STONEBREAKER’S YARD

2 December 1915

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Darling Grace,

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You will marry me and nobody else.  I have been a damned fool and a blind imbecile but thank God I see.  I love you and you only and will never love anyone else.  

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Your lover,

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Joe

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***

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A simple, wooden cross sits in the corner of Stonebreaker’s Yard.  Its unimposing presence does little to inspire respect or even interest amongst the steady stream of tourists.  If only they knew the significance behind this meager tribute, they might think twice before bypassing it without so much as a pause.  The object of their attention, instead, is on the flag that silently moves in the middle of the yard, with its pumpkin orange, off-white, and light green blocks of Irish pride.  The tour guide leads the group through the courtyard to the foot of the flag, though it is recognized that “courtyard” is a generous term for this location.  There is no foliage, domestic or planted; there is no color at all, save for the flag.  The gravel, perhaps once carefully spread even across the large, open ground, has worn thin with overuse.  Stone walls stand ominously in the background to enclose the space; they impose upon the group a sense of intrusion: if only you knew, they whisper.  

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The travellers, several students and two professors, nonchalantly kick up dust as they follow their guide; after a long day of traversing throughout Dublin, the group is growing weary and restless, is it time to leave yet?  The guide, Eamon, motions them to step forward and indicates a plaque, which has been positioned behind the flag and mounted on the nearest unforgiving wall.  It reads Anseo, Tar Eis Seachtain Na Casca, 1916, Basaiodh Na Cinniri Seo A Leanas.  For the benefit of those intruding on that revered ground, the English translation beneath explains, Here, after Easter Week, 1916, the Following Leaders were Executed.  A list of fourteen names with five dates follows the haunting statement.  The cross at the end of the yard suddenly seems more noteworthy, and the group falls silent to demand an explanation from Eamon, who willingly obliges.  Kelsey turns her head back to the alleyway where her group had emerged only minutes before and reflects on the oppressive sensation that has been taking over her consciousness for the past hour or so of their duration at Kilmainham Gaol. 

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***

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Kelsey had never been in a prison before.  Staring ahead at the threatening stone walls that seemed to loom over the entrance, she prayed that her first visit would be her last.  Despite the foreboding appearance, she yawned.  It had been a long, albeit exciting day; Kaylan and herself, along with their new friends, Nick and Jared, had spent a good bit of time unintentionally exploring the fair city of Dublin in an attempt to meet up with the rest of their group at the apparently elusive Collins’ Barracks, Ireland’s National Military History Museum.  After failing to properly navigate via Ireland public transportation, they had resorted to traversing their way on foot, which involved trekking along several streets in various wrong ways, asking a few friendly, and not so friendly, Dubliners for directions, and making their way across the Liffey River before finally arriving at their destination, an hour after their appointed meet time.  

Fortunately for the four of them, the rest of the group had apparently gotten lost too, relying perhaps too much on Dr. Hebert’s memory of the city, and so they were spared a lecture on time management and responsibility.  Between the exhilaration of their unintentional adventure and the mind-numbing experience that the National Museum had dully presented for her, Kelsey was apprehensive about the final “field trip” of the day.  Little did she know how the stories of Kilmainham Gaol would haunt her, the walls standing as silent witness to the tragedies that history often holds.  

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***

The group made their way into the jail led by the friendly but solemn staff member, Eamon, who had generously agreed to lead them, despite the fact that their late arrival made them the final tour of the day.  He spent half the tour ushering them throughout the jail and patiently answering their persistent questions, and the other half he spent tiredly locking the doors behind him, clearly ready to go home.  As he led them into the heart of the jail, Kelsey tried to take it all in.  The high-arching ceiling and open atmosphere qualified Kilmainham to hold the characteristic of a “reform jail;” with more humanitarian conditions than prisons before it, the thought was that punishment of the mind was more important than physical penalty.  The oval construction of the room forced her to take a minute to assess the prison from all angles.  Black cell doors lined the oval on all sides, repeating on three levels.  Rusty, thick beams and thin, silver railings crossed the room in various places; it was easy to imagine prison guards having a relatively easy time keeping the inmates under control with access to all parts of the oval made convenient by a few bridges.  Kelsey couldn't shake the feeling of utter desolation as she pictured life in the penitentiary.   

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The group had made their way along the perimeter, and Eamon encouraged them to peer into several cells, which had once housed notable Irish figures.  As the group was there on a Study Abroad trip for a class based on the History of Irish Nationalism, the students recognized a few of the names mentioned.  As they examined some of these holdings, the sense of realism took over the group; these were not mere historical figures from textbooks, these were once living and breathing men who had hopes, dreams, and families, yet they had given all of these up to die for Irish freedom.  The utterly depressing aura of the room took on new weight, and Kelsey examined a final cell before following Eamon and the group into the next section of the tour.  This cell was much different than the others; it contained an image.  Opposite of the door, a colorful depiction of the Virgin Mary holding Christ Jesus was painted.  Vibrant pinks, blues, whites, and golds shone back at her, and the shock of this vision of hope and faith in a place otherwise devoid of human emotion lingered in Kelsey’s mind as she moved on. 

