Me Da                                          

A fictionalised account of the Wexford Lockout of 1911 as told by Josie Kelly.

Poor Sister Concepta nearly had a fit when I wrote about me Da when she had us write a composition on "My Favourite Character in Irish History" But he was involved in a historic event and he is my favourite character. The odd thing is, I never met him.

It all began back in the early months of 1911 in a bustling seaport town in the south east of Ireland.

My Ma and Da were married when they were only 18 years old. They say they had been courtin' since they left school.

Me Da worked in a big foundry called Pierces and me Ma was in service in a big house just outside the town, but that was only until she got married. She had to give up work then because that was what everyone did in those days.

It was a lovely summer that year when they got married and straight away they moved into a room in a house in Roche's Road.

It was only a single room in a family house but me Da was delighted with it.

"Well Maggie, what do you think of it?" he said as he carried her over the threshold.

"It's only gorgeous. Our very own room, at last" she replied

Things were going great in the foundry and with the fine weather; they looked like being kept busy between making bikes and farm machinery and parts. The town was booming and life looked very rosy for the newlyweds.

But Ma was a bit uneasy about talk of trade unions getting organised in the foundry.

"Won't there be trouble if them unions are starting?" she enquired.

"Some of the lads are keen on joining that Irish Transport and General Workers Union. Now that the dockers have won." Da said,"Ye know they won an end to night work, they only have to work a 10 hour day and they even got a pay rise."

Ma was still not convinced, "That's all very well, but they were on strike for weeks, and the wives had to scrimp and save. That won't happen with you will it?"

"Nah, sure everyone knows that unions are strong and there's no point in going against them."

That brightened her up as she thought that few extra bob would be great.

"Yeah." Da said," it would surely help for gettin' on our feet and buying a bit of furniture for this place. We could get rid of that bockety ould chair."

"Not that we'd fit much in here. What about when the babby comes along. We'll never get a cot in here."

That caught him off guard. "You're not........... already are ye?" he stammered.

"No........ not yet. But we have to plan."

"We could always do what me Ma and Da did with me?"

"What was that?"

"They were in a room just like this and couldn't fit a cot in so they put me in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe."

"Yer coddin' me."

"I am not. Me Da said it was great, cos if I cried he just had to push the drawer shut and he couldn't hear me."

"No child of mine is gettin' shut up in a wardrobe."

"Sure no child of yours would ever even cry, hon."

They had great fun setting up the new 'home' They never had a real honeymoon, unless you count the one night in a guest house in Enniscorthy. But they were dyin' about one another.     

The two of them went for lovely long walks out to Carrig eating ju-jus and enjoying the deadly scenery out there.

They went to the new fangled pictures up in the Theatre Royal, even though they could only afford to go to the scratch.

Soon, so I am told, I began to make my presence felt.

That was in July, as the whole union matter was beginning to get serious consideration.

One evening me Da came home seeming a bit agitated and when me Ma enquired he told her that the organiser from the union was outside work  saying they should all join up.

"I know you're all on for it" she said, "but is it worth it?"

"He was givin' out about the short dinner break we get."

"But the half hour is enough isn't it, there's not that much to eat?"

"It's grand for me but what about the lads from John's Street and the like. Since the priests kicked up about them eatin' in the chapel yard, they have to stay down in the foundry."

"So?"

"It's awful tryin' to ate something in there what with the heat and the dirt an' all."

"Pity about 'em."

"Ah hon, you don't mean that, do ye?"

"No, I suppose it's hard on them. But what can a union do about it?"

"If we were all in, the union could talk for us. They could go to the boss man and ask for a longer break and no one would be picked on for gettin' above themselves."

"Look, let's get the bit of dinner, Mary and Padge said they might call down later and we don't want them gawpin' up in our faces as we eat. I like Mary but I always feel she's puttin' on airs. Ye know always lettin' on to be a bit better than anyone else."

"She's not that bad. She just likes to let people know who she is with her Da being gardener to the bishop an' all."

"Aye and a right feckin' eejit she makes of herself too. Last week at the question-time they asked what animal pork came from and do you know what she said?"

"What?"

"A porcupine."

"Ah, she didn't."

