Michael came home. They all had a sup of milk and tidied themselves and the cottage as best they could. Dan Collins would get the priest. Father Doyle was a nice man – he and Father were very friendly and sometimes he would drop in for a chat and a bit of company. Father used to say that being a priest was grand, but it was a lonely life.
Mid-morning they were all surprised when Dan Collins and his wife Kitty arrived. Kitty ran straight to Mother and kissed her. Their eyes were full of tears and unspoken words.
‘Margaret, we are so sorry. Poor little Bridget,’ whispered Kitty.
Dan Collins cleared his throat and shifted uneasily. ‘There is more bad news, God spare us. Father Doyle is gone down with the sickness himself and will not be able to bury the wee lassie. Already in the village a few have died of the sickness – Seamus Fadden, the coffin maker, being one – so there are no proper funerals …’ He stopped.
Mother let out a high wailing cry. ‘What will become of us, what are we to do?’ The air hung heavy.
‘We’ll bury her decently in her own place,’ said Dan.
The three children stared at Mother, waiting for her reply. She nodded her head silently.
‘Under the hawthorn tree in the back field,’ she whispered. ‘The children always played there and its blossom will shelter her now.’
Dan motioned to Michael and they left the cottage and disappeared up to the field carrying a spade.
‘We’ve no coffin,’ said Mother hoarsely.
Kitty looked around the cottage and begged Eily to help her. Eily cleared her throat. ‘What about using grandmother’s wooden chest?’
Kitty and Eily pulled it out from under the old bed and lifted it onto the blanket. Mother walked over and nodded silently. Kitty began to take out the family treasures and lay them to one side.
Kitty and Mother started to get everything ready. Eily and Peggy, sensing they were not wanted, ran outside and pulled bluebells and wild flowers. They sucked in deep breaths of air to try and calm their hearts.
Dan came back down the field and went inside. In a few minutes the three adults emerged, Kitty holding Mother’s arm and Dan carrying the carved wooden chest.
A light breeze blew and the blossom bowed and waved in welcome. There was a clear blue sky. A family of bluetits sat on the branch of the tree, helping to keep vigil.
Dan and Kitty led them in the prayers and they all remembered the words of Jesus, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me’. They prayed too that they would ‘meet again in Paradise’.
Eily and Michael gently placed the flowers beside the chest. Peggy clung to Mother as huge sobs racked her body. Mother stroked her hair. They all sang a favourite hymn of Father Doyle’s, then Kitty led them back to the house. She had brought some tea and made a mug for the adults. She made Mother sit down near the fire as she warmed some leftover potato cakes.
For the next few days, Mother stayed in her shift with the shawl wrapped around her, and barely bothered to do anything. Eily and Michael fetched the water, swept out the cottage and searched for food. They wished that Father would come back. Eily was scared. How long would it last?
CHAPTER 3
Nothing to Eat
A FEW DAYS LATER, Mother called them all together. She had built up the fire. She was dressed and her hair was pinned up with two combs. She had folded up her beautiful handworked lace shawl and grey knitted wedding gown with its matching lace collar and set them on the bed. Her Mother had made them for her, for that special June day when she had married John O’Driscoll many years before.
‘Eily, share out the potato skins, then sit down.’ They all had a drink and a bite to eat. Mother took up the brush and began to brush Peggy’s long dark hair.
Then she slipped off her shift and put on a cream dress. ‘Eily, Michael and Peggy, I have to go into the village today, because there’s nothing left to eat. Bridget is gone. I have buried one child and I’ll not let anything happen the rest of you. We must have food,’ she said.
‘But, Mother,’ began Eily, ‘you’ve no money … oh no, not your dress and shawl, it’s all you’ve left.’
