Under the Hawthorn Tree: Children of the Famine

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  The children could hardly wait – they dropped all they were carrying and ran into the water. It was bliss. The coolness washed over them. They splashed each other and ducked their heads down under the water, filling their mouths with it and squirting it at each other. Then they got out and lay on the grass, stretching out to bake in the sun, and after about fifteen minutes they charged back into the water to cool down again. On the centre of the lake wild birds dived in and out and bobbed on the calm surface of the water.

  Michael looked at the birds fishing. If only he had something to fish with, but he had no line or anything, not even a net. He watched the shallows of the lake and the odd time could make out a fish darting in and out among the water weeds near the rushes, or basking near the lily leaves. But how to catch one? That was the question.

  He explained what he wanted to Eily. Suddenly she jumped up and emptied out the filthy sacking that was the food bag.

  ‘This will do, Michael. Go on, have a try!’

  Michael looked very doubtful, but he searched around a bit and found a willow tree. Using the blade, he cut a thin branch off it and pulled off the leaves. It was light but strong. He poked it through a small hole near the top of the bag. Then, wading into the water, he lowered the bag so that it filled with water and opened out. He kept it on its side.

  Michael did not move. Two or three curious little fish swam past, and at last one went in to investigate. Quickly Michael lifted up the stick and bag, but he saw the fish dart away. He had to wait for the water to settle before beginning the whole procedure all over again. He stood still for about another hour before he was successful. Swiftly he lifted the bag out of the water. The fish struggled and tried to jump back in, but Michael flung the bag to the safety of the shore. The silver fish flipped and flapped and finally was still, giving up the struggle. Straight away Michael started to fish again and twenty minutes later two little sprats had joined the fish on the shore.

  Now they had something to eat, but none of them was prepared to eat the fish raw.

  ‘We need a fire,’ said Peggy, sure that the others knew what to do. Michael and Eily looked at each other, but they didn’t know.

  ‘I remember Pat told me that his father could start a fire by rubbing flint stones together,’ suggested Michael.

  ‘Do you think you know what to do?’ asked Eily.

  Michael scrabbled around till he found two likely-looking stones. The girls gathered up a heap of dry sticks and twigs, then Michael began to rub and then hit the stones off each other. After ten minutes his hands ached and he passed the stones to Eily. It was infuriating. They could see sparks coming off the stones, but just couldn’t get them to set the dry timber alight. Eily was just about to throw the stones on the ground with vexation, when she felt a spark burn her finger and realised that it had caught the sticks and was beginning to smoulder. Cautiously she blew and tried to encourage the flame to catch. Suddenly, as if in answer to a prayer, the fire began to burn.

  ‘I knew you could do it,’ Peggy declared.

  Michael got the blade, cut off the fish heads and split the fish down the middle. Then he washed them in the lake to clean them out.

  Within half an hour the fire was burning steadily, and Peggy found a large flat stone which Michael placed at the edge of the fire. The flames licked around it. The fish lay on the stone, baking among the embers. Eily hung the pot over the fire with a little water in it and about six of the small turnips cut up in chunks. A delicious smell filled the air and the children said a silent prayer, hoping that no one was around to discover their meal. They thought they had never tasted anything like it. The fish had a slightly burnt flavour and the turnip was soft and sweet – a meal for a king, washed down with a can of ice-cold water. That night they slept, warm and well fed. It was tempting to stay in such an idyllic location and spend a few days there, but Eily felt it was better to get moving once more.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Dogs

  THE FOLLOWING DAY the sun baked down again. The ground was dry and hard and Michael poured a can of water on the embers to make sure the fire was out. Eily fixed up the food bag, wrapping the leftover fish in a large leaf. It was a grand day for travelling. They crossed through a field of rye, pulling as many ears as they could, then they moved back up alongside the winding country boreen.

