An Irish Girl

by Marilyn Hering

  He had said, “I’ll take this cottage” to another recruit. “Take the one next door.”

  “Yes, sir,” she heard the recruit say.

  She opened the door and to her shock saw Thomas Litchfield, his index finger to his lips. “We’re just supposed to supervise,” he whispered.

  Her father sat in his usual dazed state and Patrick was out trying to find birds and their eggs as well as nettles for the soup they hated but provided at least some nourishment.

  “I had to see you. I don’t suppose you thought about having dinner with me again.”

  “Truthfully, I’m torn between yes and no. I’m so hungry.”

  “But certainly not wanting to see me I take it.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “I don’t suppose you have the rent.”

  She began to shake.

  “No.”

  He closed the door, held her in his arms. She was comforted by the warmth of him.

  “I can’t stay very long.”

  He delved into his right pants pocket and placed the money in it on the table, then did the same for the left one and the two in his jacket pockets. It was more than she would need for rent.

  “Take it.”

  “But I can’t pay you back.”

  “Of course you can. If you think about having dinner with me again. I somehow can’t seem to let you go. And put the money in your pocket before my recruit knocks at the door.”

  Tara began to cry.

  “I have so much to thank you for.”

  “And please remember there are no strings attached to what I give you.” He paused.

  “I’m giving it out of love. I pray that I’ll hear from you soon. But, if not, I will try to understand.”

  The recruit banged on the door. Litchfield opened the door.

  “They couldn’t pay, sir. So I gave them an eviction notice.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Litchfield looked back at her before he closed the door.

  Some other feelings of humanity did occur, and some landlords reduced their rents or decided to forego them altogether. But that gesture was certainly not the norm.

  Tara kept up her knowledge of John McGuire via newspapers. They reported that as food streamed out of the country serious riots were taking place all under the leadership of McGuire, more serious than any riots of the previous years. At Younghal, near Cork, a tiny port used mostly for export, a riot took place. A large crowd of Irish peasants tried to hold up a boat filled with export oats. Police were sent for and the group dispersed at Youghal bridge.

  Another riot, with loss of life, occurred at Dungarvan, County Waterford. A large crowd of famished unemployed led by John McGuire threatened shopkeepers and merchants, ordering them not to export grain and destroyed their shops. Some of the plunderers were arrested and locked up. The First Royal Dragoons were called out. They were hit with large stones as a Dragoon read the Riot Act. The Irish would not listen, and a Dragoon gave the order to fire. Finally the crowd retreated but not before several men were injured and two dead. A large reward was placed by the British for McGuire who had not only led these riots but several others previously.

  The public works started again but even if all food had been kept in the country, the Irish people would not have been able to buy it. They were penniless. Work was delayed due to the gigantic amount of applications that had to be sorted through.

  When work did begin, immense problems occurred. All works were to be executed “by task” meaning payment was to be by results, in proportion to how much work was accomplished. The Irish hated “task work;” they felt stewards showed favoritism and the Board of Works was so short of employees it was impossible to get work measured properly enough for the correct payment they so desperately needed.

  The payments allotted for an Irishman and his family were practically nothing. Also, the payment of wages was irregular. Then there occurred a shortage of silver coin which caused a serious delay in payment. It was finally decided that no works were to be undertaken where one person in the district would be paid more than the other. The drainage works which Ireland needed so desperately could not be touched since owners of lands bordering on a drainage area would have their property improved and increased in worth, while those who had property farther away would not benefit. This became true of every undertaking that was proposed, except for roadmaking. But that had been undertaken in previous famines. Ireland already possessed a great number of roads already; their roads were nearly perfect and they had plenty of them in good condition.

  The situation grew more and more hopeless.

  Then the next year after October l vegetables were finished growing and eaten. Normally, this became the time the Irish became dependent on the potato—and now with another blight the people began to starve for there were no potatoes at all. Food prices rose to such heights that finally the government decided to open a food store, but even the people who had been hired were starving. They could not pay such high prices. Finally, the Board of Works declared more depots should be open immediately in remote areas of the country, such as Inniskill in County Donegal which was at least forty-five miles away from the closest market. The Board of Works refused. The truth was the depots could not be opened because they did not have enough supplies and were almost empty.

  Applications to the Relief Committee came in by the hundreds, the people saying their districts were starving and begged the British to open depots at fair prices. They did not realize there was a practical reason why the depots could not be open. They were almost empty. The government lied telling them there were large supplies that would arrive in January or December, which had no basis in fact.

  Milling continued with great difficulty as well since the mills were always occupied by merchants milling grain mostly for export where they could get higher prices. Unground Indian corn was available in some places. The main problem was it was sharp and irritating—it can even pierce the intestines and is impossible to digest. Even boiling it for an hour and a half did not soften the flint-hard grain, and when eaten produced agonizing pain, especially in the children. People in remote areas starved; the others continued to live on nettles and weeds, and, if especially fortunate, an egg or two from birds’ nests now and then, or on boiled cabbage leaves as long as they lasted.

