Up the stairs they came, and by their voices we knew that at least some of them were under
the influence of drink. We peeped out and saw that with the soldiers were five or six CID
men, some of whom we knew well. They were making a lot of noise, and the Deputy, who
accompanied them, seemed quite incapable of controlling them.
Suddenly we heard a key turn in our door; we were locked in. We started to dance 'The Walls
of Limerick', singing for music, so that the noise outside was almost drowned by the noise
inside. Paudeen [O'Keefe - the governor] was shouting at the top of his voice, but
apparently had difficulty in getting himself heard.
After a while we heard the voices of some of the deportees as they passed our door, and we
knew that they had been searched and were being passed out. The place was full of soldiers
and they were sending in two at a time for search.
Presently a girl's shriek pierced the night and we nearly lost our reason. We battered at
the locked door and shouted, but they jeered back at us, and even that was a relief, for we
knew they would be too cowardly to jeer if anybody had been seriously hurt.
Then the little peephole shutter was pushed back and the mocking faces of our CID friends
appeared; they talked in at us, passing insulting remarks, etc. It is amazing how base even Irish mercenaries can become. We were powerless; our greatest weapon of defence was silence, and this angered them more.
Meanwhile, Marie Deegan was collecting all the slops she could find in the room into one
large vessel. Then creeping along the floor she suddenly raised herself and dashed its
contents into the grinning, malicious faces gathered round the 'window'. Thereupon we broke
silence and cheered, and it was just as well, for the spluttering language of the now
dripping, begrimed ruffians was not nice to hear. It was a pandemonium; but they retreated
from the window, and when at last our door was opened to permit us to pass between cordons
of renegade Irishmen to the surgery, where the search was taking place, the CID was not in
evidence.
It was nearly morning when it came to our turn. Each search had been accompanied by a row.
This, of course, made for delay, and the resistance put up had disorganised all their plans.
We trooped out, all together, when the door was opened, and were horrified by what met our
eyes: girls with their cloths half torn off them, their faces and hands scratched, were
being pushed down the stairs as they emerged from the surgery, and were laughed at and
insulted by drunken soldiers.
As Judy Gaughan entered the room she was greeted by one of the searchers with 'Come on,
Beauty.' Her response was more militant, and did not improve the facial contour or temper
of her tormentor, who evidently did not expect what she got for her impudence.
Maire Deegan was propelled out to the landing, showing a black eye, the outward and visible
sign of her encounter within.
Josie Eivers and I were pushed forward into the surgery. There were three young women in
the room; one, obviously, the worse for drink, sprawled on a chair; another, with an eye
rapidly puffing up and changing colour, leaned against the mantle-piece; the third stood
ready to paw me all over.
I had seen Judy flung down the stairs by a CID man, saved only from a fall, which would
have maimed her for life, by clutching frantically at the balusters. I had seen
Maire Comerford sit on a bench, like a stoic of old with tightly compressed lips, never emitting
even a murmur, while a doctor (whom Paudeen had fetched) cut away her hair, and put three
stitches in her head. I had seen Sighle Humphreys being dragged out, half conscious from
the blow dealt her when she resisted the search.
I was looking now at a pool of blood at my feet, and I saw red. All the teachings of the
good nuns who had charge of my youth, all the training and example of my home were for
nought. My cave ancestors were in the ascendancy, and, towering over the creature who now
approached to search me, I said, 'If you touch me, I'll choke the life out of you.'
At that moment I felt quite capable of doing it, and I must have looked it, for the poor
thing simply said: 'Go on,' and Josie and I 'went on' out to the waiting lorry.
I have always felt a little ashamed of my primitive impulse that night; my conduct, to say
the least of it, was unladylike.
At last all were out, the soldiers took their places in the lorries, and we were shot up
into the midst of them; the Deputy followed in a car. Once again we were in the open; it was about 2 am, a fine cold night, and not a sinner to
be seen on the deserted North Circular Road. We made as much noise as we could, singing, etc, and as we rounded the corner of Prussia
Street, and saw a group of men near the market, we shouted 'Up the Republic'.
The men took off their hats and shouted with us. We called to them that we were Republican
women prisoners being taken from Mountjoy to the North Dublin Union, but we were soon out
of sight and hearing; we saw no more wayfayer, and finally pulled up at our destination.
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