Gráinne spent the night of Easter Monday curled in a blanket, with several other women, in a room in the basement of the GPO. Unsurprisingly, she barely managed any sleep, as rebels were in and out all night, and there were frequent bursts of gunfire. Still, she tried to do as Emmett had said and rest as much as possible, wondering whether he was able to get any rest himself.
It was still early when she rose. It was a grey morning with rain falling, unlike the previous day’s blue sky and sunshine. There was a supply of bread and butter for breakfast, and one of the other Cumann na mBan women had set up an urn to make tea. Gráinne gratefully drank a cup, then reported for duty to James Connolly.
‘Gráinne, I need you to take that bicycle again and see how things fare over at St Stephen’s Green. Beware it may not be as straightforward as yesterday. Take the back streets, and if you’re stopped by the authorities, feign ignorance of the whole thing. Smile your pretty smile and pray to God that they let you get on your way or, at worst, make you turn back.’
‘I’ll be careful,’ she said. ‘Sir, if you see Emmett O’Sheridan this morning, tell him where I’ve gone, please?’
He smiled indulgently at her and nodded. ‘I will. He’s a good man, your Emmett.’
‘Sir, yes he is that.’
She was about to go, when a tall young lad who couldn’t have been more than about sixteen came rushing in. ‘Mr Connolly, sir, I’m sorry I’m late. Me mam is after taking the valves out of me bike tyres, so she is, to try to stop me joining the Rising, so I had to run here. Couldn’t come yesterday because me dad had taken us all out to the seaside.’
‘And who are you?’
‘Martin Walton, sir. I joined the Volunteers three weeks ago, so I did.’
‘Well, Martin, we can put you to good use. Report to Jacob’s Biscuit Factory. We took it yesterday, but they need more men there. Do you know where it is?’
The boy looked confused. ‘Not too sure, sir.’
‘South of the river. Go along Dame Street, past the castle, then head south. You can’t miss it.’
‘South of the river? Sure I’ve never been south of the river in me life!’
Connolly turned away, looking a little irritated, Gráinne thought. She took the boy’s arm and led him away, giving him some better directions. ‘And be careful. Stay out of sight of any police or soldiers.’ His expression turned from one of excitement to fear, and she took pity on him. ‘Perhaps you should have stayed home with your mam.’
‘Ah no, miss, my place is here, fighting for our freedom.’ He pulled his shoulders back, and before she could say anything more to him, he was off, his long legs carrying him quickly out of the building on the Henry Street side. She wondered if she’d ever see him again, and offered up a silent prayer that he’d stay safe and eventually return home to his mam.
Gráinne had left her bicycle inside the GPO so she retrieved it and set off. She took a long and convoluted route through the city to St Stephen’s Green. It was obvious there were far more soldiers in the city today. Once, as she turned into a street, she saw columns of them, marching four abreast, in the direction of the castle. She’d had to duck back the way she’d come and find another way around them. That was one thing to report back to Mr Connolly. Clearly, troops had been arriving all night, by train. If the Volunteers had had the advantage of numbers yesterday, they certainly didn’t today.
As she cycled along Grafton Street approaching St Stephen’s Green, she could hear gunfire. It was almost continuous, and she realised there must be a machine gun somewhere. That must belong to the British military – the Volunteers possessed no such weapons. She stopped and ducked into a shop doorway, trying to work out where the firing was coming from. She could just see the Green, and as far as she could tell, it was deserted, though the thick bushes could have been hiding rebels.
The gunfire was coming from the Shelbourne Hotel, which appeared to be occupied by troops. What of the Countess and Margaret Skinnider, and the others? She scanned around and realised there was someone on the roof of another building, on the western side of the Green. Someone in the dark green of the Irish Citizen Army, and above that person flew a tricolour. Now she knew where they were. She left her bicycle in the shop doorway, and made a run for a side entrance to that building – the Royal College of Surgeons. As she approached, a door opened and she was pulled inside.