"She did so. Poor Padge didn't know where to put himself. That poor eejit is soft about her ye know." Me Da said with a grin, "Mind you, she is fine hoult."

"Sit in you for your dinner and never mind about Mary or any other bit of talent or I'll give you a puck in the gob, ye hoeboy, I've got you taped, and you a married man."

"Ah, hon, I'm only slaggin'"

"You better be, boyo. And don't you mention pork tonight."

They had barely finished the dinner when Mary and Padge arrived. They were old school friends.

As usual, the women sat in to the fire for a gab and to exchange the latest bits of news. The men sat at the table. Padge was full of gossip and was obviously bursting to tell me Da about the latest happenings in his part of the factory.

"There was some crack in the Moulding Shop today." he started

"What happened?"

"Well you know how the lavs are set out down there with just the planks with holes in them, laid out over the Horse River."

Seeing Padge revving up for a good story, Da just nodded.

"Well, big Meyler was in there this afternoon, you know, reading the paper and taking his ease when that young Murphy lad..."

Da interrupted, "Joe Murphy's son?"

"Yeah that's the one. Anyway he went up to the top of the shed, lit a big clump of newspapers and sent it sailing down the river. The flames were only huge as it passed under Big Meyler and it singed the backside off him."

"What did he do?"

"As soon as he cooled himself off he grabbed a hould of Murphy, said he was only a little canat from John Street and then he threatened to shove him down the boghole head first. It took five of us to rescue him."

"Did anyone from the staff hear the commotion."

"Yeah, ould Kelly came in wantin' to know what was going on. But when we told him all he said was it served Meyler right for spending so much time in the lavs."

"That'd be him alright the crabby ould get."

The evening continued with talk of babies, chapels, unions and work. Padge made great play of telling me Ma how he was the first in the Moulding Shop to put his name down to join the union. Me Da said it was the coming thing but Mary and me Ma were not too sure. But they didn't let it spoil their night and after a few games of rummy the visitors left.

Next evening the Da came home with 'the face of a divil' on him.

"What's wrong with you," me Ma said. "Did someone steal yer bone?"

"It's not funny," he snapped," Things are gettin' quare serious in work."

"How? What happened?"

"Ye know that Padge and the lads in the Mouldin' Shop joined the union the other day."

"Yeah, and you're thinking of signing up next week ain't ye?"

"I dunno now. Pierce sacked them all today."

"But why, things are right busy this time of the year."

"They were sacked for being in the union."

"Just for being in a union?"

"Yeah, yer man Salmon, the manager said that they won't have union members in the place."

"What'll you do?"

"I'm going to join up."

"But why? They'll just sack you as well and then what'll we do?"

"But hon, it's the only way. If no one else joins the union, Padge and the lads are finished. They'll never get into a job again. But if everyone joins up they can't sack us all or they might as well lock up."

"I dunno. You have to think of us and the baby coming and all."

"But Maggie, hon, can't you see it's only by standing together we can win this for everyone. The dockers are behind us as well. As soon as Peter O'Connor down there heard about the lads getting the boot, he blacked a shipment of coke coming in for Pierces.

The dockers all support the unions. With support like that we can't lose."

My Da was a quare contrary fella in some ways. Usually he was easy going and said and did little to get noticed, but when someone got his back up he was a walkin' divil.

He went to that meetin' and not only did he join up but he got put on the committee that was sent to have talks with the bosses.

A few days later he went on one of those meetings and Ma expected great news as he walked in the door.

"So tell us, mister union man, how did the NEG-O-TIA-     TIONS go?"

"Not too well."

"What happened?"

"The bosses definitely don't want unions in the foundries."

"But they can't stop you. Can they? It's a free country, anyone can join a union. Unions are legal."

"That's not how the bosses see it. Pierce, Hearne and Doyle met the delegation and told us they have made their own union of sorts. They have combined and said that no Transport Union members will ever work in their foundries."

"How? What can they do?"

"They are going to lock us out of the works unless we leave the unions by Monday."

"Oh John, can they do that?"

"Well they own the factories."

"But what good are factories without workers. If you are all locked out they can't produce anything."

"That's the crunch ye see. If we all stay united we'll be okay but if some people weaken and go into work the rest of us are banjaxed."

"No one will go in. How could they act like little sleeveens and stay living in this town?"

