9. Easter 1916
Only a short while after the defeat of the Pals in Gallipoli, an event occurred in Dublin that was to change the course of Irish history—and my maternal grandfather, Captain Harry de Courcy-Wheeler, was a close witness to some of its most poignant scenes, while grandfather Willie stoically defended his headquarters from vandals and looters.
At this time Sackville (O’Connell) Street was described as one of the four greatest streets in Europe. ‘It was one of the chief gems of the beautiful classic city of Dublin. On Easter Monday the old street looked glorious, as it always did in sunlight. Its substantial lines appeared to be time-defying—a veritable thing of beauty and a joy forever.’1 That bank holiday Monday morning people in Sackville Street were in a relaxed mood, strolling in the sunshine, enjoying the holiday.
Suddenly a troop of men swung out from in front of Liberty Hall and marched the few hundred yards to the GPO, which they entered and proceeded to take over, expelling the workers inside. Being well used to seeing bodies of men marching through the streets, Dubliners no doubt assumed this was another exercise. But this was serious. The Sinn Féin rebellion* began at noon on Easter Monday, 24 April 1916. A few minutes later a proclamation setting up a republic in Ireland was read in front of the GPO by Commandant Pearse. In other parts of Dublin bodies of Irish Volunteers, as they were called,† captured the magazine in Phoenix Park, the Four Courts, the College of Surgeons, Stephen’s Green, Jacob’s Biscuit Factory, Boland’s Bakery and various other places of vantage. An attempt was also made to capture Dublin Castle, but it failed. Telegraphic communication was destroyed, and two of the local railway termini were seized.
The skeleton police and military force left on duty during the holiday was powerless to control the situation. The rebels barricaded themselves into a series of strongholds across the city, and also sent snipers into the rooftops (the ‘hill tribes’ as the British Tommies later called them). Eventually the British military machine recovered from its surprise and began to pour troops into the centre of the city. A gunboat started to shell Liberty Hall and the GPO. It soon became
* To use the contemporary term.
† The original Irish Volunteers were founded in 1913. On the outbreak of the First World War (fought, so the British argued, in defence of the rights of small nations) William Redmond called on the Volunteers to support the British effort. The Volunteer movement split, and the hard-liners (much in the minority) retained the name Irish Volunteers while Redmond’s supporters became known as the National Volunteers. It was the Irish Volunteers who were ‘out’ in 1916.
EASTER 1916
clear that the position of the Volunteers was impossible. They had in effect locked themselves into a series of besieged positions, without the possibility of helping one another. Militarily their position was hopeless.
Meanwhile on the south side of the city in Northumberland Road and around Mount Street Bridge, there was about to be carnage. A large detachment of Sherwood Foresters had been sent via Holyhead to Kingstown. They were inexperienced troops and somewhat confused. Some even thought they were in France. Food was short because the kitchens and rations had not arrived, though the officers enjoyed the hospitality of the very unionist Royal St George Yacht Club, where members were able to pass on the latest rumours about the fighting, with no doubt generous doses of paranoid talk about Irish treachery. As a result the officers became extremely suspicious, and forbade the ordinary soldiers to accept the gifts of tea, chocolate, oranges, bananas, sandwiches and sweets that the loyal residents of Kingstown and Blackrock showered on them. Big Billy Vaughan, manager of the Blackrock Findlater’s, solved the problem by rolling apples and oranges down the street for the young soldiers to pick up.
Another Findlater link with events was to prove more poignant. Among the officers was Frederick Christian Dietrichsen (probably of Danish stock), the barrister who had married Beatrice the sister of my Aunt Marjorie’s husband Edmund Mitchell.* Unknown to Christian, his two children had been sent from Nottingham to stay with his parents-in-law in Blackrock to escape the danger of Zeppelin raids. As he marched his squad through Blackrock, to his astonishment he saw his own children standing on the pavement waving flags. ‘His fellow officers saw him drop out of the column and fling his arms around the children. It was a joyful scene, with no hint of the tragedy to come.’2
After a brief rest at the Ballsbridge show grounds, the Foresters passed up Northumberland Road towards Mount Street Bridge, where they received a terrible attacking fire from Clanwilliam House. By the end of the day twelve Volunteers, armed with a rifle each and some revolvers, had accounted for seventy British troops. Among them was the Nottingham barrister Frederick Christian Dietrichsen.
The disruption caused by the Rising meant that basic necessities such as bread, milk, fuel and groceries, which were typically delivered to shops and homes every day, could not get through. This caused real hardship. Totally indifferent to the historic events going on around them, Dublin’s poorest people began looting the shops and department stores of Sackville Street. Clerys was a favourite target, as would Findlaters have been. But on our side of Sackville Street the Gresham Hotel and Findlaters remained intact. I recently asked my Aunt Sheila, who was fourteen at the time, whether there was any explanation for this. She confessed that the ladies in the household were not informed on business mat-
* Edmund, who in 1914 married my father’s eldest sister Marjorie, was a second cousin of the Kildare Street wine merchants of that name. Quartermaster Captain RAMC in Ismalia, Egypt and mentioned in despatches. Assistant managing director of Findlaters 1919‒45. His sister Bea, Beatrice Agnes, was married to Dietrichsen.
FINDLATERS
ters but added: ‘Your grandfather sat on a chair outside his premises with a blunderbuss on his lap and threatened to shoot all looters!’
