THE LABORING CLASSES IN MANOR HAMILTON--THEIR HOMES--LOOKING FOR HER
SHARE--CHARGES AGAINST AN UNPOPULAR LANDLORD.
I called upon a clergyman in Manor Hamilton in pursuit of information
as to the condition of the laboring class. Manor Hamilton is a small
inland town, depending solely on agriculture. Want of work is the
complaint. Out of work is the chronic state of things among the laboring
population. A few laborers are employed on the Catholic church in
process of erection. The railway is newly finished between Enniskillen
and Manor Hamilton. While it was being made it supplied work to a great
many. Rail communication with the rest of the country must be a benefit
to the town and the surrounding country.
The hopes nourished by the Land League prevent the people from sinking
into despair or rousing to desperation. "Have the laboring class any
garden ground to their homes?" I asked. "No. You would not like to see
their homes. They are not fit for anyone to go into," was the answer. It
is good sometimes to look at what others are obliged to endure.
Having provided myself with infinitesimal parcels of tea and sugar for
the very aged or the helplessly sick, I set out with the clergyman and
went up unexpected lanes and twisted round unlikely corners, dived into
low tenements and climbed up unreliable stairs into high ones. One home,
without a window, no floor but the ground, not a chair or table, dark
with smoke, and so small that we, standing on the floor, took up all the
available room, paid a rent of $16 per year, paid weekly. The husband
was out of work, the wife kept a stall on market days, and sold sweets
and cakes on commission.
Another hovel, divided into two apartments like stalls in a horse
stable, a ladder leading up to a loft where an old gate and some
indescribably filthy boards separated it into another two apartments,
accommodated four families. The rent of the whole was $52 per year, paid
weekly. One of the inmates of this tenement, an old, old man, whose
clothing was shreds and patches, excused himself from going into the
workhouse by declaring that there were bad car-ack-ters in there, while
he and his father before him were ever particular about their company.
Children, like the field daisy, abound everywhere. In one hovel a brand
new baby lay in a box, and another scarcely able to walk toddled about,
and a lot more, like a flock of chickens, were scattered here and there.
In one of these homes a small child was making a vigorous attempt to
sweep the floor. On asking for her mother, the little mite said, "She is
away looking for her share." This is the popular way of putting a name
on begging.
One inhabitant made heather brooms, or besoms, as they are called here.
He goes to the mountain, cuts heather, draws it home on his back, makes
the besoms, and sells them for a halfpenny apiece.
In one hovel a little boy lay dying of consumption--another name for
cold and hunger--his bed a few rags, a bit of sacking and a tattered
coat the only bed-clothes. "I am very bad entirely, father," was the
little fellow's complaint. I stood back while the father talked to him,
and it was easy to see that he had well practised how to be a son of
consolation. It was a cold windy day, and the wind blew in freely
through the broken door. Surely, I thought, the workhouse would be
comparative comfort to this child; but it seems that the whole family
must go in if he went. The saddest consideration of all is the want of
work--excitement like what is in the country now must be bad for idle
and hungry men.
Mr. Corscadden and Mr. Tottenham, the contractor for the railway, are
the two landlords who are most unpopular. Mr. White, one of those who
had the cattle seized for rent, is also unpopular, very. Mr. Corscadden
is a new landlord, comparatively speaking; was an agent before he became
a proprietor. He is at open war with his tenantry. He requires an escort
of police. His son has been shot at and missed by a narrow enough shave,
one ball going through his hat, another grazing his forehead. This is
coming quite nigh enough. Some buildings on his property in which hay
was stored were burned--by the tenants, thinks Mr. Corscadden; by the
Lord, say the people. I hope to see Mr. Corscadden personally, so I have
made particular enquiries as to what he has done to deserve the ill-
feeling that rages against him.
The chief charges against Mr. Corscadden are wasting away the people off
the land to make room for cattle and black-faced sheep; taking from the
people the mountain attached to their farms which they used for pasture,
and then doubling the rent on what remained after they had lost part.
The land out by Glenade (the long glen) is very poor in parts. The
amount of cultivated fields does not seem enough to supply the
inhabitants with food. The country has in a large degree gone to grass.
There is also a suspicion of grass on the mountain sides which are bare
of heather and whins. They say the grass is sweet and good, and that
cattle flourish on it, but the improved quality of stock and milch cows
require additional tub feed to keep them in a thriving condition. There
are some rich-looking fields, but the most of the land has a poverty-
stricken look and the large majority of the houses are simply
abominable.
It is spring weather and spring work is going on. Men are putting out
manure, carrying it in creels on their backs. Asses are the prevailing
beasts of burden, carrying about turf in creels or drawing hay--a big
load to a small ass. Men and women and children are out planting
potatoes in patches of reclaimed bog. Very few cattle are to be seen
compared to the extent of the grazing lands.
The formation of rock here in the mountain tops has a resemblance to the
fortification-looking rocks at McGilligan, but they are neither so lofty
nor so abrupt. In one place there was a mighty cleft in the rock, as if
some giant had attempted to cut a slice off the front of the rock and
had not quite succeeded. I was told by my driver that an old man lived
in the cleft behind the rock; it was said also that a ghost haunted it.
I wonder if the ghost makes poteen.
Apart from the condition of the country and the poverty of the people a
drive through the long glen of Glenade on a pleasant day is delightful.
The hills swell into every shape, the houses--if they were only good
houses--nestle in such romantic nooks, and the eternal mountains rising
up to the clouds bound the glen on each side. I saw one house made of
sods, thatched with rushes, that was not much bigger or roomier than a
charcoal heap. I would have thought it was something of that kind only
for the hole that served for a chimney.
The people are very civil, and if they only knew what would please you,
would say it whether they thought it or not. If they do not know what
side you belong to, no people could be more reticent.
The Land League is very popular. Since the Land League spread and the
agitation forced public attention to the extreme need of the people many
landlords have reduced their rents. Lord Massey is a popular landlord;
anything unpopular done on his estate, Mr. LaTouche, his agent, has laid
to his door.