by Charles Egan
By dawn the next day, he had passed through Newport, and started out the Westport road. The rain had stopped, but it had turned cold, glazed ice covering the puddles. On the roadside, the frosty grass crunched under his boots. He was feeling weak, weaker than he had ever felt before. By the time the sun was high in the sky, he saw Westport in the distance. He struggled on.
The Lieutenant at the workhouse recognised him at once, and admitted him. He made his way to the administration block.
‘Pat!’ Sarah exclaimed. ‘Would you look at the state of you?’
The Clerk came over.
‘What in the name of God happened to you?’
‘I was attacked.’
‘Oh no,’ Sarah exclaimed.
‘It’s all right, a ghrá. Sure I’m alive, aren’t I?’
‘Come on, I’ll clean you up. Have you eaten?’
‘Not for a few days.’
‘Oh Pat…’
‘’Tis fine,’ he said. ‘Sure Castlebar want me to understand what’s happening in County Mayo. A little hunger gives a man a great understanding.’
Sarah took him to the kitchen in the administration building. She spoke to the cook, then she sat Pat down, while she stood alongside the cook, overseeing everything.
‘Here you are,’ she said, a few minutes later. ‘Indian corn, it’s the best we could manage, but we snuck you in a few rashers.’
Pat wolfed it down, saying nothing as he ate. He began to feel a little ill, and realised he was eating too fast. He put the knife and fork down.
‘So what happened to you?’ Sarah asked him.
‘Four lads jumped me, just outside of Bangor. Gave me a hell of a belt on the head. Knocked me out cold. They took everything. I was lucky they didn’t take my coat.’
She examined his head, feeling the bruising.
‘Rough enough,’ she said. ‘And you lost all your food?’
‘I did. But I kept my notes.’
‘Your notes are all you worry about! In the name of God, Pat, they could have killed you.’
‘Arra no. It takes a lot to kill a fellow like me.’
‘But still, a belt like that on the head. What happened after?’
‘An old woman found me, took me back to her tigín, and took care of me till I woke’.
‘She must have been strong enough to drag the likes of you.’
‘She borrowed a donkey. That was what she told me. Even so, she was an old woman. Very old. Living on her own and well off the road. But however she did it, she got me there and she fed me. Not much more than cabbage and herb soup mind you, but enough to strengthen me up, until I was fit to go.’
He ate again. At last he finished all on his plate.
‘So what about you?’ he asked. ‘Any great news in Westport?’
‘Oh, there’s news alright. The fever is killing them in terrible numbers.’
Pat stood. ‘Can I see?’
‘See what?’
‘The fever wards, what else.’
‘Pat, are you mad?’
‘No madder than your mother was; or you I’m sure. So don’t tell me you stay out of the wards. And any way you look at it, Gaffney has asked me to report on the condition of the County, including the workhouses.’
‘God, Pat, aren’t you the right amadán. We have to work with them, you don’t.
‘I do. How can I make a report otherwise?’
She glanced out the window, as if to find an answer to that. Then she jumped up.
‘Fine so. Come on. Let’s go.’
She led him across the Stonebreakers’ Yard towards a fever shed. Dozens of men, women and children were breaking stones.
‘I hadn’t seen this here before.’
‘I never brought you this way before.’
She opened the door.
The stink was overpowering, the result of diarrhoea and vomiting. Several inmates were spreading straw on the floor on one side, while others swept up straw on the other which had already absorbed the disgusting fluids.
They walked on to the exit at the far end. They met another man coming towards them.
‘This is Dr. Lowery. All the way up from Dublin.’
The two men shook hands.
‘This is terrible,’ said Pat.
‘Oh, you get used to it.’
‘I don’t know that I ever could.’
‘Dr. Lowery is the second doctor here,’ Sarah said. ‘Dr. Donovan died in the fever last year.’