  Upon receiving a note from Thomas Litchfield, a captain of the British guards, Tara was confused. She had told him she did not want to see him again. Then again she might find out what the British plans were regarding the Irish and McGuire. Plus, upon rethinking the situation she decided a dinner would be worth it and Father Boyle approved. She must see him face to face instead of writing a letter back. Come what may, she knew her heart and soul belonged to John McGuire who, ironically, she had no idea when, if ever, she would see again.

  She took in her white dress she’d embroidered with red roses once again, somewhat embarrassed she was wearing the same dress and her mother’s dress shoes.

  As the waiter led her to their table at “La Vie” and as they sat down she studied Litchfield. He reminded her of the Greek gods she had seen in her picture books when she was a little girl. Surely he would find no trouble finding a woman with whom to share his life.

  The waiter brought the menus and she could hear her stomach grumbling. She wondered if he heard it too.

  “I see you have that lovely dress on. The one with the embroidered red roses. It suits you perfectly.” He smiled, showing his perfect white teeth. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “And I’m glad to see you too, I think.”

  He frowned.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I feel so guilty eating these wonderful dinners. Yet, I know they’re what are keeping me in better health than almost any other Irishman I see. And I can share more food with my family because of it.”

  The wa
iter appeared with the menu.

  “I know you like fish so I’d suggest scallops, shrimp and cod in butter sauce.”

  “I’ll have a double portion of everything,” she said.

  “I’ll have the same, only a single portion.”

  “Very good sir,” the waiter said. Why did this woman always want double portions?

  “I have a feeling he knows I’m Irish.” She touched her arms, skinny and scrawny. “I can never thank you enough for these wonderful meals.”

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, “so why don’t I begin?” His face was flushed.

  “All right.”

  “I’m—in love with you and want to marry you. I’m embarrassed to say it, but I’ve been with many women, and I haven’t felt the way I do about you with any of them. Not even close.”

  “But you’re British!”

  “I’ve thought about that long and hard, and I’ d be willing to leave the captaincy and the Guards themselves if you’ll marry me. We could start over somewhere else.”

  “But—”

  “Wherever you choose. Europe? Perhaps Australia? But I must have you as my wife. I can hardly sleep thinking about you, what you’re doing, where you are. I—”

  “Thomas, you must stop this. I’m in love with someone else. I hardly know him, as you do me, which makes it ridiculous, I know. But I do know what love is, what it feels like to feel love for another person.”

  “My God, no.” He clutched his fingers to his forehead. “I thought perhaps it would pass.”

  He did not speak for a time.

  He finally said, “Is it someone I know?”

  “No, I don’t think so. We’ve been through this discussion before. But please don’t ask me any more question because I can’t answer them.”

  “I-m astounded.”

  “I know I’ve hurt you so much and you’ve been so good to me. I’ll have to live with the guilt of it for the rest of my life.”

  “You’re foolish to say such a thing. You can’t mean you won’t see me again. You can’t!”

  “I’m afraid that’s so. My mind is made up. It would be wrong because I’d be leading you on. I’m in love with someone else and that’s that.”

  “How will I ever go on without looking forward to seeing you?” He rubbed his fingers through his hair.

  “Thomas, a good and handsome man like you will find someone else, I know. Someone worthy of you.”

  “Never.” He placed his head down.

  “And you’ll be so busy fighting the Irish.”

  “I shouldn’t say this but all British ships will be guarded by one or two armed men from now on. You must be extra careful. And there will be more of a British presence in the towns as well.”

  Tara had learned an important piece of news.

  They had their dinner.

  “I think we should get the check,” she said. “I’ve got quite a ride home.”

  “Can’t you stay—a bit longer.”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  He paid the check, regained his composure.

  When they arrived outside, she turned to him. He kissed her passionately. She pulled away and kissed him lovingly on the cheek.

  “Goodbye, Thomas. And I’ll never forget you and how good you’ve been to me in these terrible times.”

  “Goodbye, Tara. I’ll never forget you. And I’ll always love you.”

  He walked to the back of the restaurant with her and helped her mount her horse.

  She disappeared into the distance and his life fell apart.

  Thomas Litchfield knew he was a fortunate man in many ways. His family and Carlyle Hill went back almost a hundred years. His great grandfather, grandfather, and father had served in the British army; and, of course, it was expected he do the same, although his father hadn’t the least suspicion, he was not happy as captain of the British guards. It had taken him five years to attain that rank. His father was a firm believer that he not receive any special treatment because of his background. But he managed to survive the post well enough. He had been to Egypt, Tunisia, Germany, France, and Saudi Arabia during his earlier years in the guards and was grateful for the experience. Yet, in his heart, he thought it all a sham. Why couldn’t all people get along? Why did there always have to be war and conflict? And so his role, when he was finally appointed to Captain of the Guards was one he accepted with mixed emotion.

