September 10, 1845
Dearest Thomas,
Something terrible has happened in Balluytogue since ye left our home of Ireland to create a new life for yeself in New Zealand. All our potatoes have turned! They'd been farmed and store in wooden barrels, as we've always done. When me Mum went to get some potatoes from the barn, she found they'd all turned black and mushy--with a foul smell comin' from them. Me Da found that the rest of the potatoes in the barn were like that, as are Uncle Caithal's, Uncle Rory's and rest of Balluytogue's.
I've heard me Da and Granda whispering in teh kitchen at night, and they say they're not certain how we'll survive the winter without our staple food. I'm frightened, brother, and wish I could help. But as the youngest daughter, I'm not to know or worry about money. Please write me back quickly.
Lovingly, ye sister,
Brigid
September 30, 1845
Dear Brigid,
I wish I could help ye, but I've no money. I've married a fine Irish lass by the name of Mair O'Riada, and we've put all our money into a farm.
Some of our neighbours here in New Zealand have also come from Ireland. They've received letters from their families telling of such famines all over the country--even Protestants in Belfast have turned potatoes.
When Mair and I begin to make back some of the money from the farm. I'll send half of it to ye to help the family through the winter. Mair and I will say a wee prayer for ye.
Fondly,
Thomas
Also--Happy fourteenth birthday. Enclosed is a bracelet Mair made for ye from the shells found on the shores.
October 10, 1845
Dear Thomas,
Thank ye wife for the bracelet. It's lovely, and I haven't taken it off since I got it in the mail with ye letter.
Me Da has decided to go to England to work on the docks, and will send the money he earns to us. Uncle Rory, Uncle Caithal and Granda will help Mum, Dary, Nuala and me on the farm while me Da's gone. Poor wee Dary's so small, I don't know if he'll be able to help on the farm much.
It's difficult here, Thomas. We must eat our food sparingly--even butter. We never know when we may run out of food. Balluytogue has put much of its food together, to divide between the families--but most households, including ours, have stored food hidden in their barns. It's queer not eating potatoes, and frightening to thing that the main food of Ireland has all turned. Anyway, brother, write me back.
Fondly,
Brigid
October 30, 1845
Brigid,
We've just found out that Mair is pregnant, and we're expecting our wee wane in the summer. If it be a lass, we'll name her Brigid. If it be alad, we'll name him Angus, after Mair's Da.
I've enclosed half the money Mair and I have made by selling the wool and meat of our sheep, as well as the vegetables we're farming here. I hope it'll help ye.
I've met some lads from County Donegal. They say their families are near starving, and I pray to Brigantia for our family's 'ealth. 'Tis such a tragedy, with the famine destroying our people. Mair and I'll keep trying to help ye, and we say a wee prayer for ye every night.
Fondly,
Thomas
November 10, 1845
Thomas,
Thank ye for naming ye daughter after myself and the Saint. Angus is a lovely, strong name for a lad as well. Thank ye for the money, and me Da and me Mum thank ye as well.
Dary has fallen ill. He was wee lad to begin with, the age of fifteen and the size of a seven year old. Doctor Dougall MacGuire says he is merely starving, and needs nutrition soon, but we've none to give him. The Doctor is minding him, but he doesn't look like he'll live, although I've been praying hard for him.
Me Mum is worried sick. She's taken to her bed and will not leave it. All she does is pray and cry. Granda tries to calm her, but she refuses to stop. It scares me, Tommy, that our family is falling apart.
Me Da is doing well in England. He makes a lot of money working as a loader at the docks; and sends most of it home for us to buy food and pay Doctor MacGuire. But there isn't much food to buy, since all the potatoes, as well as other vegetables, are turned. We can get a bit of salted meat, and flour for bread, but not enough to fill our stomachs. Nuala does all the cooking now, and acts like a ma to me. Being only nineteen, it's too hard for her to take on all the responsibility. I try to help, but she says I should only try to keep up my writing to ye.
There is so much famine, so many families starving. The storyteling shanachies are telling of people eating grass, and dying with the green stains on their mouths. I mourn the sorry of the dying Ireland.
Love ye sister,
Brigid
November 30, 1845
Dear Brigid,
Me letter must be short, since Mair and I are in the midst of harvesting our vegetables and slaughtering lambs for sale for meat. We've made a large profit from the farm, and I'll continue to try to help ye out with money for the family. I have enclosed a few more pounds for ye. We still say a wee prayer for ye at night, and our neighbours pray for the recovery of Ireland as well.
Lovingly,
Thomas
December 10, 1845
Dear Thomas,
This time I write to ye with sad news. Poor wee Dary has passed on. Me Mum could not even help prepare him for the wake. She merely lies in her bed wailing and praying. The care of Dary was left to Nuala and me. It's strnge to have to prepare me brother for his own wake and funeral. We can't even have a proper wake, without me Da here, and much of the town dead, sick or gone to England. It will only be our clan of Shanahans, plus the Duncans, Larkins and McDougalls.
