by Charles Egan
The two women were alone with Brigid when Winnie’s waters broke. Eleanor was taken by surprise, and from the condition of Winnie, she knew there was little time.
Desperate, she brought Winnie to the bed in the back room. Through the window, she noticed a young lad walking. She went to the door and called him inside.
‘Mícheál isn’t it?’
The lad nodded, a look of puzzlement on his face. She poured a cup of buttermilk.
‘Here, get this inside yourself.’ She put a farthing alongside.
‘I want you to run up to Kilduff for me. You know Sabina Ryan?’
He nodded again.
‘You’re to talk to her direct, no one else. Tell her Winnie has a baby coming. Tell her she’s to come right away, and bring the midwife with her.’
The rest of the buttermilk was gulped down, and he was gone.
Sabina arrived, accompanied by the midwife.
‘That was sharp of you,’ Sabina said, ‘telling me not to come down without Siobhán here. Did you think I’d not have sense to work that one out for myself?’
‘Who knows?’ Eleanor said. ‘I thought you were wet-nursing’ she said to the midwife.
‘So I am, but midwifing too since my husband died.’
‘Died?’
‘Fever. Not that the rest of us are much better with the hunger.’
There was a scream from the back room. The midwife went in.
Eleanor filled a small pot with water and swung it out over the fire, waiting impatiently until it boiled. She brought it inside with a towel. She sat down, holding Winnie’s hand.
‘Push, Winnie. Push.’
Another scream.
Brigid was crying in the kitchen. ‘Don’t worry,’ Sabina said, ‘I’ll look after her.’
For an hour, the struggle went on. Eleanor stayed, mopping Winnie’s brow with cold water. She was thinking now of Nessa’s death. All this time she had thought it ridiculous. She had thought Winnie was too strong. Now she no longer knew.
Then it was over. Deftly Siobhan cut the umbilical cord, slapped the baby’s bottom, and there was a wailing sound. She placed the baby in Winnie’s arms. A son. Winnie tried to smile, but could not. But Eleanor knew the worst was over and that Winnie would live, and Luke had a son.
For some time, Winnie continued very weak. For the first day, Eleanor fed her with buttermilk, sometimes with broken brown bread mixed through. Sometimes she gave her mashed potatoes. Over the days though, Winnie started to eat more solid food.
At first Siobhan had come around once a day to feed the baby, but as Winnie’s strength increased, she took over. Eleanor was relieved. Yes, Winnie would live, and she would recover her strength.
During this time, Kitty came to Carrigard every few days. The first day she went to the back room to see Winnie.
‘I know, I’ve heard all about it. You’re to get better now, do you hear me?’
Winnie nodded weakly.
Kitty took the baby from the cot. ‘What are you calling him?’
‘We don’t know yet. Liam we were thinking of.’
‘And a nice name it is too.’
The baby had begun to cry, but Kitty rocked him, singing softly. Winnie recognised the tune at once.
‘Mná na hÉireann,’ she exclaimed. Women of Ireland.
‘Yes,’ said Kitty, ‘and we might as well get the little mite used to women and to music. We’ll have him singing before he can talk. Now you’ll want to sleep.’
Winnie flopped back into the pillows.
Kitty took the baby out to the kitchen, still singing. Eleanor was playing with Brigid on the bed in the outshot. Brigid spotted Kitty.
‘Kitty,’ she cried.
She saw the baby, and started to cry.
‘I think someone here is very jealous,’ Eleanor said. ‘Aren’t you Brigid?’
She tickled Brigid’s toes.
Kitty’s reaction to Winnie’s baby was more nuanced. Winnie was her friend, and Luke’s wife, but Kitty had been Luke’s lover. Now Winnie had his baby.
She herself only had Fergus, and no wish to have any of his babies. But still, they all had Brigid, and their ambitions for her future.
And Winnie would have her own ambitions for Liam, though that would be in another country.
‘I’m hoping they have good schools in America,’ Eleanor said.
‘They’ll need to,’ Winnie responded, ‘or else I’ll want to know why not. I wonder are they bringing in government schools in America.’
