fine artist. A portrait of Constance Markievicz by her husband hung on one wall, while a human skull sat on a shelf close by it along with bronze busts of Robert Emmet, Wolfe Tone and Henry Grattan. Stage posters, programmes and scripts littered a circular table in the corner.
Grace and John introduced Nellie to lots of artists and theatre people – she was delighted to meet a few of her favourite actors.
Helena Molony was there and Nellie found herself chatting to her as her sisters, along with the countess, lit up their cigarettes and smoked. She had tried cigarettes herself a few times and found it vaguely pleasant but was not a huge fan of tobacco. Con Colbert, a friend of MacDonagh’s who taught in St Enda’s and helped train Countess Markievicz’s boys in the Fianna, came to join them and entertained them with a story of their recent camping trip up in the Dublin Mountains in July.
‘We camped in tents and the boys had lessons in scouting and orienteering, and even did a bit of fishing. The countess is a powerful shot and told the boys about how she grew up hunting all kinds of birds in her home in Lissadell in Sligo. She showed some of the older boys how to shoot.’ He laughed. ‘I swear I never saw anything like it, for the young fellas must have shot every poor blackbird, crow and thrush in the place.’
Countess Markievicz chatted easily to her guests, but often moved to the window where she would stand for a few minutes, smoking her cigarette as she watched the policemen grouped outside her home. Nellie also noticed that their hostess seemed rather distracted and kept disappearing off into another room. A burley young man seemed to be standing guard outside it, while drinks and plates of food were brought in and out of it by the housekeeper.
A handsome young man played the piano and there was singing and later some dancing, which everyone joined in. Grace was off talking with her coterie from the United Arts Club, in a heated discussion about Hugh Lane’s annoyance at the opposition to the audacious new art gallery, designed by Edwin Lutyens, which he proposed be built straddling both sides of the River Liffey. William Martin Murphy and many members of Dublin Corporation were objecting to the plans, as the city was expected to foot half the costs while Hugh Lane paid the other half.
‘Lady Gregory will support it and has raised some of the funds for the new venture, but a decision must be made,’ said the countess.
‘The city needs a proper new gallery that will garner attention,’ insisted Casimir. ‘Yeats says a refusal of Hugh Lane’s grand plans will discourage a whole generation of artists and leave Ireland considered a huckster nation.’
Most of the guests at the party agreed with him. Nellie said nothing. She liked the view up the River Liffey and did not think replacing the Halfpenny Bridge with an art gallery that blocked the view was the right thing to do. Surely it would be far better for Dublin Corporation to tear down some of the city’s appalling slum dwellings and instead invest in some decent housing for the poor instead of a gallery? But then she was no artist!
It was late when they finally said their goodbyes. As they thanked her for the party, Countess Markievicz expressed relief that only a solitary DMP man could be seen loitering near a tall hedge.
‘Perhaps his friends have finally gone home for the night. But I fear that they will be back in full force in the morning. John, promise me that you will all return here to the house to join us for breakfast in the morning,’ she urged anxiously as they hopped in a cab for the ride home. ‘I will explain the situation to you then, as I have a very special secret guest and may have need of my friends here …’
‘Of course we will come,’ John assured her as they took their leave, all curious as to what the next morning’s visit would bring.
fn1 Now O’Connell Street.