The Hungry Road

by Marita Conlon-McKenna

  ‘The men cannot work in such conditions,’ Dan said, getting down. ‘You can see how poorly clad they are. I am the Union physician and I am telling you that these men will meet their end if they continue to stand in the water like that. Tell them to come out. This is no work for such men in this weather.’

  ‘If they want to get paid their eight pennies they will work,’ the foreman replied stubbornly.

  The men could hear the argument but kept their heads low, not wanting to cause a disturbance.

  ‘I order you to take these men from the water immediately,’ Dan countered firmly. ‘I will check on them on my way home.’

  The uselessness of the situation assailed him, as did the absolute folly of the public works. He had protested about them so much already and this despicable display of lunacy would no doubt cost lives.

  He turned into the avenue leading to the McCarthys’ home. The maid showed him to the drawing room where McCarthy greeted him and offered him a warm drink.

  ‘Did you see the men working down at the lough?’ the doctor demanded of his host.

  ‘Aye, they’ve been working there these past two months on a public works scheme to improve the lough.’

  ‘Are you telling me that these men have been working that long in this terrible snow and the cold?’

  ‘Yes, I protested to the county supervisor, Mr Treacy, and Major Parker,’ McCarthy said angrily, ‘but to no avail. Wrixon Becher is the landlord here and owns most of the land around the lough. Even this house of mine is part of Lord Carbery’s estate, so there is little I can do. Believe me, Dan, it upsets my wife and me to see them treated so.’

  ‘How is your good lady?’

  ‘To be honest, I am worried for her.’

  ‘Let me see her.’

  ‘She is upstairs. I’ll ask Peggy to tell her that you are here.’

  ‘I will see her upstairs if I may.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Peggy, the maid, led him up to the enormous bedroom, which was lavishly furnished and had a breathtaking view of Lough Hyne.

  Mary McCarthy sat at the window in a loose gown.

  ‘Dr Dan, thank you so much for coming all this way to see me. I feel foolish dragging you out here, but my husband insisted.’

  Dan could see immediately that Mary’s hands were swollen, as were her feet. She had a slightly puffy look about her, which some women develop in late pregnancy. But Mrs McCarthy was not that far along.

  ‘Will you sit on the bed and let me examine you?’ he asked politely. ‘Is there any sign of cough or fever?’

  ‘Of course. And no, my husband insists that I stay away from town lest I catch something.’

  ‘He is probably right, Mrs McCarthy. You have a lovely comfortable home here, where I believe you should rest.’

  ‘Rest?’

  ‘Your child is not due for another few months, but I think you should do little until it is time for your confinement, which may be a bit sooner than we expected. The baby is growing fast.’

  She sighed. ‘I feel like I am very big and heavy.’

  ‘I want you to get as much bed rest as you can, here at home. No gallivanting into town or carriage rides,’ he said sternly.

  ‘Yes,’ she mumbled. ‘I will stay home.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, satisfied.

  He did not want to say anything more at this stage, but he was concerned by her size. He worried that either there was something amiss with the baby or that there was the possibility that she could be carrying twins.

  ‘I will visit you again in two or three weeks.’

  ‘Thank you for coming, Dan. I know how busy you are with other, far more important things in town,’ she said, her blue eyes filled with gratitude.

  Back downstairs, over tea, Dr Donovan explained the situation to her worried husband and told him to ensure his wife had bed rest. He was to send for him immediately should there be any sudden change in her condition.

  Peggy offered Dan a plate of scones. He was not hungry but asked if she minded if he took one for later.

  ‘Take two,’ encouraged McCarthy. ‘You won’t get the like of them in the workhouse.’

  It began to sleet as Dan climbed into the trap and guided the horse slowly back down the avenue towards the lough, where the men were still working in the water. It was unbearable to watch.

  One poor fellow looked blue with the cold. Every vein on his skeletal frame stood out. His teeth were chattering and his entire body was overcome with shivers and shakes.