The looters horrified ordinary Dubliners—both inside and outside the GPO. Crawford Hartnell, in a lengthy article in The Lady of the House on the Rising, described the scene that he encountered on the Tuesday of Easter week:
glass, shattered by blows in order to place the shopkeeper’s stock at the mercy of the itching fingers from the slums. The thieves and bad characters of Dublin had swarmed from their dens into Sackville Street. What a scene. Had I been a photographic plate, exposed in Sackville Street that Easter Tuesday morning, I could have presented one phase of the French Revolution in miniature.3
Maybe the blunderbuss used by Willie in 1916
Apart from the hardship caused to non-combatants, the Rising was a minority affair. In March 1916 there were about 2,000 Volunteers in Dublin involved in the Rising, as against 150,000 Irishmen serving in the British forces, and over 160,000 in the National Volunteers, who supported John Redmond. Nonetheless it was this small group who were to be the ultimate rulers of Ireland.
It is sad that no personal records survived of life in Findlater’s Sackville Street for Easter week 1916. The shop was closed for the bank holiday and most of the resident employees from the country would have returned home to their families— and indeed the disruption of transport allowed them a few days, extra holiday. The few that remained might have seen the events from the vantage-point of the staff billiard room on the first floor or the bedrooms higher up, which would have given a prime view of the British front line massed by the Rotunda, though there was always the risk of being hit by a sniper or even a stray bullet. There would have been a small staff tending to the horses although these could have been enjoying a couple of days’ grazing. It is certain that Grandfather Willie would have had to make a circuitous journey from his home, Melville in Blackrock, to his premises and, with senior managers, supervise the protection of the property.
A couple of weeks after the cessation of hostilities, Findlaters placed an ad in The Irish Times (12 May) to:
apologise to their Customers and Public for the inconvenience caused them during
EASTER 1916
the last fortnight. Owing to the dislocation of business it was impossible to serve their many customers as they wished, and deliveries of goods were almost impossible. They have to thank their customers for their forbearance under very trying circumstances. The Directors also wish to thank the Managers and Staff at all their Houses for the hearty manner in which they tried to meet the requirements of the public and also the volunteers who kindly helped at the Branches, knowing the shortage of staff owing to some employees being unable to return from holidays. They especially wish to thank the Resident Staff at Head Office for their successful efforts to save the premises there.
Captain Harry’s adventures
Captain Harry de Courcy-Wheeler was born on St Patrick’s Day—17 March 1872. He took a degree at Trinity College, Dublin, graduating as a Greek and Latin scholar. He then qualified as a lawyer, but never practised at the Irish Bar. He married Selina Knox, the youngest daughter of Hercules Knox, of Rappa Castle, Co. Mayo, in 1904. They lived at Robertstown House, Co. Kildare.
As a reserve officer of the 8th King’s Royal Rifle Corps, he was ordered to England in 1914. The local company of Volunteers—and the whole village— paraded at Robertstown to see him off. But when he reached Dublin a telegram from the War Office in London sent him back to the Curragh.
My mother, Harry’s eldest daughter Dorothea, remembered those days:
We transferred from Robertstown House to the Curragh Camp in 1914 where my father took up his duties as Officer in charge of the service side of the barracks. My father desperately wanted to go and fight in the Great War. He got called up twice and then called back to the Curragh. He wanted action. When an airfield was set up and the first planes arrived at the Curragh, he was crazy with enthusiasm and tried to transfer to the Royal Flying Corps. But his application was refused. I was only five at the time and I remember being in the back seat with nanny and my baby brother Annesley and with a big silver tray on our knee. We were in Daddy’s Ford car with canvas roof and windows that we took down if it wasn’t windy. The car had big kerosene lamps. It had to be wound up to start, often with a back kick, which nearly broke an arm. Mother and Father were in the front seats and the villagers stood at the gate waving goodbye. The silver tray belonged to the family and was used for tea in the afternoons. The house was locked up for the duration of our stay at the Curragh.
We moved to a large square house on the edge of the Curragh plains, with a big garden around it. The air force was stationed outside our back gate. My father had his horse in the stables and there was a man looking after the horse. I think he doubled as groom and houseman. We also had a cook, a parlour-maid and a nurse. My twin sisters, Joan and Nancy, were only just two and the youngest, Kathleen, in her cradle. My mother was an ex-hockey international so she immediately organised a hockey team with the army and officers. The officer’s mess was next door to us. They used to play hockey down on the grass at the bottom of the garden and the officers would come back to our house afterwards. [And the hockey sticks?] Oh, we fashioned them out of the hedgerows!
FINDLATERS
Captain Harry
I remember going to church and my mother had a lovely sunshade, which I now have. And I had a parasol to match my mother’s parasol, though mine was frilly! There was a Colonel Porter and he had six children and I used to play with them a lot. There was a lake or pond in his garden in the Curragh and they had a raft that they used to go out on, and I fell in when I was getting on to the raft. It was terribly cold in the winter on the Curragh and my mother used to stitch my father into newspapers under his tunic, his military jacket, to keep out the biting wind and the cold. I remember very distinctly standing in the study watching the sewing.
Harry was Staff Captain to General Lowe for the duration of the Rising and took the surrender from the various leaders, including from his wife’s first cousin, Countess Markievicz. His subsequent friendship with Éamon de Valera and Seán T. O’Kelly may therefore seem a bit surprising. Harry kept the revolvers of the executed leaders in a locked drawer in his desk until 1949, when he presented them to Seán T. O’Kelly, then President of the country. They are now on display in the National Museum in Kildare Street. He concluded his presentation speech:
Now, in conclusion, I wish to present to your Excellency the articles which came into my possession in Easter Week 1916. Before doing this I might point out to those present the appropriateness of his Excellency as the recipient of these memories of 1916. Thirty-three years ago I was Staff Captain to Brig.
General Lowe, commanding the British Troops in Dublin at the very time when his Excellency had the privilege of occupying an identical position as Staff Captain to Commandant-General Pearse, Commanding the Irish Troops in Dublin.*
* Wheeler speech made in Áras an Uachtaráin, Friday 29 April 1949.
