The chairman nodded in agreement. ‘We will await his reply eagerly and, if he is so disposed, arrange to meet him.’
‘We will need a huge boiler, and large cooking pots and ladles, and a big preparation area in order to feed such numbers,’ warned Daniel McCarthy. ‘I am willing to provide a boiler and the like, but we are going to need people to prepare the soup, and then cook and serve it, and clean up and keep order.’
‘We will need long tables and benches for people to sit at and eat,’ added Tom Marmion. ‘I will be happy to provide them.’
‘The people should be given a daily ticket to attend the soup kitchen and must show it, otherwise we risk people returning again and again,’ suggested their treasurer, bank manager John Clerke.
‘Mrs Hegarty from the Becher Arms has kindly offered us a cook and some of her kitchen staff to assist us temporarily. Her business has suffered greatly with all that has happened, for these days there are few visitors willing to stay in the town for more than a day or two,’ Thomas Somerville explained.
‘I’m sure more ladies from the town will volunteer to help once we open,’ added Father Fitzpatrick.
‘Then let us waste no more time. Let us plan to open the soup kitchen to the public as soon as it is possible,’ declared Reverend Townsend. ‘For every day we hesitate, more poor souls are lost.’
CHAPTER 29
FATHER JOHN FITZPATRICK WAS DEEPLY MOVED BY THE HUGE CROWDS HE observed along Ilen Street as they converged on the mill. Despite the freezing chill of the November day and its biting wind, the gaunt and poorly clad figures all walked with great purpose towards the newly opened soup kitchen to be fed. Gaunt-faced men carried scrawny, stick-like children on their backs.
The grand opening of the soup kitchen had attracted much attention, and many of Skibbereen’s traders and merchants were both curious and concerned to see how this kitchen might help alleviate the terrible hunger suffered by so many. Word must have spread quickly, for all through the town, along the river’s edge and across the bridge the hungry walked in their hundreds: barefoot mothers and young children; fathers in ragged coats, carrying infants; elderly men bent over sticks and skeletal old women. Their desperation was etched on their faces.
A few in the parish had raised fears that the relief committee’s soup kitchen might attract indigents from the surrounding areas, with more beggars and sick crowding into Skibbereen than before. But looking around him, Father Fitzpatrick felt nothing but pride in what the committee had accomplished.
The enticing smell of the soup was carried on the wind. As he made his way to the back entrance of the mill, the priest saw the tall figure of Reverend Trench in full command of the situation as three women stirred the soup in an enormous boiler. Others were serving it from large cooking pots into tin bowls and cups, and whatever rusty mugs and containers the people carried with them. Those who did not have a suitable receptacle for their portion were given a tin bowl, which was rinsed quickly when they had finished eating so that it might be reused.
The serving women’s faces were flushed from the heat and effort of their work, unaware that hundreds more people were queuing outside, desperate to be fed.
Following Reverend Frederick Trench’s orders, requests for an extra serving were refused.
‘Come again tomorrow,’ the servers urged. ‘The soup pots will be full again then.’
‘This is a good day’s work we have done here, Father Fitzpatrick.’ Reverend Townsend smiled as he approached the parish priest.
‘You are right, Reverend Townsend. We have saved lives this day.’
They watched as the long lines of hungry people continued to swell and grow.
‘What if they run out of soup?’ he asked, worried. ‘We can’t turn people away.’
‘They won’t,’ reassured Reverend Townsend. ‘Reverend Trench assures me that the women have another two huge pots cooking, ready to use when needed.’
‘I never imagined that so many were going hungry. We will have to raise additional funds if we are to feed all these people day after day.’
‘Reverend Caulfield and I are set to travel to London as part of a delegation from the relief committee to lodge an official appeal to all those in authority with regards to the situation and relief needed here in West Cork.’
‘The government must surely intervene, Richard, for things cannot continue in such a vein.’
‘We hope to have a meeting with Charles Trevelyan in which we can inform him first hand of the calamity and terrible conditions we witness daily.’
‘I pray that you manage to exert some influence on the treasurer and all those in London who can provide assistance here,’ Father John offered sincerely, for he had a high regard for the Protestant minister and his devotion to the people of the town.
CHAPTER 30
MARY WRAPPED UP THE CHILDREN WARMLY, FOR IT WAS BITTERLY COLD outside as they prepared to set off on the long walk to Skibbereen.
‘Where are we going, Mammy?’ asked Nora, curious.
‘We are walking all the way into town to get the soup,’ she tried to explain.
Kathleen and Honora Barry had both told her of the big soup kitchen that had opened in the mill by the river. Nell and her family had gone there twice already, joining the long lines of people waiting for a portion.
‘It’s the grandest soup ever,’ Nell had declared. ‘There was enough even to help fill those hungry boys of mine!’
Brigid had announced shortly after that she too was taking her children into town to take the soup as there was nothing in their cottage for them.
‘My heart is scalded with it, Mary, watching them all go hungry!’ she had fretted.
So the two friends decided to journey the four miles to town together, their nine children walking along beside them.
After only a mile or two, Annie demanded to be lifted up and carried.
