MARY STARED OUT AT HER FAMILY’S DEVASTATED LAND AND THE stinking acres all around them, unable to believe that such a calamity had befallen them again.
In the bright morning sunlight things looked worse. The foul stench still hung in the air, and the drills were filled with the rotting mass of stalks and potatoes where they had dug and laboured the previous day. How in God’s name would they survive this?
All night John had thrashed and turned beside her in the bed, restless yet exhausted. The children still lay asleep, curled up in their rough blankets like little mice.
Tears welled in Mary’s eyes as she surveyed everything the blight had taken from them. This time it had left them with nothing … Nothing to eat, sell, or pay their rent with. A deep fear at what lay ahead gripped her heart. She and John no longer had a purse of hidden money, nor even a penny or a shilling to call their own. Everything had depended on them raising this new potato crop.
She watched the smoke begin to curl from her neighbours’ chimneys as people began to rise and process the full extent of the catastrophe wreaked upon them. From what she could see, nobody had escaped the destruction of their crop.
John came outside to join her, gathering his thoughts as he assessed the damage.
‘If it is all across the county, I don’t know what we can do, for we are all ruined.’
‘We will manage somehow,’ she said, resting against him. ‘We are both strong and good workers. That has to count for something.’
‘It will count for nothing when the landlord sends his men for the rent, or when the children cry with hunger pains in their bellies.’
‘Don’t say such a thing!’
‘It is the truth.’ John sounded utterly forlorn.
In all the years she had loved him and slept beside him and borne his children, Mary had never heard such despair in his voice. Her husband was the one who usually rallied her when she felt low or worried, or was tired out from the children.
‘John Sullivan, I will not have you speak like that! We will do what we need to survive. I will not have us put out of this cottage and off the land, or see our children go hungry.’
His blue eyes held hers and she could tell he sensed her fury.
‘You are right. We must act quickly and make ready for the hungry months ahead. The Sullivans have always fought for this place, and I’ll not be the one to give it up to Wrixon Becher or anyone else!’
Relief washed over Mary and she took his rough hand in hers.
‘Aren’t we are a grand pair?’ John said, leaning over and kissing her gently, as if they hadn’t a care in the world.
She felt overwhelmed with emotion momentarily. They both knew well that this time, with no animals or possessions to sell, terrible times lay ahead, but at least they were together.
Brigid Leary called down to her, red-eyed and weary.
‘The children are so upset that I’m awake half the night,’ she confided. ‘Denis was weeping like a boy over the potatoes. I’ve never seen him like that before.’
Mary hugged her, glad of their friendship, as they shared their fears and worries.
‘I don’t know what Denis and I will do, for we haven’t a penny to our name. If he doesn’t get work, there is no saying what will happen to us.’
‘He and John will both find something,’ Mary encouraged her, not wanting to see Brigid more upset.
Around midday Pat came over. He looked rough and dishevelled, and clearly had been drinking.
‘Drowning my sorrows, like most of the men in the district,’ he admitted, gulping down two cans of cold water and pleading for half a griddle cake to set him right.
‘You are a saint of a woman,’ he thanked Mary as he ate quickly.
Mary said little in return but resolved there would be no more food for him under their roof when he was still in the throes of drink. A man who wasted his money on porter would not be welcome at her table any longer, for she had the children to think of.
‘I was down in the síbín last night. The pestilence is through the district. Not a field or a farm in the whole of Carbery is untouched. I tell you, there was a good crowd of us, all destroyed after yesterday. Not a man among us will be able to pay the gale rent when Marmion comes looking for it.’
‘We’ve not a penny either,’ John admitted angrily. ‘I have to get work.’
‘First thing in the morning we’ll take the horse and cart and set off to search,’ Pat agreed. ‘Two strong men with a cart must have some chance of paid labour.’
Mary hoped that her brother-in-law was right.
She was intent on travelling to town tomorrow to ask Honora Barry – nay, beg her – if she had any more sewing or mending for her. Every penny she earned would be needed to help feed the family. She had no intention of sitting by idly and watching her children weaken and starve.
The Sullivan children were fretful and anxious. They could sense how bad things were and Annie clung to her mother like a little shadow. Mary did her best to reassure them that all would be well. She could not destroy their innocence and let them know the seriousness of their situation and the distress they might face.
‘Stop mooning around like a load of sick lambs. Let’s go up the fields and hunt for early blackberries,’ she coaxed, despite the strange heavy weariness and fear that assailed her, for she was desperate to distract them. ‘Now, grab a tin bucket and some cans, and we’ll be off!’
No matter the scrapes and scratches from the thorns and brambles, the children enjoyed themselves. Patch barked with excitement as he ran among them. Little Annie opened her mouth like a baby bird to eat the fruits, getting used to the sweet but tart taste, her face stained with blackberry juice.
‘I wish we had blackberries to eat all year round.’ Tim grinned, his tin overflowing with plump berries.
Back home, the smell of the pestilence lingered everywhere, awful in its intensity. Mary went to boil the few remaining potatoes but they had already turned grey and sludgy in the bottom of the bucket. Nausea washed over her as she threw them out.
As she fetched a few turnips from her patch, she thanked heaven that they looked healthy and seemed not to have been affected by the murrain. At least she had something to put in the pot and feed the children with in the hungry days ahead.