EASTER 1916
Harry (centre) with President Seán T. O’Kelly (right) and (left) William Norton, Tánaiste & Minister for Social Welfare (The Irish Times 30 April 1949)
Arms presented to the President on
Friday 29 April 1949
Countess Markievicz
German
Mauser pistol 162742 Waffenfabrik Mauser, Obernorf A.
Neckar
Repeating pistol .25 474251, Fabrique Nationale, Brownings
Patent FN
General Pearse
Repeating pistol 7.65mm, 54541, Fabrique Nationale,
Brownings Patent
FN Pouch of ammunition and canteen or mess tin
College of Surgeons
Two repeating pistols, .25, Harrington & Richardson Arms
Co.,
self-loading
Other
Revolver, six chambers 19916 Smith & Wesson
Why Harry, who was 30 miles away in the Curragh camp, was called on to act as General Lowe’s Staff Captain is unclear. Perhaps it was no more than his being of the right rank, competent and available. He was known to be a good administrator and certainly performed his difficult task with integrity and fairness.
In 1966 Harry’s eldest son, my uncle Wiggie (Wigstrom Hercules Beresford de Courcy-Wheeler), presented Harry’s papers to the National Museum where they were received by the then Minister for Education George Colley.
FINDLATERS
As the Rising began, Harry was enjoying a peaceful bank holiday Monday, putting his papers in order prior to spending the day with his wife and six children in their house and garden on the camp. For him it would be a carefree day, far away from his office telephone and its incessant jangle. He was about to close the door behind him when the telephone shrilled. The voice of an officer from the orderly room crackled into his ear. ‘The Sinn Féiners are out! They are trying to seize Dublin.’ Shocked, Harry hung up the receiver. He flicked his cuff to look at his silver watch with its oversized winding button. It was 1.10 pm. Out came a well used notebook from his tunic pocket. He made an entry under 24 April in the diary that was to record the events of the next few days in great detail: ‘Sinn Féin Rising reported in Dublin.’
For the next few days there was great bustle in the Curragh as the ponderous Army machine ground into action. His daughter remembers ‘going up with my mother into the water tower on the Curragh, which was very high, to look at the flames in Dublin—you could see them from the top of the water tower. I was seven then.’ Like all soldiers at the time of war Harry was anxious for the safety of his family. In his diary he wrote, as if to reassure himself, ‘I was called up as a reserve officer for the war with Germany I was very friendly with the local Volunteers. They told me whatever happened in the future . . . my wife and children would come to no harm. They would see to this. Will they see to it now?’ They did.*
On the Friday night, Harry came out of the wings and onto the stage of history. His diary of the momentous events he was about to witness was long afterwards serialised in the Sunday Express.4
At 10.30pm the garrison adjutant rapped at the door of his quarters with a message from Room 13, the communications centre at British headquarters in Park Gate, Dublin.
‘Report immediately to General Lowe’s staff ’ he said. Brigadier-General William Lowe was the general officer commanding British forces in Dublin. . . . [Driving into
* On his departure from Robertstown the local Volunteers sent him a letter promising that his family and property would be kept safe, and they were, even while a detachment of British cavalry was billeted on his land. The letter, oddly addressed to Colonel de Courcy-Wheeler stated:
Robertstown 10th Aug. 1914.
To Col. H. E. de Courcy-Wheeler.
We the members of the Robertstown Company of Irish National volunteers beg to offer to Col. H. E. de Courcy-Wheeler our regret that he has been called away from his young wife and family to fight the cause of his country in Belgium, at the same time we would congratulate him on the fact that the Govmt has selected him, and promoted him to Rank Col., to take his place in such a sacred cause.
We wish him to convey to his Regiment that the cause for which they are about to fight has the entire sympathy of the Irish N. Volunteers and for which they also are willing to take up arms (if they had them) if necessary and required.
We assure Col. Wheeler that Mrs. Wheeler, his family and property will be safe in the hands of the Irish Volunteers until he returns.
Wishing Col. Wheeler God Speed and Success on behalf of the Volunteers.
James Dowling. Commdg.
EASTER 1916
Dublin] his was the only car about, and he began to wonder if what was happening had already come to an end. . . . He met the first signs of life at Islandbridge where houses were occupied by British soldiers.
‘I was suddenly pulled up with the cry of “Halt or I fire,” all along the line and when the car stopped a rifle with fixed bayonet was thrust through the window, the pass-word demanded and information as to my identity and destination. . . . I said “If you take that b------- bayonet away from my chest I will be able to give you the information you want.” The sentry scrutinised the pencilled instructions that the Curragh adjutant had scrawled. I climbed out of the car and stood on the running board. From that point the whole city seemed to be ablaze. Rifle fire was going on in all directions and shells were bursting at intervals. . . .
‘Inside the headquarters building, I found the general and his staff in their offices sleeping on the floor dressed in their uniforms. In Room 13 a staff officer was hunched over a telephone which was going continuously. “Thank the Lord for some help,” he said wearily. “Take over on this telephone, will you? We’ve had no rest for three nights.” With those words he lay down on the floor and went to sleep.
The Mauser used by Countess Markievicz. The detachable butt turned it into a rifle.
‘All sorts of messages came through as to the direction of troops, asking for orders, reports of snipers located in various and distant parts of the city, houses blown up and fires here, there, and everywhere, especially in the neighbourhood of Sackville Street.
‘The manager of a bank in Upper Sackville Street telephoned that the bank was on fire, that there was a caretaker with a large family in the house. “How can we escape?” he asked. Upper and Lower Sackville Street were being swept by the fire of snipers and the British military were replying. I asked the General what was to be done about the family trapped in the burning bank and he said “Tell them to march out with a white flag.” I phoned these instructions to the manager. The telephone rang again. It was the manager to say that they had no white flag. He asked me: “Would a Union Jack do?” That put the lid on it! I advised him to be quick and to make a white flag or they would all be burned or shot.
