Book Title:

16 Lives: Willie Pearse ISBN-13:

9781847172679 Author:

Róisín Ní Ghairbhí Publisher:

O’Brien Press Guideline Price:

€12.99

The name Willie Pearse usually provokes pity, not just because of his callous execution after the 1916 Rising but also because he is seen as very much in the shadow of his brother Patrick. This book, another instalment in the admirable O’Brien Press series 16 Lives – biographies of each of the men executed after the Rising – attempts to take Willie out of Patrick’s shadow, but it does not succeed for a number of reasons, not all of which are the fault of the earnest author.

Although the book contains some interesting biographical detail, and is valiant in attempting to uncover the layers of Willie’s experiences, there is precious little to work with when it comes to figuring out what went on inside Willie’s head. He left scant documentary material behind, and this book is shot through with caveats, qualifications and speculation. Phrases such as “it is likely”, “would surely” and “we can presume” abound.

Róisín Ní Ghairbhí’s thesis is clearly expressed – Willie was “a dynamic activist” and “always decidedly his own man”; his cultural and political journey was “more nuanced than is commonly acknowledged” and his role was “more prominent than has been hitherto acknowledged” – but this thesis is not proven. Halfway through the book it is acknowledged, in relation to the years 1909-11, that “his own politics at this stage are a matter of conjecture”, and regarding Na Fianna, the nationalist boy scouts, “how and when he did become involved is not clear”. Even in relation to 1913-14 “it is not possible to state categorically how advanced Willie’s views were, or if he advocated physical force”.

In the absence of enough source material, there is too much reliance on the memoirs of Willie’s contemporaries Máire Nic Shiubhlaigh and Desmond Ryan, whose accounts, while interesting, are too folksy, subjective and anecdotal, and suffer from the stained-glass approach to the insurgents common after the Rising; Ryan’s book, The Man Called Pearse, was published in 1919.

Atheist father

From 1897 Willie was a student at the Metropolitan School of Art, and, evolving from mediocre painter to good sculptor, he later showcased his work at various exhibitions, including those of the Royal Hibernian Academy, and took over the family business, but there is little information on his studies in London and Paris. He completed sculptures for various churches before the business closed in 1910.

He then taught at Patrick’s school, St Enda’s, devoted much time to the choreographing of pageants – the description “events manager” seems inappropriately modern – acted at the Abbey Theatre and established the Leinster Stage Society, but too much of the information here is scrappy; the detail and broader context of these artistic endeavours are not explored in enough depth; from 1905 to 1908 it is “often hard to know the extent of Willie’s involvement in particular projects”.

Although it is known that he was close to one of his child models, Mabel Gorman, his letters to her do not survive, and there is no sense of what was at the heart of that relationship or what it amounted to. It is, we are told, “hard to evaluate the reasons for the sustained friendship with Mabel”. It may be that Willie had a “natural understanding of children”, and he was remembered fondly by his students, but there is a dearth of evidence to support the assertion that he had “a natural affinity with workers”, most notably no information on his attitude to the 1913 Lockout.

He was heavily immersed in theatrical productions, both as a designer and actor, and he impressed some with his skills, but the few scraps of his correspondence that survive reveal an ineloquent, insecure man and a temperament that would not allow him to endure pressure, in his own words, “with any degree of comfort or success”.

As a member of the executive of the Wolfe Tone memorial committee he moved in advanced nationalist circles, although “it is not clear when exactly Willie joined the IRB”. Promoted to captain on the staff of the “director of military organisation for the Volunteers” (Patrick), as plans for the rebellion hardened, he also became immersed in making buckshot and grenades at St Enda’s.

Awful poem

To My Brother

Of all the men that I have known on earth,

You only have been my familiar friend

Nor needed I another

But what is equally revealing is the last note Patrick wrote to Willie: “God Bless you for all your faithful work for me.” That summed up much about Patrick and how he viewed his mission and his status. The contention that Patrick never took Willie’s “fierce loyalty for granted” is debatable; Patrick referred to Willie “leaving all things for me, spending yourself in the hard service I taught to you”.

At his court martial Willie was recorded as saying, “I had no authority or say in the arrangement of the rebellion . . . I was throughout only a personal attache to my brother”. He pleaded guilty, the only prisoner to do so.

Although Ní Gairbhí acknowledges that he was present at key meetings in the run-up to the Rising, she argues that this was hardly sufficient to justify his execution and suggests that his guilty plea was the deciding factor. This is convincing, and complicates the idea that he was executed simply because he was Patrick’s brother; she also argues that “Willie went against his own character in pursuing revolution”. The problem with that contention is that “his own character” remains too elusive. Nearly 100 years on from his death, this book suggests that Willie is still destined to remain very much in the shadow of his older brother.

Diarmaid Ferriter is professor of modern Irish history at University College Dublin. His most recent book is A Nation and Not a Rabble: The Irish Revolution 1913-23 (Profile)