  After a while the children became aware of the distant barking of dogs. The sound got closer. From the corner of her eye, Eily spotted the dogs following behind. There were six of them, a crazed-looking lot. Their leader was a large black collie, and there were two other collies and three mongrels. Their hair was matted and filthy and they panted heavily, their mouths hanging open. Their bodies were bony and scrawny, and two of them had the mange. But it was their eyes that frightened Eily. They were mad and staring.

  ‘Don’t make any sudden moves,’ whispered Eily, ‘just walk slow and steady. Don’t try to run.’

  The three of them were totally petrified. The dogs drew nearer and two of the collies began to circle in and out between their legs. The children froze to the spot, barely daring to breathe. Peggy had closed her eyes tightly. The collie’s nose and mouth were close to her upper leg. She began to tremble from head to toe. The dog had bared its teeth and a low growl came from deep within its throat. Two of the mongrels bared their jaws too and joined in the growling.

  This was too much for little Peggy to bear. She snapped out of her trance and tried to run, but in a flash the collie had pulled itself up on its forelegs. She pushed it off, but it sank its jaws into her arm and started to drag the limb back and forth as if trying to pull the bone from its socket. Peggy was screaming and howling with pain.

  Eily felt paralysed watching what was happening. She could not even get a sound to come from her mouth. The other dogs, emboldened, had moved in. Eily suddenly snapped out of it as Michael flung stones at the dogs. She started to shout at them and pelted a young collie and a vicious-looking mongrel that had only one ear. They barked with the pain. Michael was frantically searching around in the ditch. Eily tried to pull the crazed collie that was holding Peggy by the scruff of the neck, but he would not let go his grip. Peggy was half-kneeling at this stage under the weight and exhaustion. In another few seconds he would have her down on the ground. A small terrier nipped at Eily’s heels until they bled.

  Suddenly, Eily could hardly believe what she saw. Michael came charging with a short thick branch of a tree. He swung it at the collie, who didn’t even notice or care, he was in such a frenzy. Michael began to belt it on the head. Peggy’s eyes had closed and her knees were bent under her. Michael kept on hitting and hitting the dog. Finally it yelped with pain, releasing the arm a bit. Michael made a final smash and the animal collapsed dead in the dust.

  Eily ran to Peggy. The little girl’s face was ashen. She was too shaken even to cry.

  ‘Oh God, it’s all right, pet, he’s dead – the rest are gone – you’re all right, Peggy, the bad dogs are gone.’ Eily didn’t know whether she was trying to reassure herself or Peggy.

  Michael stood at the side of the road. He was bent over, getting sick after the shock.

  Eily got the water can. First of all she held it to Peggy’s lips, forcing her to drink some to revive her. Then she poured it over the middle part of her arm, between the wrist and elbow, washing away the blood and saliva. Deep puncture marks made by the teeth covered the arm, and part of the skin had been torn and was bleeding heavily. Luckily, Eily had kept the cloths she had torn for Michael’s leg and had washed and boiled them and dried them out. She got some of Mary Kate’s ointment, rubbed it in gently and then bandaged up the arm. Peggy’s breathing was becoming more regular and a bit of colour was coming back to her face. Eily also bathed the nips on her own heels and put a dab of ointment on them.

  Michael sat on the stone wall, his head in his hands. His black curly hair clung damply to his forehead. Eily went over to him and hugged him.

  ‘I don’t like killing things, Eily,�
�� he murmured.

  ‘I know, Michael, but you saved Peggy, and anyway that poor demented creature is better off dead,’ she said.

  ‘I suppose so,’ was his reluctant reply.

  Peggy was very scared and shaken, but was ready after about an hour’s rest to go on further. If they followed this road they would be in the town of Ballycarbery by morning.

  CHAPTER 10

  At the Harbour

  ‘MICHAEL, LOOK, DO YOU SEE IT?’ Peggy was standing on a fence, pointing towards the sea.

  Through gaps in the hedgerows they were able to catch glimpses of bright blueness, speckled with white, and there was a tang in the air. The sun blazed in a vivid blue sky. No cloud or breeze had dimmed its strength for days.