‘In the morning, one of the general’s orderlies brought a cup of tea and bread and butter. A very limited supply. Rations were very uncertain and few and far between. We had to go to Kingsbridge Station to get something to eat and to Ross’s Hotel near the bridge.
‘At 12.30pm information came that a Sinn Féin nurse—Miss Elizabeth O’Farrell— was waiting at the Parnell monument. She had been sent by Commandant General Pearse to negotiate terms of surrender. General Lowe ordered me to accompany him.’
Nurse O’Farrell had been sent out to seek the British commander from No. 16 Moore Street, a grocery store [where the GPO garrison had retreated. Nurse O’Farrell had taken a makeshift flag and hurried along Moore Street making for Parnell Street.] She could hear the bullets whining ahead of her, but they ceased when the soldiers saw
FINDLATERS
O’Connell Street immediately after the Rising
her nursing red crosses and the flag which she was waving from side to side.
The officer ordered the Red Cross badges to be removed from her tunic and apron and that a woman should search her as a possible spy. Nothing more dangerous was found than two pairs of scissors and some sweets and cake. Nurse O’Farrell was taken to the newsagent’s shop of Tom Clarke, one of the signatories to the proclamation of the Rising. From there a message was rushed to Room 13.
General Lowe sprang to his feet when he heard the news and said: ‘Come on, Wheeler we’re on our way.’ His son, Lieutenant Lowe, went with them in the army car. Wheeler’s diary records a nightmare drive.
‘In peacetime the journey from Park Gate Street to our destination, the shop at the Parnell monument, would have been a matter of mere minutes. We took a zig-zag course in and out of side streets, taking the intervening corners at high speed to dodge the sharpshooters who were posted at vantage points on the roofs of the houses.
‘Two bullets did get the panel of the near door of the car which was an official saloon supplied for the use of staff. Owing to the skilful driver and the speed, I do not expect the snipers realised who were in it until it had skidded round the next corner. Eventually we arrived at a small newsagent’s shop a few doors from the corner of Great Britain Street, where it joins Upper Sackville Street at the Parnell monument.
EASTER 1916
‘The general communicated the terms to Nurse O’Farrell and she was allowed half an hour to return with the reply from Commandant General Pearse, who was in command at the rear of the GPO and controlled Moore Street and the adjoining thoroughfares. Upper Sackville was still swept by snipers and while waiting for the return of the nurse, General Lowe, who was in his staff uniform and a very conspicuous mark, strolled into Sackville Street to note the position.
‘As the whole of Upper and Lower Sackville Street was held by the rebels at this time, and I felt responsible for the general’s safety, I pointed out that he would draw the fire on himself if spotted. He made little of it, but in the end I persuaded him to return to the newsagent’s shop, and wait there for the dispatches from Commandant General Pearse.
‘Soon after the nurse returned with a reply imposing conditions. These were refused, and the general sent her back again to say that only unconditional surrender would be accepted. She was given half an hour to return with the reply.
‘At 2.30 pm Commandant General Pearse surrendered to General Lowe accompanied by myself and Lieutenant Lowe at the junction of Moore Street and Great Britain Street. He handed over his arms and military equipment. His sword and automatic repeating pistol in holster with pouch of ammunition, and his canteen, which contained two large onions, were handed to me by Commandant General Pearse. Onions were carried by insurgent troops as iron rations. They were believed to be high in nutriment value.
Irish Command, to interview General Sir John Maxwell, the British Commanderin- Chief. After the interview, Commandant Pearse signed several typed copies of a manifesto, which was dated by himself, Dublin, 29th April 1916 and read as follows:
‘“In order to prevent the further slaughter of Dublin citizens, and in the hope of saving the lives of our followers, now surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered, the members of the Provisional Government present at headquarters have agreed to an unconditional surrender, and the commandants of the various districts in the city and country will order their commands to lay down arms.”
‘After signing these documents, Commandant General Pearse was conducted to a sitting room at headquarters.
FINDLATERS
Pearse (right) surrenders to General Lowe (centre)
Nurse
O'Farrell consealed behind Pearse. (Daily
Sketch London 10th May 1916).
I was ordered to keep guard over him, and was locked in the room alone with him.
‘I was handed a loaded revolver with orders to keep it pointed at Commandant Pearse, and to shoot should he make an effort to escape. This was a very responsible and serious order to obey and to carry out should it have become necessary. Pearse did not seem in the least perturbed and greatly to my relief, I was on this duty for only 15 minutes when I was sent for by General Lowe and another officer was sent to relieve me.
‘General Lowe ordered me to go at once to the castle, show the manifesto of Commandant General Pearse, the Commander-in-Chief, to Commandant Connolly, in command of the Irish Citizen Army, who had been brought in
wounded and a prisoner, and get him to sign the document or a similar order to his own men. When I arrived at the castle, part of which had been turned into a Red Cross hospital, I was brought up to the ward where Commandant Connolly had been carried. He was in bed, and I waited beside him while his wounds were being dressed. I told him my orders and asked if he was well enough to comply.
‘He said he was, and he read the manifesto signed by his Commander-in-Chief. Commandant Connolly then dictated the following—as he was unable to write himself— which I wrote down underneath Commandant Pearse’s typed manifesto and it was signed, and dated, April 29, 1916 by Commandant Connolly: “I agree to these conditions for the men only under my own command in the Moore Street district, and for the men in Stephen’s Green command.”