‘Maybe they are,’ Kitty answered, ‘but will you have to pay for them? That’s the question, isn’t it?’
Eleanor waited some days. When she was sure of Winnie’s recovery, she asked Michael to write a note to Winnie’s family. In it, he simply stated that Winnie had a son called Liam, and that she and the rest of the family were well.
He wrote another letter to Sarah in Westport. At first he had been uncertain whether he should do this, but Eleanor convinced him that if Sarah was not part of the family yet, she soon would be.
The next time Pat arrived, Winnie was fully recovered. Though it was late at night, she had been feeding the baby, and he was still awake. She stood as Pat entered.
‘Your first nephew, Pat.’
Pat observed the crinkled face.
‘And he looks a Ryan too,’ Eleanor said. ‘Look at that nose – you take your nose after your Uncle Pat, alanna, do you know that?’
Winnie handed the baby to Pat, who drew back in astonishment, but finally took him.
He sat beside the table, holding the baby on his lap.
‘I must tell Sarah about this little fellow.’
‘No need,’ Winnie said, ‘your father has already written to her.’
‘He has? And he never wrote to me.’
‘Sure what need was there,’ Michael said. ‘We knew you’d be through soon enough.
Eleanor placed buttermilk and brown bread beside Pat. He handed the baby back to Winnie and started to eat.
When he was finished, Michael tapped him on the shoulder. ‘I want a word with you.’
Both men stepped outside. It was a starlit night, the stars over the Mountain showing through the bare branches of the ash trees, quivering slightly in a gentle breeze.
‘What’s this I hear about the Union working on road contracts?’ Michael asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Pat. ‘It wouldn’t be my office anyhow.’
‘They’re undercutting us,’ Michael said angrily. ‘How do you think the County fellows are going to react to that? I’ll tell you what they’ll do. They’ll take our contracts away, that’s what they’ll do. They can’t afford to spend anything now, why would they go on paying us for stone and labour when they can get the stone from the Workhouse with no charge for labour at all.’
‘I thought you had a contract, father.’
‘We do. A three year contract. Runs from April of 1845.’
‘But won’t they renew?’
‘The devil they will. They wrote me, said they were bankrupt, couldn’t afford our charges and asked us to revise them. The old ones that we had, and the ones that Bensons had before they emigrated, and that’s where the second problem is. Bensons never had a written contract. We thought they had. So they can drop both contracts. And that’s what they’ll do.’
Pat was staring at the Mountain, remembering nights when he could see lights right across it. Weak enough perhaps, but on dark nights they could be seen. How many houses were there then? How many were there now? The lights around Gort-na-Móna – they had all disappeared.
‘I’ll tell you what, father, I’ll talk to Voisey. He’ll know about roads contracts.’
‘Will you do that so? Because one way or another, we need the cash. Sure, you bring enough and Luke sends it too, but damn it, Pat, a man must have some pride, some way of earning his own keep. And God knows your work in the Union is well paid, but how long will that last?’
Pat returned to Knockanure Wor
khouse. As he walked to the Administration block, he saw two lines of young girls coming out of the Industrial School. They were unnaturally quiet. A young woman was watching them as they walked back towards the dormitories. When they had entered, the woman came back towards the School. She nodded as she passed by Pat.
‘Excuse me,’ Pat said quickly.
She turned around. ‘Yes?’
‘I thought all the teaching stopped a year or two back.’
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘But this is a special group. They’re all orphans.’
‘Orphans!’ Pat exclaimed.
‘Most of them. Or just abandoned. Either their parents are dead, or disappeared, or just don’t want to know, who knows. So they’re sending them to the colonies.’
‘The colonies?’
‘Port Phillip Bay. Somewhere in Australia. Colony of New South Wales, I believe.’
‘A convict colony so?’
‘Who knows? Some Lordship in England thought it all up. There’s too many men in the colonies, and too many girls in Irish Workhouses. Stands to reason, doesn’t it?’
