Continuum

Dreams Crumble……..Potato famine Life for the expanding Connelly family had become incredi-bly difficult. Rental on the croft had to be paid and with the rigours and hardships of farming the croft coupled with the rigid constraints and demands for tithes imposed by the rep-resentatives of their god had created a situation where any hope of improvement was beyond imagination. Joseph and Grace had only been married two years when Irene Connelly passed away. No specific ailment took Irene Connelly. Joseph explained to the folk that had gathered for her funeral. “My loving mother just wore out. I believe she was very happy to say goodbye to this earth. She had simply had enough. She could take no more”. Joseph buried his mother alongside his father. She had lived for fifty years and nearing her end she made Joseph swear to look after his sister Tess because she held great fears for her safety after several visitors had related to her the in-stances of beatings meted out to Tess by her cruel husband. Joseph begged his sister to return home but she had given birth to a son by this time and Marcus Eversall threatened to harm them both if she moved out. A few short weeks after the death of his mother Joseph found himself weeping into another hole in the ground. The roughly hewn timber box being lowered slowly into the grave next to his mother held what was left remaining of his sister Tess. Her brutish husband had beaten her so severely with a small axe she was rendered unrecognisable. Joseph had never known such sadness but after gently covering the tiny piece of his gods earth that was now the fi-nal resting place of the sister he so loved he found himself lost in thought as he took in the beauty of that day. Tess loved shamrocks and the whole of the church grounds was covered in them. They were in bloom. The flowers were pink and such was the season that the pink glaze almost com-pletely obscured the green carpet from which they had sprung. He imagined he could see Tess plucking up a hand-ful of the delicate pink treasures and bringing them home to place in a vase on the cottage table. Her favourite colour was pink. The local police officer, John Roston, was a good and dili-gent man. He was born in Ireland but his parents had relo-cated to London in 1813 when John was just three years old. He decided as a young man that he would become a po-liceman and now at thirty years of age with twelve years in the force he found himself having to deal with situations that, as a child, he could never have imagined. He was a tall man well over six feet with a powerful body that served him well along the path he had chosen. John was respected by his senior officers and when he was offered the position of sen-ior serving constable at Transbridge back in Ireland he ac-cepted the challenge but not just for the promotion. John had not married and when he relocated to Transbridge his long time, live in, friend Roger Earls moved with him. When ever he was able John would visit his parents in London with whom he spoke Gaelic in a very broad Irish ac-cent but on his return to Ireland he transferred back to speaking thunderously with the Cockney accent of London England. He knew this ruse would reinforce the authority re-quired to perform his duties. The friend with whom he shared his home secured a position as pastry chef at the one and only bakery in Transbridge, Despite significant effort the police, in particular John Ros-ton, were unable to find Tess’s murderer. He had fled the scene and just seemed to disappear. Tess’s son Peter was taken in by her sister Kate who, by this time, already had two children of her own. Kate’s husband Mathew had expanded his blacksmith business and now employed two apprentices. Not rich but doing very well Mathew was a caring man and did not hesitate to receive Tess’s son into his home. The first child born to Joseph and Grace was named Benedict soon followed by Paul, Mary, Therese, Katherine, Josephine and Ellen. The arrival of a new Connel-ly was almost and annual event. Katherine did not see her third birthday. She arrived too early into a world that saw her father and mother beginning to struggle with that unforgiving necessity of coping. Katherine was always weaker than the others of the brood and during a particularly brutal winter on-ly four days from Christmas her mind was soothed by an ev-er increasing fever and death was gentle. She was the only other family member to inherit her mothers emerald jewelled eyes. Joseph took great care as he fashioned her coffin and quietly wept over it as he drove in the last nail. Grace, prior to Katherines death, had already hand sewn a brightly col-oured little dress knowing that it would only ever be worn once. She wept loudly as she tied off the last stitch. Without fail the Connellys, all eight of them, would tend the graves of Mr. and Mrs. Connelly senior and “baby” Katherine and Tess. Old flowers were removed and freshly picked blooms were laid ever so carefully in their stead. The grave-yard was situated next to the ancient battered old church of Saint Brendan and several older women who lived nearby took great pride and care ensuring that the grounds were immaculately kept.