‘We saw you approaching. It’s not safe out there in the street altogether,’ a Volunteer she’d seen the day before told her. ‘The Countess is on the roof. I’ll ask her and Commander Mallin to come to you and hear your news. Follow me.’
She followed him to a room deep inside the building where she was asked to wait. A few minutes later, Mallin and the Countess both arrived, looking tired and dishevelled. She told them news from the GPO and of the columns of troops she’d seen marching through the city.
‘We knew more would come,’ the Countess said. ‘I was hoping for another day … but we’ll see. Tell Connolly we have a good position here. It seems the military occupied the Shelbourne overnight. As soon as it got light, they began firing on us in the Green, so we had to retreat to here. But this is good – we have snipers on the roof and we’re picking off their machine gunners one by one. For every hundred bullets they fire, we fire one, but ours hits its target.’
‘And have we lost any of our men?’ Gráinne hardly dared to ask but Connolly would want to know.
The Countess rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘Yes. There are four Volunteers lying dead in the Green. We cannot retrieve their bodies yet. There is too much gunfire. Bless them, they gave their lives for Ireland.’
They were the first Volunteer casualties Gráinne had heard about and the news saddened her immensely. She thought of that boy, Martin Walton, whose mother had tried to stop him joining the Rising. The men lying dead in the Green might be simply boys like him, caught up in a conflict too big for them. And was it too big for her, now? She wasn’t much older than that boy. She’d believed so fervently in the Cause; she still did; but this – the violence and bloodshed? She wasn’t sure she was made of stern enough stuff to cope with it. Yet here she was, in the middle of it as she’d wanted to be, and she had her duties to carry out. There was nothing else to do other than stiffen her spine and get on with it.
She stayed at the Royal College of Surgeons for a while. There were a few injured Volunteers lying on makeshift beds in a room at the back, so she helped nurse them, cleaning and bandaging wounds. When there was nothing more she could do, the Countess told her to continue on her way as instructed by Connolly. She caught hold of Gráinne’s hands. ‘And for God’s sake be careful. It’s becoming dangerous out there.’
‘I will, I promise.’ Gráinne followed the Countess to a back door that led out of the college on the opposite side to St Stephen’s Green, well out of reach of gunshot from the Shelbourne.
‘If you come again, come to this door. We will be watching and will open it for you. Good luck.’
Gráinne took a deep breath and left the building, then realised she could not retrieve her bicycle without being in danger of being fired upon. ‘On foot it is, then,’ she told herself, as she set off back to the GPO.
En route, she realised the gunfire she could hear now was heavier; not machine guns or rifle fire but heavy artillery. From a street corner, she could see troops storming City Hall, and as she watched, keeping herself as hidden as possible, she saw women being led out of the hall and up towards the castle. They were Cumann na mBan women, and she recognised a few of them. They were under arrest. City Hall was apparently lost.
She left the area, running as fast as she could, and made her way back towards the river. In a back street she heard her name called from an upstairs window.
‘Gráinne! Up here!’ It was Grace. ‘I’ll run down and open the door to you.’
A moment later, a door opened and Grace’s face appeared. ‘Come in, do. Tell me the news. I’ve not left this house for days.’
‘Do you have food?’ Gráinne asked, as she followed Grace into the front room of a small house. Someone had put boards across the downstairs windows so it was dark and gloomy inside. She knew some people barricaded in their own homes were already beginning to go hungry. Shops in the city centre were closed and many had been looted.
‘I have enough. Gráinne, what news? Have you seen Joseph?’ Grace’s eyes were wide with worry.
‘Yes. He’s at the GPO, the headquarters. It’s all right, Grace. He’s safe there. He, Pearse and Connolly have set up an office in the basement where they are away from any gunfire, and they are leading the Rising from there.’
‘He’s not being shot at?’
‘No, not down there. He doesn’t venture out into the street.’ At least, Gráinne thought, not as far as she knew.
‘And is he well?’
‘He’s well. Uninjured, thank the Lord.’ Gráinne took the other woman’s hands and squeezed them.
Grace seemed reassured by this answer, and nodded slowly. ‘I’ll make you some tea.’
