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bardiphoukaPrompt:A bag of root vegetables
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brigits_flame
Word Count 567
genre:history
The sack is taken out daily during the season, the burlap an oddly commonplace shroud for something so special. It is used to collect food for the table, barter for ale and a bit of a jig listened to, even turned to coin. It has provided the fabric for confirmation dresses and a second best suit for burial.
But now the bag is brought back in as it was taken out-empty. As is the larder and the purse and the stomachs of all that live there, and their neighbours as well. The small patches of land that were meant for tomorrows are just muddy, black rot. The coarse limpness resembles the dreams and hopes of the people in the valley.
It is said there is relief available, and that thing, having been spoken, runs across the valley and the cliffs. Families and friends gather at Louisburg, only to be told that they need to present themselves tomorrow at Delphi Lodge on the other side of Doolough Pass.
12 miles is an odd thing. You would not think it much. A lover will walk it on a pleasant spring evening for a kiss. The Greeks ran it and more for news under the Aegean sun. There are some who just run it for the sheer pleasure of the movement, muscles tightening and relaxing, oxygen filling the body and draining it again and again.
12 miles, on the other hand, can be an angry thing for others. When you have had little or naught to eat for weeks and your legs are shorter than Liam's calves. Or when your hair has grown as white as the ground next to the path and you have grown used to doing your traveling in dreams and memories. Or if your legs have grown heavy with having to carry you and the new life that stirs in demand, regardless of miles needed because of empty burlap bags. For these people and more, 12 miles can stretch longer than a nightmare, and its ending as unlikely as a mirage. And in the winter? There is no spring love or laugh when ice laces the kiss of the wind.
Not all made it from Louisburg, although how many fell is still unsure. And when they got to Delphi Lodge, the Board of Guardians that determined relief was having lunch and could not be disturbed. Could the 500 people outside the door hear the claret being poured? Could they remember that the smell that wafted from the building was beef?
Finally the Board finished their meal, went out, and told the gathered people to go back to Louisburg. No explanation, no answers to their questions. Just to go home.
On the way back the weather turned to gale and hail. Some fell along the pass, some were swept in the river, and others were swept by the storm-force winds from cliff to lake. How many? Nobody knew, nor would they ever find out. For the Receiving Officer at Louisburg sent out crews to bury the dead where they fell. And where there were too many to do that with convenience they were buried in shallow, mass graves.
The cattle, meanwhile, boarded the ships for England. And an empty bag flaps in the wind of an empty cottage by a field gone black and bitter as hearts that could not make the 12 miles there or back.
a/n The Doolough Tragedy was just one incident in the Great Hunger. But they deserve to be remembered none the less.
Written for:
brigits_flameWord Count 567
genre:history
The sack is taken out daily during the season, the burlap an oddly commonplace shroud for something so special. It is used to collect food for the table, barter for ale and a bit of a jig listened to, even turned to coin. It has provided the fabric for confirmation dresses and a second best suit for burial.
But now the bag is brought back in as it was taken out-empty. As is the larder and the purse and the stomachs of all that live there, and their neighbours as well. The small patches of land that were meant for tomorrows are just muddy, black rot. The coarse limpness resembles the dreams and hopes of the people in the valley.
It is said there is relief available, and that thing, having been spoken, runs across the valley and the cliffs. Families and friends gather at Louisburg, only to be told that they need to present themselves tomorrow at Delphi Lodge on the other side of Doolough Pass.
12 miles is an odd thing. You would not think it much. A lover will walk it on a pleasant spring evening for a kiss. The Greeks ran it and more for news under the Aegean sun. There are some who just run it for the sheer pleasure of the movement, muscles tightening and relaxing, oxygen filling the body and draining it again and again.
12 miles, on the other hand, can be an angry thing for others. When you have had little or naught to eat for weeks and your legs are shorter than Liam's calves. Or when your hair has grown as white as the ground next to the path and you have grown used to doing your traveling in dreams and memories. Or if your legs have grown heavy with having to carry you and the new life that stirs in demand, regardless of miles needed because of empty burlap bags. For these people and more, 12 miles can stretch longer than a nightmare, and its ending as unlikely as a mirage. And in the winter? There is no spring love or laugh when ice laces the kiss of the wind.
Not all made it from Louisburg, although how many fell is still unsure. And when they got to Delphi Lodge, the Board of Guardians that determined relief was having lunch and could not be disturbed. Could the 500 people outside the door hear the claret being poured? Could they remember that the smell that wafted from the building was beef?
Finally the Board finished their meal, went out, and told the gathered people to go back to Louisburg. No explanation, no answers to their questions. Just to go home.
On the way back the weather turned to gale and hail. Some fell along the pass, some were swept in the river, and others were swept by the storm-force winds from cliff to lake. How many? Nobody knew, nor would they ever find out. For the Receiving Officer at Louisburg sent out crews to bury the dead where they fell. And where there were too many to do that with convenience they were buried in shallow, mass graves.
The cattle, meanwhile, boarded the ships for England. And an empty bag flaps in the wind of an empty cottage by a field gone black and bitter as hearts that could not make the 12 miles there or back.
a/n The Doolough Tragedy was just one incident in the Great Hunger. But they deserve to be remembered none the less.
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Date: 2012-05-06 08:00 pm (UTC)And as one who does grow potatoes, we have had experience of 'the mildew'.. it is so incredibly sudden and total.
