#Padraic Pearse

[thereofrin]

A rare photo I found of Pádraig Pearse in front view. He'd usually turn to the side in pictures due to the fact that he found his lazy eye embarrassing.

[thereofrin]

This is one of my fave pics of him because who tf gave tiny Pádraig a gun??

Solid candidate for the funniest picture I have ever seen

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1913 – Also known as “The Great Dublin Lockout”, the Dublin Transport Strike, led by Jim Larkin and James Connolly, begins.

The Great Dublin Lockout starts and one of the most bitter and divisive labour disputes in Irish history will run until February 1914 when starving workers are forced back to work. Five years previously, in 1908, at a time when Irish labourers were working in atrocious conditions, Union organiser Big Jim Larkin founded the Irish Transport and General Workers Union (ITGWU). The 1913 Lockout…

[viajeenmoto]

Marcelo Hidalgo Sola y un paseo en moto por los senderos de Plaza Irlanda

Hoy recorremos el perímetro de una plaza que se asemeja a una pradera llena de niños. Se llama Plaza Irlanda y evoca en su contorno los verdes intensos del país al que homenajea con su nombre.

Existen muchas plazas en la Ciudad de Buenos Aires que quizás sin saberlo, se parecen mucho a los paisajes que sus nombres evocan. Este es el caso de Plaza Irlanda, un rincón urbano en donde el verde abunda y se extiende como un manto hasta cubrir cada resquicio del parque. De hecho, por un instante, si uno entrecierra los ojos hasta desdibujar el contorno de los lejanos edificios, podría por un momento pensar que el lugar se trata de una verdadera pradera irlandesa . La plaza es perfecta para respirar un poco de aire fresco, y es una linda opción para visitar alguna tarde de primavera.

En plaza Irlanda, se respira un poco de la esencia del barrio de Caballito. Arboledas, una calesita de tiempos remotos y zonas de descanso que ofrecen su hospitalidad a todos los porteños que llegan hasta sus veredas para sentarse en un banco o para dar alguna ágil caminata por el contorno.

Este espacio es un tesoro del barrio de Caballito , un pulmón de aire fresco en donde de pronto, se descubre a una romería de niños que juegan bajo la mirada atenta de los adultos en el sector de los juegos.

La historia indica que esta plaza con su nombre , quizo honrar a la Asociación Católica Irlandesa, que fue la que donó los terrenos a la ciudad para que se convirtiera en un espacio verde para el disfrute de grandes y niños. Hoy por sus senderos, circulan gran cantidad de chicos rumbo a la zona de juegos -cuenta Marcelo Hidalgo Sola- y las bicicletas van y vienen por el circuito del perímetro pasando raudas y sin saludar al busto de un personaje muy importante aquí : Mr Padraic Pearse.

La historia que regala Plaza Irlanda

Pearse fue el primer presidente que tuvo la República de Irlanda; un líder del levantamiento ocurrido por 1910 contra la dominación de Gran Bretaña y por el cual se consiguió la Declaración de la Independencia de Irlanda.

Las bicis también pasan a todo pique frente al gran Monumento-mástil que fue levantado en homenaje a la Confraternidad argentino-irlandesa; una estructura hecha en bronce y granito por el destacado escultor Luis Perlotti. Inaugurado en 1935 , en él se destacan dos figuras femeninas coronadas por el sol, que ambas damas sostienen , cada una desde uno de los extremos por la cola de un rayo; también el escudo nacional argentino y el arpa del héroe Brian Boru, otro de los símbolos nacionales de la República de Irlanda que recuerda a ese personaje histórico nacional que expulsó a los temibles invasores vikingos de la isla en el 1002. El arpa, es un instrumento musical muy valorado y tradicional de la cultura irlandesa.Bajo el sonido de este dulce instrumento los primeros pueblos transmitían sus conocimientos y enseñanzas de tradición oral a sus hijos .

Debajo del relieve se observa una inscripción: Plaza Irlanda, inaugurada para el barrio de Caballito un 12 de octubre de 1927. En el extremo opuesto de la base se encuentra otra inscripción : La bandera argentina blanca y celeste, Dios sea loado,no será atada jamás al carro triunfal de ningún vencedor de esta tierra. En las otras caras laterales se ven dos relieves también, hechos en bronce que plasman figuras de escolares en donde algunos van con sus libros en sus manos y parecen recordar el principal motivo de la creación del parque: el disfrute de los chicos.