‘I don’t know,’ Pat said. ‘Shipping them off to marry convicts…’
‘They’re not all convicts, you know,’ she said. ‘That’s what they’re telling me anyhow.’
‘Ticket-of-leave men so?’
‘Perhaps.’
They walked on towards the school.
‘So what’s this all got to do with schooling?’ Pat asked.
‘Seems the settlers want the girls to be trained. Some very basic arithmetic and reading before they go. Two to twelve times tables maybe, though I’m not sure how much we’ll manage. They want them to have domestic training too. Domestic servants. Biddys, if you like. No point in sending them to other side of the world if they can’t get work.’
‘That’s a hard life for anyone,’ Pat said.
‘Better than starving here in County Mayo, isn’t it?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Anyhow, you’re very curious. What business is it of yours?’
‘I work in accounts. They expect me to watch costs.’
‘I wouldn’t worry,’ she said. ‘My wages won’t bankrupt the Union.’
‘I don’t know,’ Pat said. ‘Money is tight enough as it is.’
‘Well, once we get these girls away, it will help your accounts, no end. There’s not many will return, that’s for certain.’
The next day, Pat was called to the Guardians Meeting. For some time, he went through the accounts. As he spoke, the tension in the room increased. When he had finished, they questioned him on the figures.
At last, Clanowen brought up the subject of the Port Phillip Scheme.
‘That will be all,’ Voisey whispered to Pat.
Pat returned to his office.
An hour later, Voisey entered.
‘You did well there, Pat.’
‘Thanks, Mr. Voisey.’ He decided to press further. ‘I just wanted to ask you about this Port Phillip scheme. I met a young lady this morning. She said she was teaching here. I guess her salary will be additional now?’
‘Indeed it will,’ Voisey said. ‘We’ll be employing her for six months to give the girls basic literacy. Five shillings a week, she’s earning, with food and lodging. But in the long run, the Port Phillip scheme will save us a vast amount of money.’
‘I’d hope so,’ Pat said.
‘Yes, it’s something that’s been on my mind, ever since you first pointed out to me how close we were to the edge. Every time you go through the accounts with the Guardians, it alarms them.’
‘But this Port Phillip…?’
‘Ah yes,’ Voisey said. ‘That’s all to do with Earl Grey. He wrote to all the Irish Workhouses a few weeks back, and proposed we should select girls for the scheme. We’re intending on sending fifty girls out. They’ll be sailing before Christmas, God willing. They’ll work there as domestic servants.’
‘And save a lot of money here.’
‘Yes,’ Voisey said. ‘At least it will reduce the food and fuel bill, though I’m sure we’ll have enough new inmates to keep the pressure up.’ He glanced at the letters that Pat had been writing. ‘Keep some of the damned merchants happy too’
Pat was surprised. Voisey never used bad language. ‘And what about the boys?’ he asked.
‘They’re not part of the scheme,’ Voisey replied. ‘But we’ll be fostering out some of the younger ones around the county. It’s not so easy, though. There’s few enough families with the means to foster children. Some of them expect payment. They also have a strong liking for the very young – infants and the like, so it doesn’t reduce cost very much. But for the girls, the idea of sending them to the colonies seems to be a better solution for them.’
He leaned over to see what Pat was working on.
‘Still on accounts? He asked.
‘That, and correspondence. It’s the accounts that worry me.’
‘Yes, I know. We’ve been thinking a lot about your reports. The Guardians are most concerned. We decided to start bidding on road contracts around the county.’
‘I know. I’d heard of that?’
‘You had?’
‘Yes, my father told me about it. You’re bidding contracts around Carrigard. Father says it’s impossible to bid against you.’
Voisey looked at him in dismay.
‘I hadn’t known your father was working on road contracts, now that the Relief Schemes are finished.’
‘We always worked on road repair,’ Pat said. ‘We’ve a quarry on our land.’
‘I’m very sorry, but you can realise the position we’re in. The Workhouse is desperate for money. All your reports say so. There’s little I can do about it.’
‘I know,’ Pat said. ‘You’re doing what has to be done. I don’t blame you for it.’
