The Black Field

Have you ever heard of the famine in Ireland? A young girl dictates the unfortuante events of her life during the time; about the tragic, gory death of her brother and the pain she endures. Venture on a journey through the life of one of the forgotten Irish victims.


2. Loss

While I lay awake I think of the farm, I miss it dearly. It was one of the bleakest days when the British came to take it. Mr Foxwood was a man who could only be described as a frightful vermin. I didn’t understand what was happening at the time, my parents were talking in hushed voices. If I’d known what was to come, I’d have fought to stay; I’d have fought for my survival. Mr Foxwood had contacted us before, by the post. It was a notice of eviction, now the British had taken over, our home; our farm was without warning stolen. Ireland was ours no more. He arrived a week after the letter had. Mother packed what she could in the short time; Father had cleared out the old shed, for the shed was to be our new home.

Little did I know not only was our home and land being taken but my brother was to die that day. The pain I endure when I think of that treacherous day, it’s as if my heart is being burned in front of my eyes. Michael was so innocent, not a care in the world. On the very day Mr Foxwood entered our lives Michael happened to make not only the biggest mistake of his life but his last mistake. He wandered out to the tool shed, where Father moved most of the machinery. Michael was simply looking around at the foreign objects, and the interesting buttons. It was his curiosity that killed him. Michael pushed the wood saw button; caught in the excitement, he went too close. I heard a scream and so I ran to the shed, only to find I was too late. I stood there. I stood looking at the two halves of my brother. I fell on the floor in tears. I began screaming, I was distraught. Michael was my world, my everything.

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