  And then he met Tara. Here was a girl he was fighting against in a battle that to him was senseless. Her beautiful face haunted him—her green-gray eyes, her perfect skin, her auburn hair that flowed down her back, her delicate features and charming personality, and thought: this is supposed to be the enemy. His heart was split in various directions, whether to be true to the Guards or to leave them and side with the Irish which would absolutely break his father’s heart. What the British were doing to the Irish was wrong, just damned wrong. And he was part of it. And he knew, as the vision of his background and especially of his father’s face appearing before him and the remembrance of Tara’s gaunt face and sunken cheeks, would haunt him until the day he died.

  Famine in Ireland had finally gotten to the point where almost complete disorganization occurred. Groups of starving men, women and children roamed the countryside, begging for food. The unemployment lists became a farce, and fear of the local mobs began. Men constantly poured into the Relief Committee’s office saying neither their lives nor their properties would be secure if they returned to their houses without promise of employment. Some forced themselves in, crowding the works in progress and insisting upon working, to no avail. Also, delays in paying wages increased. The pay clerks in East Carbury in County Cork gave up their precious jobs out of fear of the turbulent masses. In another county the pay clerk was attacked and beaten. A man named John O’Reilly died while working on road No.1 in County Cork. The post mortem exam showed his death to be the result of starvation. He had no food in his stomach or small intestines, except for an undigested portion of raw cabbage leaves.

  Autumn was now passing into winter. The nettles, blackberries and edible roots and cabbage leaves hundreds had been living on disappeared. Groups of starving men, women, and children roamed the streets and nothing edible survived.

  Children began to die. In Skibbereen in the work house fifty per cent of the children admitted starved to death.

  At this time of suffering unbelievable weather added greater hardship to the people. Ireland is famous for its mild weather; sometimes years pass without any snow. In the gardens in the south and west even semi-tropical plants bloomed, and dahlias, which are tubers, can be left for the winter in the ground without any worry concerning frost. But this year of 1846 at the end of October it turned extremely cold and, unbelievably, it snowed in November, at least six inches.

  Had God forgotten the Irish? What had they done to deserve such pain and suffering, for the winter of 1846-1847 was the most severe in living memory. Frost was continuous and icy gales blew sleet and hail with disastrous force. Since the climate was usually mild and a supply of peat or turf almost universal in the country, a turf fire usually burned in an Irish cottage night and day, normally not going out. Usually the Irish peasant spent the cold, winter days indoors; and even though he was dressed in rags and his children naked, they were able to see things through.

  But this winter was a different story. He had to go out, drenched with rain, snow and icy gales and try to make some sort of meager living. These laborers began to faint from exhaustion. There were an increasing number of deaths at the works from starvation, aided by exposure to cold, snow, and drenching rains.

  Added to this the people became bewildered for at this time Irish was spoken in the rural districts of Ireland and barely understood. No attempt was made to explain anything to them and the destitute were treated with contempt.
This seemed to heighten the traditional English distrust and dislike for the native Irish.

  The first to succumb were the poorest of all who had put up a hut of soils in a bog. With their potatoes lost they abandoned their huts of sod and descended on the towns in droves, half starving, sleeping in ditches or doorways. Those in Cork alone died at one hundred a week.

  Tara sat with a blanket around her, near the turf that glowed and gave heat to the fireplace. Patrick, taller now, and lanky, ran through the door.

  “Father Boyle wants to see you right away.”

  She had no idea why and was not too happy to trudge through the snow with the thick blanket around her, but it was warmer than her threadbare coat. She donned her scarf around her head and put on her boots.

  She heard the neighing of a few horses in Father Boyle’s barn. He must have bought a second one, though she could not imagine why or how he could afford one.

  He greeted her at the door and hugged her hard.

  “I have a surprise for you. You have a visitor in the bedroom down the hall.”

  “A visitor? Me?”

  ‘’I’ll take your scarf, your coat and your boots.”

  She walked slowly down the hall. What if it was someone she didn’t care to see?

  She looked into the room. John McGuire stood before her.

  “John!”

  She placed her hand on her chest, half in shock.

  He ran across the room and kissed her passionately, as she did him. She had never known such feelings surging through her body before and felt certain she would fall if he let her go.

  “I love you so much,” he whispered. “More than I’ve ever loved any woman.”

  “I love you too,” she said, as they kissed passionately again.

  Finally, they broke away.

  “But surely you know you’re in such danger. There’s a large reward out for you. And I just found out a few days ago that from now on British ships will have two armed guard on them.”