Esculturas que homenajean a todas la madres del mundo

En lo relativo a las esculturas que se han instalado en la plaza, cada uno tendrá sus gustos y preferencias. Pero, aquí en el barrio de Caballito, como en casi todas las plazas porteñas se destaca también un busto de una madre con sus niños alrededor, como en otras plazas hay también bustos de madres amamantando. Todas son obras del genial escultor Luis Perlotti, oriundo del barrio. El detalle no es para nada casual. Este artista, perdió a su madre en su más temprana infancia y desde que se hizo escultor, fue trabajando , creando y transformando esa pena en arte. De allí en más, su obra se basó en la creación exclusiva de motivos que evocaron a las figuras de madres con sus niños.

Cada obra es un modo de homenajear a su madre y también a todas las madres del mundo por la sacrificada, loable y titánica tarea que llevan y sobrellevan día a día. De hecho, el autor sostenía que eran los motivos que realizaba con mayor destreza y perfección y además, que una y otra vez encontraba la forma de innovar en un tema que en el arte escultórico es uno de los más trillados.

En Plaza Irlanda,Perlotti realizó la escultura de una mujer amamantando a uno de sus hijos, mientras los otros dos juegan con sus ropas. Un motivo que destaca, bellísimo, a modo de particular celebración de todas las madres que muy atentas en Plaza Irlanda, custodian mientras toman un mate y charlan, a sus tesoros más preciados que ,día a día juegan y crecen en este gran parque como si fuera una verdadera pradera de la vieja Irlanda.

Originally published at on https://viajeenmoto.com.ar June 12, 2023.

[thereofrin]

I never know how to feel about Pádraig because I've read so many contractory things about him. Some sources say that he was a feminist who wanted women in the Rising and then some say he actively argued against letting them fight and then there's all the creepy stuff with kids like "Little Lad of the Tricks" and how he apparantly would kiss the little boys in his school??

all my homies hate padraig pearse

[fionabrennanartisttours]

Queer erasure in Irish History

At the end of the 1916 Easter Rising, the only participants left in the GPO Garrison were the rebel leaders, Elizabeth O’Farrell and her life-long partner, Julia Grenan. The leaders chose O’Farrell to go alone into the battlefield to deliver the surrender to the British HQ, with only a white flag as protection.

A photographer captured the iconic moment of Padraic Pearse and Elizabeth O’Farrell handing over the surrender to the British HQ and an English tabloid published the photo of the surrender. O’Farrell is absent from this published image despite being visible in the original photo. So the tabloid quite literally airbrushed Elizabeth O’Farrell out of history.

This is just one example of a queer person being erased from our history. As iconic as this image is today, the fact that O’Farrell was a lesbian, and Pearse was probably queer, is rarely mentioned. The queerness of these two Irish heroes was airbrushed out of history. But that’s why we have Queer History tours (and blogs) to help solve this problem! Now we can reflect on our story and paint these important figures back into our history.

[fatehbaz]

Hiroshima’s precedent: Uncanny sense of impending doom; Dublin’s Easter Rising; century-long trend towards cities and urban areas becoming sites of mass violence; origins of airplane and aerial bombardment as Euro-American tactic to subjugate nonwhite people and colonies; any person or any environment can be targeted, leading to “sense of impending catastrophe” and “perpetual trauma” as permanent conditions for all.

--

Many used the ... word bukimi, meaning weird, ghastly, or unearthly, to describe Hiroshima’s uneasy combination of continued good fortune and expectation of catastrophe. People remembered saying to one another, “Will it be tomorrow or the day after tomorrow?” One man described how, each night he was on air-raid watch, “I trembled with fear. ... I would think, ‘Tonight it will be Hiroshima.’ These “premonitions” were partly attempts at psychic preparation, partly a form of “imagining the worst” as a magical way of warding off disaster. -- Robert J. Lifton, Death in Life: Survivors of Hiroshima (1967)