  ‘I told you to stop this work,’ Dan bellowed, approaching the foreman. ‘I will complain about the inhumane treatment of these men when I get to Skibbereen. Mark my words.’

  The foreman shrugged, uncaring.

  ‘These public works schemes are all due to shut down soon,’ Dan warned the bully of a man, ‘and your role here will be well remembered in the district.’

  The fellow grew visibly uncomfortable at Dan’s threat.

  ‘Get that man out of the water,’ Dan continued. ‘I am taking him with me, for he is too unwell to walk home. But first you must pay him for the work he has done.’

  Muttering and complaining as the other workers looked on, the foreman reluctantly tossed the man a few pennies.

  Dan helped his patient into the trap. He handed him the rough towel he kept for the horse and made him dry himself off with it then wrap the rug around his shivering body.

  The climb back towards the main road, away from the lake, was desperately steep and the horse struggled. Dan walked beside her, calmly urging her along the slippery surface. Heaven knew how the weak men managed to make such a trek after working all day down at the lough.

  The old man lived alone only a mile away. He neither spoke nor stirred the whole way home. There was not a scrap of clothing left in the small dirty cabin and so Dan left him with the warm rug from the trap, though he knew Henrietta would scold him over it. He also took out the scones and placed them near him.

  ‘Thank you, doctor,’ the man said weakly, his eyes welling with tears.

  ‘In a while, when you are warmed through and feel better, eat those, little by little,’ Dan ordered gently. ‘You must not return to that work. I will call to see you again in a day or two.’

  CHAPTER 56

  Oldcourt

  SINCE ELLEN CLANCY’S DEATH, MARY KEPT HERSELF TO HERSELF AS SHE worked on the road, and thought only of what she could buy with her hard-earned pennies. She pitied the old widow women who worked alongside her, as they grew weaker and frailer by the day.

  One of the men working nearby had collapsed. Denis Leary and a few of the other fellows tried to give him some water and a little bread to revive him, but their efforts came to nothing. The foreman ordered three of the men to lift the man’s body carefully on to one of the carts and to cover him with a bit of tarpaulin. He instructed two others to take him into town to the dispensary.

  Ten days later the foreman called the workers together to inform them that the public relief works scheme was ending. Come Monday there would be no more work for them.

  Mary’s heart sank at his words. The implications for her and her family were too terrible to contemplate.

  ‘We are willing to work,’ big Tom Corrigan shouted angrily. He was a six-foot-five giant of a man. Although he was lean, he could still swing a pickaxe higher and harder than anyone. ‘You cannot just dismiss us when we all have hungry mouths to feed. We have killed ourselves working for you.’

  ‘We need the work,’ Denis joined in. ‘We have families to feed.’

  ‘Who has decided it?’ called another voice from the crowd.

  ‘The British government has issued orders that all public relief schemes across Ireland are to end and I must follow such orders,’ the foreman informed them dispassionately.

  ‘Please, sir, let us work,’ cried one of the women. ‘Our children will starve.’

  ‘I’m sorry to impart such news,’ the foreman said, looking embarrassed at the tattered an
d exhausted motley group of workers before him, ‘but this is no decision of mine. I too must follow orders.’

  ‘We are willing to work,’ a few shouted. ‘Give us work!’

  ‘There is not the money to pay for further works,’ the payment clerk interrupted loudly, daring them to challenge him. ‘You will receive the wages due to you tomorrow but that is all, for officially this scheme is ended.’

  Angry, dissenting voices murmured their disapproval and upset.

  ‘Get back to work,’ threatened the foreman, ‘if you do not want to be docked a few hours’ pay.’

  As she walked home across the fields, Mary’s upset at such bad news gave way to a strange sense of relief that neither she nor John would have to undertake such terrible work on the roads. Far too many lives had already been lost over those paltry few brass coins. Surely there must be some other means and a better way for their family to survive.

