Men so selected went off to a criminal’s fate. Yet the authorities in
effect recognised that the selection turned on a hazard by treating us
all as criminals. Forms were delivered on some men with charges that
astonished none so much as the recipients; and as there was no evidence
other than police reports offered in support of such allegations, the
only thing in doubt was the length of the sentence. On the other hand,
men were passed over who were not less astonished at the passing. But
all our finger-prints were taken. We were afterwards considerably
amused at the assurance given in the English House of Commons that
finger-prints were only taken “at first” “owing to the difficulty of
identification,” and that they were taken “under military supervision.”
Finger-prints were taken all the time I was at Richmond Barracks by a
peeler whose descent on newcomers was greeted with ironic mirth, for
he was a familiar figure as he hung about the barracks like a hawk,
carrying his implements with him. What mirth we had we made as we went,
for all that it had a grim background; but we were certainly assisted
by comparing the declarations in Parliament as to our estate with the
conditions we actually endured. And the idea of any “difficulty of
identification” was a joke more than ordinarily grim. It conveyed a
wonderful conception of Ireland as a land untracked and uncharted;
whereas, in the most elaborately policed country in the world the only
thing lacking to make our _leabhrain_ artistically complete was the
presence of a finger-print. And the artists in dark green were swift to
complete their pictures.
Such things, I found, were only treated with mirth. It was curious to
note the way in which the doings of the police—either of the R.I.C. or
the D.M.P., “two minds with but a single aim, two hearts that beat as
one”—were received. There was a bitterness in the ribaldry with which
they were greeted, a bitterness and a certain frosty sting in the
mirth; but there was also the laughter for relief.
* * * * *
Not having been in Richmond Barracks during the first days of terror,
I raised a complaint the following morning with the medical officer.
I asked his co-operation, as an Irishman who should resent a national
insult. He did resent it; and as a result, the young officer was
compelled to apologise as a matter of discipline. Thereafter, that
officer appeared no more among us; but neither did the medical officer.
Yet, in spite of all these things, we had one another; and that was
compensation. I had heard of most of my companions before, but had
never had the opportunity of meeting many of them; and I was now
glad of the chance of acquaintance and discussion. In Richmond the
first beginnings appeared of that cementing of brotherhood among the
“prisoners of war” that was afterwards to take so fine a form. About a
fortnight after my arrival some of us in our room were offered special
rooms, with two beds in each room; but we all refused these without
any further enquiry rather than injure or forego that brotherhood.
Our national convictions were the same in fundamentals, but they took
different forms. Our roots were the same, and they were set in the same
good earth; but the branches and blossoms were various. From afar, we
could only see the branches and blossoms, and were chiefly aware of our
differences from one another; but now that we came near one another we
could see that our roots were in the same soil.
Indeed, some came who had few roots to boast of, but roots were soon
generated, partly by the warmth of suitable companionship, partly by
the heat engendered by their treatment. And with all, save a possible
few exceptions, a unity and kinship was soon evolved, that mitigated
the hardship of our estate and wiped away the sense of danger that hung
over us all.
Our comradeship softened our hardship in other ways also. The English
Army was camped round about us to stop all communication with the outer
world except through the permitted channels. We were allowed two visits
a week. Our visitors stood on one side of the barbed wire and we stood
on the other, with an armed guard between us. All parcels and letters
had to pass through the censor. If the parcels contained clothing, we
received them; if they contained food, we did not receive them. That
was a part of the rapacity of the army we did not appreciate; but
there was another side to it. We were encompassed about with traders,
and so, by uniting our resources, and by pooling our wits, we were
able to reach the outer world by the very agency that was intended to
obstruct us. The officers of course knew this, but they were powerless.
And therefore, since accurate accounts of our treatment were getting
out to correct the pleasing accounts published by the military, the
authorities, in their desire to conciliate public opinion, were slowly
compelled to make their treatment square with their accounts, just as
they were being slowly compelled to terminate the courtsmartial that
hung over the barracks, and seemed likely to last for another year.
Our day began with the Reveille at six, and concluded with Lights Out,
at a quarter past ten. The intervening hours were spent in walking up
and down the room and in talk. The only thing that broke the monotony
of the day was the continuous business of the clearing-house. Large
batches of prisoners continued to arrive from all parts of the country,
where the police were making hay while the sun shone, to the no small
embarrassment of the military, who seemed likely to have the greater
part of the country delivered upon them. Large batches were being
deported to England; and there is no doubt that many were deported whom
the military had destined for their courts simply because it had become
impossible to warehouse the cargoes of humanity that were being landed
on their wharf. And, in slowly diminishing numbers, men were being
selected....
... In the midst of this we lived suspended until our turn came on the
schedules of the military wharfingers.