Maria surveyed the audience as she might the customers on a busy night in Grant’s, sizing up possible troublemakers, noting where the louder voices were coming from. But this was an orderly if unusual congregation. Rough country men with strong accents sat side by side with others whose softer, pale features marked them as city dwellers. Cloth caps and soft hats mixed with bowlers. There were smart, well-cut overcoats and bulky friezes in coarse tweed. She was surprised to see that maybe one in five or six of those present were women.

Three pipers in kilts marched on to the stage. A stout man with a megaphone commanded the audience to silence, and the pipers played ‘A Nation Once Again’. The crowd burst into applause and cheering as they squeezed out the last notes.

After ‘A Nation Once Again’, the pipers struck up ‘Let Erin Remember’ and then ‘The West’s Awake’, followed by ‘The Lament for Owen Roe O’Neill’. The applause rose to a crescendo, accompanied by stamping of boots and clapping of hands. In spite of her detachment Maria felt herself being lifted with the mood of the crowd.

A thin young man stepped to centre stage, and introduced himself using an Irish name that Maria could not understand. Then in a surprisingly strong voice he started to recount details of evictions in Galway, in Roscommon, in Mayo, in Sligo.

‘These attacks on Irish farms and Irish families are taking place even as we gather here today,’ he announced angrily. ‘But we will not be slaves or serfs. Nor will Irishmen turn and run at the sight of a policeman’s carbine or a soldier’s bayonet. We are the race that has withstood the might of England, from Cromwell to Balfour, and we will not yield in this struggle.’

The harangue lasted perhaps twenty minutes. Then the young man was followed by another. And another. With each successive speech the atmosphere in the hall grew more fervid. Finally, the stout man stepped forwards again. Harriet cupped her hands to Maria’s ear. ‘That’s Mr Andrew Kettle. He’s one of Davitt’s most senior men,’ she told her.

Kettle spread his arms in a gesture to quiet the crowd. ‘A chairde Gael . . . Irishmen and Irishwomen . . . fáilte, fáilte agus fáilte arís . . . welcome on this great occasion. You have heard at first hand now of the state of our brothers and sisters and our children across the country and of their struggles to hold on to their birthright. Now we have the privilege of hearing the words of the man who has inspired and led that struggle—the struggle to give the land of Ireland back to the people of Ireland.