After a tip from Dan Collins, Eily and Mother rose very early on two mornings and walked up to the old cow pasture, to discover about a hundred wild mushrooms! With the addition of a spring onion added to the old yellow meal, they made a tasty enough dish. The rest of the mushrooms were despatched to Mary Kate’s for drying, as she often used them for her various potions. In exchange she gave them a full can of goat’s milk from Nanny, her only remaining goat.
Mother seemed restless and every day stood at the bottom of the lane, watching and waiting for an hour or so. The children pretended not to notice when she turned and walked slowly back to the cottage with tears in her eyes. After five days she told the children she was going to find Father.
‘I have to go to the works and find out what has happened. He may be sick or not be able to come for us. We have nothing left to trade or sell – how will we survive without help? It will be like the last time, but it may take a day or two.’
Eily was shocked by the enormity of her Mother leaving them, but accepted her decision.
‘Dan and Kitty will keep an eye on ye, but ye can’t go down to stay there as Teresa is coughing and I don’t want to take any chances. There’s enough to eat.’ An hour or two later, Mother took her heavy shawl and some food in her pockets and set off. They walked down to the end of the boreen with her. She hugged them each in turn.
‘Michael, my little man,’ said Mother, ruffling his hair, ‘and Eily, the little Mother, and Peggy, my baby – God keep ye safe.’
Eily could see Michael was upset. He kept biting his lip until it nearly bled. Peggy was like a wildcat. She clung to Mother and screamed and fought when Mother tried to leave her. Michael and Eily had to hold her by the waist. The screaming quietened to huge sobs and she lay limp on the ground. They half-carried and half-dragged her back to the cottage. Her eyes and face were swollen with crying. Eily knew exactly how she felt and wished that she was still a small child and could scream and shout and let all her feelings out. But she was twelve and as the eldest had to take Mother’s place. For the rest of the day Peggy clung to her like a shadow. They all went to bed early, cuddling up together under the blankets.
‘I miss Mother, I want her. I want her now,’ cried Peggy.
‘Shush, Peggy. Shush, you must rest,’ said Eily reassuringly.
‘Tell me a story, Eily.’
‘I’m not so good on stories, Peggy.’
‘One of Mother’s stories about when she was young, and the aunts,’ pleaded Peggy.
Eily racked her brains. She smiled. ‘Did you ever hear tell about the two aunts and why they never married and ended up spinsters?’ began Eily.
Peggy relaxed against her.
‘Well, the two aunts were still living on the farm – this was before the shop – and they both got to know a fine young farmer called Ted Donnelly – he was a friend of their brothers. He liked them both, even though they were opposites. Aunt Nano was small and plump with brown curly hair, and Aunt Lena was tall and thin with straight black hair. He started to court them. He had a big farm and was an only son. Well, the two aunts were both determined to marry him. Aunt Nano invited him to tea and the table was laden with a feast she had prepared – meat pies and bread and an apple tart and a fruit cake. However, the next week Aunt Lena went on a picnic with him and provided cooked chicken and scones and sweet cake and all kinds of fine things. Week in, week out, he had lunch or tea on the farm and they both made cakes for him, and his mother too called to visit.
‘But then a strange thing happened. There wasn’t sight nor sound out of him for a few weeks. Then Peadar, their brother, came and told them that Ted was getting married to a girl called Nellie Donovan. She could neither cook nor sew, but was the ideal wife for him. She would be frugal in the kitchen and let his mother continue to run the house as she always had without interference, while she would help with the livestock and the hard work of the farm.
‘The two aunts were heartbroken for a few days, but then one day after Sunday lunch they announced that they had spotted an empty shop in Castletaggart town near the market, and with their savings and allowances they were going to rent it and open a speciality shop. Their father opened and closed his mouth and did not know what to say, but his two stubborn daughters would not change their minds.
“Marriage is not for us,” they both insisted, and over the years if anyone mentioned men, they always murmured, “Remember Ted Donnelly; he ended up with five fine straps of sons but his home was the dirtiest and shabbiest in the district.”’