Monday came and me Da and most of the others remained union men. Pierces locked the gates and 400 men were out of work with no social welfare or other money to keep their families.

At another foundry, The Star, the bosses gave the men a few days to make up their minds about the union. Almost every one of them joined up. The Star shut it's gates.

Selskar Iron Works did the same. With the three foundries shut, 700 men were out of work. And remained so.

As time went by things got worse and feeling were rising.

One evening, Padge came thundering up the stairs and banging on the door. When they let him in he paced up and down trying to catch his breath before imparting his news.

"Did ye hear what's going on down at the station."

"What ?"

"Scabs, Blacklegs - dozens of them gettin' off the train, gurriers from Dublin and even England being brought in to take our work."

"But they wouldn't do that. Who'd take another man's job."

"There are always some," me Da said," - if the money is right."

"Some? there's a whole rake of them."

"Where are they going?"

"When I left they were heading for the foundries - some of the lads said they saw beds being brought into Pierces so they must be going to live there on the premises."

"That'd be the only safe place for the likes of them." Me Ma said.

"There's ructions on the Main Street." Padge continued. "Most are just throwing dirty looks at them but some of the young lads were lobbing muck at them and pegging stones at their police escort."

"Police?", me Ma said, nervously

"Yeah, lines of them marching as bodyguards to the blackguards. I knew all them extra RIC men were brought in for something. The council are on the side of the bosses as usual."

Me Da was getting worried.

"We must stop the lads throwing things." He said, "It'll only make things worse, give the bosses an excuse to come down on us. It'll really put the caibosh on things."

"Let's go then. We'll head them off at Gibson's Lane." Said Padge as me Da got his cap and coat.

Ma called after them as they went out the door. "Be careful lads."

This was just the start of the worst part of that long cold winter.

Booing, jeering and scuffling with the scabs continued. Men, women and children found it hard to control their anger at such people. Within weeks the place was sniving with RIC men. There were 150 extra policemen on Wexford streets and there was little love lost between them and the townspeople who saw them as little more than paid soldiers for the bosses side.

People began to call the foundry workers "Men of Iron" both for the work that they did and their determination concerning the union.

But there were others who spoke less generously of them and remarked that under pressure this iron might bend.

And it wasn't just the problems of scabs and police that were getting people down. Feeding families in days without dole or social welfare was becoming a nightmare falling mainly on the women.

"This whole thing is getting beyond a joke." Mary said when she met Ma on the way down town.

"Who are ye telling? If wasn't for Mick Flood giving us the food on tick we'd be starving."

"Don't the two daughters from the house where you used to work bring you in some food."

"Yeah, they're terrible nice girls. I feel sorry for them sometimes with that ould Da of theirs."

"Still, it's good of them to help out."

"Yeah, they're nice alright. But they give me a pain talking about the old days as if I was a bloody pensioner."

"But you were always great with them weren't ye?"

"I suppose I was. The poor things were hardly allowed outside the walls of that estate unless it was to go to church or something. I was only the scullery maid but being the same age as them I was nearly employed to be their friend."

"Ah poor young souls."

"Cop on will ya? They're better off than we'll ever be and they're older than you."

"Still it's very kind of them to keep calling on you."

"I wonder how much they'd call if their Da knew about it?"

"I never thought the whole thing would go on this long."

"John is gettin' terrible disillusioned. He says with them scabs here, the bosses will hold out for months."

"Them feckers should be strung up. Have they no families of their own. To think of them coming here to take the bosses side against fellow Irishmen."

"Money will make people do anything and the bosses are spending a fortune to break our lads."

"Well some of the women are making them earn their blood money. You know how that ould Salmon fella from Pierces, that ould blow-in was well named, a real cold fish he is. Well, he has a farm out in Hayestown.

"Yeah"

"Ye see,  the RIC are escorting the scabs out there on Saturdays to play football and they take special precautions to keep our lads away from them. But the women are taking the lads places and giving the feckers merry hell. They boo and shout at them and pelt them with sods. They say Jenny Kennedy managed to give one of 'em a right box in the forehead the other day."

"Good for her."

