Villanova Digital Library - In times of peril : leaves from the diary of Nurse Linda Kearns from Easter week, 1916, to Mountjoy, 1921 / edited by Annie M.P. Smithson. :: Digital Library@Villanova University

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Full Title	In times of peril : leaves from the diary of Nurse Linda Kearns from Easter week, 1916, to Mountjoy, 1921 / edited by Annie M.P. Smithson.
Author	Kearns, Linda.
Contributor	Smithson, Annie M.P. De Valera, Eamon, 1882-1975.
Date Added	4 February 2016
Format	Book
Language	English
Publish Date	1922
Publisher	Dublin : Talbot Press ; London : T. Fisher Unwin Ltd.,
Source	Joseph McGarrity Books.
Topic	Kearns, Linda. Prisoners > Ireland > Diaries. Nurses > Biography. Ireland > History > Easter Rising, 1916.
About	More Details Permanent Link
Disclaimers	Disclaimer of Liability Disclaimer of Endorsement

OCR 46 IN TIMES OF PERIL. morning he again visited me, and said that perhaps he had been too hasty on the previous day. I liked him for that. During my last month at Walton I was granted permission to attend Mass daily and receive Holy Communion, and this was the one comfort and con- solation of my life. Mass was at 6.45 a.m., and I was allowed to get my breakfast a little later than the regulation hour of 7 a.m. The little chapel was really lovely, thanks to the Chaplain’s care and interest. It had been a creche at one time, but when it was given as a Catholic chapel he put his heart into making it as lit as pos- sible for Divine worship. And it was certainly beautiful, and so restful, the one spot in the entire building where one felt free from the taint of evil. I was the only prisoner who attended daily Mass; and I was accompanied by a wardress. I used to feel that for that brief half hour at least I was in a clean atmosphere. Even on Sundays at Mass-God for- give me !---I could not get away from the feeling that my skirts touched crime. It would be impossible to tell what my daily Com- munions meant to me, and how much help I got then- I could remember that Our Lord was also a captive for our sakes, for love of us, and as I knelt before the Tabernacle I often repeated these words: “ It is not praise, it is scarcely a prayer I only think of Him dwelling there; And troubles and sorrow seem no more When I gaze on the little golden door.” And then I used to pray that my own captivity would perhaps help to free my beloved country.

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