Eily looked down. Peggy’s eyes had shut and Michael was rolled up in a ball in the middle of the blankets.
All the next morning they kept waiting for Mother’s return, but she didn’t come.
Eily was just in the middle of melting some lard and meal when the clatter of horses’ hooves came up the lane. They could see it was the overseer, Jer Simmonds. He worked for the landlord and was in charge of all the tenants. With him was his assistant, Tom Daly. What did they want? The children kept still.
‘Open up the door,’ shouted Jer, ‘else we’ll break it in on ye.’ Eily got up to open the latch. Anyway, perhaps they had news of Mother.
She stood in the doorway, the other two hiding behind her.
‘Where are your Mother and Father?’ he shouted.
She was frightened.
‘Hold on, now, hold on, don’t be fussing her. This is John and Margaret O’Driscoll’s place, and you must be the eldest, Ellen is it?’ coaxed Tom Daly.
‘I’m Eily, begging your pardon,’ was all she managed to say.
‘Are your parents sick with the fever? Has anyone died in the family?’ questioned Jer Simmonds.
‘No, they’re fine, but our little sister Bridget died a while back. Father is gone on the roadworks. We heard tell that he is on the far side of the village,’ she answered.
‘Where is Margaret, your mother?’ asked Tom Daly.
Eily looked at him. Most people said he was a fair man and that he often appealed to Jer or the master, Sir Edward, on behalf of a poor tenant. His cheeks were ruddy, and despite his fine clothes and airs he was still only a farmer at heart.
‘Mother is gone to look for him. I’m minding the place. She should be back later today.’
Tom accepted her answer. Jer Simmonds started to remount his horse.
‘The master and family have left this God-forsaken island and gone back to England. There is no work for anyone now. I am ordered to check all the cottages and send those to the workhouse that have no man or means of keeping themselves. Tell your mother we’ll call again tomorrow. If she has disappeared you can’t stay here on your own, and will have to make ready for the journey.’
The two men turned their horses, and Eily’s face flamed as she knew they were discussing their situation while they walked the horses through the fields.
‘What do they mean about the workhouse, Eily?’ asked Michael, his face filled with worry.
‘Mother will be home soon, so don’t be getting yourself in a state,’ assured Eily.
The hours dragged by and night fell without any word or sign of Mother. Eily could not sleep a wink with worry and did her best to hide it from the others. During the night it began to rain heavily. The rain battered against the thatch and the water seeped in under the door.
God help Mother, don’t let her be out in this, thought Eily.
The next day every hour dragged. None of them had the heart for anything. At midday Tom Daly called to the cottage.
‘There’s no sign, Eily, is there?’ he questioned. She shook her head dumbly. ‘You know what it means. Jer will never stand for three children having a cottage to themselves. You probably haven’t enough food for more than a few days anyway, then what’s to become of you? The workhouse isn’t the worst. These are terrible times – I’ve seen some awful sights. There will be a crowd on the walk. We’ll be leaving tomorrow about mid-morning. Be ready, Eily. I’m sorry, but there’s no other way,’ he finish
ed.
As soon as he left, Eily ran in to the cottage and flung herself on the bed. Tears flooded her face and she could hardly breathe, as wave after wave of misery washed over her. Peggy and Michael stood watching her, round-eyed and terrified to see their big sister lose control. Sensing their fear, she tried to calm herself.
Mother and Father must both be dead – the awful thought pounded in Eily’s head. They would never forget about us unless the worst had happened, she thought. She must hide it from the others, they must have hope. She remembered how upset Peggy was when Bridget died and when Mother left. She tried to clear her head to think.
‘I’ll be all right. Just get me a sup of water, Michael, like a pet,’ she asked, as she dried her eyes and wiped her nose.
‘What does it mean, Eily?’ Michael’s young face was pale with worry, his large dark eyes filled with fear.
‘I don’t know, dotes, I don’t know. Maybe something has happened to Mother or Father and they can’t get back for a while,’ she assured them.
