July 1847
‘MAMMY!’ SCREAMED NORA AND TIM, RUNNING ACROSS THE FIELDS AS fast as their legs would carry them. ‘Mammy, the men are coming! The ’viction men are coming!’
Mary could see the upset and fear in their eyes.
‘They were up at Learys’ cottage,’ Nora panted, coming to a stop.
‘We saw them batter their door and pull down the thatch roof,’ added Sarah.
Mary tried to control the trembling that overcame her body.
‘Run and get your father,’ she told them. ‘As quick as you can. He’s up in the woods with the boys.’
It would be only a few minutes before the landlord’s eviction gang reached their cottage, and she was sick to her heart at the thought of what to say or do.
Frantic, she began to put things in order. She folded up into a sacking bag whatever food they had left, along with spoons and a knife or two, and a pot with tin mugs and bowls. She hid them in the corner.
Over the past few days, she and John had discussed over and over again how this might come to pass. Despite his misgivings, she had hoped naively that they would not face such disaster.
Quick as a flash she saw them come – ten, maybe twelve of them, in a group, surrounding the cottage and trampling over her young cabbages. Some she recognized: James Murphy, Denis Carmody and his younger brother, Sean, who had the reputation of being a powerful fighter; the others burly strangers bearing sticks and cudgels. George Hogan was at their head.
‘Sullivan,’ they shouted. ‘Sullivan!’
Mary pulled her shawl around her and stood at the door to face them.
‘I’m Mary Sullivan,’ she said coldly. ‘My husband is not here at present but is due back.’
‘We have orders to follow, Mrs Sullivan, from your landlord and his agent,’ George Hogan boomed, his long and narrow face serious as he gazed around him, taking in the well-cared-for cottage and her vegetable patch. ‘Any tenants behind in their rent must leave their dwellings and the holdings that they have occupied.’
Just as he finished speaking, John arrived with the children behind him. Relief flooded over her as he came and stood protectively beside her.
‘What is your business here, Mr Hogan?’ John asked.
‘I have orders to clear these holdings today, Mr Sullivan. My employer has been patient for far too long with unpaid rent monies, but now seeks the return of his property.’
‘You know well that not a man in this district could pay his rent with the hunger,’ he stated firmly. ‘I promise you that when the crops return and the land is fertile again, Sir William will have his full rent. But we can only offer you a part payment this day. The Sullivans have always been good tenants here. You know that well, Mr Hogan.’
The overseer barely acknowledged John’s words.
‘Give me a chance to pay the rent,’ John continued. ‘It may take a while but every penny and shilling will be returned to you.’
Mary could see a frown crease the man’s brow.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Sullivan. The decision has been made that this area is to be cleared and tenants moved off Sir William’s estate and properties.’
‘We will not give up this place,’ John said loudly, his temper rising. ‘You cannot put us off these fields and land, for we have earned them with our labour. You have no right to do such a thing.’
‘You are wrong, Mr Sullivan. A legal eviction order has been issued for this property and holding.’
‘There is no justice when a scrap of legal paper declares this land can be held for eternity by a man who cares not a whit for it or those that work it!’ John said contemptuously.
‘My advice is for you and your family to go quietly and cause no trouble here. Pack up any of your belongings and leave this place.’
‘Leave our home, our land?’
‘The land agent, Mr Marmion, is a fair man and arrangements have been agreed with the Union workhouse for payments to be made for tenants agreeing to enter there.’
‘You would put my wife and children and me in the workhouse?’ John shouted, unable to control his anger any longer. ‘We who have done nothing wrong but try to feed our children? With not even a penny of help or as much as a bag of grain from our landlord, I may remind you.’
Mary could see Mr Hogan growing uncomfortable and one or two of the men looked shamefaced, but he continued with the job he had been sent to do.
‘Otherwise, for all tenants giving up their holding, there is an offer of paid passage on ships to North America.’
‘Leave our home, our land and our country? What choice is that?’
Mary swallowed hard, trying to control her impulse to scream and kick at the men.
‘Do not cause trouble, Mr Sullivan,’ George Hogan warned again.
‘What kind of man do you think I am, Hogan? I will not give up our holding.’
With that, John grabbed his wife’s arm and beckoned for the children to follow as he stepped back inside the cottage. He closed the door behind them firmly and put on the iron bolt.
‘Don’t be a fool, man!’ Mary could hear the exasperation in Hogan’s voice on the other side of the door. ‘Step outside.’
John, Con and Tim blocked the window quickly with the wooden pallet and pushed the settle bed against the doorway. The girls stood by, terrified. John and the boys braced themselves, ready to hinder the group of men for as long as they were able.
‘We Sullivans will not go from here easy and give up what is ours without a fight,’ he told the children as the men began to push and rush against the door, pummelling the wood. ‘Do you understand?’
The words had barely left his lips when the wood began to splinter and crack, gaping as sticks and heavy shoulders pushed at it.
