NELLIE FOUND DUBLIN a changed place, with poverty-stricken men and women roaming the docks and factories looking for work that would help to feed and keep their families.
William Martin Murphy and most of the city’s employers, determined to break the union, had come together to form a Federation of Employers that agreed to ‘lock out from working’ any of their employees who joined the transport union. Guinness’s Brewery, Jacob’s Biscuit Factory and Eason’s, Dublin’s large newsagent and bookseller, closed their doors firmly against their own workers unless they totally renounced membership of Larkin’s union. Nellie considered it disgraceful, shameful behaviour by privileged, powerful men and their companies against the weak, vulnerable and poor. They were all using temporary scab labour, protected by the police, to break the strike, as their workforce stood firm and refused to back down.
In only a few short weeks ‘the Lockout’ had had a profound effect on Dublin as fear, hunger and poverty gripped the strikers and their families. Nellie volunteered immediately to help in the union headquarters, Liberty Hall, working alongside Countess Markievicz in the soup kitchens that had been set up by James Connolly and Larkin’s sister Delia to feed those who were destitute and ‘locked out’ from work.
‘Thank you, dear girl, for joining us,’ Countess Markievicz welcomed her, attired in a long apron as she helped to mix up a stew of meat, vegetables and potatoes in an enormous cauldron for the strikers and their families. ‘I was sorry to hear from John about the loss of your position,’ she sympathized. The countess was in charge of the Women and Children’s Relief Fund and Nellie had heard rumours that she was covering some of the costs of the soup kitchen from her own allowance from the Gore-Booth family estate in Sligo and by selling some of her valuable collection of jewellery. She was full of her usual energy and enthusiasm, her hair pinned up, smoking one cigarette after another as she organized food for those that needed it.
Nellie set a young woman named Rosie Hackett and the girls locked out of Jacob’s and other factories to cutting up ingredients in the union’s kitchen. The crowds that attended seemed to grow day by day as people became even more desperate. All their meagre possessions – chairs, tables, blankets, bedding, clothes and what little else they had – they had pawned or sold to raise some cash, but now that too was gone.
Every day in Liberty Hall Nellie saw gaunt, worn-out women trying not to eat in order to pass on their own food to their husbands and children.
‘What can we do?’ she fretted. ‘I saw Annie Lynch almost fainting with hunger, passing her bowl of stew to her three sons.’
‘We must have a separate area for mothers to sit and eat on their own to ensure that they receive adequate nourishment,’ insisted Countess Markievicz.
Jim Larkin was in prison, but James Connolly, a committed socialist born to Irish parents in Scotland, was equally devoted to the cause of workers’ rights and had assumed Larkin’s mantle, determined to help the twenty-five thousand striking workers and their desperate situation.
‘A fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work is all the workers want,’ Connolly complained angrily.
But the employers continued to harden their hearts to their demands, determined to break the men, women and their union.
Following an appeal by the Irish transport union, their comrades in the British trade unions sent much-needed funds; they also generously sent ships over from Liverpool with food parcels to aid the strikers. It was a sight to see, the crowds gathered all along the quays in Dublin, cheering as the ships docked and they were each issued with a docket to receive a food parcel, everyone bolstered by the fact that their fellow workers on the other side of the Irish Sea were demonstrating support for their stance.
As autumn turned to winter, conditions for the strikers and their families worsened. Ragged children ran barefoot in the streets searching for food scraps or lumps of coal for the fire; for in the tenements and slums there was no fuel to warm them, no food to feed them and very little clothing to keep out the chill of winter days.
The union had plans to bring the children of strikers to stay with the families of English union workers for a holiday, but the Catholic Church had come out forcefully against the scheme. The opposition came from bishops and priests fearful of Protestant influence, so the children were prevented from boarding trains to the Dublin docks and the ships that could take them to England.
Thomas MacDonagh offered to do an interview with James Connolly for the Irish Review, the editorship of which had been taken over by Joe Plunkett. They wanted Connolly to give the workers’ side of the story and his thoughts on how they could break the deadlock.
Tom Kettle, a professor friend of MacDonagh’s, set up the Industrial Peace Committee, calling for a truce between the two sides. MacDonagh and Joe Plunkett joined him in his efforts to make peace. But Jim Larkin and William Martin Murphy were two stubborn, strong leaders and despite their best efforts, MacDonagh told Nellie, it was impossible to reach any kind of agreement.
At rallies and protests strikers and police clashed, and James Connolly suggested that the union set up an army of its own made up of the striking workers – a citizen’s army, formed to provide self-defence. Captain Jack White, who had served in the British army, offered to train the men in the grounds of Croydon Park, which was used by the union as a recreation centre. Even though they were armed only with hurling sticks and bats, training and drilling kept the men active and gave them something to do.