‘But Eily, the workhouse! I’d be split from you and Peggy, and we’d all be separated from Mother and Father. Dan Collins told Pat and me the places are full of disease and that you can hear the people screaming when you walk by. I’ll not go. I’ll take my chance,’ said Michael in defiance.
‘If Michael’s not going, I’ll not go,’ copied Peggy, her face solemn as she reached for her brother’s hand.
Eily could feel her heart heavy. ‘But where will we go then? We can’t stay here.’
‘What about our friends?’ queried Michael. ‘The Collinses or Mary Kate?’
‘Michael, think, please think,’ said Eily. ‘The Collinses are good neighbours, but Teresa has the fever and Mrs Collins isn’t well either. How could they feed and keep an extra three? And as for Mary Kate – she has a good heart, but her cottage is tiny and she barely has enough to keep herself and Nanny, her goat, and her old dog Tinker.’
They all fell silent.
‘What about the relations?’ piped up Peggy.
Eily and Michael both turned to her.
‘Not grandmother and grandfather in heaven, and we don’t know about Auntie Kitty, but the aunts that made the cake?’ she carried on. ‘The ones in all the stories. They’d have us.’
‘You mean the grandaunts, Nano and Lena, in Castletaggart? But that’s so far away. How could the three of us make such a journey? I remember the time Grandmother was sick and dying and Mother went back home to see her. It took her days to get there, and she travelled by pony and trap. We’d have to walk – it would take us weeks, and anyway how would we find our way? And something could have happened to the aunts.’ Eily tried to keep the hopelessness out of her voice.
‘It’s better than the workhouse,’ suggested Michael. ‘They are family, and Mother and Father could come and get us there. Please, Eily, we’ve got to stay together.’
Later in the day Eily tried as best she could to tidy the cottage. She washed all the heads, but left the combing and just brushed the hair, and they sat in front of the fire to dry it out. They all fell asleep early in the evening.
Eily woke with a start when the dawn was breaking. She jumped out of bed and ran to the door. Perhaps Mother had arrived back and couldn’t get in with them all asleep. Outside all was still – not even a blade of grass stirred. In the far distance she could see a fox running through the fields, a young rabbit hanging limply from its mouth. The birds were beginning to sing. It was another day. She walked down a bit of the boreen, looking back to the cottage. The dirty thatched roof, the two large flat stones outside the door that Mother and Father used as seats on the warm summer evenings. The plot at the side that used to grow vegetables and herbs when times were good. The hedgerow all around and the big hawthorn trees at the back. It was home. How could they ever leave it?
If only Mother were there to tell them what to do. But Mother wasn’t coming back. It was just the three of them now. They would survive.
No workhouse for them! They’d find their way to the aunts. In the town of Castletaggart there would be someone who knew them, who belonged to them. Eily took a few deep breaths, filling her lungs with the good fresh air of home. There was work to be done, even though her stomach was groaning with hunger. Mother had called her ‘the little Mother’. She would look after Michael and Peggy.
‘Up, you lazy lumps,’ she scolded, back indoors. ‘There’s work to be done.’
Peggy rubbed her eyes. She looked tired and pasty. ‘Is Mother back yet, Eily?’ she asked, still half asleep.
‘No, pet, she’s not,’ hushed Eily, ‘but I’m here to take care of you. Would you like to go to the aunts?’
‘Yes, oh yes,’ pleaded Peggy.
‘Outside with the two of ye and then we’ll work out a plan,’ said Eily.
They all dressed quickly.
‘Michael, you must go down to Collinses and tell them what’s happened – now, not just that scatterbrain Pat, but his parents. Make sure you tell them that we’re going to the two grandaunts, but that Tom Daly thinks he’s bringing us to the workhouse. The aunts Nano and Lena, just in case Mother and Father come back looking for us. Make sure they understand, but not a word to anyone else,’ warned Eily.
Peggy and herself sorted out the few scraps of clothes they had and took the warmest things. They rolled up all the blankets.
At last Michael came back and they could see he had been crying.
‘Well, what happened?’ asked the girls.
