Antrim Primary

My Famine Diary

Blight!
October 1st, 1845

Dear Diary,
This morning I fell out of bed and woke to a cold, dark morning. I wandered
outside to start the difficult, backbreaking work of picking the potatoes,
with Father. As soon as I went outside, I was incredibly shocked.
It was the foulest stench I had ever smelt! I heard Father calling me, so I ran
to the potato field. When I arrived there, Father said sadly, "Look at this,"
and he showed me a black, rotted lump. He gave it to me to examine
properly, but it disintegrated into smelly, black mush. We both looked at
each other, shocked. The dreaded blight had struck!

The Workhouse.
November 1st 1845.
Dear Diary,
We survived a few weeks once Mother and I sold our possessions. We
didn't raise much money, but it bought some Indian meal. I knew it would
happen and it did; we ran out of food and went to the workhouse.
When we arrived, I immediately loathed the place. It was dark, cold and
depressing but we had no choice so I put up with it. Worse was still to
come.
Next day, father and I were separated from Mother and my sister. We were
taken outside to break open big, strong grey boulders. At dinner I saw
Mother and my sister, who told us about the horrible ordeal of working in
the kitchen.
Later that night, I knew what to do. My family and I had to save up money
and go to America.

Emigration
December 1st 1845
Dear Diary,
I feel so happy! It has been a month since I went to the workhouse and my
family and I have saved enough money to go to America. We are on our
way to the Larne docks now. The ticket master asked Father if we were
sure about going and Father nodded.
December 22nd 1845
The ship stank and I felt dizzy. This ship was called "The Exmouth." It was
so overcrowded every time it creaked, I wondered if it would sink. I was so
scared I thought that we would not survive the journey, because half of the
passengers have already died or have a disease.
Luckily, we have made it and I feel so blessed that we survived the four
week journey. I am now living in America.

By Jack Lennon

My Famine Diary
Blight!
14th October 1845
Dear Diary,
I dragged myself out of bed knowing I had to help Father harvest the
potatoes. In the middle of the room I saw my "breakfast"; a cold potato and
sour milk. I slumped to the door and walked out. I slowly walked to the field
where Father was harvesting and my heart rose. Maybe I would not have to
work! Then father uttered three words and my heart sank again, "The
dreaded blight." I was so frightened, wondering how we could survive
without food. I started to weep.

The Workhouse
9th November 1845
Dear Diary,
My family and I couldn't survive forever without food, so we had only one
option; the workhouse!
The workhouse was cruel from the very start. My father, brother and I were
separated from Mother. To make matters worse it was cold and we lived in
terrible conditions. Usually, we were up at 6 am and worked in silence until
9 pm. Dinner was unappetising and tasteless.
I planned my journey to America. Hope kept me going.

Emigration
18th December 1845
Dear Diary,
When I finally left the workhouse, I was seventeen years old. I couldn't find
Mother, Father and Aaron, so I gathered all my money and sailed to New
Zealand.
The journey was very unpleasant. Twenty six people died including the
captain. That was when I became worried. I thought to myself, "What
happens if I don't survive?" As the days passed, starvation started to take
its toll, but I had to live with that. On the day before we arrived something
lifted my spirits ;I met Mother, Father and Aaron.

Fifty years later…
I am doing well in life. I moved back to England and really enjoy my life.
By Philip Steele

A Letter from Scutari

The Field Hospital,
Scutari.
November 1854

Dear Mother and Father,
I have been wounded in the Battle of Balaclava. I was hit by a cannonball,
but I'm recovering fast. The cannonball hit me on my leg, which had to be
amputated.
At the minute I'm in the hospital. Florence Nightingale and her nurses are
looking after me. They have made so many improvements. They have
disinfected the wards and improved conditions .Now that I'm recovering, I
help plant vegetables for the soldiers in the hospital gardens.
At night, Florence Nightingale walks around the wards with a lantern. I kiss
her shadow because I am so grateful for what she has done for me.
I hope all is well with you. I will be home for Christmas.
Your loving son,
John

By Emma McGrath