Lifton’s [...] work on the survivors of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima focuses on the psychological aftermath of the bomb [...]. Yet Lifton also records an expectant, premonitory atmosphere in Hiroshima in the weeks before the bombing, a compound of past experience and immediate perceptions that, while inadequate to “encompass” the eventual experience of the bomb, cannot simply be dismissed as speculation that found an accidental correlate in the nuclear event. While no one in Hiroshima knew ahead of time what would occur on August 6, 1945, many had noted the city’s eerie exemption from conventional bombardment and speculated as to reasons for it. During the summer of 1945, a series of rumors circulated in Hiroshima [...]. All these rumors responded to the citizens’ impression that their city had been in some way singled out, and the term bukimi -- also meaning “ominous” or “uncanny” -- spoke to the suspended question of whether Hiroshima and its inhabitants had been singled out for preservation or annihilation. [...] But in the period of eerie suspension before the explosion, those who registered the nuclear uncanny in Hiroshima were also the first to experience a condition that [...] would become familiar to everyone living in a targeted city during the Cold War[...]. [I]nhabitants of Cold War cities [...] became accustomed to a more overt and permanent variant of the uncanny frisson felt [...] before the bombing [...].

Shortly before the Rising [Easter Rising, 1916], one of its leaders, Padraic Pearse, had imagined annihilation as a favorable alternative to continued British occupation: “My God, rather than go on living as we are, I would prefer to see Dublin in ruins” (Caulfield 47). Pearse was, at least partly, to have his way. Lobbing incendiaries and explosives through the roofs and windows [...], the British gunners gutted portions of the Dublin city center; during the week of the Rising, 500 people died [...].

The more frequent and extreme outbreaks of traumatic violence in everyday urban life [...], in the early-twentieth-century imaginary, the city had begun to host new forms of sudden mass death and severe physical destruction.

Cities had, of course, been sites of mass death before 1916. But the Easter Rising differed from nineteenth-century urban barricade fighting in the use, principally by British soldiers, of more precise and destrucctive weapons; fired from the ground, from rooftops, and from gunships in the Liffey, the new cannons, incendiaries, and machine guns rapidly reduced whole blocks of the city center to ruins. These emerging military technologies and strategies link the Rising to the Great War then raging in England and on the Continent, whose fields and cities had become proving grounds for new weaponry and modes of warfare. In Ireland and the Great War, Keith Jeffery writes that "Like the Western Front [the Easter Rising] became a war of attrition, and the lessons of the Western Front were taught again in the streets of Dublin.” [...]

Though the shelling of Dublin in 1916 reminded observers of Ypres, Louvain, and other European cities ruined in the Great War, it might as credibly have called to mind a different list: Canton, Kagoshima, and Alexandria. During the second half of the nineteenth century, British naval bombardments made rubble of these coastal cities [...]. The naval bombardment of undefended cities and civilians, particularly those in colonial territories, paved the way for the first airplane bombardments, in which the imperial powers of Europe dropped bombs on nonwhite, non-European adversaries and anticolonial forces. Italy pioneered airplane bombardment in 1911 by bombing Arab oases outside Tripoli; British planes bombed Pathans in India in 1915, Egyptian revolutionaries and the Sultan of Farfur in 1916, a Mashud uprising on the Indian-Afghanistan border in 917, and Somaliland and the Afghan cities of Dacca, Jalalabad, and Kabul in 1919.

Several years before the inhabitants of European cities experienced it, aerial bombardment had been established as a uniquely colonial nightmare. As Sven Lindquist has shown, the initial use of airplane bombs against colonies was foreseen and even fed by a racist fantasy pervading early-twentieth-century European science fiction, a fantasy of bombing subject races either into submission or out of existence. The willingness of several signatory nations to ignore Article 25 when bombing nonwhite soldiers and civilians made colonial towns and cities the first civilian spaces secured by the implied threat of bombardment from above.

In the world war [...] the brief tenure of aerial bombardment as an exclusively colonial technique ended when imperial powers launched the first bombing campaigns against the cities of other imperial powers, initiating a change that would later find its apogee in the nuclear condition: the reconfiguration of the major metropolis as target.

-----

Text by: Paul K. Saint-Amour. “Bombing and the Symptom: Traumatic Earliness and the Nuclear Uncanny.” Diacritics. 2000. [Italicized first paragraph/heading added by me.]

[fionabrennanartist]

(2011 RTE) Reabhloid, Episode 4; “Snapshot of Surrender” 

 Elizabeth O’Farrell took part in the Easter Rising as a nurse and courier. At the end of the Rising, the majority of participants evacuated the GPO Garrison, leaving the revolutionary Leaders as well as three women; O’Farrell, her life-long partner Julia Grennan and Winifred Carney. When the decision was made to surrender, O’Farrell was chosen to go alone into the battlefield to deliver the notice of surrender to the British HQ, with only a white flag and her Red Cross uniform as protection.  She was ordered to return to the British garrison with Padraic Pearse to surrender in person.

