Rebel Sisters (15 page)

As Muriel perused the menu she noticed he was watching her. A waitress hovered around them and took their order for cucumber and chicken sandwiches.

MacDonagh and John chatted easily while Muriel tried to keep up with their conversation which was about their mutual acquaintances Arthur Griffith and Tom Clarke.

‘I used to buy the
Sinn Fein
paper in Tom Clarke's shop and he was the first person to encourage me to submit my work there.'

‘Clarke may be an old Fenian, but he has the respect of all of us who know him,' said MacDonagh. ‘His long years of being imprisoned in England have never dampened his beliefs.'

‘I suspect they have made them even stronger,' suggested John. ‘More radical.'

‘Muriel, do you know Tom Clarke?' he asked, as if suddenly remembering she was sitting at the table too.

‘I've never been to Mr Clarke's tobacconist shop,' Muriel admitted, feeling rather left out as her sister and MacDonagh seemed to have many acquaintances in common. It felt peculiar that her younger sister knew far more about the society he mixed in than she did. ‘But I have often heard John speak of him and his wife Kathleen.'

MacDonagh, utterly polite, changed the subject and began to talk about the university, telling them stories that made them both laugh aloud. How he managed to juggle his study, his work on the
Irish Review
, his writing and his involvement in many organizations was a mystery.

‘I hate to be bored,' he confessed.

Mr MacDonagh certainly did have a way with words and a fine mind, and he was unafraid of speaking his thoughts, which was truly admirable.

John spotted some friends and went over to join them.

Muriel suddenly became conscious that they were alone, but MacDonagh began asking her about her work assisting with the school dinners and suddenly they were both chatting easily about their own childhoods and family.

‘Our parents have raised twelve of us, six boys and six girls,' explained Muriel. ‘They had high expectations for the education of all their children equally. Kate attended the University of Dublin and was one of its first female graduates.'

‘Your parents sound most enlightened – different from many of their generation.'

‘Enlightened – Mother and Father are certainly not that!' She laughed. ‘They are fierce unionists loyal to the crown and the empire.'

‘But they obviously do believe in the education of all their children equally and that young women must use their intelligence and talent,' he said approvingly as John returned to join them.

The teapot was finally empty and the waitress had started to clear the cake stand and their plates.

‘I am afraid we must go, Mr MacDonagh, but thank you so much for inviting us,' said Muriel graciously as he paid the bill.

They walked together to the tram stop, where MacDonagh politely waited with them until their tram arrived.

As she rode home, Muriel couldn't help wondering why MacDonagh had invited her to meet him; it was quite clear he had far more in common with John than with her. Watching the houses and rear gardens of Harcourt Street and Ranelagh from the tram window, she felt disappointed, as she suspected that she was unlikely to hear from Mr MacDonagh again.

However, she was wrong …

A second letter! Muriel's heart sang as she opened the note. She could scarcely believe it. This time he was inviting her to join him on a visit to Dublin's Botanic Gardens, where they could stroll and enjoy the formal planting and the magnificent glass Palm House. She searched his letter for a hidden meaning, perusing each word, studying his handwriting. This time there was no mention of bringing her sister or a chaperone. She couldn't help smiling, deliriously happy because MacDonagh wanted to see her again.

After that they met as often as they could, often secretly at the National Gallery, at exhibitions, the museum, the National Library, grabbing every precious minute they could together. Some days MacDonagh would cycle to their road to meet her and they would walk together around the area or in the park, hoping they would not encounter anyone they knew. Muriel was aware that her parents would not approve of her relationship with such a nationalist.

At night, the theatre, concerts and visits to the Gaelic League became the perfect places for them to see each other. Sometimes when they met he wore his kilt, which Muriel found most attractive. In this traditional dress MacDonagh conveyed the type of man he was, proud of his Gaelic heritage and not afraid to demonstrate his strong beliefs that Ireland was a separate nation from Britain. He was in favour of the Home Rule Bill, believing that an Irish parliament with its own members and ministers would be an important first step towards Irish freedom.

