'A Moment in The Country' by Rosie Pugh

My journey from Killarney to the Dingle Bay was magnificent. Every turn held a more splendid view. Mountains on either side of the road were covered in different colours, like a patchwork quilt. Then as if by magic a mountain had been split in two to reveal the beauty beyond, a valley deep in it’s midst. A rambling river flowing softly over stones and the debris that lay in its way.
Further along old and new houses mingled together, a part of the past and the future. A blue sky hung above with tiny whiffs of white clouds floating by. Then we emerged from inland to the Atlantic Ocean coast road where the sea was still and a vastness that stretched for miles. The sun shone to create a crust of diamonds laid upon the sea. It danced and sparkled, a mirage of its own making.
We pulled into the car park just outside the town of Dingle, which was a fishing port. There the tops of the fishing boats, which popped up and down, could be seen. In silence we watched the coming and goings of others when my friend Christine said would I like to go and find a place to eat.
‘Lets move on,’ I said, ‘maybe further along the road we may find a house or something that will serve teas and snacks’ I did not want to leave the vehicle because I felt the magic would disappear.
We made our way to a place called Sle Head Ventry where a field was between the Atlantic Ocean and me. As we motored along I noticed some signs. One in particular read ‘The Famine House Museum’. As we got nearer we saw the house. It was made of tiny stones - even the roof. It was one of the old famine houses converted into a tearoom and they were serving hot home made soups, drinks and snacks. I had French onion soup with onions that tasted wonderful and it was served with thick home made soda bread with home made butter followed with hot camomile tea. Heaven.
I decided when I finished my tea that I would take a look outside.. My friend stayed indoors. I entered the field where there was a small wooden hut. I purchased a guide book and paid three euros to go and have a look around the old stone cottage.
The Kavanagh Famine Cottage, built during the famine, is one of the few remaining cottages that have survived the famine era. It was quite a steep walk up the hill. I arrived at the small stone out house, which in those days was as a pig shed. I peeped inside; it was a small darkroom that belonged to the Kavanghs. He had allowed a peasant farmer by the name of Peat to live there with his two sons and daughter as he had been evicted from his house in a nearby village.
I made my way further up the hill to the big main house. The feeling of dread over powered me as I wandered from room to room. The guide book stated that ‘West Kerry suffered equal, if not worse famine, due to the remoteness of the Dingle.’ it told how the people had to endure horrific neglect and suffering of that time. Wages were poor and labourers were allowed to grow potatoes on a small piece of land.
One piece of information that caught my eye was; ‘Irish peasants starved in the midst of plenty. Wheat, oats, barely, butter eggs, beef and pork were exported from Ireland in large quantities during the so-called famine.’
I heard myself crying. Children of eight and nine where taken for decrepit old women and men. Their faces were wrinkled, bodies bent and distorted with pain. Even religion was being used against people: be protestant and we’ll give you some food they were told. Workhouses were set up which split families. People that had some strength were leaving for far away places but most died on the crossing. The question was also raised. Why did the people of Dingle not fish the mighty sea just across the road. I myself stood and looked across at the Atlantic Ocean that must have been full of fish. But it stated that many did try but lost their lives as the sea created large swells throwing the frail people into the sea and their death.
My heart and soul was heavy as I looked in the distance at the beauty that was before me and yet in a moment, just one split moment, it told of a horrific fight for life, a battle that many lost in 1845 - 1847. Of how the common potato was so valuable and yet cost so many deaths through disease. How two sides of the coin from a distance can look the same. It is only when we turn it over that we have a different story.