An iconic photo of Pearse surrendering to General Lowe was taken and published 10 days later in an English Tabloid, The Daily Sketch. O’Farrell’s cape, white nurse’s dress and shoes are absent from this famous image despite being visible in a sepia print of the photo which was found in 2011. The Daily Sketch had photo-montaged Elizabeth O’Farrell out of history.

O’Farrell was asked in later years about her side of the story. She claimed that she had stepped back in the photo “to avoid giving the enemy press any satisfaction”. She was secure in her contribution to the revolution and so had no concern for being in the spotlight. Some historians theorise that it was Pearse who had control over the image, as he always carefully orchestrated his own public image. But as we do not know who took the photo, we can never really know what their intention was.

The iconic surrender image is such an obvious representation of the erasure of women from our history, it is almost on-the-nose. In the years following the 1916 Rising, especially in de Valera’s state, women’s social position was so reduced, it was hard to imagine that radical views among women ever existed. It fit in with this new social outlook that women played a negligible role in the Rising and the evidence that they did seemed to disappear, not unlike O’Farrell’s feet.

Queerness is also under threat of being erased: as iconic as this image of the Rising is, the fact that O’Farrell was almost certainly, and Pearse was likely Queer is rarely mentioned.

It is our job as modern history-lovers to try to paint women and queer and trans people back into our history, which has so consistently tried to wipe them out.

[averagegatsby1996]

"The Murder Machine"

By Padraic H. Pearse.

"Education should foster; this education is meant to repress.

Education should inspire; this education is meant to tame.

Education should harden; this education is meant to enervate."

(Pearse on the British education system in Ireland).

[thereofrin]

A black and white portrait of Pádraig Pearse

A coloured version of the same photo by irelandincolour

[sabinasanfanfic]

Call of the Fighters - Part I

This is part of @fic-writer-appreciation‘s March AU challenge, and is a prompt for Day 9 (Historical) and Day 17 (Military). I’m also using this as a little nod to my Irish heritage in time for St. Patrick’s Day. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Monday April 24, 1916

Hijikata put the final touches on his poem, leaving his notebook open for her to read it once she awoke. He set his fountain pen aside and rose from the desk, straightening his long-sleeved, button-down shirt as he did so. He glanced over to the corner by the window where his messenger bag waited for him.

He had resolved to do this—to participate in this failure of an insurrection. The rebels had been unsuccessful in obtaining the needed weaponry, and it was certain the British were aware that a plot was underway, though it was possible they didn’t know the timing. Despite the odds being stacked against them, the leaders decided to continue. They wanted to send a message that it was high time Ireland had her freedom.

He grabbed his messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder, glancing back at the closed bedroom door. He could very well die, and he had made sure to spend what could have been his final evening with Chizuru—letting her know that he loved her. He had waited until she had fallen asleep to take his leave because he knew she wanted to go with him, and he couldn’t allow that. He wanted her to be safe, and he couldn’t guarantee that he would leave this battle alive. If he couldn’t ensure his own safety, he was sure he couldn’t do the same for her.

Hijikata regretfully left the tiny house and walked to the corner of the cobblestone street where his closest friend stood by a street sign, waiting for him. At the sound of his footsteps echoing off the buildings lining the narrow street, the man turned and shot Hijikata a warm smile upon recognizing who was approaching.

“All set?” Kondō asked.

Hijikata gave a swift nod before they both crossed the street side-by-side. Hijikata was acutely aware of his surroundings, listening for any indications that someone else was out in the dead of night with them. Thankfully, neither he nor Kondō had weapons on them. It might have drawn unwanted attention.

“We’ve been ordered to go to Liberty Hall to receive our assignments. Rumor has it we’ll be under the command of Seán Connolly.”

“Do we have numbers?”

Kondō shook his head. “MacNeill’s order seems to have caused some confusion. Heisuke asked if everything was canceled all together.”

Hijikata scoffed. “MacNeill’s an idiot. He was just waiting for an excuse to delay, and once he found out the weapons didn’t make it from Germany...”

“He has a point. It does make our position difficult.”

“That’s why we just have to destroy their arms and take over Dublin Castle.”

Kondō sighed. “We’ll have to see if that’s even possible. Who knows how many will turn out.”