‘Hold firm!’ he urged as Mary and the boys used all their strength to resist the attack, trying to push the settle bed back against the men while Nora, Sarah and Annie stood at the window.
Despite their best efforts, the settle bed was shoved backwards and, with a mighty bang, the cottage door gave way. At the same time, over their heads, men began to strip the thatch from the roof.
Poor Annie began to scream, petrified.
‘Shush, shush,’ said Nora, taking her little sister in her arms.
Dear God, they were going to pull and tumble the place down around them.
John and the boys pushed hard against what remained of the door, trying to hold back the men, but they were no match for the might of the group. Mary braced herself as five of the men entered the cottage. Part of the roof was already open to the sky as she and the three girls managed to flee outside. John pushed against Sean Carmody, telling him to leave the place for this was no fight of his, and earned a few punches in the stomach and ribs for his trouble.
‘Leave my father alone,’ Con shouted at them angrily, his eyes blazing.
Hogan entered the cottage and gave a signal to the men to stop.
Annie whimpered like a little puppy as John and the three boys appeared slowly, standing in front of the battered wall and door.
‘Former tenants of Sir William Wrixon Becher if not entering the Union,’ Hogan announced, ‘may avail themselves of fully paid passage to Liverpool or North America. Tickets for those wishing to travel will be issued at the shipping office in either Baltimore, for those who wish to make the long journey, or Queenstown in the coming days and weeks.’
John said nothing and stared blankly out over the fields.
‘My employer has generously agreed an amount with the shipping agents, who have a complete list of our tenants,’ Hogan continued. ‘My advice, Mr Sullivan, is that you and your wife and family avail yourselves of this good offer, for we will not tolerate tenants remaining on this property or attempting to stay on these lands. You and your children cannot remain here. Is that clear?’
Mary’s breath caught in her throat, but she would not give Hogan and his men the satisfaction of seeing her break down and cry.
‘Is that clear?’ the overseer repeated.
‘Yes,’ John said, meeting his gaze directly. ‘This injustice, this act of putting my family from land that we Sullivans have tended all our lives, will be remembered, Mr Hogan. I promise never will it be forgotten.’
Mary could see an angry purple blush blaze against the overseer’s cheek.
Behind him, a few of the younger men had pulled every last bit of thatch from the cottage roof and broken the roof supports. They had knocked the chimney so that their home now lay ruined, open to the sky and elements.
‘You must leave this place today,’ Hogan ordered. ‘Are you agreed?’
‘There is nothing left for us here,’ John replied bitterly. ‘You have made sure of that.’
‘Is it to be the Union or the road to Cork, or wherever? It is not my concern where you go once you leave this place.’
‘Passage,’ interrupted John. ‘We will take assisted passage for my family to sail to North America.’
‘A sensible decision,’ pronounced Mr Hogan, relieved that his business was done. ‘Passage will be arranged for you and your good wife and children to sail from Baltimore. I believe that I have a list of all your names.’
They watched as he mounted his horse and turned to ride away, the rest of the men following in his wake.
Mary felt like a wet rag as they disappeared. Sarah and Jude looked at her, wide-eyed and scared.
‘You are coming to America with us,’ she reassured them both. ‘You know that we are your family now.’
She ran her eyes over the broken and battered cottage. Her marital home, her children’s home; Sullivans’ Cottage, where John had spent his boyhood. Soon they would be gone from it and rain and wind, weeds and wildlife would claim it. She was heartbroken at the thought of the children never playing in the surrounding fields again.
Slowly, she went around and gathered up the few things they had. The precious vegetable patch had been trampled, her young cabbages and turnips all but destroyed underfoot. She did her best to salvage what she could, for they still had to eat.
A tearful Brigid and Denis came to say goodbye to them with their children.
‘There’s nothing left for us here,’ proclaimed Denis. ‘We are going to my brother’s place in Tipperary. He’s an old bachelor and we are hoping he would not see us on the roads.’
‘God bless you all,’ Mary said, embracing her friend for the last time.
‘We’d best be leaving too, and get on the road to Baltimore,’ John said quietly. ‘We cannot stay here.’
Without a word, Con went up to his father and hugged him, burying his head in his chest. Eight-year-old Tim stood in front of the cottage with his feet apart, taking it all in.
‘I want to remember every stone and every bit of straw and every blade of grass in this place,’ he said solemnly. ‘I want to make a picture of it so I will never ever forget it.’
John went and took a few small bits of stone that had come off the fireplace and doorway and handed him one.
‘Tim, you will always have this place and the memory of it,’ he told him. ‘We all will. No one can take that from us.’
Mary reached for John and held him close. She noticed him wince with pain but he assured her that he was fine.
‘We’d best get on the road,’ he said gently, pushing back a lock of hair that had fallen across her face. ‘My darling girl, ’tis time for us to go …’
At the end of the road, hand in hand, they turned and looked back, knowing full well that they would never see this place again.