GRACE STEELED HERSELF as she approached Kilmainham Jail, notorious in the past as the place where thieves and murderers met their end, many hanging from a high noose swinging outside the prison entrance. She shivered as she thought of Joe and his friends now held captive there. It was after six o’clock when she walked across the cobblestones and knocked on the door for admittance.
A soldier questioned her roughly and for a moment she felt like running away, but she stated her name and address and her reason for being there, and showed him the official piece of paper that the priest had given her. He went off to check something, then came back a few minutes later and led her to the office of Major Lennon, the governor of Kilmainham. Grace tried to control her fear and trepidation as she was ushered inside.
‘Marriage in prison is an unusual request,’ Major Lennon said gruffly, barely looking at her.
‘I have all the necessary church documents and permission here,’ she said, pushing them on to his desk.
‘It would be one of the prison chaplains from St James’s parish that would perform such a ceremony if it is authorized,’ he said, reading them.
‘I have spoken with Father MacCarthy already,’ she explained.
Grace said nothing more. It was clear this decision now rested in his hands; Major Lennon would be the one who would decide her fate.
‘You do know Mr Joseph Plunkett has been tried and found guilty of all charges, and by order of General Maxwell is due to be executed with the rest of the leaders of the Sinn Fein rebellion?’
Grace swallowed hard, shaking her head. She did not want to believe the dreadful words he had spoken.
‘Mr Plunkett and I had planned our marriage before this,’ she said firmly, trying to control the desperation in her voice. ‘It was our intention to have been married at Easter, but events delayed it. We both love each other very much and it is Joe’s last wish that we are wed.’
He nodded understandingly.
‘I have to wed,’ she continued, unable to hide the panic she felt. ‘Joe and I have to be wed. Do not deny us this, Major Lennon, for it is all both of us want.’
Silence hung between them.
She considered telling him that her brother Claude was away fighting in France, that Liebert was in the navy and that her twin brother, Cecil, was about to enlist, and begging him to help her, but perhaps he would consider that she had shamed her family enough.
She watched as he studied the documents in front of him.
‘Miss Gifford, everything seems to be in order,’ Major Lennon agreed. ‘You and Mr Plunkett have permission to marry today.’
Relief washed over her as she was escorted outside by a soldier to a small waiting area. She and Joe were going to be wed.
‘When will I see Mr Plunkett?’ she asked.
‘Relatives are to wait here,’ the soldier explained curtly, disappearing as she sat on a small wooden chair in the damp, chilly room. Hopefully it would not be too long till she and Joe were reunited and would have their wedding, be officially married as they had planned, and that something good would come out of this terrible situation. Of course she had never imagined being wed in a place like this with a prison priest, but then she had never imagined that she and Joe would be caught up in such a tragedy.
Grace waited and waited. Eventually she called out, asking to be allowed to see Joe, but there was no response. Precious time was ticking by and she was filled with a desperate anxiety that perhaps they were playing some kind of trick on her.
She could hear distant footsteps, men shouting, men calling out.
Did Joe even know that she was here? Rumour had it that her sister Nellie was also being held in Kilmainham. How she longed to see her and talk to her.
She thought of MacDonagh, shot by a firing squad only a few hours ago. She would always remember his kindness, his generosity and good humour, and his deep, abiding love for her sister. His death was unbearable. He and Joe were always the best of friends, and now the two friends would meet the same fate.
It felt as if the room was closing in on her, so she slipped out to a small enclosed yard with towering stone walls. It was hard to believe that she was in the city, as all she could see from here was the sky and a few birds flying high above her. She could hear cabs and horses and the hooting horn of a distant car, but otherwise this place entombed her as she walked and walked around the yard, trying to calm herself so that mounting panic didn’t overwhelm her.
She had decided to wear her pretty new pink and white gingham-edged dress and a simple headpiece with a slight veil. She wanted to look well for Joe, but as night began to fall she could not help but feel the coldness wrap around her and she wished that she had chosen something more practical and warmer. She shivered and moved inside. It was getting late, the hour mocking her.
Grace sat for a while again, hoping that perhaps fate would intervene and that Joe would not be shot but sent away to prison like his brothers. In time they could have a life together, living abroad. He would write and she would draw and they would have a small family of their own and be happy. The thought of it warmed her. Joe was always full of plans for the future and for their life together.
The night sky darkened and the prison fell silent. It was about eleven thirty when a soldier from the Royal Irish Regiment finally came and led her to the prison chapel, where the priest waited.
Grace could barely see, as there was no gaslight, just two soldiers holding flickering candles to provide light. She swallowed hard, saying a silent prayer as she walked towards the altar. She had sworn to herself that she would do her very best to remain composed: Joe did not need to see her distraught and hysterical.
A few seconds later Joe was led in. He looked desperate, hardly able to walk or stand, a ragged, bloody bandage around his neck. His gaunt face was pale, already like a ghost in the flickering light. He tried to smile at her and she longed to hug him, touch him, kiss him, but the soldier kept them apart. Father MacCarthy gestured to the soldier and he undid Joe’s handcuffs. Joe, holding his scrawny, bruised wrists, rubbed at them as they gazed at each other.
‘We will celebrate the holy sacrament of marriage in this chapel,’ began the priest. ‘It is agreed that these two soldiers here will be your witnesses.’
Grace was tempted to beg them to search the prison and bring her sister or any of the Plunkett family to the chapel, but it was made clear that this ceremony would be as brief as possible and that they were not permitted even to speak.
She and Joe stood beside each other and she could hear each of their breaths as the priest began to lead them through the words of their marriage vows. She passed the ring to Joe and he took her shaking hand as he slid the bright gold band on to her ring finger and they repeated their vows ‘To love each other until death do us part’.
Grace’s voice caught and she felt emotion would make her break down, but Joe squeezed her hand tight, his dark eyes locking on hers, giving her a strange strength and courage as the ceremony ended. With the priest’s guidance, they and the soldiers signed the marriage register and Joe was immediately re-cuffed.
She prayed for a little kindness, compassion for them to be given a few minutes alone with each other as a newly married couple, husband and wife, but instead Joe was taken immediately from the chapel and led back to his cell, Grace left standing like a marble statue in front of the holy altar, unable to move or even to say a word.