“I’m glad we can rely on our men.”

The conversation ceased as the two continued their trek to Liberty Hall. The enormity of the their undertaking hit Hijikata. The Irish had spent decades utilizing political means to peacefully gain independence with the introduction of the Home Rule Bill. Twice it had been defeated, but it seemed the third attempt would be successful. It had passed in 1914, and it appeared to Hijikata that it would be the beginning steps to independence, even if the Northern Irish weren’t on board.

But Home Rule never came. Shortly before its implementation, Britain declared war on Germany, and Parliament decreed that Home Rule would not come into effect until the end of the war. Hijikata had watched in dismay while the majority of the Irish supported the British war effort and even called for men to join the British army. All he could see was yet another delay tactic—another effort of Parliament to deny the Irish what they had been wanting for centuries.

It was disgust that led to Hijikata jumping at the opportunity to participate in armed rebellion. He knew that many of the Irish Republican Brotherhood and the Irish Volunteers didn’t agree with the timing, as they were waiting for a good reason to call for insurrection. Hijikata couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t want to take advantage of a time when Britain was distracted and had pulled the majority of their forces out of Ireland.

Cowards…the whole lot of them, he inwardly growled. Short-sighted, risk-averting…

Hijikata’s thoughts abruptly wandered to the woman he left behind, and he felt a twinge of guilt at that. He had come to terms with the very real possibility that he could die, and he had done what he could to be sure Chizuru would be provided for. He knew that she understood his desire to take part in the rising, but he was also aware that Chizuru yearned for him to remain at her side. She loved him, and she didn’t want anything terrible to befall him.

Little flashes of their last moments together came to his mind, and Hijikata found comfort in the memory of the feel of her naked body pressed to his as she cried out her release. If anything, he was grateful he had that opportunity to show her how much he loved her before he left. He wanted to live so that he could return to her, but Ireland had to come first.

Kondō and Hijikata reached Liberty Hall, and a young boy no more than ten was seated on the front stoop dressed in uniform with a rifle clutched in his arms. Based on the boy’s hold on the weapon, Hijikata wondered how much training the lad had in its use. The boy was listless—probably from staying up late into the night—making Hijikata smile fondly at the sight of the slumped over figure. Kondō crouched low in front of the boy.

“How long have you been out here?”

The boy sat up, his spine completely straight and his eyes more alert. “I don’t know, sir. But I was awake, sir! I swear!”

Kondō chuckled. “I know. I’ll see if we can find a replacement for you so you can get some rest.”

The boy’s frame slumped once more with relief. “Thank you, sir!”

Kondō ruffled the boy’s hair with some affection before he rose to his full height, and the pair made their way into the building. Up the narrow stairs and to the left was a wide, open room. In the center was a table where six men sat. Others were gathered in groups around the room either talking or resting against the walls. Off in the corner was a crude mattress where a man lay sleeping. Hijikata knew that the man was Joseph Plunkett, who probably needed the rest before things got underway. He had to give the man credit for wanting to fight despite the worsening of his tuberculosis. Hijikata briefly wondered if Plunkett—as someone who would understand the young man’s similar feelings about the illness and desire to fight—had spoken to Souji at all.

“Ah, welcome, gentlemen!” a man with dark hair slicked back, large nose, and serious eyes greeted as he stood. Hijikata immediately recognized Padraic Pearse, the leader of it all. “I’m glad you came.” A pause. “Where are the rest of your men?”

“We decided to come in waves in order to avoid suspicion,” Hijikata reported.

“Smart,” Seán Connolly replied with an approving smile. “I’m fortunate to have men like you under my command.”

“How is he?” Kondō inquired, jerking his head towards the sleeping Plunkett.

Pearse glanced Plunkett’s way before shaking his head. “Some days are better than others. Who knows what he’ll be like in a few hours.”

Hijikata acknowledged the statement with a nod. Souji was in a much better spot in terms of his tuberculosis when compared to Plunkett—the man’s illness being far more advanced than Souji’s—and Hijikata was sympathetic to the man’s suffering. He hoped that Plunkett would feel well enough to fight. At this point, they needed every man they could get.

He stepped away from the table to allow Kondō to talk among the leaders. Hijikata wandered to another corner where some rifles were stored. He decided to go through them and be sure they were in working order. As he dug through the long wooden boxes, he realized just how short they were on arms, and a sort of resignation settled within him. While a very small part of him hoped for victory, he knew the odds were stacked against them.

