GRACE STOOD ON the busy quayside with her parents, waiting for her sister to board the boat to Liverpool. John’s luggage was stacked neatly to one side, ready for a porter to collect it. Grace still could not believe that her youngest sister was moving to New York. Admittedly John had often talked about going away to work, but Grace had always presumed that it was just idle chatter and that she did not really intend leaving Ireland. Then John, with great bravado, had shown them all her ticket for America.
‘I want to work in New York,’ she announced. ‘It’s such a big adventure, but I can stay with Ada until I can afford a place of my own.’
‘Why are you going away?’ Grace asked, puzzled, for John was a well-known journalist with plenty of work on papers and journals like Sinn Fein, the Irish Citizen and Irish Freedom.
‘Grace, I know that I am fortunate to write for popular papers, but do you know how many million people live in New York and the rest of America? How many papers and journals and magazines they have there?’
Grace shook her head.
‘I have a hunch about going to America and trying to make my name in journalism over there. Tom Clarke has given me a list with some useful contacts of his from when he and Kathleen were living there, and he has written a letter of introduction for me to John Devoy, the editor of the Gaelic American.’
Grace knew that John had always been the ambitious one, craving attention and notice with her mimicry, her sharp tongue and lively wit. Now she was ready to take on New York – a very brave step, one that Grace was not sure she would have the courage to take herself. Perhaps a part of her had hoped that her sister would ask her to join her on this great adventure, but John had made it clear she was going on her own and Grace was certainly not a part of her plans.
‘Promise that you will write and tell us everything. Ada is hopeless and hardly ever writes any more.’
‘Of course I will,’ John promised. ‘I’m not like her.’
Father kept checking his fob watch as if they were waiting for a tram.
Her parents had objected to John’s decision to move, but she had informed them that she had more than enough in her bank account to purchase her own ticket and was going with or without their permission. She knew Mother found it very difficult that her youngest daughter was leaving home to live so far away.
‘Don’t fret, in two years I will return,’ she promised them.
Mother looked thin and anxious, fiddling with her gloves as the other passengers began to move. Father seemed older and smaller as the horn sounded and John set off towards the wide gangplank. Grace supposed it must be hard for them: Liebert away at sea; Ernest and Cecil living in America and Canada; Gabriel in London; and now even Claude and Ethel had become inveterate travellers, moving between Ireland and Canada. Ethel had some family connections in that country and her older brother had decided to set up a legal office there. Ada was settled in New York, and now John … Poor Mother and Father. The Giffords were scattering across the world.
Suddenly, in a swirl of perfume and kisses, her sister was gone, joining the rest of the passengers as they began to board.
They stood for an age watching until the ship had left the quays and was moving out of Dublin Bay and into the Irish Sea, Father and Mother desperately trying to catch sight of John as the boat continued to gain momentum and sail away.
The house was quieter without John. Now only she and Nellie were left at home. When she was younger Grace used to long for peace and quiet and wished that she had been part of a smaller family. Now the house seemed rather lonely, as Nellie spent most of her time in Liberty Hall. So Grace buried herself in work, determined to make her own name. She was printing and selling some of her caricatures and sketches and had recently exhibited in the United Arts Club, which had helped her to get some commissions.
She studied a pen-and-ink drawing she had done for the Irish Review. She would let it dry and later post it to the editor, Joe Plunkett, in the hope that it would be printed and she might receive some payment. She regularly sent him work and was getting used to his letters either accepting or rejecting her drawings.
He and MacDonagh were now involved in another new venture together, setting up the Irish Theatre Company. Joe would provide the theatre, an old hall in Hardwicke Street that his mother, Countess Plunkett, had bought that needed renovation. MacDonagh would manage the performances and Edward Martyn, who had fallen out with William Butler Yeats at the Abbey Theatre, would provide the money and write some of the plays. It was all so exciting and Grace was delighted to be asked to design a poster for them. She showed the strange, crooked figure of an old man standing looking in at the new theatre, a figure reminiscent of those who featured in the plays of the other theatres – the theatre of old now, being confronted by a newcomer with a very different programme of plays. Her brother-in-law and Joe Plunkett told her that they planned to produce up to fifty plays a year, which would mean plenty of design work for programmes, posters and stage backdrops. Jack Morrow would most likely get the lion’s share, as he regularly worked with Joe and MacDonagh, but Grace would certainly try to get some more work from them.
She was friendly with Jack and his producer brother, Fred, as they were both very involved with the theatre and with staging pageants. Of late she often found herself in the company of their brother Norman, who was also an artist. She would invariably end up talking to him, smoking a few cigarettes with him or sitting beside him at a play or dinner. Norman worked mostly in London but was a regular visitor to Dublin and she found him entertaining company with his stories of the London art world and his work.
‘One time I was asked to design the costumes for a big pageant about health and germs that Fred was directing. We had Mr and Mrs Microbe. What do microbes look like? I asked myself.’
‘What a task!’ Grace grinned.
‘I was inspired and made two great big ugly trolls with masks and we had little children running away from them on the stage. I promise you, I had no idea about Lady Aberdeen at the time.’
‘You are wicked!’ Grace burst out laughing, for Lady Aberdeen had earned the sobriquet ‘Lady Microbe’ for trying to banish TB from Ireland.
Norman enjoyed dining out and was always good company. As five of his brothers were artists, he seemed to know everyone in the art world. Striding into a room in his rather theatrical style, he would make her smile as he tried to persuade her to move to London to work so that they would be nearer to each other.
‘Norman, I’m happy here and have some work,’ she protested, but she had to admit Dublin seemed always a little quieter while he was away.