‘Listen, pet, what good is a dress and a shawl hidden away under the bed? I know they won’t bring much, but maybe Patsy Murphy will trade me enough for a bag of meal and some oats or something. With every day we are all getting weaker and losing our strength. We must eat or we’ll get sick. Do you think I can’t see Peggy and the eyes shining out of her head and her arms and legs like sticks? And Michael, my little man, who can hardly lift the basket of turf and hasn’t the strength to walk the few miles to the river to try and catch a bit of fish? And Eily, my darling girl, who is worn out with the worry of it all? Now, listen. You must keep the fire going and get some water in. You are all to stay indoors. Dan Collins told me that the sickness is everywhere and that people are out walking the roads. I will be as fast as I can, but you must keep the door on the latch.’
Eily begged, ‘Please, Mother, let me go with you.’
Mother shook her head and insisted they stay. She put a few things in her basket and pulled on her shawl. Outside it was a beautiful warm morning. The fields were covered in daisies and the hedgerows were laden with woodbine and honeysuckle. It was tempting to stay outside and play, but they dared not disobey Mother. They waved goodbye.
Peggy was cross and cranky and bored. Michael invented games and tried to think of things to distract her, but Eily still had to resort to raising the wooden spoon twice. Peggy lay down on the bed sulking, and angry with Eily.
Suddenly they became aware of footsteps coming down the laneway. Could she be back so soon? Eily was about to rush out and help with the bag of meal when she realised that there were two voices outside. The children stayed still and silent.
‘For the love of God, let a poor woman and her son in for a sit down and a sup of water,’ whined the voice. They were standing just outside. ‘We’ve walked for miles. We’re tired and sore and thirsty. A little help is all we need.’
Eily made to go towards the door, but Michael stopped her.
‘Remember what Mother said,’ he hissed. ‘Don’t answer.’
The strangers were tapping on the door. Quickly Michael moved the turf basket and the chair in front of it. The two girls sat on the bed, scared. What if they guessed there were only children in the house?
‘Did you hear us?’ The woman raised her voice. ‘We need a bit of help.’ When there was no reply, the woman began to curse. She picked up two pieces of turf and flung them at the door.
‘There could be pickings inside,’ said the son.
Eily and Michael and Peggy stared at each other, all terrified out of their wits, wondering what would happen when the strangers pushed in the door.
Suddenly Michael got an idea. ‘Oh, thank God for someone coming along,’ he moaned. ‘We need help. Oh, for the love of God, run to the well and bring us a bucket of water. My sister is burning up with the fever and my throat and head feel they are on fire.’
Eily put a hand over Peggy’s mouth to stop her from giggling or saying something. The two voices outside the door whispered to each other.
‘We buried my little sister last week,’ continued Michael in a high quavering voice, ‘and half the village is dying of the fever. For the love of God…’
The woman raised her voice. She had moved away from the door. ‘We meant you no harm and God spare ye for we cannot stop. Come on, son, away from this place of sickness.’ The two gathered up their bundle of rags and set off down the lane.
Once the children were sure the danger was past they hugged each other.
‘Oh, Michael, what a funny brother you are,’ joked Eily. ‘How did you think of it? And yet you saved us all.’ Michael blushed pink even to the tips of his ears. ‘People will pay money to come and see you act. You’ll be a player, and famous too,’ added Eily.
With all the excitement, Peggy’s humour improved and she ran around the cottage making up songs about her brave brother.
The sky had begun to darken and the sun was going down when they heard another knock at the door. They all froze and could almost hear the pounding of each other’s hearts.
‘It’s me, children, it’s Mother.’
Quick as a flash, they opened the door and flung themselves at her, part in welcome and part in relief.
‘Wait, wait, you young scamps, don’t knock me over. Let me get my breath back,’ begged Mother. She had a few small parcels in her arms and she looked exhausted. Her hair hung loose around her face.
‘Mother, your combs – your beautiful combs, they’re gone too,’ cried Eily.
‘Your father always said he preferred my hair long and loose and free with the sun and the breeze through it. Well, now he’ll have his wish,’ said Mother, trying to smile.
