The Blight and the Blarney: Part 1 - The Story

The Blight and the Blarney

a

novella

by

Rosemary J. Kind

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2019 Rosemary J. Kind

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Printed in the United Kingdom

First Published, 2019 Alfie Dog Limited

The author can be found at: [email protected]

Cover image: Katie Stewart, Magic Owl Design, http://www.magicowldesign.com/

Published by

Alfie Dog Limited

Rose Bank, Norton Lindsey,

Warwickshire, CV35 8JQ

Tel: 07712 647754

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

New York Orphan

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Dedication

About the Author

Other Books by Rosemary J. Kind

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

1852 - Killarney, Eire

But the sea is wide and I cannot cross over

And neither have I the wings to fly

I wish I could meet a handsome boatsman

To ferry me over, to my love and die.

Carrickfergus – Traditional

Michael Flynn leaned against the twisted wooden frame of the low doorway. The thatch hanging only just above his head shielded him from the strong January breeze as he sang. Unlike the words of his song, he could hear his own sweet love moving about inside the cottage, and he was thankful that it was so.

For all that, he couldn’t get the offer of passage to a new life across the ocean out of his mind. It was a land of opportunity; he’d heard it said often enough. Sure, there would be a sea-crossing to contend with, but they were buffeted enough by the wind at the best of times. He was certain they could deal with that. Their landlord had offered to pay for them all, but with the blight all but behind them, Michael wondered if there was still any need to leave their homeland and their extended family. He’d turned the offer down and that was all there was to it. He shook his head to rid himself of the thoughts and went back to singing.

Da…

He watched Daniel stumble as he ran toward him.

Da.

His son let out several heaving breaths between his shouts. Michael put his hands out to stop the boy, as he almost ran straight into his father in his blind haste to enter the cottage.

Michael rested his hands on the young boy’s arms. Days were, he’d have swung Daniel straight up onto his shoulders. He preferred to think the boy had grown, rather than that six years of hunger had left his own self weakened far beyond his age. Indeed, Daniel was born early in the Great Hunger, so of course he had grown, despite Michael having to forage for whatever scraps the hedgerows could still yield to feed them. Being born that first year of blight, it was a miracle Daniel had survived. Many around them hadn’t been so lucky. As Daniel caught his breath, Michael thought that once again, it was Mr O’Connor, their landlord, he was grateful to. Mr O’Connor was a good Catholic man and, as landlords went, that made him unusual around Killarney.

Da! Daniel pointed back along the lane the way he’d come. Uncle Seamus… was all the boy could say between ragged breaths.

Without need for more words, Michael could see there was trouble, by the look on his son’s face. As Daniel recovered his speech, Michael took his hat from its peg behind the door.

Eventually Daniel continued. There’s lots of bad men, so there are. They’re knocking the house down.

Michael Flynn’s face clouded and he took Daniel’s hand. Despite his own anxiety, Michael’s voice was gentle but urgent. Show me. Then, running into the wind, he followed the boy along the lane toward the small parcel of land which was farmed by his wife’s brother.

The sound greeted him long before the sight. The keening of the women carried eastward on the wind. Men were shouting. By the nature of the din, Michael knew the worst was happening.

You be fetching your ma there, Daniel. I’ll go on to them.

Daniel nodded and turned back the way they’d come. Michael watched him go, pausing to catch his breath again before continuing down the lane.

Michael knew what Eliza would want to do, but he also knew Seamus would take the offer of shelter from her and not from him. Seamus was a proud man and any charity, even from family, was hard to take. Michael continued until the turn in the lane, where he saw the battering ram already set up on its cradle and the bailiffs ready to act on the instructions they’d been given.

As he looked on, Michael realised the first strike had already occurred. Peat smoke still curled skyward through the chimney, but part of the wall of the cottage was missing. The table and chairs, the family’s only belongings, sat forlorn on the mossy ground to the side of the house.

Michael’s own brother, Patrick, was already standing on the opposite verge of the lane, with his hat in his hands as though he were watching a funeral procession.

It’s a fine day when a man’s thrown off the land that’s served him as badly as this has. Patrick kicked a clod of soil.

Patrick would know well enough how bad this soil was. His own land bordered Seamus’s, though, thank God, it was owned by another landlord. Michael nodded. Words were useless to stem the tide of injustice which had beset his people these last six years, and the centuries before that.

Jane? Michael asked.

Patrick nodded to a group of women comforting one of their own. Jane sat clutching a baby to her breast as she wept.

Even above the din, Seamus’s voice carried on the wind. "How can I feed me family when you drives us off