“On Friday evening, we lined up at Henry Street, awaiting orders. `The O’Rahilly` came out of the Coliseum, and asked for some volunteers to follow him to the basement of the G.P.O, in order to remove some grenades. He was the last man to leave the G.P.O. Reports came that he had been killed.

“I went back to my post at Moore Lane. A young volunteer in uniform was passing, when he shouted: `Oh, my God,` and fell across my path. He had been shot in the centre of the forehead. I caught him in my arms, laid him down and said a short prayer.”

And the Viceroy of Ireland announced: “Pearse, the rebel leader, has surrendered, and the great bulk of his supporters in the city and throughout the country have done likewise. Only a few detached bodies have not yet made their submissions, and they are being effectively dealt with.”

The Newry insurgent described how he and his comrades were marched from O’Connell Street to the lawn of the Rotunda Hospital, “which was soon filled by our companions. We were guarded by British soldiers, and a few members of the Dublin Metropolitan Police.”

And he added: “The officer-in-charge was a brute. He gave orders to the sentries that, if any volunteer stood up, or went down on his knees, he was to be shot. The officer then went over to Willie Pearse (brother of Padraig), and cut the epaulet from his tunic with a bayonet. In the epaulet, he found a small piece of paper, which he tore into shreds and flung in Willie’s face.

“Next day was Sunday, and the bells were ringing. One old woman, who was passing said: `God bless you all, boys.` We were marched under escort, four deep, down O’Connell Street and past Kilmainham Jail to Islandbridge Barracks. We did not see one person at a door or window. All was silent, apart for the tramp of our feet.

“But, as we approached the barracks, things became more sharp. Dublin’s lowest were let loose from the stockades, - and the women were by far the worst. They looked like those who were gathered around the guillotine, during the French Revolution. The women told the escorts to use their bayonets on the `German so-and-sos.”

Paddy Rankin also related how, when the prisoners had got inside the gates of the barracks, “soldiers told us that we were going to be shot, and to give them our watches and money. Some of our men fell for this mean trick.

“We were put in a gymnasium, - all sitting on the floor. A dozen G-men entered, all smiles. They began to take finger-prints of the prisoners. We were then marched from the gym to the barrack square, where English soldiers went along the lines, carrying a large basket containing biscuits. They told us that, if we had held out for another week, they would have been starving.

“Then we were marched to the quays, en route to an English jail. There we could see English prisoners, doing punishment for some offence connected with the war against Germany. They would be in full kit, marching up and down in the blazing sun. We were told by our guards not to give them any matches or smokes. But we ignored the order, knowing what it was like to be a prisoner.

“While in solitary confinement, we had to scrub the floors. But our sergeant was very kind, and would say: `Sing some Irish songs,` and our men would oblige. The sergeant on the upper floor would shout: `Silence.` But our sergeant would say: `Don’t heed him, I’m in charge here.` But when moved to Stafford Jail, we were not even allowed any books. All pencils and paper were also taken from us.”

Paddy Rankin recalled: “Early in July, the Irish prisoners were brought under escort to a nearby railway station. We were taken to London, and lodged in Wormwood Scrubs Prison. Then we were tried by a Commission, appointed by the British Government. This was a farce, - a waste of time and money. We were asked a few questions and returned to prison.”

Finally, after some weeks at Frangoch Jail in Wales, the Newry prisoner was released with several others, and arrived back in the frontier town to a tremendous reception. But his joy and relief at freedom would have been tinged with sadness at the fate of those leaders, with whom he had shared that momentous week, whose sequel shook the British Empire.

Memorials abound in the frontier town, where streets have been named in honour of saints, bishops, patriots, the gentry and sportsmen. But one would look in vain for any reference to Paddy Rankin, who ensured that his hometown would be forever associated with a crucial period in Irish history!

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