Soon, he was joined by Saitō, who took a keen interest in caring for weaponry. Hijikata greeted him with some enthusiasm, though exhaustion was beginning to creep in.

“The others?”

“Shinpachi, Heisuke, and Harada are on their way up. I think they were debating who would relieve the child at the front door. Sannan, Gen, and Souji are over with Kondō discussing the plans.”

Hijikata’s attention returned to the rifle he had just pulled out of the box, finishing his inspection. “Did you see anyone else coming?”

Saitō shook his head. “But it’s early.”

No more was said between the pair as they continued their task. When all the weapons had been checked, Hijikata and Saitō returned them to the boxes. By this time, Kondō approached them with a wane smile on his face.

“We will be under Seán Connolly. We are tasked with going to City Hall to overtake the Castle. We will be joined by some of the Cumann na mBan,” Kondō reported.

“Do we know when?”

“Close to midday. Pearse wants to wait a few more hours before making any major moves. He wants to give people more time to get here. We’ll follow Pearse and some of the others to the GPO for the proclamation and then we will march to City Hall.”

Hijikata sighed, running a hand over his face in an attempt to chase away his fatigue. When he peered up at Kondō once more, he saw the fond smile on the man’s lips. He gave a quick smile in return before looking away.

“You should get some rest.”

Hijikata originally planned on telling Kondō no, but he could barely see straight, and his concentration was waning. He sighed and glanced over at Saitō. The young man was looking to him for guidance, but he also suspected Saitō was expecting Hijikata to give in to Kondō. Hijikata sighed and returned his gaze to Kondō.

“Yeah. I’ll get some sleep.”

Hijikata shifted so that he was leaning against the wall. Kondō walked away, and Hijikata presumed it was to tell the others to rest as well. He stared out into the hall, suddenly feeling a burst of energy that would make it difficult for him to fall asleep. He forced himself to close his eyes, and his thoughts drifted to Chizuru, who was probably still curled up in their bed. The mental image of her in peaceful slumber made his breathing slow.

How he wanted her near! She was a steadfast presence in his life—she never failed to calm him when he was overwhelmed—and he wanted that now to ease the knots that had twisted his stomach. But, he was also aware that it was selfish for him to want that when what he was embarking on was dangerous. And the last thing he wanted to do was put Chizuru in harm’s way.

His thoughts continued to swirl around her, and he realized after some time that his body had relaxed and his stomach settled. He drifted into a light sleep. He was vaguely aware of what was going on around him, but it wasn’t enough to disturb him too much. As the hours ticked away, he was dimly aware of an increase in the buzz of conversation and the footsteps of more people on the wooden floor.

He finally opened his eyes, squinting as bright sunlight assaulted him. He blinked a few times until he was used to the light, and he peered around the room. There were definitely more people like he had suspected, which was a small relief. He continued to take stock of the scene to get a better idea of how many people were there. Some were preparing their rifles while others were receiving instructions from leaders.

Hijikata stretched, his muscles feeling tight and heavy from his slumber. He looked to his left and saw Saitō was already alert. Hijikata wasn’t the least bit surprised by that. He stood and straightened out his clothes, wondering what time it was and where they all were in the planning stages. As he gazed around the room, he realized that their numbers were still small.

He then went searching for Kondō, eventually finding him toward the back of the room with Seán Connolly. Souji stood off to the side, his arms crossed against his chest and his eyes narrowed. Kondō turned and acknowledged Hijikata.

“Toshi. We’ll soon be marching to the GPO for the declaration. We’re handing out what weapons we have. Make sure you get one, and gather our men.”

Hijikata felt the knots return to his stomach. This was the moment—there was no turning back. He went back to the spot where he had been sleeping to pass on the orders to Satiō and to distribute weapons. He took deep breaths through his nose to calm his stomach. Now wasn’t the time to show fear. Now it was time to do what he had set out to do.

Everyone prepared quickly, and shortly before midday, the group of about 400 marched across the street to the GPO. Along the way, several members of the group broke off to paste copies of the Proclamation of the Republic for the citizenry to read.

Hijikata was looking forward to hearing Pearse read the Proclamation with their flags flying above them. He imagined the great impact it would have on everyone around them, and he felt his heart swell in his chest at how inspiring it would all be. When they drew close to the GPO, Hijikata caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see Seán Connolly breaking off from the group. The man motioned for the rest to follow. Hijikata was confused but followed the unspoken order.