‘This document containing the orders of Commandant General Pearse and Commandant Connolly was presented on the following day by me to Commandant Thomas MacDonagh who added the following words and signed and dated it. 30.IV. 1916, 3.15p.m. “After consultation with Commandant Ceannt I have confirmed this order agreeing to unconditional surrender.” . . .
‘On the night of April 29, 1916, General Lowe, accompanied by myself and two other members of his staff, paraded at the Parnell Monument to receive the surrender of the rebels in accordance with their commander’s instructions. Up to 10.30 pm about 450 surrendered there. I took down the names and addresses of 84 and delegated other
EASTER 1916
officers to take the remainder.*
‘The prisoners were drawn up in line and I walked down the ranks taking down each name and address as given to me. As it was physically impossible for me to write down all the names I sent word to the General that I required assistance and he then detailed 14 other officers to help me. The lists made by these officers were handed in to the Assistant Inspector General of the Royal Irish Constabulary at a later date. . . .
‘That night I received orders from the general to be at the bank at the corner of Rutland Square and Upper Sackville Street at 8 am the following morning, Sunday, April 30, 1916, to meet Nurse Elizabeth O’Farrell—known to the British Army as the “Sinn Féin Nurse”—who had undertaken to conduct me to the headquarters of the various commands in and around the city for the purpose of communicating the surrender orders.
‘A military car–No. R1 4064–was waiting, driven by one of the Royal Army Service Corps drivers, with the sergeant major of the 5th Royal Irish Regiment as escort. I was unarmed, Nurse O’Farrell carried an old white apron on a stick as a flag of truce, and she and I sat behind.
‘I decided to go first to the College of Surgeons, Stephen’s Green, which was strongly held by the rebels and which was keeping up a continuous fusilade with the British garrison in the United Service Club and the Shelbourne Hotel. On the way I had, by the general’s instructions, ordered an escort of military to be in readiness at Trinity College to take over the College of Surgeons if the rebels surrendered. At Lambert Brien’s shop in Grafton Street my motor was brought to a standstill by the cross-firing, and I decided to allow the nurse to proceed alone and deliver the document at the college under cover of the white flag. Both she and it would be recognised and respected.
‘She returned about 9.30 having delivered the message.
* Among the 84 names Harry recorded in his field notebook were: Harry Boland of 15 Marino Crescent, Clontarf; Michael Collins, 16 Rathdown Road, North Circular Road; John Lemass, 2 Capel Street (Lemass, the future Taoiseach, evidently announced himself as Seán, for Harry began the first name ‘Ch . . .’ before reverting to the English version); John Frances McEntee of Belfast (who as Seán MacEntee became Minister for Finance in successive Fianna Fáil governments); Lieut. John Plunkett, Larkfield, Kimmage; Wm Pearse, St Enda’s College, Rathfarnham (executed 4 May). Most of the prisoners gave Dublin addresses, but there was also James Robinson, from Glasgow, Patrick Rankin from Co. Down, Peter Murphy from Dundalk, Fred Newsom from Wexford, James M. O’Brennan and Peter Bracken from Tullamore and Francis M. Kelly from London.
FINDLATERS
The entry in Harry’s notebook recording the arrest of Seán Lemass and Seán McEntee.
‘Thence I endeavoured to drive her to Boland’s Mill, Ringsend. Owing to the barricades across Lower Mount Street, and having tried all the routes down by the river which were held by the rebels, and hearing reports of continuous firing further on, I had again to allow the nurse to proceed on foot to deliver the document under cover of the white flag.’
Boland’s Mill, commanded by Éamon de Valera, was a seemingly impregnable fortress. De Valera had avoided shells from the naval reserve boat Helga, firing from the River Liffey, by the simple ruse of hoisting his flag on a building some distance from the mill. British soldiers encircling the mill shouted and waved their rifles at Nurse O’Farrell as she made her way towards it. She waved her white flag back at them and went on. Volunteers lifted her through a window into a small room. There she came face to face with Commandant de Valera, who was ghostlike with his uniform spattered with flour from the bakery. He said: ‘My immediate superior officer is Commandant MacDonagh. I will take orders only from him.’
The nurse made her way back to the captain’s car.
‘I took her up again and drove her through the Castle, up Ship Street to St. Patrick’s Park, being the nearest point that the motor could approach to Jacob’s Factory as this and the surrounding neighbourhood was very strongly held by the rebels. I was to meet her again at 12 noon. These visits were for the purpose of handing in the orders to surrender to the various commandants, not to receive their surrenders.
‘Nurse O’Farrell was very intimate with the situation of all these command posts and had no difficulty in directing the motor on the best route to take and where to go next, so that no time was lost.’
To reach Jacob’s biscuit factory, now a high, embattled fortress, Miss O’Farrell had walked through a maze of streets which were a death trap to the troops. From its two towers vigilant Volunteers had a magnificent view of the whole city. Its lofty windows dominated even Dublin Castle—the city’s administrative centre.
The strength of its garrison was 150 men, some boys of the Fianna Eireann, the Republican boy scout movement, and a party of Cumann na mBan, the women’s wing of the freedom movement to which Miss O’Farrell belonged. The commander of this stronghold whom she now sought was Commandant Thomas MacDonagh.
stronghold whom she now sought was Commandant Thomas MacDonagh. Near the factory Miss O’Farrell, with her white flag resting on her shoulder, asked for him. There was a whispered conversation among the Volunteers and a large white bandage was produced. ‘We will take you to him, but you will have to be blindfolded,’ she was told.
She was led along streets for a few minutes and eventually she heard and recognised
EASTER 1916
Scenes of destruction of central Dublin immediately after the Rising
the commandant’s voice. The bandage was removed from her eyes. She handed over the typewritten surrender manifesto, which Padraig Pearse and James Connolly had signed. Commandant MacDonagh, his face grave, declared first that he would not take orders from a prisoner.
