Next day she walked five miles to Shankhill, when she met a cart going to Bray viâ Killiney, so she rode back to Killiney on it and from thence to Bray. She then walked the five miles from Bray back to Greystones, her starting point.
Arrived back, she reached home absolutely exhausted, having walked forty miles, and dropped down saying, "There's your beef, and I never got there or heard anything." Mrs. W. was greatly distressed at her having carried the meat back when so exhausted and asked her why she had not given it away. "And what for should I give it away when we'll be wanting it ourselves maybe?"
Next day Dr. W. managed to get a telephone message through to his wife and relieved her anxiety.
He told us that on the first or second night of the rebellion—he could not remember which—two ladies of the Vigilance Committee patrolling the streets at night came on a soldier lying wounded in an alley off Dawson Street, where he had crawled on being wounded. They went to Mercer's Hospital and gave information, and stretcher-bearers were sent out to bring in the man, the ladies accompanying them. When he was on the stretcher the two ladies walked up to the railings of St. Stephen's Green and gave the Sinn Feiners inside a regular dressing down, telling them they were skunks and cowards to shoot people down from behind bushes and asking them why they did not come out and fight in the open like men. Meanwhile the stretcher-bearers had taken the man to the hospital, where Dr. W. saw him.
"Well, my man; where are you hurt?"
"Divil a pellet, sorr, above the knee," laughing.
"Does it pain you?"
"Not at all, sorr. Wait till I show you." He pulled up his trousers and showed five bullet shots below the knee.
"What regiment?"
"Royal Irish, sorr, like Michael Cassidy, of Irish nationality; and I bear no ill-will to nobody."