Black '47

BLACK

47 ’

A STORY OF IRELAND’S GREAT FAMINE DAMIEN GOODFELLOW

First published 2019 by The O’Brien Press Ltd, 12 Terenure Road East, Rathgar, Dublin 6, D06 HD27 Ireland.

Tel: +353 1 4923333; Fax: +353 1 4922777 E-mail: books@obrien.ie.

Website: www.obrien.ie.

The O’Brien Press is a member of Publishing Ireland ISBN: 978-1-84717-365-2 Text © copyright Damien Goodfellow 2019 Copyright for typesetting, layout, editing, design © The O’Brien Press Ltd All rights reserved No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or in any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

13578642 19 21 23 22 20 Printed and bound in Poland by Białostockie Zakłady Graficzne S.A. The paper in this book is produced using pulp from managed forests.

Published in

June 1847. The west of Ireland...

Jack brought me here, so we might live in freedom and enjoy our lives. Away from the evil that blighted our homeland. Away from the crushing political powers in Britain, that wanted us as a race, to simply disappear into the dirt. An evil empire, determined to make our poor lives as achingly miserable as possible. they had taken everything from us. Our land, our forests, our leaders, our freedom, our dignity.

Poor bastard. Fighting for our freedom, only to end his young days at the end of a landlord’s rope.

Let the landlords and the Brits have this wet sod, Da. We’ll go to America!

Move it, Paddy!

It’s the hangman’s noose for you!

My brother Jack was a good boy really. But the boredom and hardship of life in the west of Ireland, brought out the mischievous devil in him. We lost everything except the clothes on our backs. I spent my young years blaming Jack. one day, I realised, he had actually set me free. Free from the old world that was corrupt and rotten, back-breaking and cruel.

Where the young never get old.

Those who had the strength to fight, mostly came to a sorry end. Jack was right, like me, he did not understand at the time... Our only real option to live, was to leave our homeland.

3

I’ll never leave here. our ancestors are buried here. For thousands of years. This is our land, son.

Remember that.

the landlords have left us nothing but the worst land, da. All we do is work to live. then we die.

All our neighbours have gone. Or starved to death.

They had to go. Nothing for ‘em here. The workhouse maybe, If there was room.

Nothing here for us any more, Da. Smyth wants rid of us off the land.

Well, Smyth is gonna have a Hard time trying to shift me.

Ma wants to go.

Smyth has tickets kept for us, Da. With our names on them! The Tarpey family. Ma told me.

Ma told ya?

Where do you think yer Ma is gonna find the strength to haul herself off to America?

Or the shillin’s for that fact?

What the devil does he want?!

There’s someone at the house, da.

It’s Smyth and his men.

...I won’t be needing your services anymore.

Coal gives off a superior heat. I have just fitted a new coal stove and the turf just will not do.

Jack, Mister Smyth has bad news for us.

Jack... As I was just saying to your wife... jack...

Well, you’d better come in, Mister Smyth.

See to Moses, Boy.

I’m sorry, Jack.

Have you thought about moving to America?

I am trying to help you.

A cuppa Tea, Mister Smyth?

No thank you.

Legally, I can’t move you on, Jack. But if you miss one rent payment...

Jack. I have your passage to America here. Paid for out of my own pocket.

You just want us off the land so ya can graze yer cattle.

You’ll get yer rent, Smyth. Now please leave.

Da! It’ll be the workhouse for us, death if we don’t go!

Call by the house tomorrow, Jack.

We’ll settle up.

You’re on your own then man.

Good evening.

Help me push the cover over. DON’T WANT HIS LORDSHIP FALLING IN and BREAKING HIS SPINE.

That’s the last of it.

Burn everything British but their coal, son.

We’ll be all right, Da, won’t we??

We’ve a bumper yield of praties this year, boy. We won’t starve. We’ll sell what we don’t need.

You should be using the servants’ entrance!

Let’s go see this devil.

You do not agree with the social order Mr Tarpey?

I’m no servant.

My son neither.

Percy, it’s all right.

Let Mr Tarpey through.

That is true.

Your final payment, Jack.

What sort of a queer device is that?

7

That, young Jack, is a drinking horn.

it once quenched the thirst of that great Irish Chieftain, Brian Boru. It has ancient curing powers, I believe.

I’m sure your father will tell you all about Brian Boru. A good tale for the fireside On a cold evening.

And Tidy yourself up, Girl.

Come into my study for a moment please, Jack.

I took Tara in after her family died from Cholera.

Still, I always believe she holds a grudge against me.

That’s it then. I’ve tried to be fair with you, Jack!

You can finish that later, Tara, thank you.

Now, Jack, your ticket to America and the Freedom to be your own man.

Good luck finding work. It is so very scarce out there.

Like hen’s teeth. Give my kind regards to your wife.

yes sir.

Take it. I won’t offer it again.

should have took the ticket, Da!

That man is the devil. May God strike him down dead.

No thanks mr Smyth. I’m staying put.

Hang onto that fellow, Jack Óg!

Hello. What have we here??

OOOhhh...

Man alive, Mousey!

Ya scared the devil outta me!

I thought you were Smyth’s man!

You’ll be skinned alive if Smyth gets wind of you poachin’ his salmon.

He has ta catch a hold of me first. Where ya been, Mousey?

You still slavin’ up there for Smyth?

Here, there, nowhere.

Things must be bad for the Tarpeys if they have you out poaching, boy!

9

Nah. He gave Da the boot.

He wants us off the land, but Da won’t budge.