"Yeah, it gives them feckers a right fright. But still, I wonder how long can we hold out. Every house in this town depends to some extent on the foundries. There's either sons or brothers or fathers out of work and little or no money coming in. Whole families are living on goodie."

"Who are ye tellin'"

"Poor Padge has to depend on a few pence from his sister Lily, the one that's working over in the Manse."

"I'm dreadin' the Christmas and I know John is frettin' about it. The shopkeepers are good and that few bob from the country trades councils and even that collection from the Protestants up in the Belfast Shipyards is keeping things ticking over but ye know how you'd love that little extra for Christmas - especially with it being our first one together."

"Maybe it'll be over by then."

"I hope to God it is."

Then there was a great shouting in the distance. John and Padge came running around the corner of Bride Street.

Padge was white in the face. "Jaysus that's it." He growled. " They've done it now."

Maggie asked "What? What's happened?"

John took her hands in his. "They're attacking the ordinary people."

"Mother of God! Who? How?" Mary demanded.

"The bloody RIC.They were out escorting the scabs and the people were booing and jeering when the feckers made a baton charge."

John was shaking as he continued, "I don't know what happened. Honest to God. One minute we were standing on the Main Street, just calling a few names, getting in a few digs at the chancers. The next minute there was a scatter. Men, women and children were screaming, running and falling. People that were only out at the shops doing a few messages and minding their own business were caught up in it.

When they RIC retreated Mick Leary was lying there, blood gushing from him - he was taken to the infirmary but it looks awful bad ...... they've sent for the priest."

Padge was regaining his composure. "Yeah and Mary Nolan said that the banshee was heard up in their street last night and that's a sure sign of death."

"Never you mind them ould pishogues." Maggie snapped.

Mary was shaking with fear, "Where is it all going to end."

John whispered "I was just thinking that meself. Maybe we should give in."

Maggie was insenced. "Give in? You will not!"

"But Maggie, they have everything, the money, the workers, the police."

Maggie was not to be put off. "Yes," she said, " but you have right."

"Oh yeah, right." Said da,"That'll give us grub for Christmas. That'll cloth our child when it's born. That'll comfort the Learys in their hour of need."

Ma was almost crying as she said. "No it won't feed us or cloth us or comfort us, but will giving in make it any better? If they break you on joining a union what comes next?

They'll want you to work longer hours.

They'll want you to work for less.

You'll be little better than slaves and I won't have a slave as   my child's father."

Da was feeling helpless. "But what can we do?"

"Stay firm. I didn't marry you for comfort or food or clothes for a baby.

I haven't half starved and scrimped and saved for you to give in to them now and let them walk all over you."

Unfortunately for them, Ma's old 'friends' from the big house had chosen that moment to walk into the picture.

"Get away. Go back to your big house now."

Jane was shocked. "But we are only bringing you a little food."

"Food? We don't want your food. We want our husband's work back."

Jane said,"But Maggie, that's nothing to do with us, Daddy and the other employers say they must be free to run the foundries.

Ma was not in a mood to listen.

"Free to walk on us poor ignorant gobshites you mean.

Free to make men work in filth and fumes.

Free to take you on your Grand tour while we might get a day on Browne's Bank or in Ardcavan.

Jane said, "Maggie, control yourself. Think of the baby."

Da didn't know what to say, he stuttered, "Yeah hon, take it aisey."

Ma was not having it. "Shut up! Don't you take their part."

"They only want to help."

"Help? Help? Take your warm soup and cold hearts down to Mrs. Leary.

Tell her how your Daddy wants to be free.

Ask her if Mick feels free.

Now get out of this Street and don't come back."

The young ladies made a hasty retreat leaving Ma and Da both crying in one anothers arms.

A few days later, Michael O'Leary died.

The inquest said he died of septic meningitis from not having his wounds treated in time. But all of Wexford knew that was only a cover up.

No one in authority was going to say that an innocent man out to buy tobacco after a hard day's work shifting corn in Castlebridge was killed by the police protecting blackleg workers.

His funeral was one of the biggest ever seen in Wexford.

St. Bridget's Fife and Drum band played for it and all shops closed as it passed through the town.

And this wasn't the only unusual happening of that bitter winter. When Peter Daly, the union organiser was beaten up, the infirmary refused to let him in and the RIC refused to prosecute the attacker.

