HENRIETTA DONOVAN WAS MOVED AND UPSET BY THE GROUPS OF paupers who loitered constantly near her front door in the hope of seeing her husband. It had been the same scene every day since the hunger had come.
The hungry and sick were everywhere, flooding into town looking for work and food. They sought assistance from Dan as the Union’s physician: a ticket for a visit to the dispensary with a sick child or wife, or for Dan to visit them in person; a ticket to be employed on the public roadworks; or a pass to be admitted to the Union workhouse. Desperate people during this desperate time!
Henrietta worried as she watched her husband set off every morning, dressed in his usual frock coat and tall black hat, sporting his neat side whiskers, his countenance filled with concern for the care of his patients. She and the children scarcely saw him, as Dan worked longer and longer hours, returning home later and later every day.
She had tried to persuade him to move away from the area for the sake of their family. He was a renowned oculist who not only had papers published regularly in The Lancet and other medical journals, but also had patients travel to consult him on his medical expertise in the area of eye diseases. They came from as far away as Dublin and Galway as well as from overseas.
‘Dan, we could leave here and you could practise as an oculist in Dublin or Edinburgh, such is your reputation,’ she cajoled. ‘Or you could take up a position in one of the big city hospitals, for you are a skilled surgeon.’
‘Hetty, I have a rewarding position here,’ he reminded her. ‘And I have no intention of leaving it …’
At night, despite his tiredness, Dan sat at his desk for hours, writing his ‘Diary of a Dispensary Doctor’ and reporting truthfully on the state of affairs in the town and district. His accounts were now being published in the Southern Reporter and in other newspapers further afield. Henrietta was so proud of him and dearly hoped that his words would shame the authorities into providing the relief needed.
‘Why does Dada not care for us any more?’ puzzled Fanny, her brown eyes serious. She wore a tight little frown on her brow as she wondered what they had all done to upset him so.
‘Your dada does love you all so much,’ Henrietta tried to reassure her children. ‘It is just that he is kept very busy looking after the sick.’
‘And there are sick people everywhere,’ Ellen pronounced knowledgeably.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ her mother agreed.
‘That is why we cannot go out to play like before?’
‘Your father would prefer you to stay at home or play in the garden for the moment, until things improve.’
‘When will that be?’ Fanny pressed.
‘Soon,’ she tried to reassure them. ‘Soon.’
She too found it suffocating to spend so much time confined to their home, trying to teach the children and amuse them. Glad to escape the confines of New Street, she welcomed invitations to visit Dan’s relations. Visiting their country houses for afternoon tea or a walk in the nearby woods always cheered her. There, she could watch the children run and play and laugh and chase around like children should. For the most part, the youngsters of Skibbereen were now silent and quiet, all childhood fun and games for many banished by the hunger.
Of late, Dan had taken to entering their home via the back scullery door. He had requested that Henrietta or their maid, Sally, leave a clean shirt, waistcoat, topcoat and pair of shoes there for him to change into, following his visits to the decrepit cabins and cottages of his patients, which had become dens of effluent and human waste. She would watch as he removed his soiled and often foul-scented clothing meticulously, and washed and scrubbed his arms to the elbow in the scullery sink before re-dressing. A handsome man, he had always been a fastidious dresser, and took care of his appearance, with his starched white shirt and tailored top coat with its brass buttons and lined lapels.
On his return home, she felt Dan deserved the reward of a good meal after his work and endeavours throughout the day. He was partial to beef and so she tried to ensure it was served a few times a week. There were no potatoes for the present, but turnips, pastry, boiled onions and dumplings pleased him, followed by a pudding.
That evening there was beef and vegetable pie served with turnip, then an apple and raisin pudding, a favourite of his. Dan enjoyed the meal, but left the pudding untouched, and pushed the bowl away.
‘Is it not to your taste?’ she queried.
‘I fear that I do not have the stomach for it. Perhaps one of the children will take it.’
She passed the bowl to their eldest son, Henry, a growing boy who was certainly partial to pudding. It concerned Henrietta that her husband’s lack of appetite was perhaps a sign of some kind of illness.
‘Are you feeling unwell, Dan?’ she asked him in the drawing room, after the children were all in bed.
She was fearful that he might be developing a fever, like so many others in the town.
‘I am not ill,’ he reassured her, as if reading her mind. ‘It is just that I cannot countenance enjoying such a rich table while all around us the people are starving. It is abhorrent to me.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ she demanded, upset by him. ‘Empty our larder and pantry, and put the food and provision out on the street for the beggars to eat? Though I must remind you that we have a large family of our own that needs feeding … Our own flesh and blood, our children to care for.’
She could not hide her anger, for it was Dan who, despite her pleas to move away, insisted on remaining in Skibbereen so that he could minister to his patients and the people who thronged into the town.
‘My dear,’ he soothed. ‘I do not intend to upset you. There is no better mother who cares more for her family than you. It is just that, given the present circumstances that pertain in the district, it would be better if no pudding or cake were served with meals under this roof. I believe the food should be kept plain and nourishing with no lavish, rich or luxury ingredients. Good meals simply served for the family.’
Immediately, Henrietta felt contrite. She was ashamed that she herself had not thought of such a matter, given the scenes she witnessed daily on her own doorstep. She was in agreement with him.
‘Very well. I will instruct Sally and, if you wish, I will ensure that no more puddings and cakes will be served for the present,’ she promised, knowing full well that Dan would miss such delicacies more than the rest of the household. ‘No treacle pudding or slices of the ginger cake that you favour.’
She leaned over and kissed the worry line on his forehead that seemed to be there almost permanently these days, then his cheek and then his lips.
‘Sometimes I think that you are far too good for your own good,’ she teased him gently, ‘but I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
‘I know how hard it must be for you and the children with my work and the constant demands on my time.’
‘Dan, you are a doctor. I knew that when I married you and accepted what being a doctor’s wife means.’
‘But what is happening here is beyond any expectation!’ He sighed heavily.
Tears welled in her eyes unbidden as she remembered the early days of their marriage when they lived near the coastal village of Union Hall. Much happier times!
‘Hetty, you are an angel to put up with me,’ Dan said as he pulled her gently on to his lap. Tenderly, he wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘My own beloved angel.’