  The children felt hot and sticky by the time they reached Ballycarbery. Father had often told them about this busy sea port with its fishing boats. The streets of the town were thronged. Maybe it was a market day! Hordes of filthy beggars roamed the streets, but also the normal business was taking place. Two or three crowded carriages passed. A group had formed outside a general store. There did not seem to be much sign of shortage here. Ladies and young girls made their way into the draper’s store, the window festooned with bales of cotton and ribbon and two or three hatstands with gaily trimmed bonnets. Down a wide lane and back behind the shops, a herd of cattle and about twenty sheep were being auctioned. Michael ran up the lane and walked among them. He could not believe it.

  Suddenly a great hullabaloo broke out in the main square as five carts slowly approached one after the other in a line. The wooden carts creaked with the heavy weight of their load. They were laden with sacks of grain! Six soldiers appeared out of nowhere and positioned themselves on either side of the caravan as it wound its way forward.

  The beggars and passersby seemed to swell in numbers and came together joining forces. The children were swallowed up in the middle of them all. They were all starving people, tired and brokenhearted, who had lost everything. The carts made their way through the street, the horses whinnying nervously, their drivers muttering under their breath. They turned off the main square and took a street that sloped gradually downwards. The crowd, silent and jostling, still followed. One of the horses slipped but managed to right itself. Peggy clung tightly to Eily’s hand, sure that something bad was about to happen.

  The three children gasped when they reached the end of the street, as right in front of them stretched the harbour. Two boats were tied to the quayside and they moved very gently on the water. A large warehouse lay on one side and from this men were rolling large kegs and barrels to be placed on the boats. Two or three big muscular men had come over to the carts and begun to unload the grain. A ripple ran through the crowd that now lined the water’s edge.

  One old man got up his courage. ‘Where is that grain being shipped to?’ he asked.

  ‘England,’ was the curt reply.

  The old man, whose body was bent and twisted, shook his head sadly from side to side. The crowd began to whisper, and all the time the carts were being unloaded. Two, now empty, moved off in another direction.

  A tall red-haired man moved to the front of the crowd. He had a big frame but his muscles had wasted away, so there was little strength in him now.

  ‘Stop this folly,’ he shouted. ‘Are ye blind? Can’t you see the starving folk all around you?’

  No one answered. The men kept working and the soldiers grouped themselves together. Another cart was empty by now.

  ‘We’re starving, the hunger is on us,’ shouted the tall man again, unable to hide the tears in his eyes. At once about twenty other voices joined in, until they all shouted in unison, ‘The hunger is on us.’

  The soldier in charge stepped forward. ‘Disperse. Let there be no trouble. These goods are sold and paid for.’

  ‘We’re Irishmen, and our food is being sent away, grown in Irish soil to feed English bellies, while ours are empty and our people starve and die,’ the red-haired man began. ‘We’ll not stand for it.’

  He stepped forward to try to reach a sack of grain, but one of the soldiers gave him a blow and knocked him to the ground. A gasp of dismay came from the crowd.

  Then, how it happened Eily did not know, but two or three skeleton-like young men had jumped on to the carts and slashed open the sacks. At first the grain started to trickle and then it flowed out all over the cobbles below. The soldiers were trying to pull the horses into the warehouse as well as beat back some of the crowd. The children filled their fists with grain and stuffed it in their pockets and in the bag, quick as lightning, and then took to their heels and ran for their lives, not wanting to see what would happen. People were running and scattering in all directions.

  ‘Eily, what will we do?’ questioned Michael. ‘I don’t like this place, it’s too dangerous. Let’s leave it.’

  Eily and Peggy agreed with him, so the children made their way out of the town. They had not gone very far when they met a farmer herding a few sheep along the road. He looked at them with suspicion.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ begged Michael. ‘Do you know of the town of Castletaggart? Are we heading in the right direction?’

  The farmer stopped and stared at them. They looked wretched and wild, but they were only children, about the same age as his own brood at home.