***

As Eamon begins to explain the inscription and significance behind the courtyard and simple cross, Kelsey’s attention is briefly returned to the present.  The pure, blue sky peeks above the lifeless walls of the yard and she shudders, unable to shake from her memory the name Eamon utters in passing, along with the others who were executed in the spring of 1916.  Joseph Plunkett.    

***

On Easter Monday, April 24, 1916, sixteen idyllic men attempted to start a rebellion against the British government.  These men were not fighters or military men; they were writers and teachers, men whose passion for the idea of Irish independence led them to believe they could direct their countrymen to rise up and finally throw off British oppression.  In the early hours of the morning, over a thousand Irish patriots joined rank with rebellion leaders and began to wreak havoc on their unsuspecting British counterparts.  The General Post Office, a white-pillared building located in the heart of Dublin, was set up as the rebel headquarters, and the rebels successfully overtook British strongholds at several sites around city.  While at first the British were caught off guard, they quickly recollected themselves.  The rebellion ended a mere six days after its birth and the attempt was considered a failure, with criticism even coming from the Irish people themselves.  The leaders of what later became known as the Easter Rising were forced to surrender to the British.   They were roughly brought to Kilmainham Gaol, its stone walls welcoming them ominously, to await trial for treason and quickly received their sentence: death.  One of the leaders was Joseph Plunkett, a sickly, twenty-eight year old man whose passion for Irish freedom was only rivaled by his love for a woman, Grace Gifford.  

Grace was a recent convert to the Roman Catholic religion who had met Joseph through her faith journey.  He was a bookish man, an academic and a writer, who had great interest in Irish culture and wrote poetry.  As a member of the Military Council of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, he was the unqualified Director of Military Operations.  His utter lack of experience with warfare was irrelevant to the Brotherhood because the majority of the leaders were intellectuals rather than men of war, but sometimes an idea is all that is needed to make dreams a reality.  Grace, for her part, shared more than just a passion for Christ with Joseph.  She, too, was of a revolutionary spirit; she had a knack for drawing and became a successful cartoonist, specializing in political satires directed towards Irish Independence and Home Rule.  Like any successful love story begins, Joseph and Grace started their relationship as friends, which then developed a romantic twist.  When he proposed to her in 1915, she eagerly accepted his proposal, and they planned the wedding for Easter Sunday, 1916.  

As the wedding date drew nearer, the couple realized that the Easter Rising was going to coincide with their long-anticipated wedding day and so they put their wedding on hold.  Joseph promised to marry Grace as soon as possible after the rebellion took place.  Even the best-laid plans go awry, however, and with the utter failure of the Rising, the lovers were forced to face the horrifying reality that Joseph would face execution by firing squad on May 4.  In an act of strength and display of unconditional love, Grace bought a wedding ring in Dublin, and on the night of May 3, in the chapel of Kilmainham Gaol, Joseph Plunkett and Grace Gifford pledged their love to one another and to God, Until death do us part…

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The service was conducted by candlelight since there was no electricity.  No family or friends were allowed in the chapel so two British soldiers served as witnesses.  With twenty other soldiers lining the corridor with bayonets held high, the aura was anything but romantic, save for the tender way the lovers looked into each other’s passionate eyes.  Joseph was immediately taken back to darkness of his damp cell; a few hours later, Grace was allowed to see him for the last time.  The newlyweds were allowed to spend only ten minutes together, never left alone by the British guards.  Joseph Plunkett was then taken out of his cell in Kilmainham and brought to Stonebreaker’s Yard, set up against the unforgiving walls of the courtyard, and shot to death.   

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Grace Gifford remained a staunch fighter in the cause for Irish Freedom, and the image of the Madonna in Kilmainham’s cell is a remnant of her stay there, several years after Joseph’s execution, in 1923.  

***

The group falls silent after Eamon finishes his rehearsed history of the life and death of the brave leaders of the Easter Rising, and the attention is no longer on the Irish colors flying on the flag above them, nor on the plaque listing the heroes’ names and execution dates.  The simple, wooden cross at the end of the yard now finally receives the attention it deserves, and the walls appear less condemning as the group recognizes the proper focal point.  Kelsey feels her heart sink as she imagines Grace Gifford, pushing the wedding ring onto the hand of her sweetheart and knowing that in a few short hours she will be a widow, and she shudders.  As she walks over, kicking up dust from the gravel in the yard, she runs her hand along the simple cross.   

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On April 29, 1916, the day the rebels surrendered to the British, Joseph wrote one last letter:

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My Darling Grace,

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This is just a little note to say that I love you and to tell you that I did everything I could to arrange for us to meet and get married but that it was impossible.  Except for that I have no regrets.  We will meet soon.  My other actions have been as right as I could see and make them and I cannot wish them undone.  You at any rate will not misjudge them. 

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Give my love to my people and friends.  Darling, darling child I wish we were together.  Love me always as I love you.  For the rest all you do will please me.  I told a few people that I wish you to have everything that belongs to me.  

This is my last wish so please do see to it. 

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Love, Joe

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The love story of Joseph Plunkett and Grace Gifford remains one of the most tragic, inspirational and influential love stories in Irish history, and it helped turn the tide of Irish opinion in favor of the rebels.  Ireland eventually gained independence from Great Britain in 1948.