IN RECENT years the study of women’s history in Ireland has undergone a revolution. As a consequence, the huge contribution – long neglected – made by past female generations across the entire spectrum of Irish life is now recognised and secure.
Significantly, the process has been very much a case of self-help: from the outset it was controlled and driven by women, some of them eminent academics, and conducted, by and large, in accordance with the highest scholarly standards. At times, however, it has given rise to questionable assertions. Nowhere is this more evident than in relation to the well-known photograph reproduced here, showing Patrick Pearse surrendering to the British commander, Brig Gen William Henry Lowe, on April 29th, 1916.
On Lowe’s right is his son and aide. On Pearse’s right the hem of a woman’s skirt and a shoe are clearly discernible. The woman in question was Elizabeth O’Farrell, a member of the Gaelic League and Cumann na mBan. Although she wore the insignia of a Red Cross nurse, it appears that she was not officially affiliated to that organisation. Along with many other women she served in the GPO, initially under James Connolly, and was one of only three women still remaining there when the garrison evacuated to Moore Street on April 28th. Next day she was chosen by Pearse to convey to Lowe a request to enter into negotiations. Under a white flag, she succeeded in making contact with the general (Pearse had feared that a man entrusted with her mission might well have been shot down) and it was eventually agreed that Pearse should surrender to Lowe in person.
It has been suggested by more than one commentator that O’Farrell was deliberately airbrushed out of the photograph by male historians of the Rising. Such a suggestion is patently inaccurate. From the most cursory inspection it is clear that her image was simply obscured by the figure of Pearse. Short of the latter’s having already achieved ethereal transparency in the realms of light, it could scarcely have been otherwise. The matter has, in any case, been settled definitively by O’Farrell herself. In May 1956 she and her lifelong friend and fellow Republican activist, Julia Grenan, spent a few days with the Cistercian monks of Mount St Joseph’s, Roscrea (the present writer’s old alma mater). In the course of her visit she gave the monks a detailed account of the surrender episode.
Before meeting Lowe, Pearse attended carefully to his appearance and military attire, in order to present himself with appropriate dignity. Lowe suggested that O’Farrell be held overnight in British custody and bring the surrender notice round the other garrisons next morning. “Will you agree to this?” Pearse asked her. “Yes, if you wish it”. “I do wish it”. Pearse, “in the deepest silence”, then proffered his sword to Lowe. “On seeing this”, O’Farrell said, “my heart sank”.
“Still in silence he turned to her and they shook hands. She saw him no more”. The account continues: “When she saw a British soldier getting ready to take a photo, she stepped back beside Pearse so as not to give the enemy press any satisfaction. Ever after she regretted having done so”.
In 1959 the monks published the foregoing account in a sumptuous edition of the college magazine, An Fiolar, got out to mark the golden jubilee of the Roscrea community, which occurred in 1958. By then O'Farrell was dead. To the end she remained active on the extreme wing of Irish Republicanism.
Her last public appearance was in January 1957, when she delivered a speech in Dublin in support of the contemporary IRA campaign in Northern Ireland. She died some months later and is interred in the Republican plot in Glasnevin. At least one lengthier version of her statement, above, is extant, published in 1966 by the late Roger McHugh.
This, however, makes no reference to the controversial photograph. Her entry in the magisterial Dictionary of Irish Biographyis similarly silent on the subject. It would seem, therefore, that were it not for those good and erudite men, the monks of Roscrea, knowledge of her exercise in photographic self-censorship might well have died with her.
Ultimately, it was the Boer War veteran, Gen Lowe, rather than Elizabeth O'Farrell, who was airbrushed out of the record. He died in 1944. His obituary in the London Times and entry in Who Was Who, 1941-50, make no reference to his role in suppressing the 1916 Rising. It may here, at least, be noted that, according to O'Farrell, he showed her extraordinary courtesy. Hearing that she had been treated contrary to his orders and money taken from her by her captors, he not only had it returned, but came in person to apologise to her.
Finally, pietas demands that I add a few words with regard to Mount St Joseph’s. One of our history teachers there was the late Vincent Cowen (Fr Andrew, O. Cist) uncle of the present Taoiseach, who is himself an alumnus of the college. Another alumnus is Conor Brady, former editor of this estimable newspaper. We were fortunate in having as English teacher there the late Augustine (Gus) Martin, afterwards professor of English in University College Dublin, a most enlightened and inspirational figure. Although the Cistercian community is now sadly depleted, the college continues to flourish, albeit today largely under lay management.