  ‘Well, you are on the right path. Follow this coast road for a few miles – you’ll be in view of the sea the whole time – then around the mountain and cross-country and to another main road, and that will lead you to it. It’s a fair distance. Ask as you go.’ He went to move off and then stopped and drew from his pocket a small loaf of bread and a large wedge of cheese. ‘Here you go,’ he shouted as he threw it to Michael, who just managed to catch it.

  The children stood in total disbelief. Maybe their luck was changing. They had a little grain, still a few turnips left, some bread and cheese and now they knew they were near the journey’s end.

  They climbed over a stone wall. A lush green field sloped almost the whole way down to the sea. They had never been by the sea before and wanted to see it close up, so they walked towards it through the long grass. The view was deceptive, as the bottom of the field revealed a sheer drop down a jagged steep cliff to the lapping waves below. The children breathed in the fresh sea air, almost able to smell and taste its saltiness. They could never have imagined such vastness. Where the sea ended, the sky began. Far in the distance, a blur, which must have been a boat, could be spotted.

  They found a good place to sit and rest and watch the seagulls glide in the air and circle and disappear near the cliff. They watched the cormorants dive under the water and re-emerge with a fish. The air was still and warm. Michael divided up the bread and cheese. They had forgotten how long it was since they had eaten fresh bread. Eily remembered Mother baking it – the smell would fill the cottage, and the three of them wouldn’t even leave it to cool before they would wolf it down. She felt such a pang of homesickness here, in this strange place, that she had to pretend to look out to sea so the others wouldn’t notice the tears in her eyes. Then they spread out a blanket and lay back, and the distant lapping of the waves soon lulled them to sleep.

  When they woke they breathed a few deep breaths of sea air again and made their way back through the field and on to the dusty road.

  CHAPTER 11

  Travelling by Night

  THE DRY SPELL CONTINUED. The sun beat down mercilessly. At midday the children would find shade under a tree and rest for about three hours. At times the road, which was now hardbaked, almost burned the soles of their feet. Little bluetits and sparrows chattered in the dust, looking for water. All the little brooks and streams had dried up, and the children’s water can was empty. The shame of it was that in the distance they could still see the rippling blue of the sea mocking them. But they had heard tell that if you drank salt water it would drive you crazy. They chewed grass and pulled unripe blackberries from the brambles, desperate for moisture. They sucked stems
– anything to ease the thirst. Their lips were dry, cracked and sore. This was worse than the hunger.

  Rounding a bend in the road, they stopped and stared in amazement at the landscape ahead. Everything in sight was charred and blackened. Here and there tiny spirals of smoke still drifted upwards. There wasn’t a blade of grass to be seen.

  The children blessed themselves. The smell of burning assaulted their senses. They tied rags around their noses and mouths.

  ‘Someone must have set a fire and not put it out,’ said Michael. ‘With the dry spell it just ran in all directions.’

  Nothing stirred in this bleakness, not a bird or an insect or a bee or an animal. It was too quiet. Fields of what had been gorse and heather and pasture had been laid bare.

  ‘Are we in hell?’ asked Peggy, her thin little face drawn and worried.

  ‘No,’ said Eily, ‘just a place destroyed. Come on, we’ll move through this as quick as we can.’

  Gradually colour returned to the terrain and they were surrounded by fields of long, overgrown grass, dried out and standing tall. Peggy had found a ladybird and held it gently in the palm of her hand, chatting to it. Looking at her, Eily realised how young she was, just barely seven, and how brave a little girl she was. There was no point in stopping, they just had to keep going and get to some water. Eventually they found a ditch. Large weeds and brambles grew over it and protected it from the sun’s sharp rays. They knelt down in the dry mud. At the base of the ditch the earth was still a dark brown and had not yet turned grey. The could not get the water into the water can as the ditch was too shallow, so they just took turns in scooping the muddy water up in their hands and sipping it. They swallowed the dirt too. The drink did not quench their thirst, but maybe it would be of some help. Exhausted, they sat down under a row of tall beech trees.