‘Yes’ said Lowery. ‘And I’m not even sure that there’s much purpose to it anymore. Typhus or dysentery, there’s not an awful lot any of us can do. The main use of the sheds is quarantine – we just separate them from everyone else, and hope the fever will stop its spread. And now there’s cholera on the way. So what are you doing here?’
‘The County wants me to do a report on the condition of the workhouses.’
‘What kind of good would that do? All we need from them is money, but they don’t have any.’
He returned to his patient.
*
They walked back across the Stonebreakers’ Yard, the sound of smashing stone echoing through his head. When they were some distance away, she stopped.
‘I don’t know what to tell you, Pat. I don’t know what my future here is ever since mother died. I’m not paid – I never was paid – but at least while mother was alive we could live on her salary. But now, all I have is board and lodgings, and I’m not even sure how long that might last.’
‘Oh God. What will you do so?’
‘I don’t know, Pat. A lot of it depends on the Master and the new Matron. The last Master, he hated mother while she was here. He was happy enough when she died. You see, he wasn’t an honest man, and she knew that. It was all to do with the weights he was using, giving out short measure, then selling grain back to the merchants on his own account.’
‘But…did no one else know?’
‘Oh, they knew well enough, but they kept their mouths shut, the whole damned lot of them. And it’s not just that I knew about them, but they all knew that I knew. But there’s worse than that. I reckon they’re giving short measure again. I can’t prove it, but I know from Knockanure how the system works. Not that father or mother would ever have done that, but they would here, I’ve no doubt about it, and I reckon they’re afraid of me. So I’m lucky enough getting board and lodgings. But what next? What else might they do to me?’
Pat’s mind was spinning.
‘But – you were talking about some plan for the Australian colonies.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘and lucky enough I was not to be part of that, I can tell you. But it was all under way by the time mother died. If she had died earlier, I’d be out in Port Phillip now. That’s assuming they ever got to Port Phillip.’
‘Do you think they mightn’t?’
‘It’s just that we’ve had no news yet. You know yourself, it takes three months to get to Port Phillip and three months to get back. The Lady Kennaway, the ship the girls went on, it sailed out of Plymouth for Port Phillip. It had been wrecked once before, they say. And what kind of ship is that for a three or four months’ journey out to the colonies? Did it sink on the way? God only knows. No, Lord Grey doesn’t give a damn about Mayo’s orphan girls. All they want is to people the colonies. And sure if the girls don’t make it there, what matter. One way or another, the landlords in Mayo don’t have to worry about them anymore, nor pay land rates to keep the workhouses running.’
Pat was stunned.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘You’d told me of this, but I never thought it was this bad.’
‘And it’s not just that,’ Sarah replied, ‘they’re planning more sailings for the colonies now. They’re intending on clearing the orphan girls out of the other Workhouses – Ballinrobe, Castlebar and, worst of all, Westport. And do you know what they’re looking for, Pat? The girls shouldn’t be just orphans, they’re more interested in young women. For making children, God damn it, convict children to people the
colonies. And best of all, they want young women with writing and arithmetic, and I’m just what they’re looking for. Their only problem is that I’m over eighteen, and too old for the scheme. But that won’t stop them.’
‘Why not?’
‘No baptismal certificate. I was born somewhere in Cork or Tipperary, and I can’t prove my age.’
‘But you’re well over eighteen. Three, four years at least.’
‘I know, but it’s my word against theirs. So if I’m still in Westport Workhouse over the next months, it’s the colonies for me, and the life of a convict wife, somewhere in the back of beyond.’
Pat hugged her. For some time, neither said anything.
‘I can see now, why your mother would have wanted you to marry someone else. Someone with a better position in life.’
‘Yes,’ Sarah said, ‘some nice young fellow in the workhouse office, with a chance of making Master. Oh God! I don’t think I could stand it. At least you’re working for the County. But how long will that last?’
‘I don’t know,’ Pat said, ‘but it’s not a lasting position, and no question of it being one. I’m here on Gaffney’s request to help in a crisis. And when the crisis is over, I doubt I’ll be working for any damned County.’
