A Mother's Plea

“The Almighty Indeed sent the potato blight but the English created the famine.”
-- John Mitchel

You know how I look forward to your letters and hold them so dearly. This recent one came when I was in need of it most. I yearn for news of your life in your new world and it gladdens my heart to hear that you have finally found lodgings and work in the big city. This is especially good news as I have to implore you to send for me as soon as you can because, as you have guessed, the famine is growing ever fiercer. No, no one seems to rightly know how it started, but of course all the town folks have an opinion.

This I do know: A while ago, as time for the potato harvest neared, the midday sun darkened and by night a thick blue fog covered the countryside. No one had ever seen such a colored sky before. We all went to bed in fear and dread that some great calamity was about to befall.

The next morning a powerful stench from the potato beds filled the air. We ran from our cabins and into the fields. With dismay, we saw that the plants were covered with black spots. Mr. Foley got there first and sadly remarked, “The leaves and stalks are hanging down as if dead.”

Desperately, all of us tried to save the potatoes. We lit fires to purify the air and cut off the blackened leaves and stalks, but the plants could not be saved. As we dug the potatoes, our fear turned to terror. The potatoes were rotten, black and slimy. They had died in the ground.

The failure of the general harvest was a great calamity. We tried to reassure ourselves that we still had the early harvest; at least the new potatoes were sound. If they were rationed carefully, the larger ones would be left to eat over the winter and the smaller ones to plant as seed in the spring.

Then more disaster struck. News spread throughout the county that the new potatoes were rotting in the pits. Diarmuid’s family rushed to check their stored potatoes. “Our pit was opened, and there, sure enough, were some of the biggest potatoes, half rotten,” he said.

Some people remembered how dark the sky had turned just before the blight struck. Many blamed the darkened sky on the fairies. They said that the dark sky occurred because the different fairy tribes were battling over the potatoes. Each tribe wanted the potatoes for themselves.

Maureen Mehleghy said that they often fought at the time of the harvest, but this time there was great fighting heard up in the sky. She said that the fairies were crying out, “Black potatoes, black potatoes, we’ll have them now,” and all the potatoes went black.

Some people take precautions to protect their harvest from the sprites. They say that the most sinister fairy is the Fear Liath, or the Gray Man, a musty-smelling, fog-covered man who frequents the coastal area, higher ground, and boggy hollows. To safeguard their potatoes from the Fear Liath, people sprinkle holy water and place religious medals around the storage areas.

Those who don’t take precautions are usually sorry. John Aherne said, “My father had warned me, but I didn’t pay him any heed. I put the potatoes in the house and didn’t bother to place any protections around them; I had no time for that. The next morning, I looked at the potatoes and every one of them was black and not fit for eating. The Fear Liath had touched them and he hadn’t missed a single potato.”

Others call the blight, a visitation of providence. They believe that God sent the blight as punishment for the way some people had wasted the extra potatoes last year. “It is God’s Will to have the famine come,” says Father Powell, “for the people abused fine food when they had it plenty.” Bridget Meany, clearly ashamed, agrees; “The potatoes were left in the ground by some people and not dug out. They threw them in the ground on the headlands or in the ditches and left them to rot.”

Dear Son, I never thought I’d ever believe to be happy that you are away as the very air is filled with despair. Our own people have to dig for turnips missed by the harvesters. They pick over discarded turnip tops and bottoms, looking for edible pieces to take home. The pieces don’t boil too much, but they stave off the hunger pains for a little while.

Many have taken to foraging at night. For some, it is to hide their shame at not having enough food for their family. For others, it is because they were stealing. When Tom O’Hara investigated a suspicious sound in his garden, he discovered his neighbor, Travis Kelly, digging up turnips. Dismayed, Tom asked, “Why do you come by night to take what I gladly would have given by day?” Travis replied, “I was too ashamed to let anyone know I was in such want.”

As people grow hungrier, they become more daring. Carrie Westmeath said that the men have started stealing the tails of the young bulls and castrated steers of her herd. She said, “They wait until we go to bed, then steal out and cut off the tails. They skin them and roast them right in the field.”

Men have started banding together, walking miles, looking for cattle. Once they find a herd, they corner a cow. While a few men hold the cow, another cuts a vein in its neck. He drains off a few pints of blood into a vessel and then pin the incision closed. The cows aren’t hurt from the bleeding, as much as one quart can be taken without serious injury. The men then carry the blood home to their wives, who fry it with mushrooms and cabbages or cook it in black pudding. So you see how desperate I’ve become to leave the home my family has had for generations. I don’t want to end up like so many others of the town who have to eat grass like sheep in the fields just to survive. Please, I humble myself and beg you to send for me quickly.

Your loving Mother