This individual has to be Neale, but he is described as being an American:
''There was one older man, an American, who appeared particularly daring. Every now and then he stepped out on the balcony to asses what might be going on...This American continued to offer himself as lookout at any opportunity and, as I felt he was taking my responsibility, I more than once remonstrated with him. But he always got there before me and addressed me cheerfully as 'comrade'. He was not one of the Volunteers, or an Irishman, but an American and a revolutionary who asked if he might join us. I recognised him at first by his accent, though i had met him once before - and briefly - as far back as 1913 when he was speaking on a platform at Hyde Park corner in London on behalf of the IWW (the Industrial World Workers (sic)).
He was to die fighting with us and for us, but we do not know where he is buried, and I have never found out his name, though I think he may later have been honoured by the erection of a plaque to his memory in Limerick City. He was our gallant 'Unknown Warrior'. When I saw him that time in Hyde Park, speaking eloquently, and obviously with first-hand acquaintance, of the 'Wobblies' - or IWW - he looked hungry and sounded hoarse. He needed a question that would give him some useful openings. I put a couple to him - and was then promptly invited on to his box. This I declined, but the good-humoured Londonders bought his pamphlets when I passed them around.
It was the nasal American tone voice that made me recognise him, now in the Hotel Metropole, under heavy fire from 'imerialist' forces. He told me that he had reported to Liberty Hall looking for James Connolly when the fighting began - he'd obviously known of Connolly as an international socialist - though he insisted that he was unaware of our Volunteer revolutionary movement. A woman of the Cumann na Mbann, who had been left behind by Connolly to direct latecomers at Liberty Hall, asked him why he was there, and he said that he was looking for Connolly. She asked him why. When he told her he wanted to join in our revolution, she said 'We don't need the assistance of an Englishman'. He had enjoyed this accusation, he told me, because he'd never before, in several countries, been mistaken for anything other than an American.
Later, during the evacuation of our men from the Metropole to the GPO, he was hit by a tracer-bullet which exploded a big a haversack of ammunition which he insisted on carrying and had refused to abandon, He was to die from a great loss of blood, but not until after our surrender. I'll always be glad I was able to be with him almost to the end''
p.41/2
(Good is now in 16/17 Moore Street helping the wounded, after the evacuation from the GPO)
''I had left a man apparently dying on the top floor of the next house. I had been busy, but went back to have a look at him. He was lying on the floor, badly wounded in the abdomen - a haversack of shotgun cartridges he had been carrying was hit and exploded. The Red Cross man and I trussed him like a chicken to compress the stomach; he had bled an awful lot. I put my long mac under him. It was only then that i recognised him. It was 'Comrade'.
Two of your officers were sleeping on a bed in an adjoining room. One was a poet. he should have known better. We took their mattress. One takes what one will in a revolution - and 'Comrade' got the benefit of it. I saw him every now and again. He was still feeling cold, and I pretended to pile more things on him. He always asked very brightly, 'How are things going, Comrade?' and, at last, consoled me by saying, 'The Darkest hour is before the dawn'. It would be a long time yet before the dawn.''
p.58/9
(The volunteers are about to leave Moore St. to surrender their arms)
''I had a word with 'Comrade' before I left. We said we would meet again. We never did. Some kindhearted Tommy loosened his bindings and he died in three hours, I was told later''
p.72. Enchanted by Dreams: The Journal of a Revolutionary, By Joe Good. [Memoir written in 1962]
