THE COLLEGE OF Surgeons was bombarded so constantly over the next few days that Nellie was amazed the building could withstand such an unrelenting attack. Their men remained up on the roof, guns in hand, skin burned raw and red, defending their position while the British forces seemed to amass and gather strength around them.
Michael Mallin was a disciplined leader, as were Captain Poole and Captain McCormick, all of them properly trained army men used to combat and battle. The commandant insisted that proper army-fashion beds were neatly made and order was strictly kept by their garrison. One of the men had deliberately damaged a portrait of Queen Victoria hanging in the council room and the commandant had threatened to shoot the culprit if he found him.
Mallin despatched a search party to look around the building, for he knew that there was an Officer Training Corps in the college and he suspected that they would hold a stock of rifles for shooting practice. They hunted up and down and all over the warren of corridors and rooms but to no avail, for the weapons could not be found.
He sent parties of their men to cross, unseen, on a high, narrow plank from the roof of the college over to the roof of another building. Still hidden, they were digging and boring through the neighbouring buildings, with orders to try and get nearer to the enemy’s gun position.
Margaret volunteered to cycle by the Shelbourne Hotel and throw bombs into it.
‘Their snipers and gunners have us pinned down. It’s the only way we could ever hope to take them out. No one is going to suspect a lady on a bicycle,’ she insisted stoutly. ‘I’m sure I can get close enough to throw the bombs.’
But the commandant and the countess had both declared it a mad act of folly which would surely cost her her life, so her plan was overruled.
The only lull in the constant din and pressure of fighting was an agreed truce, morning and evening, to let the park keeper feed and check on the ducks and swans on the lake in St Stephen’s Green. There were strict orders that at these times no one was to dare fire a single shot, and both sides obeyed the order. Nellie was relieved that the birds would be protected from the mayhem around them.
‘I tell you, they care more for those ducks than they care for us,’ joked Bill Partridge, who had a way of cheering everybody up.
The porter and his family were moved down to the basement, as he had been caught sending a message for help and for food and water, lowering it down on a rope from his bedroom window. Nellie felt guilty, as poor Mr Duncan had been forgotten about in all the action, and now he and his wife and child would have to try to survive on the same meagre rations as the rest of them.
The porridge they served was now reduced to a thinner gruel-like consistency and they had to ration it.
‘What are we going to do?’ Kathleen fretted, staring at their almost vanished supplies. ‘Without food the men will not be able to last out.’
The men never complained, but it was clear that they were hungry.
Then Hanna Sheehy-Skeffington surprised them by arriving with some food for the garrison, knocking quietly at the side door with packets of tea, crackers and bread, and swiftly passing it inside before disappearing again.
Good old Skeffy! thought Nellie. She was very fond of Hanna, the women’s right-to-vote campaigner, who had such a kind heart and was such a practical woman.
In the early hours of the morning they were woken by the arrival of two female messengers from the GPO carrying urgent despatches for Michael Mallin. Much to their delight, Elizabeth O’Farrell and Julia Grennan also carried sacks of much-needed bread.
‘We didn’t think we’d get through,’ admitted Julia. ‘The supplementary women are still watching the streets, but with our sacks on our back they presumed that we were looters like them.’
‘Looters?’ Nellie was puzzled.
‘You should see Sackville Street and some of the other streets. The locals have picked the shops clean. They are looting and stealing everything they can lay their hands on!’
‘There isn’t a cup or plate or teapot, or even a seat, left in the DBC café,’ added Elizabeth. ‘They’ve carried them off to use in their homes.’
‘We were lucky we met Mr Sheehy-Skeffington on the way here.’
Nellie was surprised to hear that Hanna’s husband, the well-known pacifist, was about so late.
‘He was trying to stop the looting. He got some lads to assist us carry the sacks part of the way.’
‘James Connolly told us that your garrison needed food supplies urgently as you were under heavy fire, so we brought as much bread for you as we could manage,’ Julia explained with a smile.
‘We’ve been under fire and attack in the GPO too, but so far we are well defended,’ Elizabeth told them. ‘Captain Brennan-Whitmore has taken the corner of Earl Street and we have a garrison in the Metropole Hotel too. We get our food supplies from the hotels on the street – and thankfully they were very well stocked for Easter.’
Nellie could not help but be envious and cursed the fact that their garrison had not had the foresight to take a hotel instead of where they were.
‘We’ll tell Connolly you need more supplies urgently and try to get them to you,’ the two women promised as they set off back to the GPO.
Nellie began to count the loaves. At least the men would have bread in the morning with their mug of tea. They all knew the odds were stacked against them and that every day they managed to hold their position here against the enemy was a victory.