NELLIE RETURNED TO work in Athboy in County Meath the next week, lodging with a poor family who eked out an existence selling eggs; she felt glad that her rent payment would provide some income to them. She was still haunted by the sight of the charging police using their batons on unarmed civilians. So much blood and terror. The situation in Dublin was worsening, from what she could gather, as more workers decided to join the strike and the employers became even more entrenched in their opposition to the workers’ union.
Nellie was called to a meeting with her supervisor. As she dressed in her green tweed suit and white blouse she wondered why she had been summoned. Perhaps he wanted her report on the new stove: it was proving much easier to use for her demonstration lessons than the previous model, which had been more cumbersome to move by cart from place to place and most definitely suffered temperature problems.
‘Miss Gifford, please sit down,’ gestured her supervisor, Mr Hughes.
‘You will be glad to hear that my new stove is working perfectly,’ Nellie smiled. ‘It is proving an excellent model.’
‘That is good to hear,’ he said, making a note in his book. ‘However, I’m afraid that is not the issue I wanted to discuss with you.’
Of late her employers had complained that she was too familiar with the families with whom she lodged and she had been reprimanded for attending a local wake; it was considered inappropriate, given her position. They constantly reminded her that she must keep a professional distance from those she was instructing.
‘I’m afraid, Miss Gifford, the issue of providing free items of food to those that attend your demonstrations and classes must be raised again,’ Mr Hughes said peevishly.
‘It is only tasting samples and leftovers,’ Nellie defended herself stoutly. ‘Where am I to store this food, Mr Hughes? No family would thank me for storing it in my room and encouraging rodents. It’s far better to distribute food remainders to those who have attended the class demonstration.’
‘But you are aware of our concerns over costs in this regard?’
‘Of course, and I will endeavour to reduce the ingredients I use.’ She hoped the offer would satisfy them. Petty rules and regulations – how she hated them. At least her superiors could not reproach her about her work, for her classes and demonstrations were well organized and attended, and there were certainly no complaints from any of her students.
‘Miss Gifford, there is another matter I need to raise with you. A member of the DMP contacted us to verify your employment with us,’ Mr Hughes continued ominously, tapping his fingers on the mahogany desk. ‘They said that you were considered a person of interest by the police in relation to the recent incident with James Larkin, the union leader in Dublin.’
Nellie’s stomach turned over. She certainly had not expected this. Most of the newspapers had carried the story of Larkin’s entry into the hotel and his arrest but had been unable to identify the young woman involved, some claiming it was an actress of his acquaintance from Liverpool, others suggesting Helena Molony.
‘Were you questioned about the said incident, Miss Gifford?’
‘Yes, I was interviewed, as were many other hotel guests,’ she admitted, trying to make light of it. ‘I happened to be having lunch in the Imperial Hotel at the time and was questioned by the DMP. I assure you that I was released without any charge.’
‘Do you know this Mr Larkin and approve of his trade union?’
‘I approve of the union’s stance,’ she said resolutely. ‘But I fail to see what this has to do with my work.’
‘It is just another concern,’ he responded pompously.
Nellie sighed as the meeting finished and she took her leave.
A week later, much to her dismay, she received an official letter to say that her services as a rural domestic instructress were no longer required. Packing her bags, she returned home to Dublin.