‘I will not surrender myself,’ he said, ‘until I have spoken with General Lowe, my brother officers who are already prisoners, and the officers under my command.’
Meantime, Captain Wheeler, who was waiting for Nurse O’Farrell in St Patrick’s Park, went to Dublin Castle. He writes:
‘I obtained information from the garrison adjutant that a telephone message had been received from O.C. Troops, Shelbourne Hotel, that the Republican flag over the College of Surgeons had been hauled down and that troops were required to take over the college and supervise the surrender of the garrison. I motored back at once to Trinity College and ordered the military escort which was in waiting to proceed up Grafton Street as far as possible and to keep the men out of view of St Stephen’s Green as there was still sniping from various points.
‘From there I went to the Kildare Street entrance of the Shelbourne Hotel and interviewed the OC Troops, who pointed out the position from the top window where he had his Maxim gun placed. Having informed him of my plans, and having telephoned to the OC Troops, United Service Club, not to “open fire” as I was about to receive the surrender of the rebels, I returned to Grafton Street, picked up the sergeant-major with the motor and drove to the front door of the College of Surgeons.
‘I ordered the sergeant major to bang the door, and, having waited for a reasonable time without any response, a civilian signalled that there was some excitement going on down York Street. A white flag was hanging out of the door of the college. Two of the rebel leaders came out, advanced, and saluted. The commandant stated that he was
FINDLATERS
Michael Mallin [–he had once been a drummer boy in the British Army–] and that his companion was Countess Markievicz . That he and the garrison wished to surrender.
‘The Countess [–a cousin of Captain Wheeler’s wife–] was dressed in the uniform of an Irish Volunteer, green breeches, putties, tunic, and slouch hat with feathers and Sam Browne belt, with arms and ammunition. I asked her would she wish to be driven in my motor under escort to the Castle, knowing the excitement her appearance would create when marching through the streets. She said: ‘No, I shall march at the head of my men as I am second in command, and shall share their fate.’
‘Accordingly, I requested her to disarm, which she did. When handing over her arms she kissed her small revolver reverently. In addition to this small automatic pistol, Countess Markievicz was armed with a German Mauser pistol, which she also handed me. This latter was retained by General Lowe until leaving the Curragh, when he presented it to me.
‘Commandant Mallin was not armed and I requested him to order his followers to lay down their arms in the college and march out and form up in front. While they were doing so I sent a message to the escort in Grafton Street to come up, as there were no British troops picketing this part of the city and I had only 25 men in Grafton Street. I then inspected the rebels in the college and ascertained that they had disarmed, and inspected the arms in a large room in the upper part of the building, a portion of which had been curtained off as a Red Cross hospital.
‘Commandant Mallin and Countess Markievicz accompanied me during my inspection. The whole building was in an indescribable state of confusion and destruction, furniture, books, etc., being piled up as barricades and the large picture of the late Queen Victoria torn to pieces and destroyed. Food, clothes, arms, ammunition, mineral waters, surgical dressings were mixed up and lying about in all directions.
‘On my inquiring about the wounded, the countess informed me that they had been removed. There was one prisoner, Mr Lawrence Kettle , who was handed over to me and whom I drove to the Castle and handed over to the authorities there. Having carried out the inspection, I ordered the Commandant to march out his followers, whom he informed me numbered 109 men, 10 women, the Countess Markievicz, and himself. I phoned from the nearest telephone instrument—the Mineral Water Direct Supply Co. at Stephen’s Green—to headquarters to inform the general of this surrender.
‘Immense crowds of civilians had, in the meantime, assembled in York Street and Stephen’s Green, as there were no troops guarding this portion of the city, and it was with much difficulty that the officer commanding the escort, which was small, succeeded in getting the rebels away in safety.
‘Tremendous cheers greeted the rebels as they surrendered. The crowds followed them and continued this down Grafton Street until I succeeded in getting a cordon across the street. The crowds were held back at the point of the bayonet to allow the escort and their prisoners through to safety to the Castle. In the meantime I had detailed one NCO and four men to take charge of the college until a stronger guard could be obtained. The escort and prisoners reached the Castle yard in safety at 1.45 p.m.
‘I then proceeded to my rendezvous with Nurse O’Farrell at St Patrick’s Park but
EASTER 1916
Henry Street immediately after the Rising
was informed that she had not returned from Jacob’s factory although it was two o’clock. She was now two hours late.’
Nurse Elizabeth O’Farrell was three hours late returning from the beleaguered Jacob’s factory where, under cover of a white flag, she had gone to deliver surrender documents to Commandant Thomas MacDonagh. Captain de Courcy Wheeler was waiting for her in St Patrick’s Park sitting in the staff car, No. R.1 4064, which had already carried them on the same mission to other leaders. But now he had company. General William Lowe, Commander of the British troops in Dublin, had driven up with his staff officers to join him. He told Wheeler that there had been a new development: that two friars had offered to persuade the insurgents to surrender and he had agreed to let them try. They had gone to Jacob’s factory.
Nurse O’Farrell came at last, with the friars—Fathers Aloysius and Augustine–and with Commandant MacDonagh. Wheeler, MacDonagh, and the two friars, accompanied by the general’s son, who was his ADC, drove to insurgent outposts at the South Dublin Union and the Marrowbone Lane Distillery to arrange the surrender.
At the distillery, Captain writes in his diary:
‘Dense crowds surrounded the motor car and we were warned that irrespective of the white flag and the friar who was carrying it, anyone wearing khaki would be fired upon. In spite of this, nothing unpleasant happened. However, although there seemed to be great relief in this district that hostilities had ceased, it was perfectly plain that all the admiration was for those who surrendered. I ordered the motor to go to Ship Street close to St. Patrick’s Park and wait there until the garrison in Jacob’s factory had surrendered.