‘No, I have to get back. I have news and messages for Connolly.’
‘Then take another message for me, please? For Joseph. Tell him I love him so much. I pray for him every hour, and I am waiting for him. When all this is over, we will keep our promises to each other. Ireland has him now, but I shall have him after.’ She smiled a tight, sad smile, and Gráinne embraced her, squeezing her tightly. She had her own lover, Emmett, to worry about but at least she was able to see him daily and she was aware of all that was happening. She couldn’t imagine how much worse it must be for Grace, not knowing how the rebels were faring, not being able to see her fiancé and having had to postpone her own wedding.
‘I’ll tell him. Your words will lend him strength and courage,’ Gráinne said.
‘We should have been married by now. I should be Mrs Plunkett. I should be with him, looking after him, loving him.’ Grace whispered these words, her eyes glistening with tears. Gráinne hugged her one last time. She should go, she knew, before the other woman broke down entirely. For it would be far more difficult to leave her then.
‘I’ll return again, Grace, if I am able to. Keep safe.’
As she left the house, she heard gunfire in a neighbouring street. She ran quickly along the road, praying that no sniper had taken up a position in this street, imagining at any moment the sting of a bullet in her back.
She crossed the Liffey by the Ha’penny Bridge which seemed the safest route back to the GPO. If she was stopped by the military, it would no longer be possible to feign ignorance of the Rising. Not with the constant sound of artillery, and the numerous fires that she could see burning in different parts of the city. Anyone truly innocent of any part in this would be hunkered down at home, waiting it out, not running around the streets. She concocted a story in her mind, of an invalid elderly aunt who needed nursing care, as the reason she was out and about. It might work, at a pinch.
Halfway back to the GPO, she was stopped by a man in civilian clothing. ‘Get yourself inside, girl,’ he said. ‘Haven’t you heard what’s happening? The Sinn Féiners have taken the city, and they say the Germans are landing! Over in England, the Zeppelins are dropping bombs and Germans are coming to invade. We’re finished! Get inside, take cover, is my advice!’
‘Thank you, sir, I will. I just need to …’ But he had gone, hurrying along the street, keeping to the sides, with his jacket pulled up over his head as though that would protect him.
Germans landing? What was he talking about? Surely it was just a crazy rumour?
And then, down a side street, she noticed a group of armed rebels making a run for it, repositioning themselves. For a moment, she thought she saw Sean. But it couldn’t be him. Emmett had said Sean would be out of Dublin by now. Long gone. She’d only had a glimpse of the back of a man with similar build and hair to Sean. That was all. She whispered a quick prayer that wherever her brother was, let him be safe and well.
She was nearing the GPO now. The side door she’d been told to use was closed – she had to rap on it to gain attention. ‘Who’s there?’ came the call. She was irritated that no one was watching out for her. Everyone inside knew her.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it’s me, Gráinne MacDowd. Open up!’
The door opened, and a sheepish-looking young Volunteer let her in. He grinned. ‘Just you? Jesus, Mary and Joseph not with you, then?’
She couldn’t help but smile at his joke, now that she was inside, safe from the gunfire. Or was she safe? As she moved into the building, it was rocked by a blast, and plasterwork from the ceiling fell down on them.
‘Been happening all day,’ the lad told her. ‘They know this is our headquarters.’
‘Probably because we raised a flag above it, to give them something to aim at,’ she said, wryly. She’d been proud of the flags but were they really sensible? Didn’t they proclaim to the troops: Look, here we are, aim at this flag and you’ll hit us? She brushed plaster dust off her clothes and hair. ‘Do you know where Mr Connolly is? And Mr Plunkett?’
‘Basement, I last saw them.’
‘Thank you.’ She hurried off to report on what she’d seen and heard, and pass on Grace’s message to her fiancé. And she’d feel safer in the basement.
As she made her way to the stairs that led to the basement, she heard a series of small explosions coming from Sackville Street. She spotted Emmett, still in position at one of the windows. ‘What’s happening? Is it safe to be by the window?’
