Set in 1845 rural Ireland, Co Clare, during the great famine. The story of Emily O’Flaherty and her struggle. This fictional period book is a page turner, it will make you laugh at the same time bring you back into a time in history that is still difficult for many today to even discuss, or admit happened. Sequel - The Apricot Tree
It is a morning of damp fog and cold wind. The rustle of trees gives a haunting effect, as though the souls of the departed were hovering overhead. I look down at my mud stained clothing, thin and lacking warmth, modesty its only use. Father Murphy utters prayers over another mass grave, wherein I can see the pain of death on the corpses of small children, women, and men.
“May all of their souls, rest in peace, and Christ in heaven, have mercy on us all.”
The parish priest is forced to forsake buying coffins in order to feed starving families. People are buried in the clothes they died in, their feet wrapped in torn rags, once used as shoes. The skin covering their bones is as thin as a web.
As I walk slowly toward the village another death cart passes by. The stench causes me to lift my shawl over my face. I turn into the track towards home no smoking chimneys, no sound of children, no men off to work. Some mud houses are boarded up with eviction notices hammered on their doors. Gone, the O’Mara’s, the Kennedy’s, the O’ Reilly’s…to count all my soul would weep tears of blood.
Food, is uppermost in my mind; to stay alive. My family’s hopes are bound to a small crop of potatoes planted earlier but the potato blight has left acre upon acre of farmland covered with black rot. Working for the landlord provides us a small area of land where a one window mud hut can be built on waste ground.
I spend time making rabbit snares. There has not been much luck for weeks; it seems the rabbits are onto us and are now more intelligent. With a family of five children to be fed, and me being the eldest at the age of seventeen, I must think about how to help provide food for us all. I see birds in the sky flying free, but how to catch them? I have no answer yet.
When I get home, Ma tells me she has been to the flour mill, hoping to get some empty cloth flour bags; her intention to make clothing, for my brothers and sisters but she has returned empty handed, her face full of sorrow. We count the potatoes, half each, and huddle close to the small fire. When Pa returns he has a rabbit ,lacking in flesh like the rest of us, but we skin and cook it in a pot of water. The distinctive smell of the rabbit cooking alerts me to how very hungry I am. My nose informs my taste buds that I will not be disappointed. Ma utters the words,
“Thank God for small mercies.”
I quietly wonder if God is watching all of this suffering, or if he is asleep. There’s been enough prayers said to turn us into very wealthy people and surely to stop our plates being empty.
The next morning I overhear two women talking at the well: The Landlord’s wife, Lady Jane, is looking for someone that can do needlework. Returning home in a hurry, I'm wondering how can I get this job. My dress is made from an old blanket, worn thin, and my shoes are a disgrace. Still, I keep telling myself, I will get this job. Having done some sewing in the past for Lady Jane might help me secure the position.
Back at home, I tie my long black hair back with a red ribbon, and hurry off up the dusty road, trying to avoid the rising dust from carts and carriages. My mind is racing with the things I can say to Lady Jane - My abilities include; to sew hem lines, do button holes, adjust dresses to size, measure and cut.
There is a high stonewall in front of the house with black iron gates. As I walk up the gravel entrance which sweeps around the house, I hope the position is not gone. At the back door I can hear the clanging of pots, and voices. It takes a few knocks to get anybody’s attention.
“What do you want?” asks a small round woman..........
It is a morning of damp fog and cold wind. The rustle of trees gives a haunting effect, as though the souls of the departed were hovering overhead. I look down at my mud stained clothing, thin and lacking warmth, modesty its only use. Father Murphy utters prayers over another mass grave, wherein I can see the pain of death on the corpses of small children, women, and men.
“May all of their souls, rest in peace, and Christ in heaven, have mercy on us all.”
The parish priest is forced to forsake buying coffins in order to feed starving families. People are buried in the clothes they died in, their feet wrapped in torn rags, once used as shoes. The skin covering their bones is as thin as a web.
As I walk slowly toward the village another death cart passes by. The stench causes me to lift my shawl over my face. I turn into the track towards home no smoking chimneys, no sound of children, no men off to work. Some mud houses are boarded up with eviction notices hammered on their doors. Gone, the O’Mara’s, the Kennedy’s, the O’ Reilly’s…to count all my soul would weep tears of blood.
Food, is uppermost in my mind; to stay alive. My family’s hopes are bound to a small crop of potatoes planted earlier but the potato blight has left acre upon acre of farmland covered with black rot. Working for the landlord provides us a small area of land where a one window mud hut can be built on waste ground.
I spend time making rabbit snares. There has not been much luck for weeks; it seems the rabbits are onto us and are now more intelligent. With a family of five children to be fed, and me being the eldest at the age of seventeen, I must think about how to help provide food for us all. I see birds in the sky flying free, but how to catch them? I have no answer yet.
When I get home, Ma tells me she has been to the flour mill, hoping to get some empty cloth flour bags; her intention to make clothing, for my brothers and sisters but she has returned empty handed, her face full of sorrow. We count the potatoes, half each, and huddle close to the small fire. When Pa returns he has a rabbit ,lacking in flesh like the rest of us, but we skin and cook it in a pot of water. The distinctive smell of the rabbit cooking alerts me to how very hungry I am. My nose informs my taste buds that I will not be disappointed. Ma utters the words,
“Thank God for small mercies.”
I quietly wonder if God is watching all of this suffering, or if he is asleep. There’s been enough prayers said to turn us into very wealthy people and surely to stop our plates being empty.
The next morning I overhear two women talking at the well: The Landlord’s wife, Lady Jane, is looking for someone that can do needlework. Returning home in a hurry, I'm wondering how can I get this job. My dress is made from an old blanket, worn thin, and my shoes are a disgrace. Still, I keep telling myself, I will get this job. Having done some sewing in the past for Lady Jane might help me secure the position.
Back at home, I tie my long black hair back with a red ribbon, and hurry off up the dusty road, trying to avoid the rising dust from carts and carriages. My mind is racing with the things I can say to Lady Jane - My abilities include; to sew hem lines, do button holes, adjust dresses to size, measure and cut.
There is a high stonewall in front of the house with black iron gates. As I walk up the gravel entrance which sweeps around the house, I hope the position is not gone. At the back door I can hear the clanging of pots, and voices. It takes a few knocks to get anybody’s attention.
“What do you want?” asks a small round woman..........