  CHAPTER 57

  Creagh

  WITH THE RELIEF WORKS CLOSED, MARY WORRIED FOR HER FAMILY, FOR they now had little to eat. Two or three times a week they walked with the children to the small soup kitchen set up only a mile and a half away at the home of Reverend Caulfield, the church rector, and his wife. It made a huge difference to the Sullivans, for the children were far too weak and no longer able for the eight-mile round trip to Skibbereen to take the soup. Flor brought Molly in the rickety cart pulled by Smokey the donkey, as both her legs and feet had become strangely swollen and she could not walk far.

  ‘Little Annie can sit with me,’ Molly volunteered. ‘Poor Smokey is old like myself and not able for much of a load these days.’

  Some days they were fed and others they had to quell their disappointment, when too many families came and the soup ran out.

  John took the boys out hunting for any wild thing they might find or catch that could go in their pot. On one occasion he had killed a fat wood pigeon, using a stone in a sling he had fashioned, and she had plucked and cleaned the bird as she would have done one of their old hens.

  Each day, they foraged and hunted in the fields. Nearly every bush and hedge was picked clean, and there wasn’t a rabbit or hare to be found, or a bird’s nest to rob. They collected snails, which she boiled up with some herbs and salt water. Her stomach turned as she swallowed them, but they said nothing to the children who sniffed at them before eating them. All except Annie, who kept her mouth closed stubbornly in refusal.

  They dug up roots, which she boiled and mashed, and picked mushrooms and puffballs in the shady woods and young nettles.

  ‘But I want taties to eat,’ Annie whined.

  ‘Well, there is not a tatie to be had in the county, so you will have to make do with something else,’ she told her firmly. ‘Your grandfather Corny used to always say that nature’s bounty is there for the like of us.’

  Con and Tim had found a hedgehog hidden under a pile of leaves. John cut its throat and covered it in clay before they roasted it over the fire. It was fatty but the meat tasted a bit like rabbit.

  In desperation, they also fished in the river for little pinkeens, speckled trout and carp, even though the old heron had long since disappeared. They had little luck. At low tide they searched the rocks and pools for baby crabs, cockles and mussels, limpets and periwinkles, and gathered dulse, kelp and carrageen moss.

  Famished, Mary even resorted to digging up earthworms. She watched them wiggle as she washed and cut them, and put them in her pot. She prayed that they were safe to eat.

  But still the Sullivans grew hungry …

  CHAPTER 58

  ‘AWAY! AWAY!’ MARY SHOUTED.

  The mangy dog kept watching her as she tried to shoo it away with her broom. She could see it, sense it. A scrawny thing that insisted on hanging around. No doubt the mongrel was hungry, but there was little she could do about it. Every scrapeen of food they had was for them, not some cur of a dog that had appeared out of nowhere.

  But it kept showing up. As time went on, Mary hadn’t even the strength to chase it away.

  The family were growing weaker and weaker by the day. The watery gruel she heated up to feed the children simply passed through them, only filling their small stomachs momentarily.

  She kept a careful eye on the dog, making sure it did not come too near the house or the children. She feared it was just biding its time.

  The following day she spotted the animal further down the field, chewing on something. A bone. She had no idea where it had found it or from where it had dug it up. It turned and growled at her. The pit of her stomach turned in fear.

  ‘Go! Go! Off with ye!’ she screamed, but it continued to gnaw at its filthy bone.

  There wasn’t another creature to be seen – not even a fox, or a rabbit or a hare – and yet this dog was still here …

  There was nothing to put in the pot. Water, a bare handful of Indian meal, salt, and a few herbs and nettles to cook over the fire. What kind of a meal was that?

  Then she saw it. The dog had come nearer to the house than ever before, as bold and brazen as you like.

  Suddenly fearful, Mary grabbed the broom to chase it away, but as she did so the animal raised its snout. Growling, it bared its teeth, ready to attack and bite her. As she swung the broom, the beast jumped up and snarled, trying to grab at it with its teeth. She made contact with its head as hard as she could. Again and again, she struck the dog until it was still. Its tongue hung from its mouth in a small pool of blood, its eyes glazed over.