As her relationship with MacDonagh deepened, Muriel saw little of George and made constant excuses as to why she could not meet him, wishing that he would stop writing to invite her out.

MacDonagh was the most wonderful man and he excited her in a way no one else had. He was reckless and brave, funny and charming, and when she was with him he made her feel that she was beautiful. No one had ever told her that she was pretty or beautiful, but he told her all the time. He buried his face in her long, thick red hair, saying how much he adored it. Ever since she was a little girl her mother had made her feel ashamed of her hair, forcing her to wear it up and covered with a hat. MacDonagh laughed as he unpinned it and let it tumble and ripple around her shoulders.

‘You are the most beautiful girl in the world, Muriel,' he said, ‘and the wonderful thing is that you do not even realize it.'

Sometimes when she saw him in conversation with another woman she worried that he had grown bored with her. She could not help it, but at times she even grew jealous of her sisters and the attention he paid to them.

‘But it's you I love,' he teased.

When she visited his cottage it felt as if they were a proper couple, cooking meals together, playing with his dog, curled up together on the couch reading. She would sit and watch him work for hours, noticing his long, dark eyelashes and the funny furrowed wrinkle he got on his brow when he was concentrating, and she loved the way he sang under his breath when he was happy.

Every day she cared more and more for him, but she knew she must keep their growing involvement a secret from Mother, who would not countenance such an arrangement. John, Grace and Nellie all knew about their relationship but she said nothing to her sister Kate, who had moved back to Dublin with her husband, Walter. Kate was the best sister in the world but had never been good at keeping secrets from their mother.

Now Muriel wrote to George to tell him clearly and politely that they could no longer see each other or correspond. In her heart she knew that she loved only Thomas MacDonagh.

IN JUNE FIREWORKS
and bonfires lit up the skies in Dublin and all across the empire to celebrate the official coronation of the new king, George V, who had succeeded his father, the late King Edward VII, on the British throne. Plans for a visit by King George to Ireland later in the summer to meet his loyal subjects had already been announced.

MacDonagh confided in Muriel as they strolled along by the canal that he and his friends Padraig, Eamonn Ceannt and Sean Mac Diarmada were set on organizing a nationalist protest against the king's visit and Dublin Corporation's plan to make an official Loyal Address on behalf of his subjects to offer allegiance to him as it would not represent the growing nationalist view of the monarchy.

She and her sisters soon found themselves involved too, as Countess Markievicz and Helena Molony urged members of the Daughters of Ireland to join the massive demonstration to be held in Beresford Place.

‘We are not King George's subjects and the Lord Mayor and his councillors do not speak for us or represent the opinion of Irish nationalists,' they declared fiercely to the crowd.

Countess Markievicz had hung a large banner proclaiming ‘Dear Land, Thou art not conquered yet' across the bottom of Grafton Street, but the Dublin Metropolitan Police had quickly taken it down.

Thousands crowded on to the street, everyone pushing, shoving and shouting. Muriel was afraid she would be knocked off her feet as the crowds gathered to listen to speakers express their opposition to the visit of the new British king. She, Grace and John handed out leaflets that Helena had printed up.

Countess Markievicz defiantly attempted to set fire to the Union flag, which she had stolen from Leinster House, and Helena was arrested and imprisoned for throwing stones at a giant illuminated picture of the king and queen and for publicly calling the king ‘a scoundrel'.

The demonstrations continued over the next few days and, surrounded by police, Muriel and her sisters protested outside City Hall as the city councillors tried to enter the building. Skirmishes and fighting broke out as nationalists demanded that Dublin Corporation cancel any plans for an official Loyal Address to the king.

MacDonagh teased her unmercifully when the newspaper reports mentioned ‘the Gifford sisters looking like a musical comedy in their pretty pale linen dresses as they attended the demonstration'.

‘What will Mother say if she reads it?' fretted Muriel.