‘She has you wrapped around her little finger,’ teased Brigid.
They passed close to the roadworks at Oldcourt, near the pier where John and Denis were employed, but caught no sight of their husbands.
Growing tired, the children slowed down … for none of them had the strength or energy for walking they had before the hunger came.
‘It’s only another two miles,’ Mary cajoled them, ‘and then there is a grand feed of soup waiting for you.’
‘I’m tired,’ complained Brigid’s youngest, wanting to sit down and rest only a half-mile later.
‘It’s only a little bit further,’ promised her mother.
As they neared the town, the road began to get busier. Hundreds of people were all making their way to the soup kitchen. The children huddled close to their mothers for fear of getting lost.
‘We need to get a ticket at the dispensary first,’ explained Brigid.
They then joined the long line of people all along Bridge Street, making their way slowly towards the mill …
Mary had never seen the like of it as they turned on to Ilen Street. Old and young, hungry and weak, all were lined up, some with their tin cups, to enter the soup kitchen. Some were so exhausted and starved that they could barely walk. Their legs and arms were like sticks dressed in rags. Hunger was etched on their thin faces. A man checked their tickets and beckoned them forwards.
Inside the mill was hot and steamy and packed. They could see a huge boiler, and two large serving pots, filled with soup. Behind that, a group of women in aprons were cutting and preparing more vegetables to put in the boiler.
The children grew nervous as they neared the server, a red-faced woman who ladled out a half-bowl of soup for each of them. She gave Con and James – Brigid’s eldest boy – a larger ration than the younger ones. She then filled Mary’s can with a pint of soup and pointed out where they could get a hunk of bread each before sitting down at the long narrow dining tables to eat.
‘Can I get some extra to take home for my husband, please?’ Mary begged.
‘We can’t be doing that,’ the
woman said, shaking her head. ‘Or else there wouldn’t be a drop of soup left for all the people here.’
Mary took her seat with Brigid and the children, and made sure that Tim and Annie ate.
The soup was salty, made with carrots and turnip, onion, rice, barley and a little beef. She ate it slowly, not wanting to turn her stomach as she had eaten little for the past two days. The bread she would save for John. Brigid’s three boys gulped it down quickly, as did Con, while Nora said little but took it spoonful by spoonful, savouring it. There was little conversation around them as everyone concentrated on their meal.
At the table next to theirs, a pale-faced boy of about eight was shaking his head. Despite his mother’s pleas he refused to take the soup, telling her he was no longer hungry. The poor woman dipped her finger into the bowl and made him suck it as if he were a baby.
‘Suck, my little peata,’ she crooned. ‘Suck, my little lamb child.’
Before long, a bell rang to signal that all those eating must move on and make way for the next group. A tall young woman came over to collect their bowls and spoons for washing, and urged them to leave.
The soup had warmed them and filled their stomachs, and Mary felt better for it.
Con shouted out when he caught a glimpse of his cousin Jude in the distance, lining up on Ilen Street with his mother, Kathleen.
Mary ran over to speak to them.
‘Even though it’s near on our doorstep, we’ll be here a good two hours or more, waiting.’ Kathleen shrugged. ‘Take your children home before it rains and sure, I’ll see you the next day.’
Walking the long miles home took an age, for the younger ones complained. Tim kept saying that his foot hurt, while Brigid’s youngest, Sally, claimed the soup had made her stomach sick!
‘Aren’t they the grand family we have, after them all being fed!’ Brigid sighed as the rain began to fall, soaking them all through.
Mary was glad to get home and sit at the warmth of her own fire. Taking out her scissors, needle and thread, she began to fashion a special pocket concealed in the folds of her wide skirt where she would hide her can on their next visit to the soup kitchen. She would use a lid made of thick cloth to contain a half-pint of leftover soup, which she would save for John.
Every day the children complained about the long miles they now walked to Skibbereen, but Mary would hear none of it. The soup would take the worst of the hunger off them. She would not let them starve like others around them or watch the flesh fall from their young bones. So they walked the hungry road …
CHAPTER 31
HENRIETTA WOULD NEVER GET USED TO THE SIGHT OF SO MANY MEN, women and children waiting patiently at the mill to be fed. Thousands now flocked to the soup kitchen every day, coming from all over West Cork. From Aughadown, Creagh, Kilcoe, Rath, Baltimore, Ballydehob and Union Hall, they swamped the streets, lanes and roads leading to Skibbereen. Some were so weak that they could barely walk.
‘Henrietta, I see we are in the same mind coming to visit here.’ Elizabeth Townsend, the rector’s wife, smiled at her in greeting. ‘It is heartening to see that at long last something is being done to help these poor people.’
‘But it is so bitterly cold, and most of them have no shoes or coats, or even shawls to keep them warm,’ Henrietta sighed, unable to hide her distress.
‘Richard says that they have sold or pawned all they possess in order to buy food. They now face the winter with nothing but rags to wear.’
‘Poor things, they will surely get severe chills and colds with this weather,’ Henrietta said with worry as she looked at a shivering mother, her two little girls and baby boy.
