These last weeks of the centenary year will bring official satisfaction, if not relief, that 2016 passed off relatively well. Yet if the anniversary became a celebration of Irish statehood, little effort was made to invite to the party hundreds of thousands who wanted to join the hoopla. Whatever about the aspirations of the Proclamation, Irish nationalists and republicans in Northern Ireland generally felt left behind.
When touring bookshops, libraries and festivals around the country with my book Grandpa The Sniper, I was very heartened by strong public interest in 1916 – less conspicuously in Cork, which may be saving its energies to replay the War of Independence.
Although the main focus of the Rising was Dublin many who took part came from far outside the capital. The breadth of interest around the country reflected that sense of shared history. My own grandfather Frank Shouldice and his brother Jack came from Ballaghaderreen, Co Roscommon. Research unearthed his role at North King Street and hitherto unmentioned details of his involvement up to 1922 – after the truce Frank and Jack both refused to take part in the Civil War.
This year on Easter Monday relatives of the Four Courts Garrison staged a fine commemorative ceremony. When the tricolour was raised in the garden area and the Last Post sounded my father, and other direct descendants, sat or stood with tears in their eyes. What a shameful pity that the very men and women who brought us there were not recognised properly when they were alive.
Oddly enough, Easter arrived so early this year that the centenary came a full four weeks before the actual date of the events it was commemorating. And so to honour the original Easter Monday – April 25th, 1916 – I set off for North King Street at midday, precisely the time when the Four Courts garrison met at Blackhall Place. It took me past The Tap pub (formerly Riley’s Fort) on the corner of Church Street and Jameson’s Distillery down Bow Lane. More than any official ceremony this was a truly personal odyssey, recalling that on these very streets 100 years ago to the day – to the hour – my grandfather and his brother committed themselves body and soul for their own freedom and for Irish freedom.
I continued on to Arbour Hill cemetery and was taken by the number of people who had the same idea as me, roaming around on their own or in twos and threes. A couple of tour buses arrived down from Belfast, cognisant of the day.
I crossed over to Collins Barracks to visit the fine 1916 exhibition. To my amazement – and that of many arriving from home and abroad – the museum was closed. I asked an attendant how could the 1916 exhibition possibly be shut exactly 100 years to the day that the pages opened on modern Irish history. He looked me in the eye and told me straight: “We’re closed – because we always close on Mondays.”
Grandpa The Sniper by Frank Shouldice is published by The Liffey Press
