Unlikely Rebels (27 page)

Notes

After the Civil War, the Gifford daughters, diehard republicans though they were, tried to settle down with the new Irish Free State. One of the state's first hurdles to be vaulted was the Army Mutiny of 1924, dealt with decisively by W. T. Cosgrave. Unfortunately, in 1925, he accepted the iniquitous Boundary Commission Report, which spawned eighty years of strife in Northern Ireland. The following year, de Valera formed a new political party, Fianna Fáil, which was republican and firmly anti-boundary. When he entered the Dáil in 1927, de Valera took the Oath of Allegiance to Britain as ‘an empty formula', only so as to have the presence and power to abolish it. Significantly, in 1929, the first Prime Minister of Northern Ireland, Lord Craigavon, dropped proportional representation in Northern Ireland – an electoral system that would have helped the nationalists there. In 1930, Ireland became a member of the League of Nations Council, and in 1931 it was given equal status with the other countries in the Commonwealth under the Statute of Westminster. A year later, de Valera was appointed prime minister, when Fianna Fáil swept to power in the General Election. Immediately he commenced dismantling the Treaty of 1921. In retaliation, Britain imposed sanctions against trade; de Valera responded, and so began the Economic War. The Governor General's powers were significantly curtailed by Dáil Éireann and in 1937 the powers of this office were completely abolished. In 1932 de Valera was elected President of the League of Nations and at his inaugural meeting made a historic appeal for peace. Also that year the 31st International Eucharistic Congress was held in Dublin. Not often was so much accomplished in such a short time. The infant state would have more teething troubles and growing pains, but it was definitely on its way.

Some of its begetters did not live to see those times – not only those who had died in the insurrection and the Civil War but also those whose span of life had ended naturally. Many mourned the death of Countess Markievicz, including the Giffords. Her funeral, in 1927, was very large, and most of the mourners were not dignitaries but the poor of Dublin, whose poverty and wretchedness she had highlighted. They had always had a problem pronouncing her name, but got round that obstacle by calling her ‘Madam' or, more often, ‘Madam Dear'. They followed her hearse in their shabby clothes; she was one of themselves in so far as she had died in a public ward in Sir Patrick Dun's hospital. Nellie's daughter Maeve recalled how, after Dr Kathleen Lynn had founded St Ultan's Children's Hospital, at Christmas the Countess would bring Maeve and the Coughlan children, in whose home she was staying, to visit Woolworths.
[1]
Their task was to choose presents that would be suitable for the boys and girls at the hospital. Armed with the choices of her marketing advisers, ‘Madam', at this stage by no means flush with money, made her purchases for the children at St Ultan's.

It was not until the advent of the Eucharistic Congress and its coinciding with the third (and last) resurrected Tailteann Games that Nellie made her last important contribution to the Irish Free State. She had written, as far back as the mid-1920s, to Dudley Westropp, who was Keeper of the Art and Industrial Division at the National Museum, suggesting the desirability of collecting and preserving material relating to the Rising and the subsequent War of Independence.
[2]
He had agreed that it would be a good idea but nothing came of the suggestion. However, the influx of foreign visitors for both the Congress and the Games provided an international audience, and this acted as a spur to Nellie, especially after a casual meeting with an old comrade from Easter Week. They inevitably reminisced and talked of memorabilia they both had of that time. Nellie said what a pity it was that no effort had been made to conserve these mementos and, with a child's simplicity, her daughter Maeve asked, ‘why don't
you
do it?'
[3]
The seed was sown, and though it was very close to the Congress, Nellie could see that it was an ideal time to exhibit souvenirs of Ireland's struggle for freedom.