Pat went to visit Sarah again, travelling first to Carrigard.
It was dark when he left the Workhouse, and raining heavily. There were still people huddled outside the Workhouse wall, hunkering down under rough shelters or carts.
He pulled the collar of his greatcoat up and pulled his hat down, but the rain dripped down on his nose, and within a mile, his trousers were soaked through.
When he reached Carrigard, his mother wrapped him in a blanket by the fire, and hung up his clothes to dry.
Next morning he left early for Westport.
It was still raining as he left, but before he reached Castlebar the sun was out, and by the time he reached the town, his greatcoat was dry. He walked down the Green, watching the soldiers march and counter-march. Then past the Workhouse, with the usual crowd outside it.
It had begun to rain.
At Ballymacrath he saw the first body of the day. It was just visible up a side boreen, two feet sticking out of the drain, but no boots. He knew from the condition of the feet and ankles that the dogs had already been there. He walked on.
At Islandeady he came to the remains of an eviction. He saw the ruins of many houses on the side of the road and further back. He could see men, women and children trying to pull timber out of the houses. In the open field were two timber shacks made from the ruins of rafters that had already been half burnt. Inside, he could see children lying on the ground. The timber was not enough to keep the rain out.
There was a family sitting beside one of the ruined houses, on the roadside.
‘What happened?’ Pat asked.
‘Sir Roger Palmer,’ the woman answered listlessly. ‘He’s trying to prove he’s as good an Exterminator as Lord Lucan.’
Pat shook his head in despair, and left the ruins behind him.
At Westport Workhouse, he was recognised. The gate was opened by one inmate while two other inmates with sticks drove back any of the crowd who tried to follow him.
As he entered the office, he saw the Clerk at his desk. Sarah was on a high seat, sitting at a high sloping desk against the wall behind the door.
‘See who’s here, Sarah?
’ the Clerk said.
Sarah looked around. She jumped, and stumbled off the stool. Quickly Pat caught her. She recovered and threw her arms around him. ‘Pat! Oh God…’
‘Sure you knew I was coming, didn’t you?’
‘But sneaking in on me like that!’
‘How else could I sneak in?’
They both sat at the Clerk’s desk as he went to the corridor, and called for tea. He came back in.
‘Well, what news have ye?’ Sarah asked.
‘Ye heard about Winnie’s baby.’
‘I did,’ Sarah said. ‘Didn’t your father write to me?’
‘Indeed. Well that’s the news and…Oh, father’s mad at me.’
‘But why?’
‘The Union at Knockanure. They’re bidding contracts on the roads around Carrigard…’
‘But how can they do that?’ the Clerk asked. ‘Aren’t the Relief Works over?’
‘Maybe so, but they’re calling them road repairs now. They’re paying for yearly maintenance. And they’re paying the inmates almost nothing. So anything father can bid, he can be undercut.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Sarah said.
‘I wouldn’t worry too much,’ the Clerk said, ‘they’ll cut back on that soon enough.’
‘Why’s that?’ Pat asked.
‘No new contracts. The county and the baronies are as near bankrupt as the Unions.’
‘But you’re still breaking stones.’
‘And why not. We might have call for them, whenever they start building and repairing roads again. Anyhow, it gives them something to do, doesn’t it? It is a Workhouse, you know.’
An inmate came in with cups of tea on a tray, carefully placing them on the Clerk’s desk. He went out without a word.
‘We’ve news for you too,’ Sarah said.
She passed a page over to Pat.
‘Danny!’ he exclaimed. ‘Now what the devil does he want?’
‘We’d written to him,’ the Clerk explained. ‘Asked if he’d like to take more men for the railways.’
Pat read through the letter. ‘Seems a certain ‘no’.’
He looked up at the Clerk. ‘I wonder why this should be.’
‘Haven’t you heard?’ the Clerk replied. ‘There’s a desperate collapse in the markets in England. The railway companies are in a terrible state. Some of them are even bankrupt. One way or another, they’re stopping contracts all over the country.’