No wonder that the money from a collection made among RIC men was courteously but firmly refused even though the workers and their families were in dire need, with tuberculosis rampant, aggravated by poor nutrition.

Every Tuesday Ma went faithfully to her Sodality Meeting while Da did the washing up. One such evening he was barely finishing, looking forward to a sit down to read the People paper when the door burst open.

"That's it!" screamed Money Adviser " That's my last mass."

"Hon, what's up what happened?"

"Even the clergy are against us."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was talking to Mrs. Kelly and she said that some of the young lads at the Confraternity meeting over in Rowe Street objected when Doyle's nephew swanned in. Do you know what Fr. Wickham did? He said he was most welcome there.

Fair do's to the young lads, they all got up and walked out of the chapel.

That's what I call "Faith of Our Fathers"."

"Surely not."

"It's true, herself and a crowd of women from John Street saw it all. The police were even on the scene."

"But the priest wouldn't do that. The clergy have supported us."

"Ah John, don't be such an eejit. Who is that gives the big donations to the church? Don't you see it the paper every year with the bosses names top of the list for the Grand Collection? Who pays the big amount in dues and drops paper money into the collection plate?

Sure they're the biggest craw thumpers in Ireland."

"But the church is for the poor."

"Will ye have a bit of cop on. The church is for the church."

"But you can't not go to Mass. What will people say?"

"Just you watch me."

This was one of the few times me Ma had got it wrong, well slightly wrong. Ye see the clergy were for the most part on the side of the workers who were locked out. Although some were in favour for curious reasons.

Father Hore was worried that the imported workers might not be of high moral standards and would not improve the morality of the town.

Me Ma didn't actually give up going to mass. People in that time didn't do such things. She did cut her collection plate money down to a farthing for a while though.

That was her protest and she put the other farthing into the strike fund even though that's where it was coming from anyway.

The exact same farthing probably came back to her each week in the money me Da got.

As time passed, there were mass meetings and negotiations and collections. One night me Da and Padge came home more than a little tipsy from a meeting in the bullring.

"That was a great boost at the meeting tonight, wasn't it me ould skin." Da said as he caught padge by the shoulder.

"Begob it was. Imagine them  fellas though coming all the way from England and not knowing what they were gettin' themselves gulled."

"It was lucky for us they got suspicious of having a police escort going to work and then that they saw the newspaper reports."

"I bet ould Salmon will choke on his dinner when he hears how his blacklegs spoke at our meeting and told us that Yorkshire workers supported the locked out men of Wexford."

"Listen..Did ye hear Murphy talkin' about the Corporation's idea of putting a gondola on the river out by the bathing place, they think it would give the place a bit of class."

"Sure if they had any sense they'd get two of them and maybe they'd breed."

"God but you can be thick - a gondola is a shaggin' boat."

"Oh." Said Padge, still not sure what Da was saying.

"I hear that yer man Connolly is coming to town to take over negotiations."

"The fella that fixed things up in the linen mills and shipyards?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Cruise-O'Brien from the Free Press and Father Hore are meant to be arranging meetings with the bosses."

"Well here's hoping he'll pull something off."

"It wouldn't be before time."   

At that me Ma got in from visiting Mary.

"God but it's skinnin' out there tonight.2 she said, stamping her feet and rubbing her hands.

"Sit down, hon," Da said, " until Padge tells you about how to cook gondola eggs."

"What are you talking about."

"D'mind him Maggie he's only trying to make me out to be an eejit."

"You two have been out on the tear, yez are fluthered drunk."

"We are not." The two of them said in an indignant chorus.

"Yes ye are. Where did yez get money for drink and half the town starving?"

"The lads from Lady's Island brought a few bottles of poteen in to the meeting - just to cheer us up."

"Cheer ye up? Why should you be cheered up?"

"Aw hon, there's no call for that. we only had a dooshie little drink."

"The children going to school without a crust of bread need cheering up.

The women taking in washing to help feed a family need cheering up.

The men crying on street corners because they can't support their families need cheering up."

"Maggie, hon, don't get all worked up."

"Don't you tell me what to do. And as for you Padge Curran get on home and sober up.

I hope yer Ma catches sneakin' in and gives a good dig. Honest to God, grown men gettin' drunk at times like this."