‘Gráinne! I’m glad you’re back. It’s safe enough. Some fools are after looting a fireworks shop. They’ve piled the fireworks up in the street and set fire to them. There’re rockets firing in all directions.’
‘Fireworks! Well at least those can’t harm the building.’
‘Hmm, not unless one hits the explosives we’ve got stored here,’ Emmett said. ‘There’re men moving them away from this side of the building, just in case a stray firework comes inside. Look, there’s a Catherine Wheel going off, rolling up the street!’
She glanced out and saw what he meant. It was mayhem out there, with spurts of colour flashing and banging, rockets shooting sideways and hitting buildings and a huge fire taking hold in the middle of the street. The dead horse still lay where it had fallen, though nobody was picnicking on top of it today. Gangs of boys were laughing and pointing as the fireworks went off.
‘Why don’t they realise we are doing this for them? It’s awful that they looted shops at the first chance they got. Makes me sick to my stomach, so it does.’ Gráinne spat the words out. She’d been scared by all she’d seen and heard.
‘Oh, love.’ Emmett took her in his arms. ‘I know. But we’re doing what is necessary, for the greater good, for the long run. Don’t lose sight of that.’
‘I’m trying not to. But it’s so very hard. Emmett, I met a man outside who said there were Germans landing. Is there any truth in that?’
He laughed. ‘Not that I know of. Just a rumour. The people are scared and making up stories to tell each other.’
‘I thought so. I need to report to Mr Connolly now. I’ll find you again soon.’
‘All right, so. There’s some food downstairs. A couple of the women went out and raided a bakery and a delicatessen.’
‘Thank you.’ She realised then that she was hungry. She’d eaten nothing since breakfast and that was a long time ago. She headed off to the basement.
Connolly was there, sitting with Pearse and poring over a map of the city and some other papers. He looked up as she approached and she quickly reported on what she’d seen and heard. Some of it she suspected they already knew – such as the loss of City Hall – but they listened carefully to everything she said. She mentioned also the man who’d told her the Germans were landing, and they laughed and as Emmett had said, confirmed no such thing was happening.
‘Thank you, Gráinne, for your work today. Once more you have done well. Pearse, what of this will you put in your news-sheet?’
Pearse rubbed his chin. ‘We shall say that the Republican forces everywhere are fighting bravely.’
‘With splendid gallantry,’ Gráinne added, and immediately blushed. Who was she to tell the great man what to write?
But he nodded. ‘A good phrase. I shall use it. We will print the news-sheet at Liberty Hall today, along with the manifesto to the people of Dublin. I want to encourage more people to rise and fight, and I shall stress that the freedom of Ireland is only days away. The Irish regiments have refused to fight against their fellow countrymen.’
Gráinne left the two men discussing their manifesto. Pearse’s comment had made her think of Sean once more. Had he managed to get out of Dublin, and find somewhere safe to stay? Would he have heard about events in Dublin, and was he thinking of her and Emmett, hoping they were safe too?
Remembering Grace, she went in search of Joseph Plunkett. She found him counting out rounds of ammunition into boxes. ‘Mr Plunkett, I ran into Grace while I was out.’
He looked up at her with concern. ‘Is she well? Is she safe?’
‘She is both. She is hiding in a small house south of the river, and she has food. She asked me to tell you she loves you and she’s waiting until this is all over and you can …’ Gráinne broke off, at the look of agony in Plunkett’s eyes.
‘I made her a promise. A solemn one. Somehow, I have to keep it,’ he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. ‘I signed the Proclamation. I fear that in doing that I have signed my own death warrant, and Grace … poor Grace …’ He stared down at the ground for a moment and then seemed to rally himself. ‘Well, thank you, Gráinne. Please, go and rest, find something to eat.’ He gave a short nod and she was dismissed.
His own death warrant? What did he mean? Surely he had as good a chance as any man to stay safe and survive the rebellion? And after, when it was all over, there would be a chance for him to marry Grace as he’d promised. Unless, as a leader of the rebellion he’d be imprisoned? Or worse?
And what of Emmett?