‘Teresa passed on yesterday,’ he sobbed. ‘I couldn’t see Pat. He’s sick now. He’s my best friend in the whole world and I might never see him again. I told Mr Collins, and he said whatever happened he’d make sure Mother heard about us.’
Eily and Peggy prepared a few spuds and a bit of leftover meal. They all sat down. The food tasted like sawdust in their mouths. Would this be their last meal in the cottage? was the big question on all their minds.
Afterwards they cleared up. Carefully they wrapped the frying pan and two tin cans and a ladle and a blade inside the blankets. They each had a bundle to carry. The remaining food was divided up and hidden in their pockets.
‘What if Mother and Father come back and everything is gone – what will they think?’ asked Michael.
‘They’ll know we had to survive. It’s better than us all staying, with no food and the disease all around us,’ said Eily, trying to make herself believe it.
They sat outside on the stone seat. Suddenly Eily jumped up.
‘Bridget, what about Bridget?’ she pleaded.
They all ran up to the back field. The grass was covered with wild flowers. The hawthorn tree stood tall, its dark branches heavy with foliage.
A feeling of peace washed over them. They all joined hands and asked Bridget, their little sister, to look after them and keep them safe. They could almost hear her chuckles through the swaying leaves.
‘We’ll always remember this place,’ they swore.
‘Come on, you children,’ shouted Tom Daly. He was standing at the bottom of the field. ‘I can’t wait forever for ye.’ They gathered up their belongings and Eily closed out the door after them. They walked down the boreen to where a small group of about fourteen people stood.
The children did not speak or look back.
CHAPTER 5
The Road to the Workhouse
THE THREE CHILDREN WALKED for over a mile without uttering a word. They silently looked around at the group. There was Statia Kennedy and her daughter Esther. They were both so weak they could hardly walk. Their eyes were sunken in their heads. And big John Lynch – most people roundabouts knew that although he was a fine big man he only had the mind of a child, and his older sister had always seen after him up to now. Little Kitty O’Hara, walking along on her own, all belonging to her gone. And the O’Connell twins. There were a few old ones, obviously bewildered and upset at having to leave their homes.
Eily fell into step with Kitty O’Hara. She seemed sullen and
hostile instead of her usual friendly self.
‘Don’t say anything, Eily O’Driscoll. I’m glad to be going to the workhouse. At least there’ll be a meal and a roof over our heads. They’re all gone, every single one. I’m the only one left and I’m going to live.’
Eily did not try to reply. At any other time or in any other circumstances they all might have enjoyed the walk. It was a warm sunny day. The countryside looked green and lush, fine green pasture land all around. The cows, busy chewing, ignored the passersby. Wherever the cows were, a boy or man stood guard to protect them from the poor and starving of the district. At dusk they were locked in and minded for the night.
The cottages and cabins shone white against the hillside. At times a woman standing in her doorway would spot the ragged group walking along. Most just turned around and shut their door. Others threw their aprons over their heads and ran away from such an unlucky sight. Children peeped out and waved. Eily felt ashamed – like an outcast. No one uttered a greeting or a kind word of comfort to the sorry band.
They stopped for a few minutes at a little brook and all had a sip of water or threw it on their faces to refresh themselves. Tom Daly avoided their eyes and seemed preoccupied. Statia Kennedy slipped off her rough boots and was bathing her foot.
Once again they began to walk. Peggy started to whine, but when she saw the fierce glare in Eily’s eyes forced herself to stop.
‘Don’t you dare draw attention to us with your snivelling, Miss, or I’ll give you a right belt, do you hear?’
‘Yes, Eily, I’m sorry,’ murmured Peggy quietly, sensing that she had to behave herself.
They had almost left Duneen, the district they knew so well – another few miles would bring them to the workhouse.
‘Oh! Mother of God, my poor old foot!’ Statia Kennedy was lying on the ground, her daughter helping her and a few old ones all around her. She dragged off the old leather boots. The dirty black toes were bleeding and sore, the foot puffed and swollen. The old woman was moaning in pain.
Under the Hawthorn Tree: Children of the Famine Page 3