‘What did you get? What did you get?’ asked Peggy, full of curiosity about what was in the parcels.
Mother put them up on the table and slowly opened each one. In times gone by the children would have paid no heed to Mother and her purchases from the village and would have kept on playing in the fields. But now their very lives depended on what was in those packages.
The largest was a bag of oatmeal. Then there was a bag with a few pounds of greyish-looking spuds, then a tub of lard, a few screws of salt, and lastly a small hard piece of dried beef. It wasn’t much.
‘There is a large sack of yellow meal too,’ added Mother, sensing their desperation. ‘Dan Collins said he would bring it over in the morning. He had Moses with him and said it would save me the trouble of lifting it.’ Silence hung in the air.
‘Mother, it’s grand, really grand,’ assured Eily, kissing her mother and putting her arms around her neck. She put water on to boil – God knows, Mother deserved a sup of tea.
‘Put on a spud each to bake and we’ll all have a bit of dry beef too,’ said Mother, trying to cheer them up. She suddenly reached deep into the pocket of her apron and produced four rather battered-looking candles. She lit one and placed it on the table and put the others away on the dresser.
The turf fire burned warmly in the grate and the cottage glowed in the soft golden light of the candle. This was home, safe and sound. Spuds baking, it was almost like old times. Peggy sat on Mother’s lap, her thin face pressed to Mother’s breast.
‘Tell us a story, Mother, about when you were little before …’ Peggy stopped. ‘Please, Mother.’
Mother kissed her hair and told Michael and Eily to sit in near the fire. She was tired, but it was nice to remember.
‘Did I ever tell you about the time of my eighth birthday? Such a time, it was just lovely. My mother, your grandmother, had worked at making me the loveliest dress ever – it was sprigged cotton and had the pattern of pale pink rosebuds against grey on it. It buttoned up the back and had a high collar with a lace ruffle and a lace petticoat to match. The day before, we called to my aunts Nano and Lena in their shop to invite them for tea. I can still see them standing in their white starched aprons, and fruit and pies and tarts spread out on the counter, and the shelf stacked with jams and preserves. Lords and ladies and gentlefolk and big farmers came from far afield to buy their confections and it was said that on market days you would hardly fit into the shop it was that busy. The aunts got very flushed when we walked in, and Mother winked at them.
‘On my birthday morning Mother and Father gave me a big package – I can still see it. I tore off the paper and inside there was a doll, a beautiful wooden doll with a proper face and hair, and, would you believe it, she had the same dress as mine and even the same pink ribbon in her hair. Oh, the wonder of it!
‘And then, later, a special tea. My Aunt Kitty and my four cousins came to tea. There were scones and fresh-baked bread and plum jam, and then Nano and Lena came and they had a tin with a special cake in it. It was covered in sugar icing and had tiny sweet violets laid on the top. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as nice. We all clapped. Aunt Nano had baked the cake and Aunt Lena had decorated it. They were a great pair. Afterwards Father took out the fiddle and we all danced. My three brothers were as nice as pie and didn’t fight or shout all evening, and my Aunt Kitty gave us all a dancing lesson.’
Mother stopped. Three soft little faces were turned to her. She swallowed a lump in her throat. Would her little ones ever know such times? Their lives were so hard.
‘Come on, children, stir yourselves, the meal is ready.’
They savoured each mouthful, not caring that the potato was so hot it nearly burned their tongues. They cracked the crisp skin. They chewed the dry salted beef, washing it all down with a large mug of milk each. What a feast. They needed no cake after such a feast.
Eily and Michael cleared up and Mother helped Peggy undress for the night. The fire burned low and the candle cast flickering shadows on the wall. How Mother laughed when she heard about Michael, and praised them all on their level-headedness in the face of trouble. Peggy had dozed off. Mother carried her to the bed and tucked her in before settling down again.
