He raised his hat, renewed his apologies for detaining me, and disappeared. Under the gas lamp I caught a glimpse of tears on his lashes—tears of a strong man for Ireland, his native land, a suffering thing he cannot help.
The Labour Party’s delegation to Ireland had not included a woman. Several members of the Women’s International League, and a few Quaker women on errands of mercy, had visited the country. This was some time before the Labour Party had decided upon an official visit. The secretary of the party had received from an Irishwoman a letter imploring him to include a woman amongst his investigators, but it was not thought wise to do this by the men on account of the danger and inconvenience. When one of the executive proposed my name as one of the delegates Mr. Henderson, with the most paternal solicitude, suggested that the Executive Committee ought not to take upon itself the responsibility of running any woman into such real danger as existed for travellers in general and investigators in particular in Ireland at that time. So the proposal fell to the ground.
No such objection was raised when the delegation to Russia was appointed. On the contrary, Mr. Henderson strongly pressed me to go to Russia. I cannot imagine that the concern of this genuinely kind-hearted man for the safety for his women colleagues was in abeyance on that occasion. Mr. Henderson had been to Russia and suffered considerable danger himself. I can only conclude that this serious-minded colleague of mine believed the danger to be greater in Ireland under British rule than in Russia under the rule of the Bolsheviks! I agreed to go to Russia with some reluctance on my own account. Not because of any fear of going. Atrocity stories and wild tales of epidemics had no terrors for me. But the time of the proposed Russian visit was inopportune. I had received invitations to go to Poland, Spain, and Hungary. Preparations for the journey to Madrid had already been made and had to be cancelled.
But there were no obstacles to the Irish visit. I wanted to go. Irishwomen wanted me to go. I received one pressing letter after another. The Labour Party’s objection was laughed to scorn. I must say the idea that women who have lived more summers than they care to confess cannot be allowed to take the responsibility for their own lives, but must be a burden and a charge, whether they like it or not, on the consciences of their men comrades is in these days vastly amusing; particularly to the women of the Labour Movement, whose conception of progress is of equality of effort, of danger, of suffering, and of reward for men and women.
None the less, I understood and valued at its very real worth the altogether gracious and kindly thought which lay at the root of the action of the Labour Executive.
It was impossible to resist the pleading of Irishwomen that as many women as could do so should go over there and see with their own eyes what the women and children of Ireland are called upon to endure.
On Saturday, January 15, 1921, I left Euston for Holyhead, alone, and without having in any way advertised my intention. I landed in Dublin in the evening and proceeded to friends in one of the suburbs. We drove from the station in a jaunting-car. In such a fashion did I get my first glimpse of Dublin under what the majority of Irishmen consider to be foreign occupation. Westland Row Station, as well as Kingstown Harbour, was full of soldiers and police. Passengers coming off the boat were heavily scrutinized. We were closely examined in the train. In the streets and public places of all sorts in every town I visited during the ten days of my visit, even in country villages and lanes, the atmosphere was tense with the expectation of the sudden assault, the quick firing of rifles, the rough arrest, the climbing of military lorries on to the footpaths, the humiliating search, the heart-breaking insult. Women and men alike feared these things. Here was an equality of treatment which nobody objected to so far as Irishwomen were concerned, least of all the Republican women themselves, who would think shame of themselves if they were unwilling to suffer what their men are called upon to endure. But the pity of it! Little children are often victims. Boys and girls have been shot dead.
On this night the streets of Dublin were lively with the clatter of armoured cars and lorry loads of singing soldiers not too sober. Occasionally a distant shot was heard. Now and then a side-car packed with merry little dare-devils flaunting their green flag provocatively for the sheer fun of the thing would rattle past. One trembled for the ignorant folly of madcap youth.
My host, who is one of the best-known and most highly respected citizens of Dublin, did everything in his power to bring me into touch with every shade of Irish opinion, so that I might judge of things for myself without bias or pressure from outside. I never was in any country where there were fewer attempts to make proselytes. He himself is a Quaker, and has a long record of devoted service to his country and to the less fortunate of his fellow-citizens to his credit, which inspired confidence and respect. His beautiful wife and lovely children gave me a warm Irish welcome, and, although an Englishwoman and, therefore, a justifiable object of suspicion, I was never permitted for a moment to feel myself an intruder.
From Saturday night till Tuesday morning the hours were packed with incident. I think it would have been difficult for anybody to see more people and hear more tales of woe than it was my lot to see and hear during these ten days in Ireland. Amongst my new acquaintances were Republicans of all sorts, Nationalist Home Rulers, Unionists, Labour Party officials, Trade Unionists, Quakers, humble citizens with no particular political affiliations, Catholic priests and Protestant ministers boys and girls from the country “on the run” in the city, newspaper men, writers of books and pamphlets, British officers, lawyers by the dozen, ex-soldiers, high-born ladies, the widows of men executed in the rebellion of 1916, suffragettes, women doctors, temperance folk, members of the Irish Republican Army, commercial travellers, and men and women suspected of being British agents and spies. I should like to disclose the names of all these interesting persons. In most cases I have full authority to do so. But when that permission is coupled with a declaration that they do not care two pins about the consequences to themselves, I am involved in too great a responsibility to be reckless in a matter where human life and liberty are so manifestly involved.