I had never touched bullet holes. I had never read a condemned man’s last letter to his wife. I had never sat alone, silent, in the stony rain and reflected upon the fierce sense of pride and sadness that accompanies a war memorial. A tour of Dublin’s Irish Independence monuments is a moving and worthwhile journey, even for those not of Irish descent. I was freshly arrived in Dublin and determined to experience what the city had to offer in the way of war monuments – specifically, those in honor of Ireland’s struggle for independence.
Dublin is a typical city which bustles with construction, businessmen and women hurrying to their various jobs. As
I wove through the crowd, I arrived at the General Post Office. Not fifteen minutes in the city and I had already found a major stop on my tour of Irish Independence monuments and sites. Still in use as the main post office, the
building is functional yet beautiful with Grecian pillars and towering statues. It’s gray façade matched the morning sky, but the Irish flag over the building was a burst of green and orange snapping in the bitter wind.
As I slowed my pace, people streamed past me looking rather disgruntled at the woman attempting to get a closer look at the pillars in front of the building. This was not an especially notable building for the majority of
Dublin’s population; at least, not at nine o’clock in the morning when work is about to begin and there’s still the morning coffee to buy.
The bullet holes riddling the giant pillars are a silent reminder of the siege that occurred on Easter in 1916. These remnants of a night filled with gunfire and screams are now just background noise, another building in
a vibrant city full of history. Rebels making a stand for Ireland’s independence from English rule overtook the Post Office; a standoff between the rebels and English soldiers resulted in destruction of the post office,
and indeed, most of the surrounding buildings. The rebels were arrested and taken to Kilmainham Gaol, the local jail. Most of these men were executed, and the public was swayed to support the rebellion.
The follow-up to the Post Office was Kilmainham Gaol, where I truly began to appreciate the terms dank, dark and cold. It was frigid within those stone walls. Our guide took on a Nationalist slant as she led us through
the unforgiving halls, and it was not difficult for me to sympathize as I peered around the corner at yet another line of small dim cells with heavy wooden doors. The tour culminated in the yard, which was confined by high stone walls. There are simple black crosses at either end of the yard, marking where the rebels of Easter 1916 were executed. The silence was palpable as we gazed on these small icons of the ultimate sacrifice to freedom. I couldn’t help but remember the bullet holes in the pillars.
There are a great many artifacts in the museum at the jail, including handcuffs, prisoner ledgers, and of course, a ball-and-chain. The most memorable of these was a letter written by one of the rebels, Seamus Brennan, to his wife on the eve of his execution. I was moved by the desperate passion in his words, which ended simply, “Goodbye, pray for us.” His execution was stayed, however, and he later returned to help preserve the historic jail. Also sentenced to execution was Eamon de Valera, who would be spared at the last moment by his father’s New York connection. De Valera would become Ireland’s first elected president.
My walk through Parnell Square and the Remembrance Garden was a powerful experience. I walked along the cross-shaped pool filled with brackish water and swollen leaves towards the Irish Independence monument. Here I was very much alone; falling rain and a gray sky added to the solemn and silent ambience. The monument itself is a striking towering statue of men and women crumpled and dying at the foot of the monument, while the upper half shows a number of swans taking flight from the desolation. A moving inscription in Irish is carved into the concrete behind it, with an English translation mirroring it on the other side of the monument.
The Irish spirit is still alive and well in the local pubs. People from all walks of life frequent these pubs, and all have a differing view of present day Irish politics (although unless you actually are Irish, it’s best to not put forth a strong opinion). I met a local man one night by the name of Henry. We got to talking politics, as will easily happen over a pint, and I mentioned The Wolfe Tones, an Irish band strongly linked to the IRA and anti-English sentiment. Henry begged me not to become caught up in what he called “playing to people’s baser desires,” and told me that if I was interested in the Irish spirit I should go see the local musicians play traditional music. “It’ll make you want to run out and grab the nearest Englishman by the neck,” he quipped.
I was not so anxious to involve myself in fisticuffs, but I did want to take in the music scene. The next evening, I met two Irish gentlemen who were both in town for a Sinn Fein conference. As we sat and drank our pints I could see that the music brought tears to their eyes. “We’ve all got to do our part,” one said when I cautiously asked about the conference. I told them I had been out to see Kilmainham Gaol.
“Did you cry in the cathedral?” the other asked.
“No, but I shed a few tears when I read Brennan’s letter to his wife,” I admitted.
“Aye,” they agreed. “Not many boys like that anymore.”
I thought again of the bullet holes in the pillars, and thought that it was certainly not for a lack of reminders.
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