‘Under the stairs’: Extracts from the diary of Sheelah O’Grady — Stan O’Reilly

WICKLOW TOWN – Stan O’Reilly

‘Under the stairs’: Extracts from the diary of Sheelah O’Grady

Sheelah O’Grady was the daughter of Wicklow revolutionary William O’Grady. The following extracts are from the typescript of her unpublished diary.

William and Henrietta O’Grady

[My parents] lived and brought up their vast family in Wicklow Town on the east coast, twenty six miles south of Dublin A pleasant seaport of grey stone nestling around the mouth of the River Vartry and dominated by imposing churches of the Catholic and Protestant faiths perched high on opposing hills Father had been born and brought up in Waterford further to Wicklow Gaol pre 1950. the south, and went across the water to London Photo: Courtesy of Edward Kane to serve an apprenticeship in a hairdressing salon somewhere in the Pentonville Road The only reason I know this is that once when we went to London, he pointed out the salon He hardly ever mentioned his family and did little or nothing to keep in touch with them except when news arrived of the death by drowning, and his bowler hat was taken down from the top of the wardrobe to be given a good dusting before his departure for the funeral Quiet as he was at home, he found time not only to be a leading figure in Sinn Féin but also to be a well-respected Town Councillor Unfortunately, the hair dressing salon never made the money hoped for and became more and more of a burden to well beyond his dying day Mother was the radiant, sustaining one—though none of us children had any real inkling

of the real difficulties she had in coping with father’s increasing ill health, the mortgage, the bills, keeping us fed and well dressed for outside eyes Worn out by it all and twenty one pregnancies, she died at sixty three I was the child of the nineteenth pregnancy

Snatched at birth: a Black and Tan raid

On the 17th of November 1920 my mother, Henrietta was in labour when the Black and Tans burst their way into our house on Main Street, Wicklow, in search of arms and my father who was a local leader of Sinn Féin To force her to reveal his hiding place they snatched away my little wet body almost as soon as it was delivered and, as far as she knew, my life was over before it had even begun The terror and wailing must have been awful The details have been lost in the mists of time and, perhaps a vanishing of legend It was not something my parents cared to discuss, nor did I ask all the questions I should have. William, my father, who suffered so much in the cause of Irish freedom, remained almost entirely silent about his underground and political activities The tangible memento I have is his medal As it was, I was found alive and presumably well under the stairs by the front door while father was frogmarched up the street to Wicklow Gaol with a pistol at his head and steel tipped boots hacking at his ankles The Black and Tans were not the most gentle of mercenaries 1 He remained in prison in Wicklow and Mountjoy until I was old enough to remember the day of his release—a day when my mother took me and my two small sisters to Glendalough where, with her arms clasped to the wall of the round tower, she prayed for his homecoming He was in the house when we returned Too young to take in and understand her great joy I can, at least, remember the occasion I was far too young to know what went on at meetings held in our house, but many years later, Aunt Fanny, a Barlow from mother’s side of the family, told me the Black and Tans also raided the Barlow fish shop and house, only a few yards away, where they failed to find a cache of arms hidden around the bend behind the cistern

Ugly ducking

However, I can recall a night when mother was out and one of the men attending a meeting in our front parlour called up the stairs to pay for the use of the room I think a couple of shillings was due They must have been mightily polite plotters I was in bed with my sisters Patricia, hereafter called Pat, and Mary in the bathroom which had been converted to house the junior members of our ever bulging family A place of pipes whose gurgling and plonking kept us huddled together in a cocoon of giggling fear Though I was the junior child or, more accurately, because the other two were able to boss me, I was sent downstairs to make the collection Even then I knew every penny counted I got my reward when mother praised me with the words ‘Well done my child: handsome is as handsome does ’ Words that stuck I was very much the ugly duckling of the family

… From all this you might well imagine an outgoing all-Irish nationalist household Far from it Even though father addressed meetings and the local ‘action’ committee met in our front parlour, from which they were eventually rejected by mother on the grounds that they were wearing out the linoleum, pictures of the King and Queen and all the Royal Family hung on our walls Indeed, later on during the Second World War , it was father who encouraged me, two of my brothers and two of my sisters to join the British Forces It was not England he was against, it was her occupation of his beloved Ireland … A kinder, more gentle, man could not have been found He was far removed from the stereotype image of a freedom fighter.

Sheelah O’Grady inserted an end section to the story of her life and titled this ‘Notes by the family’. The following extracts record her family’s recollections of the revolutionary period in Wicklow.

Brother, Terence (Teddy), living in New York

In the meantime, the Black and Tans arrived They were all exArmy officers, each his own boss and able to do what he liked or wanted … To answer your question about father and the Sinn Féin, let me say he was a true and dedicated Irishman I remember that the Tans came to our house and took him out of bed in his pyjamas They took him out on the sidewalk, made him kneel down and sing ‘God Save the King ’ If it had not been for his wife and family, I believe he would have said ‘shoot me ’ Then they made him stand up and walk; and whilst he was walking, the Tans were kicking him on the heels until they were bloody, scraped and blistered I do not remember how long he was in jail

… I used to go fishing every night. Three times on my way home I had to dump my catch of pollock on the sidewalk at the Tan’s orders I always had a little bait box with worms I had to open that little 3×2×1–inch box to show there were no ‘torpedoes’ in it