"What better time to get drunk and forget our troubles."

"Yes, Mister Un-ion man. A fine example you'd set to-night. Now off to bed with you and you can take that puss off  ye, as well."

James Connolly did come to Wexford to negotiate with the employers and try to reach a settlement because the man previously in charge, Peter Daly, had been put in jail mainly on charges trumped up by the authorities.

This was the same James Connolly who would be executed a little over four years later for his part in the Easter Rising.

Within weeks negotiations were taking place and talks were at last getting somewhere after almost six months of lockout.

In February, connolly addressed a meeting in The Faythe and Ma and Da were there with Padge and Mary.

After the meeting the whole town felt light-headed.

"Yer man Connolly is some man for one man." Said Padge as they walked home.

"He's a great speaker alright." Da agreed.

"Did ye hear the way he put it.

No one lost and no one won.

That was great. It means no one need have their noses out of  joint."

Ma wasn't so sure. "There are always winners and losers regardless of what James Connolly says. You mark my words, someone will suffer."

But the mood was too good to take a damper so Mary had her say.  

"Ah, Maggie, hould your whisht. This is a day for celebrations. The lads are the winners."

Da chipped in, "Mary is right. We might not have got the union we wanted but we have a union."

"Yeah," said Padge, " and Corish and them say that if we let things simmer for a few months we can become the union we have always fought for."

Ma gave into the happy mood. "I suppose you're right. Let's celebrate."

And celebrate they did. The whole town was ablaze with tar-barrels. Bands marched up and down the Main Street and people danced on Street corners. An awful nightmare was lifting.

But the celebration was short-lived.

Things were not good as the men returned to work.

One evening as Da came in for his tea, he looked even more dejected than at the height of the lockout.

Ma was almost afraid to ask about work.

"Still no better, hon?" she finally said.

"No. There's not a stir."

"They'll come round."

"Come round? Why do I have to wait for them to come round. We fought for them.

We suffered, we starved, we thought we won but now we have divisions between workers and workers worse than between bosses and workers.

We fought for unions and unity but reaped a more disunited town than ever before.

"That's not your fault. You did your best, you stood for what you believed in. You won, remember Connolly?"

"They promised no victimisation when we returned to work but the bosses are making life impossible for meself and the others who organised the union. They're only looking for an excuse to sack us."

"Ah, John don't take it so hard. Give it time."

"But Maggie, it's all so wrong. Shopkeepers who kept the people going by giving them credit when they hadn't a penny coming in, are closing down because the poor sods who got the food on tick, never got back to work and are now too ashamed to enter the shops that were so good them.

The feckers who helped the bosses out and scabbed, all have the best jobs.

Men that gave the best years of their working lives to those foundries were not even allowed back to work.

These men never even asked for extra money or shorter hours or even better conditions, though God knows they deserve them.        

All they wanted, was to be members of a union - members of a group.

Just like being members of a church, or a tontine society or a brass band.

They only wanted to unite.

But no, they were workers, so they couldn't have that.

Now these men with families to rear have to work in country forges or take the boat to England or join the army.

We didn't win Maggie.

We couldn't win.

Them that said iron might bend were only half right.

Iron might bend but it could also break."

Two weeks later some coke was said to be missing from the stores and Padge and me Da were accused of stealing it.

The police weren't called or anything  but he two of them were sacked on

the spot.

The union tried to talk for them but it wasn't yet strong enough.

It was then me Da decided he'd had enough.  He said he'd go away to find work.

He'd leave the town of his forefathers and the foundry where his father and grandfather had worked since Pierces made their first fire-fan.

Taking only a battered brown cardboard suit case - the one he and Ma had used for their honeymoon in Enniscorthy, he decided to go to his cousin in New York promising to send for Ma and me as soon as he was settled.

On April 9th 1912, he boarded a train at the North station heading for Queenstown to spend the little money the union could  spare, to buy a steerage ticket.

The only thing that made him smile was the thought of travelling in style on the new White Star liner that had just been launched.

He was delighted telling the lads as he left that day, that he was to travel on a ship that had been built by some of the very same Orangemen who had sent us money to support the Wexford workers in the lockout.

He was off to a new life in America on the Titanic.

Josie Kelly