This middle-aged lady, without benefit of either car or bicycle, and with a small daughter to care for, set out, single-handedly, to start what became the impressive collection called ‘Pathway to Freedom' in the National Museum, which is now an even more impressive collection in Collins Barracks, Dublin. She began by seeking an interview with Dudley Westropp, to whom she had written many years before.
[4]
He still liked the idea but this time Nellie realised she had to take the initiative and that she needed support, so she approached the 1916 Club. At a specially convened meeting a resolution was passed to set up a research committee to start an exhibition of the 1916–21 struggle for freedom. At the first meeting, on 21 April 1932, Nellie was appointed Honorary Secretary. She proudly set out the full title of the committee in her minute book:

1916 Club
Cumann Saighdíurí na h-Éireann
Irish Republican Soldiers' Federation
10 Lower Abbey Street, Dublin.
Historical Research Committee.
[5]

The Honorary Secretary did much of the work and never missed a meeting of the committee. Kate, much taken up by the Aonach Tailteann, attended once and sent an excuse a second time. ‘John' attended once also, and, though Grace never attended, she publicly stated her belief in the importance of such a collection and willingly gave important items on loan.

Nellie's first approaches for accommodation were to Éamon de Valera and, through him, to Minister for Education Tomás Ó Deirg, whose department encompassed the museum. She had both their approvals, and when the Minister referred her to the museum officials she was cordially received. She baulked, however, at the suggestion of Dr Adolf Mahr, keeper of Irish Antiquities at the museum, that the proposed exhibition be housed in the basement, along with the uniforms of the Napoleonic era. A compromise was reached and Nellie was offered space for three large glass cases for her exhibits, above the basement. One was furnished by J. P. Cassidy, a tailor from Pearse Street; the other two were loaned by George Messias, another tailor, from Eden Quay. Nellie called to the premises of these two men. Maeve was with her and remembered Messias pointing to a bale of dark green material on the counter which had been ordered to kilt patriotically the members of the Dáil. It had never been used.

A letter Nellie wrote to
The
Irish Press
seeking exhibits was published and received a generous response.
[6]
She also wrote letters to known contacts and received no rebuffs. They had discussed at committee meetings the necessity of authenticity, but her knowledge of the period, and of many of the donors, stood her in good stead.

The museum authorities laid down ground rules: they would not finance the exhibition in any way, nor should their staff be asked to help in its presentation. Nellie willingly agreed to all conditions. She had her venue and her glass cases, and the exhibits started to pour in. They included precious republican pamphlets and books long out of print, the green jacket Countess Markievicz had worn in the Royal College of Surgeons and the watch (donated by Nellie herself) which was used to time the dispatches there. There was a revolver used by the same man in both the Fenian Rising of 1867 and during Easter Week, as well as a Carson rifle inscribed ‘For God and Ulster', Thomas MacDonagh's MA gown and his kilt and brat, Pearse's barrister's wig and gown, Joseph Plunkett's crucifix, and the much-reported bracelet Grace had given him before he went into battle. In addition, there were anti-
conscription ribbons, a Citizen Army uniform, the flag flown from the Four Courts, a Howth rifle and baton, and beautifully crafted objects from Frongoch. Nellie also selected material from Henry Sinclair, a jeweller from Nassau Street.
[7]
All 250 items received were authenticated and an official receipt supplied. It was a labour of love, not only for Nellie but for all those who lent their precious relics.

Everything was businesslike: duplicates of the descriptive receipts would act as indicators for any future exhibition as to from where and from whom the exhibits had come; labels were meticulously typed by Nellie in an eleventh-hour rush to beat the opening of the doors of the exhibition. It was worth it all: the visitors came, they saw, and they were conquered. One notable reaction was that of the foreign reporters who, having done this visual crash course in modern Irish history, were astonished to find that members of the professions in Ireland had been leaders and martyrs for Irish freedom.

Eulogies were the order of the day, and the role played by Mrs Eileen Gifford-Donnelly was enthusiastically acknowledged.
[8]
In a letter to
The
Irish Press
, Mrs Kathleen Clarke questioned her in naming Pearse First President of the Republic.
[9]
This had been an understandable mistake made as far back as 1917, but it was true that Thomas Clarke, though not to the fore in the GPO, had been so elected. However, that aside, Mrs Clarke said, ‘Mrs Donnelly deserves great credit for doing a work which will be of immense value to those who come after us.' She went on to envisage a greater collection should the museum authorities guarantee the safety of the exhibits. An enhanced exhibition, she added, would be ‘a monument to one woman's energy and perseverance'.