‘Perhaps the women among us could do something to get them some old clothes,’ suggested Elizabeth. ‘An unused dress or shawl for the women, maybe, and trousers, shirts, jackets and dresses for the children to wear. The minute I get home I will look to see if I can find any warm clothing I can pass on to them.’
‘I will search our wardrobes and chests too,’ Henrietta promised. ‘There must surely be something that we have that would prove useful.’
‘Do you think the other wives of the committee and people in town might be interested in organizing such a relief collection of clothing and warm items?’
‘I do hope so. Most people are kind hearted and should be willing to give something.’
‘Many have been very charitable already,’ Elizabeth reminded her gently.
Henrietta felt somewhat guilty, as Elizabeth was a most dedicated and helpful wife to a busy church minister. She, on the other hand, was caught up with running a busy household, taking care of a baby, her young children and the constant stream of patients all anxious to see her husband.
‘Henrietta, will you come to the Glebe to have tea with me tomorrow and we can discuss it further?’
Henrietta had never been invited to their home before, but she knew that their husbands were united in their efforts on the relief committee.
‘Your children are welcome to come along too,’ Elizabeth added.
‘They are noisy and rather troublesome,’ warned Henrietta.
‘I always enjoy having little ones in the rectory,’ coaxed Elizabeth.
Henrietta decided the boys would be better at home, but she dressed up the three girls and baby Margaret and took them along to the rectory with her the following day.
Elizabeth welcomed them into her drawing room warmly.
‘What pretty daughters you and Dan have!’ she said, admiring Fanny and Harriet, who with only a year between them looked almost like twins in their matching pink dresses. ‘They are like two little rosebuds.’
‘Thank you.’ Henrietta knew that it must be difficult for Elizabeth. She and Richard had not been blessed with any family of their own, yet with good grace she had organized many events for the children of the parish over the years, from Bible plays and pageants to the annual Easter party.
Elizabeth rang the bell and her maid, Jane, came along to serve them tea. She also carried a pretty plate of hot buttered scones with jam and a few small slices of cake.
‘Cake! Good-ee!’ shouted Fanny loudly. ‘We are not allowed to eat it at home any more.’
‘Dada doesn’t like it,’ added Harriet sagely.
‘It’s just with the situation at the moment,’ Henrietta tried to explain. ‘He feels that we must not be wasteful or indulgent.’
‘Don’t worry, these days we rarely have such things either,’ Elizabeth admitted. ‘But having you and the girls come to visit gives me a chance to be hospitable.’
‘Well, we very much appreciate the invitation,’ Henrietta replied, helping herself to a scone and some jam.
‘Besides, it is nice for me to have a little company while my husband is away. He and Reverend Caulfield have travelled to London to appeal for assistance on behalf of this district,’ she explained. ‘Richard intends to talk to people at the highest level. He is hopeful of an opportunity to meet Charles Trevelyan and convince him of the urgent necessity for government intervention and support for immediate relief efforts.’
‘Well, I pray that their mission is successful.’
‘All our prayers are with them!’
Henrietta looked enviously around the neat drawing room, which was a haven of peace. There were shelves filled with books, a piano, and Elizabeth’s embroidery hoop lay on a side table.
‘Do you embroider?’ her host asked, following Henrietta’s gaze.
‘No, I am afraid that I am all fingers and thumbs.’
‘At night I find it relaxing to sit by the fire and embroider while Richard writes his sermons or does some parish work.’
The children, curious, had ventured over to the piano.
‘Do the girls play?’
‘No, I’m afraid we don’t have one,’ she told her regretfully.
‘Richard and I both play a little.’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘I find that music is good for the soul.’
Elizabeth crossed the room to the instrumen
t and demonstrated to Harriet and Fanny how to play a few notes. She encouraged Harriet to sit at the piano stool and guided her in touching the keys gently to produce a scale. Delighted, the girls played away. Their playing was tuneless but their enjoyment was evident as they ran their fingers up and down the black and white keys.
Jane came into the room with more tea. She was a pretty little thing, not more than fifteen years old, with fair hair and a pert nose.
‘Will I bring more cake, ma’am?’
‘Yes, please. Finely cut for my young guests.’
Jane nodded and left the room.
‘Although she is young, she is proving to be a fine maid,’ Henrietta’s host confided. ‘And Kate, our cook, is happy to have young Jane here to assist her.’
On her return, the maid offered to take baby Margaret and the children for a while so that the two women could talk in peace about their plan to ask the wives of the committee members and other friends to consider a clothing appeal. The baby settled happily in Jane’s arms as she shepherded the other girls down to the kitchen.
‘I have already unearthed almost a box of clothes that neither Richard nor I need any longer, which we intend to donate,’ Elizabeth began.
‘I found two coats – one of mine and one of my husband’s – and a boys’ jacket, some clothes from our son Daniel that I can give, and I’m sure I have some warm stockings and a dress or two that the girls no longer need, and three pairs of sturdy boots.’
‘Well done, Henrietta, for I’m sure that, like many large families, most of the clothes get passed down between the children, much as my own parents did.’
‘Mostly, but I still managed to find a few items that hopefully will be useful. And I’m intent on finding more.’
The Hungry Road Page 10