“We’re going to start heading toward City Hall. We need to catch them unawares as much as possible!”

Hijikata waved for the rest to follow him, and soon the relatively small group was crossing the bridge over the River Liffey. As they passed by people in the streets, Hijikata could see a mixture of surprise and fear on the countless faces. He heard some shout at them, wondering where they were going with their guns.

Soon, City Hall loomed before them, and Hijikata could see that it was quiet. He immediately grew suspicious—where were the British troops that were left to guard Dublin? They should’ve known the rising was coming! 

“You men, over to City Hall!” Seán called out as he pointed to Kondō, Hijikata, and the others. “Set up for a siege of the castle!”

As they split off from the group, Hijikata looked back to see Seán with about half of the group charge at the gate. Hijikata heard the distinctive pop of gunfire as he returned his attention to where he was going. They continued to hear gunshots as they gained entry to City Hall. Hijikata stood by the door to be sure each of his men made it safely in. He then remembered that there were supposed to be members of Cumann na Ban joining them, and he wondered where they were.

At that moment, Hijikata heard the sound of masonry cracking and caught the movement of flying debris and dust out of the corner of his eye. He immediately looked around to see where the shot came from while crouching. He began to prepare to fire off his own gun if need be. It was quiet for a few seconds before he heard more gunshots coming from above him. Hijikata glanced upward, wondering who was firing, and if the British had taken over City Hall before they had.

The change in his attention was a mistake.

More gunshots rang out, and Hijikata heard a bullet whizz by his ear. Hijikata dodged to his right and took a bullet to his left bicep. He let out a cry as he instinctively dropped his rifle so his right hand could cover the wound. He could feel the warmth of his blood slide down his fingers to his wrist to soak into the cuff of his sleeve. Hijikata swore under his breath as he looked up and caught sight of a few British soldiers heading his way with their guns poised to fire.

He heard more gunshots come from behind him, and the shout of a female voice. “Get in here!”

He couldn’t quite make out the voice over the ringing in his ears, but he knew if he wanted to stay alive, he needed to move indoors out of the line of fire. As he scrambled to get up, he felt a pair of tiny hands grab him by the right arm and drag him backwards.

Hijikata let out an indignant shout as he was pulled through the doorway, and his body was slammed up against the wall. The surroundings were dimly lit, and it took some time for his eyes to adjust to his new surroundings. He let out another moan as he slowly slid to the floor. More gunshots sounded from beside him, and he looked that way to see who had come to his rescue.

Hijikata’s heart stuttered at the sight of a familiar woman dressed in a man’s uniform standing in the open doorway, firing at the incoming British soldiers.

“Chizuru!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[heatherecunningham]

1916 rising monument Mise Éire by Padraic Pearse I am Ireland I am Ireland: I am older than the old woman/witch of Beare. Great my glory: I who bore Cuchulainn, the brave. Great my shame: My own children who sold their mother. Great my pain: My irreconcilable enemy who harrasses me continually… Great my sorrow That crowd, in whom I placed my trust, died. I am Ireland: I am lonelier than the old woman/witch of Beare. (at Shannon Palace) https://www.instagram.com/p/B163ZwDH9au/?igshid=bkfmqttm9gfw

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1913 – Also known as “The Great Dublin Lockout”, the Dublin Transport Strike, led by Jim Larkin and James Connolly, begins.

#OTD in 1913 – Also known as “The Great Dublin Lockout”, the Dublin Transport Strike, led by Jim Larkin and James Connolly, begins.

The Great Dublin Lockout starts and one of the most bitter and divisive labour disputes in Irish history will run until February 1914 when starving workers are forced back to work. Five years previously, in 1908, at a time when Irish labourers were working in atrocious conditions, Union organiser Big Jim Larkin founded the Irish Transport and General Workers Union (ITGWU). The 1913 Lockout…

[andishallemerge]

17 Days of Irish Resistance and Rebellion

Day 8:Ballad of Padraig Pearse

Kilmainham Jail in 1916, they brought young Pearse to his death cell and they tried him as a traitor to shoot this man who dared to rebel He only tried to free his country of the shackles of 800 years. When dawn did break on that May morning they shot our Leader Padraic Pearse.

#17days of March

[appointmentwithmryeats]