FINDLATERS
men had laid down their arms in order to surrender, the soldiers had opened fire on them, were throwing bombs into the houses, and that the military had broken into the factory and were killing his men. He had seen one of our soldiers taking up a position in the factory and using his bayonet.
‘I told MacDonagh that it was impossible, as there was no troops there, and that if it was an individual soldier I did not understand why he and his men could not deal with him. He replied that if they interfered with the soldier they were afraid it might be serious for them.
‘Commandant MacDonagh was so positive about the occurrence that I reported it to the GOC, 176th Infantry Brigade, and brought MacDonagh before him. The general stated that none of his troops was there. He instructed me to ascertain at Dublin Castle whether any troops had been sent independently. Accompanied by General Lowe’s ADC, I went with MacDonagh to the castle and brought him before the colonel in command, who also stated that there was no troops at Jacob’s.
‘I then drove MacDonagh back and he requested some officers to go and ascertain the fact. I took upon myself to advise strongly against this and refused to allow General Lowe’s ADC to go, pointing out to the GOC, 176th Infantry Brigade and to the OC Troops in the Castle that it was an impossible story got up for some purpose.
‘Accordingly, I told MacDonagh to return accompanied by Nurse O’Farrell, a secular priest and the friars and to order his men to surrender. The G.O.C. 176th Infantry Brigade and the O.C. troops in the castle pointed out that if there were soldiers firing at the rear of the factory it would not prevent his own men from coming out at the front.
‘Shortly afterwards the two friars, the secular priest and Nurse Elizabeth O’Farrell returned and stated there had been no foundation for the accusation against the military, that none of the commands had been injured, and that it was looters who had broken into Jacob’s and were doing mischief.
‘I immediately reported this to the GOC, 176th Brigade and to the OC Troops in the Castle and asked them to hear the secular priest on the subject, which they did.
‘Shortly afterwards the commander from Marrowbone Lane and from the South Dublin Union arrived and laid down their arms in St Patrick’s Park along with the commander from Jacob’s.
‘I then set off again with Nurse Elizabeth O’Farrell to drive her to Boland’s Mills at Ringsend, but as it was now getting dark and she said she would prefer to go in the morning, I drove to Trinity College with her and telephoned to General Lowe for instructions. He replied that the following morning would do, and that in any case it was reported that the Ringsend commands had surrendered to the OC Troops, Ballsbridge, and to place Nurse Elizabeth O’Farrell in the Red Cross Hospital at the Castle until the following morning leaving her in care of the matron, not as a prisoner. . . .
‘After leaving Nurse O’Farrell at the Castle hospital I returned to headquarters and the following morning, May 1, 1916, was kept busy in Room 13 with various matters pending the handing over of the command of the troops in Dublin by General Lowe to General Sandbach, which was to take place at 12 noon.
‘General Lowe introduced me to Captain Prince Alexander of Battenberg, ADC to
EASTER 1916
General Sir John Maxwell, and I accompanied them to the inspection held in Trinity College Park of the Irish regiments engaged in Dublin during the Rising.
‘To each of the units General Maxwell made a speech, complimenting them on their behaviour and praising them for their skill and courage in the execution of the most distasteful form of warfare to a soldier—against his own countrymen and in house-to-house fighting.
‘After luncheon in the college, I motored back to headquarters. From there I went to deliver a letter from General Lowe to Nurse O’Farrell and order her release from the Dublin Castle hospital.’
[The general wanted to ensure her safety and the letter that was hand-written and signed by him, stated: ‘Miss Elizabeth O’Farrell was of great assistance by voluntarily accompanying a staff officer to various rebel commandants, and I trust that this may be taken into consideration at any future date.’]
‘When I arrived Nurse O’Farrell had been removed to Ship Street Barracks guardroom by Captain Stanley, RAMC, where she was handed over by the OC Troops to the military police as a prisoner. Captain Stanley had not been informed by the assistant matron that Nurse O’Farrell was not to be considered a prisoner, but only to be detained in the hospital until sent for by the G.O.C. Troops, Dublin, and had therefore discharged her as an ordinary prisoner when finding her fit. I considered this a very serious matter and a grave reflection on the honour of everyone concerned.
‘I then went to the provost marshal and explained the position to him but he stated that he had sent Nurse O’Farrell to Richmond Barracks, and that he could give no assistance. I was determined to have the matter put right, and it was quite plain that the general would put all the blame on me and in the meantime I was considering what Nurse O’Farrell must be enduring, and thinking of the grave breach of faith on the part of the general and his staff. Captain Stanley then procured an ambulance, and with the assistant matron we went to Richmond Barracks.
‘To my alarm, when we arrived I was informed that Nurse O’Farrell had been sent from there to Kilmainham. Every minute was then of consequence as the prisoners were to be embarked that night for England, and orders had been issued for a draft of 400 men to escort the prisoners to the North Wall, and a detachment of 80 men to form an overseas escort.
‘At last, in great anxiety, which was shared by Captain Stanley and the assistant matron, we arrived at Kilmainham, where I peremptorily demanded the release of Nurse O’Farrell, and threatened court martial if the orders of the general officer commanding were not complied with forthwith.
‘This had become necessary as the officer commanding at Kilmainham had already received orders from the provost marshal that Nurse O’Farrell was to be deported. I had no written order to the contrary, only what I knew were the general’s intentions with regard to her. I said I could not leave without Nurse O’Farrell and that I would send for the general if there was any further delay.
‘The assistant matron and Captain Stanley explained also that it was through a mistake that she had been allowed to be removed from the Castle and that they were to blame.
