December 1846
DAN GAZED OUT THE WINDOW OF THE OFFICE BESIDE THE MILL. THE crowds below, like pale ghosts, struggled in the snow and icy conditions to reach the soup kitchen.
‘God help them, for this is the worst winter in my memory!’ Henry Marmion lamented as the relief committee gathered for its regular Monday meeting.
‘It is hard to believe that we are already feeding between a thousand and fifteen hundred people a day,’ reported John Clerke, the bank manager. ‘The costs, as you can imagine, are enormous, and the numbers taking the soup continue to grow. We have decided to issue tickets that are to be used at different times of the day, which will make controlling such large numbers easier. Reverend Trench has also asked us to order two more boilers. Fortunately, we are receiving donations from generous-hearted Englishmen and a few charitable organizations, but we still need to raise far more money if we are to continue …’
The rest of the committee nodded in agreement.
‘We must congratulate Reverend Townsend on his successful visit to London, which has already borne fruit.’ Thomas Somerville smiled. ‘The food depot in town has just opened and will remain open three days a week, while all other depots are to remain closed until after Christmas.’
‘Reverend Caulfield and I did our best to inform those whom we met of the terrible conditions that prevail here,’ Reverend Townsend admitted modestly. ‘We had a good hearing with Mr Trevelyan, but he gave us little indication of his thoughts. However, his recent decision to divert a portion of the money due to Ceylon to aid the destitute here instead is most welcome. Apparently, the Queen has also indicated her intention to write a letter of appeal in the coming weeks to raise funds for her starving subjects.’
‘We are very appreciative, Reverend,’ thanked the chairman. ‘You have done much to help the cause of Skibbereen and her people.’
Two days later, as he was about to leave the dispensary, Dan was appalled to see at least three hundred starving men from the roadworks out by Lisheen, marching along the street in the freezing snow, demanding payment for their work. Most were severely emaciated, shivering with the cold and begging like some spectral army.
‘Issue them each with a ticket for the soup kitchen,’ he ordered the dispensary clerk, as he led the men to the mill where they were admitted immediately and served a pint of warm soup and a large portion of bread.
The local Board of Works commissioner and his man finally appeared and tried to appease the men with the promise of payment in a few days’ time.
‘They should hang their heads in shame,’ Tim McCarthy Downing sighed as they watched the commissioner try to squirm his way out of responsibility for the men’s poor treatment.
‘It’s the bureaucracy and ineptitude of those running the scheme that is to blame!’ Dan raged, unable to hide his anger.
On the recommendation of Dan’s cousin Michael Galwey, Nicholas Cummins, a justice of the peace from Cork, had asked if he could accompany Dan on a few visits to his patients. He wanted to assess the true state of affairs in West Cork and, if necessary, report on it.
‘Dr Donovan, I have heard stories of terrible deprivation among the people here, which if they were true shame our government and officials,’ he explained. ‘Yet others say such claims are exaggerated. It behoves those of us in a position of influence to make our own investigation of such matters.’
‘I have my rounds to do, Mr Cummins. You are welcome to come with me,’ agreed Dan, ‘but I must remind you that my duty is to my patients.’
It was clear that Nicholas Cummins was well intentioned, for only the day before he had visited the little village of South Reen.
‘I brought loaves of bread for the people but the place seemed deserted. I went into what appeared an empty cabin only to discover six skeletons lying on the floor. I presumed the family were dead, until I heard moaning.’ His voice began to shake. ‘They were all sick with fever, Dr Donovan, and it was the same in one cabin after another.’
‘It is a frightening thing to see,’ Dan sympathized, ‘but I’m afraid fever is rampant.’
‘Then a gang of nearly two hundred starved, crazed creatures appeared, grabbing at me and pulling at my clothes. I tell you, I was lucky to escape them!’
Dan could see Mr Cummins was still deeply shocked by what he had seen.
As they walked around Skibbereen, Dan pointed out the corpse of a girl that had been dragged out of a cabin and into the street by her sick mother. It lay there, half covered with stones.
‘She will be buried later in Abbeystrewery,’ he reassured the justice of the peace.
They visited cabin after cabin of the sick and dying, finally stopping at one near the town’s cavalry station. Dan warned Mr Cummins to stay at the door. Inside, seven people lay together under a cloak, a young man among them already dead, but the others near death and too weak to move.
‘I will arrange to transfer the sick to the fever sheds in the workhouse,’ Dan said quietly as he came back outside, for he could see his companion was deeply upset.
‘I had never imagined such things in a Christian country,’ Mr Cummins declared fervently as Dan finished his rounds. ‘It’s disgraceful and shames us that people are left to suffer like this. But I promise you, doctor, that I will endeavour to alert those in a position of influence to the horrific state of affairs here.’
Much to the surprise of the committee, only a few days before Christmas they received a visit from the Assistant Commissary-General, Mr Inglis.
‘He’s been sent by Randolph Routh himself to meet with us and to help us organize a plan for the relief of Skibbereen,’ explained Thomas Somerville.
Mr Inglis could not hide his dismay at the scenes that greeted him, not only at the soup kitchen but on every street corner and lane. The committee members were more than pleased when, before his departure, he pledged eighty-five pounds towards the running of the soup kitchen, as it was the first government assistance they had received!
Henrietta begged Dan to take Christmas Day off at least and spend it with his family.
‘What of my patients?’ he protested. ‘I can’t leave them.’
‘You must rest,’ she insisted. ‘Or you will fall ill!’
They had celebrated the birth of Jesus at a crowded mass, which many of his patients also attended. Excited, the children had fun outside in the snow with some friends and neighbours, before they returned home for their Christmas meal.
Dan stretched out in front of the fire as they played some new board and card games with the children, and read a few chapters of Mr Dickens’ wonderful new book.
‘Look at this.’
He called Henrietta over to read a long letter that had been published on the front page of The Times on Christmas Eve. Nicholas Cummins had kept his word and had written to the Duke of Wellington. He had told in great detail of his harrowing visit to Skibbereen and implored the duke, in the name of the starving thousands, to break the frigid and flimsy chain of etiquette and save the land of his birth, and the paper had published it in full!
‘That letter must have caused quite a stir at many a Christmas table,’ Henrietta mused. ‘For Mr Cummins requested that a copy of it also be given to the Queen.’
Dan smiled and began to re-read the piece. ‘This one voice can say more than a thousand.’