‘I know,’ she said, ‘and then there’s the question of your family, isn’t there? If we married and went away – England or America – there’d be no one to run the farm. God knows, your father is old enough as it is.’
They entered the administration building and walked along the corridor towards the canteen. Suddenly, Pat grasped her arm.
‘We’re still talking about marriage. Isn’t that it?’
‘It is,’ she said. She pulled herself up, and kissed him on the lips. ‘It’s marriage for sure, a serious matter, with the state of affairs today. You know, Pat, I always dreamt of love and romance, and while there’ll be plenty of both between us, I didn’t want it to be like this. There isn’t much romance in a workhouse corridor, nor with a threat of transportation to the colonies hanging over me. No, we’ll have to get everything sorted first. See where we’ll be living, or what we’ll be doing, the both of us. Westport, Castlebar or Carrigard? Ireland, England or America? Which is it to be Pat?’
‘God only knows.’
*
Later, as he left Westport Workhouse, he saw men and women working in a field across the way. Curious, he walked across and realised at once he was watching the digging of another mass grave. Visions of the ever-lengthening trench in Knockanure Workhouse flooded back to him. Mrs. Cronin would not have been buried in a mass grave. Or would she?
But where was her grave?
He walked over. He looked away from it but could not avoid the stink of it, nor the sound of the rats.
‘What do you want?’ a woman asked.
‘I’m looking for a grave.’
‘You won’t find it. They’re all buried together.’
‘Mrs. Cronin. The Matron…’
‘She’s the one buried over the other side,’ one of the men said. ‘Come, I’ll show you.’
He led Pat along by the mass grave, and then across the graveyard to a single heap of clay. At one end was a small wooden cross, made up of two short planks nailed together. Painted on it was – ‘Emily Cronin. 1799–1849.’
‘Thank you,’ Pat said, as the man left. He dropped to his knees and prayed.
‘Ár n-Athair, atá ar neamh, Go naofar D’Ainim. Go dtagfadh Do Ríocht. Go ndéantar Do Thoil ar an talamh mar a dhéantar ar neamh…’
Our Father, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven…
He hesitated. Who was he praying for? And why?
Did he still believe in prayer, anyhow? He looked back at the death trench. Thy will be done?
He stood and left.
He walked out the road towards Castlebar. Broken houses and mud cabins lined the roads. Some had been totally demolished. The walls of the fields were being demolished too. He travelled on to Castlebar Workhouse.
*
‘Pat! I thought you were dead.’
‘Close enough, Mr. Gaffney. I was attacked. They damned near killed me.’
After he had finished telling his story of the attack and his rescue by the old woman, Gaffney pressed him on what he had seen of Erris. They spoke for what Pat felt to be hours. Gaffney listened carefully, sometimes interrupting, sometimes scrawling notes of his own.
Workhouses, bogs and mountains. Evictions and death.
Pat spent the next day poring over maps and scribbling more notes.
He was concerned he might have forgotten what the old woman had told him, but his memory of her story was clear. Then he scribbled notes on what he had seen in Westport Workhouse.
When he was happy he had remembered everything possible, he started to draw up a full report, written, as usual, in his best copperplate. When he had copied it out a second time, he gave the copy to Gaffney while he went back to produce two more copies.
‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, Pat,’ Gaffney said later. ‘These reports are invaluable. You can have little idea how much.’
‘So what next, Mr. Gaffney?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that, but I’m not certain. It will probably have to be Partry. Mweelrea too. I’ll have to clear it all with the Grand Jury though. Which gives you a week or so to see your family, if you want.’
‘Of course. It would be a good time.’
‘Why not? You’ve been hurt badly enough. You’re exhausted too. I’ll drop you a note the moment I have clearance from them. Just be sure to be back as soon as you receive my letter. I depend on you far more than you might think.’
Pat left Castlebar for Carrigard. There was no doubt in his mind now that Famine was tightening its grip. More people begging, but that was to be expected. More children with the bloated stomachs, and the fox faces. Closed cabins. Abandoned perhaps. How many had dead inside?