  She had killed it. Triumph filled her and a feeling of inexplicable joy took over her.

  Close up, it looked to be about two or three years old. Its head and paws were big but its body ill-fed. Still, it was a good size. Mary studied the animal further, wondering where she would bury it or how she would get rid of it before the children and John returned home. She went to lift it and was surprised at how heavy it still was. The weight of a lamb or a piglet … And then it came to her … She knew what to do.

  Mary dragged the animal’s lifeless body to the back of the cottage where John often worked, and laid it on a stone slab. She took a sharp knife and quickly began to skin it, removing its short coat deftly. She then opened it up and pulled out its entrails before cutting off its head, for she could not bear to see its sad eyes. She butchered it as she used to prepare their lambs, removing its paws instead of hooves and its long narrow tail.

  Meat still sat on its bones. Not a huge amount, but enough. She set about quartering it and then divided it into fleshy segments that she could manage.

  The smell of meat cooking filled the air as she stirred the boiling water and added a few herbs to the pot.

  The children sat around the turf fire, watching and waiting, and John returned with a bucket of water from the well.

  ‘What is it?’ he whispered, coming over to investigate.

  ‘A kid goat I found caught in the thorns out back, half dead,’ she lied.

  ‘Whose goat is it?’ asked Tim, curious.

  ‘I don’t know, but it was lucky for us that I found him before someone else came along.’

  Nora said nothing and sat staring into the fire.

  The meat was strong … and tough. It was much like mutton but they ate it slowly, spoonful by spoonful. Mary dared give only a little mouthful to Annie.

  ‘Only a small bit tonight,’ she warned the children. ‘For fear the taste of meat in your belly after so long will make you sick.’

  ‘It will not make me sick.’ Tim grinned, wanting some more.

  ‘You may have more tomorrow,’ she promised him.

  As she ate, she tried to push thoughts of the animal out of her head, knowing that the meat of the poor creature would somehow help them to survive.

  She cooked up more of the dog meat the next day and roasted one of its legs slowly over the fire.

  ‘Eating dog will do us no harm,’ John assured her once she had shared her secret with him. ‘A sailor once told me that in some far-off countries in the Orient they eat t
hem all the time.’

  ‘God preserve us!’

  ‘We will do what we have to. Anything to keep us from starving,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘If I had seen that dog, Mary, I tell you, I’d have killed him myself.’

  She had never expected to become so hard, so strong and determined. She may have a woman’s light touch with her needlework, but deep inside Mary knew that if the situation demanded it, she would fight like a wolf to protect those she loved.

  CHAPTER 59

  THE LAST OF THE DOG MEAT WAS GONE AND THE CHILDREN GREW weaker, whining and complaining of pains in their bellies much of the time. Mary couldn’t bear it, so, with an eagle eye, she searched their cottage for anything left to pawn or sell to buy meal.

  She bundled up the warm patchwork counterpane she had made for their marriage bed, which left them with only a grey blanket. She gathered up her only good dress, the pin-tucked dresses she had made for Nora and Annie, and John’s tweed waistcoat, and folded them up neatly to take into town.

  ‘Near everything we have is gone to that man!’ John shouted angrily as he watched her. ‘Hegarty and his like are robbing the people blind with the hunger and making money.’

  Skibbereen was busy, with beggars, hands outstretched looking for food or money. She pushed past them all and joined the short line outside Hegarty’s pawnbrokers. As the young couple ahead of her moved forward and put down their heavy load on the floor in front of the shop counter, Mary kept her eyes low.

  ‘The chair and footstool were made by a craftsman and are in perfect condition,’ the young man began.

  Mary could tell Hegarty was intrigued, but he feigned disinterest.

  ‘I have a warehouse of furniture. What am I to do with them?’

  ‘We have to sell them, for we are taking passage to America.’

  ‘Sir, we are not looking for a fortune, but we are here to sell them today,’ the young woman insisted.