‘Mother, what about the village?’ enquired Eily, wondering why Mother had avoided mentioning it all evening.
‘Oh, a ghile, what times have fallen on us all. Half the place is dying with the fever and the others have left their houses and taken to the roads, looking for work and food or just to escape the place. The whole O’Brien family is gone.’
‘You mean gone on the road, Mother?’ interrupted Eily.
‘No, a stór, into the ground every single one of them, all those five sons and Mary O’Brien, the kindest woman that ever lived. The Connors and Kinsellas have both left. Nell Kinsella had enough put by, and they plan to buy tickets and sail to America. No one knows where the Connors are. Francie O’Hagan has closed up her draper’s shop. She said what call would folk have for material and lace and clothing when they have hardly enough to put a bit of food in their children’s mouths.
‘Patsy Murphy, in the general store, was packed out – his store room was full of clothes and furniture and knick-knacks. You had to wait in a queue for your turn. There were two women with nothing to trade and not a penny either. Patsy is a good man, he gave them a few scoops of yellow meal each. I had to bargain with him. He could see the fineness of the lacework and could tell Mother was a craftswoman – I put the combs in to seal the deal. All through the village there is hardly a sinner – not a child to be seen outdoors. The strange thing is there seem to be no animals either, the only ones I saw were Patsy’s horse and cart and Dan’s old Moses. Even the dogs have disappeared.
‘Poor Father Doyle is very bad and hasn’t stirred at all in weeks – his housekeeper Annie died a few days back. The few men that are left were sitting by the fire in Mercy Farrell’s, and not even one was having a sup of porter. I met Corney Egan – that poor man is nothing but a bag of bones. They wouldn’t take him for the roadworks, so there is nothing for him now. He told me that the roadworks were about twenty miles from the village and that a lot of the men around about are working there. He thinks that John is one of them. Imagine, your Father may be so near, and working. I should go to him and see if he is all right. He doesn’t know about Bridget or how bad things have got.
‘There is so much talk. Lord Edward Lyons and all his family have left and gone back to England and closed up the big house – only old Mags and her husband have been left to caretake the place. Jer Simmonds has total control over the farm and land and can do what he likes about the lot of us. Tom Daly is his right-hand man. All the rest of the staff have been let go. Dan told me his daughter Teresa and son Donal have arrived back home as they’ve nowhere else to go. The world has gone crazy. To think – in a beautiful country like this, people are starving, children hungry. Men and women like ghosts walking the road and all afraid of catching the fever. Has the good Lord forgotten us?’
Eily felt a chill run down her back. She had never heard her gentle Mother talk so much or seem so upset and angry. Eily did not know what to say.
‘Then
, Father is alive, he might come back to us with money and food and all kinds of things,’ blurted out Michael.
‘Michael, lovey, the roadworks are far far away. The men are weak and the work is hard. Your father is a strong hardy man, but breaking stones is the very divil. He’ll do his best for us all, that I can promise you. You miss him, we all miss him – say a prayer for him when you go to sleep tonight.’
With that Mother got up and went outside. Eily followed her. The sky was black and hundreds of stars twinkled up above.
‘Sometimes I wonder does God even know what is happening down here – his world is so vast and big,’ whispered Eily.
Mother reached out and put part of her shawl around Eily.
‘I know, pet, I wonder too. God acts in such strange ways and there is no sense to why life is so hard. We just have to make the best of what we have and each other and keep going,’ she said. She wrapped the shawl tightly around Eily, protecting her from the damp air. Eily had never felt so close to Mother.
CHAPTER 4
On Their Own
THE NEXT FEW DAYS were busy. Michael went fishing in the river with Pat and his big brother Donal. They were away all day. Michael came home soaked to the skin, his teeth chattering. But, much to everyone’s surprise, from under his shirt he produced a large trout. They feasted on it for two days.
Under the Hawthorn Tree: Children of the Famine Page 2