I pray to God and the Holy Mother that wee Dary is in a better place than Ireland is now. It gives me peace o'mind that Dary is not here with us, starving and feeling sickly. He is with Himself in heaven. I thank ye for the money, yet again. I must end this letter now. Company is coming for the wake, and Father Theodore McMaster is coming to bless Dary.
Sadly,
Brigid
TELEGRAPH
December 15, 1845
Brigid,
I grieve the death of Dary, and pray for him to be happy and with Himself in heaven to rest. I wish I could be at home with me family to grieve at the wake, but our Catholic priest here has helped me pray for Dary and we had a small wake in his honour.
I apologize that this letter must be short, but Mair and I are preparing for Christmas and must salt our goose. I pray for ye, Brigid, that ye'll have the strength to survive in our Ireland.
Lovingly,
Thomas
December 25, 1845
Dear Thomas,
'Tis not a pleasant Christmas, here in Balluytogue, with me Da, as well as half the town, gone, and Dary dead. Danny Duncan passed away last evenin'. Doctor MacGuire said it was merely hunger that took him. Me Mum is getting worse. She's gotten so thin, and still won't leave her bed. Doctor MacGuire is trying to mind her, but there's only so much he can do for a woman who is only ill in her head.
I understand why me Mum is crying, and doesn't want to face the outside world. I sometimes feel like crawling beneath me sheets and never leaving. I'm getting hungry, Tommy. It's not only an empty stomach, but a gnawing, tearing pain of being empty for so long. I pray to Himself that our family will survive this, to see Christmas together.
Pray for us, brother.
Brigid
TELEGRAPH
Dear Brigid,
'Tis the new year, and I hope ye situation will get better in this time. Our profits keep growing, so Mair and I bought some more land to raise more sheep. Me wife is getting large with the wane growing in her. We await the birth of our wee one with excitement to being parents.
More money is enclosed, and so is a picture Maire drew of our home, so you can see where we are living.
I'm sorry about me letters being so short, but running a farm is a time-consuming thing. Send me love to me Da, me Mum, Uncle Caithal and Rory, Granda and Nuala.
Lovingly,
Thomas
January 15, 1846
Tommy,
I've fallen ill, and it takes too much strength for me to compose me own letters. I will tell father McMaster what I want to say, and he will write it for me.
Ye home is lovely, and Mair is a wonderful artist. I wish I could visit ye sometime.
Me Mum has come out of her sadness to care for me. Doctor MacGuire said that it is good for her to have a purpose to get out of bed. Me Da is making a lot of money, and has even become a foreman at the dock where he works. Seamus Duncan has proposed marriage to Nuala, and they plan to marry in the summer. Hopefully the famine will be over and we'll be growing crops by then.
I'm hungry, Tommy, with me stomach burning and me mouth dry. I now understand why some families have taken to eating grass. I hope I'll be here to see the birth of your wane, and the marriage of Nuala and Seamus, but I don't think I'll last 'til summer. I'll say goodbye to ye now, and thank ye for being such a wonderful brother to me.
Love always,
Brigid
February 12, 1846
Dearest Brigid,
I don't know what to say. I've been so wrapped up in me own life, me farm and me wife, that I haven't been much of a brother to ye. I lvoe ye, Brigid, and I pray to Himself for ye recovery. I wish I could be in Ireland with me family, to aide ye care and in the farm.
I don't know what to say other than "fet well, so I can see ye again, and I love ye".
Love Always,
Thomas
February 22, 1846
Dear Thomas,
I'm dying. I don't have long. I can feel me body beginning to weaken greatly. I wish ye all the happeness in ye life, and God bless ye wife and wee wane. Ye have been a wonderful brother, sending us money and writing me letters. I love ye, remember that always, and send Mair me love.
Fondly,
Brigid
February 23, 1846
Dear Thomas,
I'm writing to inform you that Brigid died last night. She didn't rise this morning. Doctor MacGuire and I believe that she died peacefully in her sleep. I'm sorry about ye loss. She will receive a proper funeral mass and wake.
I wish ye all the best.
Respectfully,
Father Theodore McMaster
July 10, 1846
Dear Brigid,
I know ye are dead, but I figure ye must be somewhere where ye can read this. Mair has given birth to our wane--'tis a lass! We've named her Brigid, after ye, so that ye memory will always be alive. She is a beautiful lass, with big, blue eyes, and skin as fine as Irish lace, and hair flaming red like yours and Uncle Rory's.
I pray to the Holy Mother that ye are in a better place than the hell of Ireland. I love ye, Brigid, and will never forget ye as me favorite sister.
Love Always,
Thomas
Trinity by Leon Uris
Irish Gold by Father Andrew Moran Greeley
John McShane
Ireland Since 1800: Conflict And Conformity by Theodore K. Hoppen
A Book of Ireland by Frank O'Connor
Ireland: A Terrible Beauty by Leon and Jill Uris
Home