Brother, Paul, living in London

I remember our house being raided by the Black and Tans many times Father was a prime target They tarred the shop window I remember that clearly I often wonder how it escaped being broken by them A plate glass window of that size would have cost a lot to repair in that age when a haircut cost 8 old pennies and a shave 4 pence I visited the old gaol many times on my way home from the Convent School. It was a terrible place, flagstone floor, cold, draughty, without heating The beds were very crude They looked like old doors There was no room to swing a cat

… I do not know what happened to the photographs of father with some other prisoners but I do know he looked awful

… When our house was raided they did not give him time to dress They marched him up the street in his nightshirt to the Market Square They tried to make him sing ‘God Save the King ’ I do not know how long he spent in Wicklow Gaol, but he was sent from there to Mountjoy Prison in Dublin He used to speak of a place called ‘Beggars Bush’2 which, I think, was another prison camp

This left Paddy alone to run the shop I often wondered how mother coped I never knew her annoyed or depressed She used to say she did not care what we got up to provided we did not bring the police to our door

… I remember Sheamus working in a bicycle shop; Dermot working in Sheane’s engineering place opposite our shop and Teddy working in Shaw’s on the Mall Hill

Sister, Patricia, living in Weston-super-Mare

Of the Barlow’s, Aunt Ciss lived in a little house by the quay which was always being flooded out. Jack Barlow, a cousin, and my mother’s brother Johnny I recall — Johnny came to Wicklow to die in our house

… I often heard mother tell father he was very fond of jail because he spent so much time there I remember his release from prison on the day when, as a seven-year-old, I had been to Glendalough where we prayed at St Kevin’s Tower that one day he would come back to us He was at home when we returned

… I do not know how long he was in jail, but I know that I visited him for nine months at least I visited him daily I remember being lifted up by a soldier in order to let me pull the rope of the bell that brought the warder to let me in

… When the Black and Tans came they covered our windows with tar They also pulled father out of bed and pushed him, pricking his heels with their bayonets, to the Market Square where they tried to make him say where members of the IRA were hiding He did not let on He loved Ireland and was devoted to De Valera I still have the ornate gold and green decorated sash and medal he so proudly wore in later processions, both religious and political

… Of the rest, Kathleen was the first of the girls to leave home. She became a companion to a wealthy family in Brighton It was she who got us all over there Paddy stayed at home to run the business … Dermot was a naval officer who was lost at sea during the war … Brian still lives in Wicklow … Kevin joined the Irish Army and became a hairdresser when he left

NOTE: Brother Paul has since pointed out that Patricia’s memory of Dermot is not correct In fact, he was in the merchant navy and later transferred to the Irish Lights and Lighthouse Service He died of tuberculosis ashore

Cousin, Greta Shirley (née Barlow), of Roehampton

Your grandmother was a north of Ireland woman All I know about your grandfather’s history is that he was a seafaring man and a strict protestant …

… Grandmother Barlow was a remarkable woman: street angel, house devil She borrowed money from the National Bank (with no income) to buy the house in Main Street and by sheer business ability bought two more cottages across the river Aunt Fanny said the bank manager never refused her a loan and she always repaid in cash

… I have a clear memory of the night when, as a small child, the Black and Tans raided our house—this because your father was a known republican supporter Mother was out at the time and I was in bed I got up and stood crying on the stairs, in my shift She came in then The soldiers found nothing but, afterwards, there was great relief because they had not discovered the two guns hidden in a boat in our lower yard …

… Your father came from a nice family in Waterford with a good hairdressing business Your father probably met your mother when he came to Wicklow to open his own saloon He was a quiet man of some education He spoke in the Square by Billy Burn’s [sic] Monument and so was put in jail How your mother fed you all during this time I do not know A real feat of survival The children who went to church in a basket would be your long dead uncles and aunts

Montserrat

Sheelah Julia O’Grady joined the Colonial Nursing Service and served in Palestine, Nigeria and Kenya. In 1963, she married a British colonial administrator, Willoughby Harry (Tommy) Thompson, who was to become the

Governor of the Caribbean colony of Montserrat in 1971. In her diary, she wrote of her new home:

Irish sugar planters and slaves had gone there in the early years of the 17th century So Irish was the island that Hibernia and her harp graced the island’s crest, a large green shamrock stood atop Government House and great play was made in all tourist publicity about this other ‘Emerald Isle ’

Both Princess Anne and Prince Charles visited the island during her time there, and with her husband, Sheelah was received by the Queen. She and her husband also featured on a Montserrat issue stamp with members of the royal family. Her diary is a fascinating record of the conflicting loyalties of the revolutionary period. It reveals that although her father, William O’Grady, was a confirmed separatist who had sought to remove English authority in Ireland, and a man who had as a consequence spent time confined to a cold, damp cell in Wicklow Gaol, he would have been hugely proud of his daughter, her status in life and her interaction with the English Royals.

Sheelah and Tommy Thompson. Photo: Courtesy of falklandsbiographies.org

Notes

1 Local lore is that he was beaten with barbed wire on the way to jail after one of the raids on his home. The diary does not confirm this, but it is unlikely that he was well treated by his captors. 2 Barracks in Dublin and place of execution in 1922 of revolutionary leader Erskine Childers, who grew up at Glendalough House, Annamoe.

Old stone bridge, Wicklow, c.1920, with the Presbyterian Church in the background. Photo: Courtesy of John Finlay