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Date: 2012-05-06 08:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-06 08:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-06 08:21 pm (UTC)a hopeless case if --- listen: there's a hell
of a good universe next door; let's go”
― E.E. Cummings
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Date: 2012-05-07 02:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-09 03:22 pm (UTC)Sometimes you forget just how cruel life was for the people who came before us. We are all Kings and Queens compared to what they had to endure.
Re: Edit
Date: 2012-05-13 06:46 pm (UTC)Haha Rolling out the Edit wagon to a darling Dodo!
Date: 2012-05-17 08:15 am (UTC)You seem to have had a real EDIT from Selkath, so I can just put my little slipper in and try to miss my mouth.
Just one line lover, oxygen filling the body and draining it again and again. Could we have say, 'oxygen filling the body, and emptying from it again, again, and again...' sort of emphasising the in/out/in/out repetition of jogging or running in rhyme with the steps.
I love the fifth paragraph. There are the full stops which emphasise the choice of people who are in pain. The ... OR the OR... To me it is a storyteller's use of phrasing and breathing. This piece should be read ALOUD with a breathy accent. I loved doing it and I was there... oh Bardi.
And unsure. Yes, why not. For sure, no-one is sure of the numbers, and Aunty Boyle might yet have turned up in Limerick. And of course when they made it to Delphi Lodge, the Governors were eating, it was lunchtime! It was their mealtime and the walkers had to wait outside, their bellies rattling...
The irony there is AWFUL. Oh B. there they were, starving, and the damn fat English Governors were stuffing themselves. Pah!
And 'from' an empty cottage. It sounds then like the sighs they'd left.
Selkath is a literature editor. I am editing from a story-hearer's point of view. I love story tellers and they way they speak, and breathe and pause.... the emphases are so important. Thank you Love, you know I feel for them.
Your story Editor... Blue. (Non-biaised of course!)
Re: Haha Rolling out the Edit wagon to a darling Dodo!
Date: 2012-05-17 08:51 am (UTC)The like about oxygen I have never been comfortable about. I shall try your suggestion when I get home..right now I am off to shower and then to my first day being gainfully employed this year,eh?
Thanks ever so for the thought and effort and hopefully a bit of enjoyment of the tale,true and tragic that it was.
Re: Haha Rolling out the Edit wagon to a darling Dodo!
Date: 2012-05-17 09:25 am (UTC)Love the Shanachies. I am one too. It's the music...
I absolutely love this
Date: 2012-05-17 08:41 pm (UTC)I'm giving you the NHB sans grammar, so please know that all the suggestions here are because this is what you requested. Yes, I think it needs tweaking, but oh.my.god I fell in love with this piece. It's gorgeous.
In paragraph 2, keep 'sack' instead of changing to 'bag'. Sack just works better with the rest of your word choices here. Bag sounds too modern and it is a deviation from the consistency you are otherwise creating very seamlessly.
"It is said relief is available" OR "It is said that relief is available". Not a grammar correction, but a stylistic one; the way it is worded here sounds unnecessarily clunky.
Would it have been as commonplace as it sounds here to run for pleasure in 1849? Research this. It pops me out of time here.
"12 miles, on the other hand, can be an angry thing for others." The fact that you name an emotion here takes away from the paragraph's potential to arouse it in the reader. What else could it be other than angry? Your writing is so much better than what this sentence gives you credit for. I don't really like inserting 'an impossible distance' because I think that takes away from it as well, but try to play with something that could arouse a sense of hopelessness without naming it here. You do such a great job in the remainder of the paragraph doing just this. Maybe all you need is something simple like:
"And yet, 12 miles. When you have had little or naught to eat..."
The rest of this amazing paragraph says everything.
The switch to second person here, however, is a bit disjointed from the rest of the story. Try using 'one' instead of 'you'. It seems to flow better without compromising the beauty of your language here by more sweeping changes. For instance, in this sentence try this: "Or if legs have grown heavy with having to carry not just oneself, but new life that stirs in demand...."
Who is Liam? I'm guessing a toddler, but since the rest of the story doesn't get personal with names, this is just a bit confusing.
"Could they remember that the smell that wafted from the building was beef?" Clunky and confusing. I think what you are trying to get at here was that it had been just that damn long since they had had beef, but it is a bit confusing here. Maybe switching this parallel structure to an active voice would help:
Could the 500 people outside the door hear the pouring of the claret? Could they smell the wafting of beef through the gaps in the lumber? Could they even recall what those luxuries were?
Something like that? Play with it a bit.
"Nobody knew." Period. It is a given from your next sentences that no one would ever know. :)
Bag to sack again. Fits better throughout the whole piece.
Last paragraph: Where did the cattle come in? The beef connection isn't enough. Like a good essay, don't introduce something you haven't or have barely touched upon in the last paragraph.
The last sentence seems to run on a bit, but I love how you've tied it all together here. How about something like this?
"And an empty [sack] flaps in the wind [beside] an empty cottage, the field gone black and bitter as the hearts of those who placed their hope in just 12 miles."
Take what works from what I've said. What doesn't, throw out. You've got a poignant piece here, a short but rich and lyrical piece that shows brilliantly without telling what these people went through. Damn, I love this piece. LOVE IT! I can't wait to read your other work!
Thank you for sharing! Color me inspired!