When he arrived at Carrigard, all the women were there – Eleanor, Sabina, Kitty and Brigid. He had not seen Kitty in months, and her condition shocked him. She was eating a bowl of oatmeal porridge.
‘You should have told us you were coming, Pat,’ Eleanor said.
‘Sure how could I? I never knew from day to day when I’d be finished. And by the time I did, sure I knew I’d be ahead of the letter.’
Kitty had not said anything.
Eleanor ushered him to a seat at the table.
‘You’ll eat.’
‘I’ll wait till later. How’s it with all of ye here?’
‘It’s getting better in ways. Fergus Brennan is dead, and isn’t that better.’
‘Fergus Brennan!’
‘Kitty’s husband. Or had you forgotten?’
‘Kitty?’ Pat exclaimed. ‘What…?’
‘Yes,’ Kitty said. ‘Fergus is dead. Died of fever, and I’ve been evicted.’
Pat stared at her, hardly comprehending what she had said.
‘But what will you do?’ he asked at length.
Kitty did not reply.
‘She’s moved in with me,’ Sabina said.
*
Eleanor was delighted to have Pat home, even if it was just for a few days. During his long journeys around Mayo, she always worried whether he would return. Starvation was worsening, and always she heard distant tales of cholera from people on the road.
But Kitty was another concern. Clearly, she would not stay with Sabina for ever.
One evening, both Kitty and Sabina came to Carrigard. Michael and Pat were smoking by the fire.
‘So what will you do?’ Michael asked Kitty, directly. ‘Will you stay, or will you go.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘America, perhaps, but I don’t have the money. And I don’t want to ask it of anyone here, even if I know it would be given. Anyhow, there might be better chances in England.’
‘A hard enough place,’ Michael said.
‘
Working with Danny, it was,’ Eleanor said. ‘But what of Murtybeg? What do you think, Pat?’
‘Damned if I know,’ Pat said.
‘There are better prospects than Danny or Murtybeg,’ Sabina said.’ There’s many going to Bradford, from all I hear. The woollen mills are taking people on. There’s three girls planning on leaving. The Reilly sisters, Áine and Síle; and Peg McHugh.’
‘Now there’s an idea,’ Eleanor said.
That evening, when Sabina and Kitty had gone, and Michael had gone to bed, Eleanor stayed up talking to Pat.
‘So what about Sarah?’ she asked. ‘What will happen now her mother is dead?’
‘We’ll marry,’ Pat said. ‘At least that’s what we are intending. But I must tell you mother, she is in a very dangerous state. She’s earning nothing, and with her mother gone, her only reason for staying in the workhouse is for food and lodging. Better than the inmates, mind you, but I’m not even sure how long that will last. It seems the people in the workhouse don’t like her.’
‘But why not?’
‘The last Master was stealing from the workhouse through giving short measure on food. There’s some question the present Master, and perhaps the Matron too, might be doing the same. They know Sarah knows well how a workhouse works, and she’ll be the first to spot it. She’s working with the Head Clerk, but if there is stealing, he’ll be in on it as well. No, she reckons they want to get rid of her, and as fast as possible. But they don’t want to be too obvious about it.’
‘How could they do that?’
‘By sending her to the colonies. They’re looking for orphan girls to be sent out.’
‘What on earth for?’
‘The story is there’s too many men out there, and they want young women to marry them. For breeding, if you like.’
‘But that’s dreadful.’
‘I know.’
Eleanor poked idly at the dying embers of the fire.
‘So what do you intend to do?’
‘I’m not rightly sure, mother. Just now, I have to go to Partry, but I’ll be coming back up through Westport after. I’ll see how things are then. Like I say, we’d like to marry, but we might not have time for that. If she has to leave, then I’ll just bring her back here.’
‘Yes,’ Eleanor said, ‘do that. It’s better than having her as a convict’s mare.’