Liberty Hall was open every day, thronged with the needy, and Nellie worked tirelessly alongside the countess and Hanna Sheehy-Skeffington, Larkin’s sister Delia, Rosie Hackett and the other girls from Jacob’s to help as many people as they could. Here she did not have to hide her feelings or pretend to be something she wasn’t. Here she could put her training and experience to good use.
Grace frequently came to Liberty Hall to help too, but poor Muriel was unwell again and had been admitted to a nursing home, while John had been laid low with some awful kind of eye infection which left her hardly able to read a book or write.
‘Oh do tell me what happened today,’ John would beg when Nellie arrived home, exhausted. Her sister was bored and desperate for news, wishing that she was well enough to work alongside them.
‘A young woman went into labour today in the queue and we worried that the baby would be born in Liberty Hall,’ Nellie told her. ‘Fortunately, one of the women is a midwife and they managed to bring her to a nearby flat where she delivered a healthy baby boy – but what terrible times for a baby to be born into.’
‘How different your day was to mine,’ John sighed enviously. ‘My eyes are too sore to even read a few words and Mother had one of her afternoons and insisted that I join them. All they do is gossip and complain about the Lockout. Not the same service in the shops and hotels. Impossible to get proper workmen or seamstresses. Do you know that they actually blame the workers?’
‘I’m presuming you tried to enlighten them?’ teased Nellie.
‘Mother would have killed me. That awful friend of hers that lives in Dartry was saying what a wonderful man William Martin Murphy is; apparently they are neighbours. The worst thing was, they were all agreeing with her, including Mother. Can you believe it, Nellie?’
‘Unfortunately Mother and her friends do not take well to change – any change.’
‘Then Dorothy actually asked me if I had a beau in front of them all. She said a young woman my age should be giving consideration to marriage.’
Nellie burst out laughing.
‘It was terrible. I excused myself and said that it was time to bathe my eyes and put in my eye drops.’
‘Mother’s friends are always the same when they see either Grace or me.’
‘Honestly, sometimes I think of going away to America like Ada and leaving all this nonsense behind.’
‘Well, at least wait until your eyes feel better,’ Nellie cautioned.
‘Why are you always so sensible!’ John declared, giving her a hug.
Nellie also visited Muriel as often as she could in the nursing home on Baggot Street, calling in quickly on her way home from Liberty Hall. Her sister hated being unwell and separated from her little boy and her husband. In November she was moved to a convalescent home near the sea in Sandycove. When the weather permitted, Nellie would cycle out to visit her.
‘You are looking much better,’ she said encouragingly, relieved to see that the pale, gaunt look had given way to a healthier colour now that Muriel had more energy and a better appetite.
The two of them strolled arm in arm along the seafront by the beach and rocks, breathing in the iodine-scented sea air. They stopped to watch two seals.
‘They remind me of the stories of the selkies that Bridget used to tell us when we were young,’ said Muriel.
‘She was always a great woman for the stories.’
‘I must show them to MacDonagh when he comes to see me on Sunday. Hopefully the day will be dry and we can take a stroll together.’
‘He misses you terribly, you know,’ Nellie said gently. ‘It must be hard for him managing with the baby and work and everything.’
‘Thank heaven he’s found a lovely woman, Mrs Kelly, to mind Don while he is at the university. It is just that he is always so busy with the Review and his writing, and now he tells me he has joined up with Eoin MacNeill in the Irish Volunteers, a new group committed to Home Rule.’
‘Everyone is talking about the huge meeting they held in the Rotunda – apparently thousands of men turned up and enrolled. They could hardly fit them all in the building.’
‘MacDonagh had flu so he missed the meeting, but Eoin and his friends were all delighted by the response, with so many men from the Gaelic Athletic Association and all kinds of places and groups joining. The Irish Volunteers intend setting up more branches in different parts of the country. You know MacDonagh – he is already elected on to the committee.’
‘He’s always a great man for organizing and doing things,’ Nellie agreed.
‘He’s excited, as this new Volunteer force will help protect Home Rule and ensure that it’s implemented fairly with a proper Irish parliament here in Dublin, which he believes will be the first step towards Irish freedom. Edward Carson and his mob of Ulster Volunteers may be sworn to do all in their power to prevent it, but now they will have the Irish Volunteers to contend with.’
‘Will the Volunteers train and drill like the Citizen Army?’
‘I expect so.’ Muriel shrugged. ‘I just wish that I was able to be of more help to him instead of being such a burden with my illness.’
‘Well you are getting better now,’ Nellie consoled her, ‘and soon you will be home again.’
‘I feel my strength and energy returning and hopefully I might be home with MacDonagh and the baby in another week or so. Did I tell you that Mother has invited us for Christmas dinner?’
‘Well there is something for us all to look forward to.’ Nellie smiled as she said goodbye to her sister and set off to cycle back to Rathmines.