FINDLATERS
‘The officer in charge then handed her over to me, and she was brought back to the Castle hospital in the ambulance with Captain Stanley and the assistant matron, where we arrived at 5.05 pm. I left her there with instructions, as before, that she was to be detained as a patient and not as a prisoner, until the general issued further orders.
‘In the meantime, whether by telephone from myself or otherwise, General Lowe had heard of the grave mistake, and himself chased round in my tracks until he found her safe in the hospital where I had left her. He told me that he was not at headquarters when my telephone message arrived, but that when he heard of the position he went round in pursuit himself, and that he had seen Nurse O’Farrell and ordered her immediate release from the hospital. He then asked me, “Why could you not have done that?” My reply was, as I think it was a bit hard–”I had done it all before you!” The general and myself were fast friends and he always said he liked soldiering with me.
‘It was on account of the general releasing Nurse O’Farrell that his letter was not delivered to her, as I never saw her again, and he said it was unnecessary.
‘Hostilities had now ceased, the order for “cease fire” having been given. Of course I was in the thick of all the other happenings, but, as will be gathered from what I have recorded, I had no time to give any but superficial attention to what was going on all round me, except to my own special orders which followed and jostled each other in quick succession.
‘My next duties were in reference to the courts martial, as having been present at the surrenders it was considered that my evidence would be indispensable.
‘These courts martial were held in Richmond Barracks, and I was backwards and forwards continuously, during which time Mr Asquith, the Prime Minister, crossed from England, paid a visit there and recommended that the prisoners should be supplied with pillows. These were evidently not available (as they were not a barrack room issue), because of the unexpected addition to the numbers normally in occupation of those barrack rooms.
‘Martial law had been proclaimed over the whole of Ireland and an order was issued prohibiting anyone leaving their houses between 7.30 pm and 5.30 am, and licensed premises were only allowed to remain open between 2 and 5 pm in the city and county of Dublin, so that the streets were absolutely empty and deserted. There was no traffic of any kind, and I seemed to be the only individual abroad after 7.30 p.m.
‘Being detached from my own unit, I lived at one of the hotels—the Shelbourne or Hibernian—and after dismissing my official car for the night used to tramp the streets alone being challenged here and there by a sentry. There was not a sound, nothing stirring, no lights visible, and the streets took on quite a different shape and appearance, and the whole surroundings were weird.’
Captain Wheeler gave formal evidence at the courts martial of Commandant Padraig Pearse, Commandant Michael Mallin, Commandant James Connolly, Countess Markievicz and Commandant MacDonagh.
He records these incidents in court:
‘Countess Markievicz was asked by the president of the court whether she wished to ask me any questions. She said, “No, this officer has spoken the truth. I have no wit
EASTER 1916
Harry with the walking stick given to him by Commander Mallin (alas it was subsequently stolen). (National Library of Ireland)
nesses, what I did was for the freedom of Ireland and I thought we had a fighting chance.”
‘Before her marriage Countess Markievicz was Constance Gore-Booth, eldest daughter of Sir Henry William Gore-Booth, fifth baronet, and sister of the present baronet, Sir Joselyn Gore- Booth, of Lissadell, Co. Sligo.
‘She was a relation of my wife (née Knox), both being descended from Sir Paul Gore, first baronet of Manor Gore, and to commemorate the event my daughter who was born on The Curragh a short time before the Rising, was christened Kathleen Constance Gore after Countess Markievicz. As Miss Constance Gore-Booth I had met her previously at castle and other social functions.
‘On the same day—May 2, 1916—I was again ordered to be present to give evidence before another field general court martial of the surrender of Commandant Michael Mallin who was in command at the College of Surgeons. My evidence was as described previously:
‘“Commandant Mallin came out of the side door of the college, advanced and saluted and stated that he was in command, and that he and his command wished to surrender.”
‘The president then asked Commandant Mallin whether he wished to ask me any questions. He said, “No, but” (turning to me) “I would wish it placed on record how grateful my comrades and myself are for the kindness and consideration which Captain Wheeler has shown to us during this time.”
‘The president of the court said that his wish would be carried out. The court then dismissed me.
‘In the reproduction of the photograph taken by one of my brother officers of myself standing by the ambulance, it will be noticed that I am carrying a walking stick. This was given to me by Commandant Mallin, and was carried by him when he surrendered at the College of Surgeons. The ambulance is that in which Countess Markievicz was brought to and from her court martial.
FINDLATERS
1966, Harry’s son Wiggie* explained: ‘My father observed a number of these sewing machines in Liberty Hall and thought one would make a good souvenir for his wife and family. In due course the Singer sewing machine arrived at the Royal Irish Automobile Club and has been in active service up to a year ago, sewing garments for the family. I believe the year of manufacture was 1896 which as well as being a good year for sewing machines, was an excellent year for port.’
It is said that a 20th century Chinese statesman, when asked what were the effects of the French Revolution, replied that it was too early to tell. In The Lady of the House of Christmas 1916, Crawford Hartnell, expressed early a view that many have also adopted about the events of Easter Week: ‘The other day I heard a great man, a non-politician who knows this country most intimately, observe: “This rebellion has been the greatest mistake in Ireland’s history and the method of its suppression the greatest error England has ever made in Ireland”.
Notes and references
- The Lady of the House, Christmas edition 1916
- Max Caulfield, The Easter Rebellion London: A Four Square Book 1965 pp 221–2
- The Lady of the House, May 1916
- Sunday Express March 1966
* Wigstrom Hercules Beresford de Courcy-Wheeler, born at Robertstown 10 November 1908; educated Dover College, apprentice wine merchant in Mitchells of Kildare Street. Served in Second World War, Captain in the Irish Guards and Commandos. Wine merchant in Kidderminster and Worcester after the war.