‘Mother would never read such a nationalist paper,' John assured her.

In July King George V arrived in Ireland, the sun blazing as the royal party's yacht sailed into Kingstown and anchored. The streets of the seaside town and the roads into Dublin were bedecked with bright-coloured bunting and flags, flowers and Venetian poles to celebrate the royal visit of King George V, Queen Mary and their children, Prince Edward and Princess Mary. A national holiday had been declared for 8 July and thousands of people began to line the route from early morning to welcome the king.

Muriel, Grace and John dressed quickly and carried bundles of freshly printed protest leaflets to distribute among the crowds all along the route that the royal party would take.

‘I am pleased to see you girls making the effort to see our new king,' beamed Mother as they prepared to leave. ‘I'm not able for such standing, but I look forward to hearing of the royal visit on your return.'

Muriel felt guilty at their subterfuge, but their mother had no idea of the circles they now moved in.

She had never seen such crowds. Thousands of Dubliners lined the coast road all the way from the pretty harbour town of Kingstown towards the city. Men attired in blazers and straw boaters, women in their white summer dresses and hats, children in light pinafores and short trousers – everyone was in holiday mood, cheering and waving flags to welcome the royal visitors. Many had brought picnics and sandwiches as they patiently waited to watch the procession of carriages escorted by the 5th Royal Irish Lancers pass before them on their journey into the city and up to the Phoenix Park.

Muriel was glad of her hat, for the sun beat down on them as they moved along distributing their leaflets. A loud cheer went up as the royal procession approached. King George waved grandly from his carriage and everyone pressed forward, determined to get a glimpse of the monarch and his entourage. As she handed out her leaflets most people did not even bother to read them, but simply tossed them away, presuming that they were suffragettes.

Her feet ached by the time they returned home. Mother and Father were both eager to hear every little detail about the royal party and the welcome the king had received. Muriel could not deny that the visit was an enormous success, for the people of Dublin had certainly taken their new monarch to their hearts.

Their only consolation was that, at the last hour, Dublin Corporation had reconsidered and cancelled the Lord Mayor's Loyal Address to His Majesty.

‘A small victory, but a victory none the less.' MacDonagh looked pleased when they met later that summer's evening to stroll by the canal.

SHE LOVED MACDONAGH
so much, perhaps too much at times. As their relationship deepened Muriel could not imagine her life without him. She kept a photograph of him under her pillow, secretly kissing it morning and night. She had given him a studio portrait she'd had taken wearing a cream lace dress, and she cut a lock of her red hair and tied it with a green satin ribbon for him to keep under his pillow.

Her heart sang when he gave or sent her pages of his new plays and poems to read, entrusting his words and thoughts to her. Muriel carefully read every line and word so that she could offer an informed opinion, aware that she was sharing his innermost thoughts and emotions. He had gained his Masters degree and was desperately trying to find a university job.

MacDonagh wrote to her every day; sometimes the letters came twice or even three times a day. Muriel tried to intercept the postman before her parents or someone else in the house noticed. She would write by return, her heart racing as she poured her words and feelings for him on to the page. Father eventually became puzzled by how many times the poor postman came to 8 Temple Villas.

They met as often as they could, for she longed to see and speak to him and found it unbearable to be without him. She wrote and asked him to wear his kilt when they met, for it pleased her so. Was it possible to love someone so much, she wondered as she wrote to him secretly by candlelight or moonlight, then sealing each precious letter to him.

She worried about her mother and father's reaction to her romantic involvement. They would most certainly disapprove. Mother would forbid such a relationship with a man who was not only a Roman Catholic and financially insecure, but also committed to the nationalist cause and an Irish speaker. MacDonagh's family might also be very upset at his involvement with a Protestant, as his sister Mary had become a Catholic nun, taking the name Sister Francesca.

‘Your family will all get used to it,' he soothed her. ‘You told me your father is Catholic and your sister Kate's husband is Catholic too, so why should they object to us when I love you so much?'