Mr Gogan, of the museum, added his own appreciation in writing to Nellie:

The remarkable success of your exhibition seems to me to be wholly due to the capacity and enthusiasm you brought to the task and I would regret very much indeed if your efforts and those of your Committee are thrown away. As I think I told you several times, the 1916 collection has, to my own observation, attracted an extraordinary amount of public attention and I have seen the material it contained studied with avidity by people of all ages and especially by the young.
[10]

The Irish-American press also took notice, and John Devoy's paper,
The Gaelic American
, gave an enthusiastic report and concluded with the almost inevitable hope that a permanent exhibition would result.
[11]
Admittedly, Devoy might have been less enthusiastic had he known the exhibition contained the letter Arthur Griffith had smuggled to him, introducing Nellie, which Devoy treated casually and disinterestedly, never using it and handing it back to her as ‘a souvenir'.

Having heard of the exhibition, Madge Daly wrote to Nellie from Tivoli, Limerick.
[12]
They had in common that Edward Daly (Madge's brother) and Joseph Plunkett (Nellie's brother-in-law) had both been shot in the early hours of 4 May 1916 in Kilmainham Gaol. This is only one example of the close ties Nellie had with exhibitors. Another shared interest was that Madge disclosed that she had a receipt for the £100 received by Liam Mellows after the surrender to enable him to escape, Nellie having helped to dye his hair. Madge offered many important articles, but there was a stipulation attached to their being given: she envisaged a permanent exhibition and wanted her items kept separately from others.

Another letter, from Bridie Clifford of Kilcoman, Killarney, reflected the heart-warming evocativeness of the undertaking:

I know how hard you worked in the museum trying to make the 1916 event such a success. I have heard several people talk of it since the Congress; they were all so glad to see their memory live once more … Kindly thanking you for your very great attention to our beloved martyrs.
[13]

Bridie Clifford also promised a picture of her brother, one of Kerry's Volunteers, in the event of a permanent exhibition. Not all the items offered were confined to the twentieth century. A late offer came from the Secretary of the Pharmaceutical Society of Ireland which jolted memories for Nellie of the yellow handkerchief she had received from Bridget Hamill; it was a cannonball, fired at the battle of Clones by Bridget's hero, Owen Roe O'Neill, three centuries before.

The
Irish Press
, in an article on the widespread interest in the event, described Mrs Nellie Gifford-Donnelly as ‘the Secretary and moving spirit'. The reporter also said, ‘The collection does not purport to be in any way complete. It is, however, remarkably good, considering the fact that it was collected in three weeks. As soon as more space is available in the museum, many important additions will be made to it.'
[14]
The
Evening Press
repeated that report and commented that the exhibition was ‘daily attracting vast throngs of both Irish and foreign visitors, who are displaying the keenest interest'.
[15]

By October 1933, the temporary exhibition, which had been in existence for over a year, was being dissolved, and the obvious desirability of permanency was gaining ground, resulting in a voluminous correspondence. Assumptions were made in the early exchanges which did not materialise: the 1916 Club still saw the exhibition as theirs, and they asked Dr Mahr for a report on its success to support their plea to the Dáil for its permanent status. He willingly lent that support, as did Mr Gogan of the museum's staff. The official correspondence seemed to go along with the permanency idea. Gradually, however, that outlook was reversed, particularly when the 1916 Club pressed the point that a specialist should be appointed to take care of ‘their' exhibition and that the person chosen should have taken part in the fight for freedom. It is not difficult to read between the lines that the specialist they had in mind was Nellie. In reply to a letter from de Valera's private secretary, Nellie herself explained, ‘The 1916 Club have given me sole charge of the collection,' and in an article in
The
Irish Press
on the matter she concluded:

The great interest roused by the temporary exhibition has shown the necessity of making a permanent collection. The 1916 Club Research Committee, Abbey Street, asked me as their Hon. Secretary to approach the government on the matter. The public will be glad to know that the government has now given permission for housing a permanent collection in the National Museum, Kildare Street, Dublin.
[16]