I Did Not No

I Did Not No

July 15, 1848...............................7 o'clock in the morning

Ma told me to write a dairy. Keep a dairy she said. She also wants me to S P E L L right but this dairy won’t be prefect. I haven’t had schooling in over a year because of all this trouble. And you know why I don’t care about spelling? Because nothing around here is prefect and nothing is forever.

July 15, 1848..............................11 o'clock still in the morning

11 o’clock means lunch. But there will be no lunch or brekfast. Here is where here is - a town called Carlow, Ireland. I am 11 years old and my name is Bridgit Cosgrove. And you can see the date for yourself because ma says I have to put the date on my pages. She’s telling me a lot of things about dairies.

Keep a dairy. Keep it? Where is it going to go? Who wants it?

I am going to write to you – but there really is not a you. I’m just saying you as to have kind of a friend when I write. That’s one way to keep a dairy I guess. One stlye – S T Y L E. I am done now about this hole dairy thing because if I go on more about it you’ll fall asleep!

Wait! One more thing. My writing book is bueatiful brown L E A T H E R and it’s special. Ma got it from her ma about the time of dinosaurs. My ma never wrote in it and now she wants me to tell about my life. Don’t fall asleep.

I don’t know where you live but I do not believe it could be more pretty than Carlow town. There are a lot of people in Carlow but mostly there are poor farmers who live outside the town. Our farms used to be green and strong but now they are brown and dying.

F A M I N E

That is the not prefect trouble part I said earlier. There is nothing to eat. The stupid potatoes are small and rotted. Diseese killed a lot of them, I guess. I wrote the word “stupid” but I know ma will make me cross it out. But this is my writings. And that is a good word a proper word for this S I T U A T I O N.

We used to have a cow named Tilly. She died because someone stold her. Me and ma think she got eaten. Some hungry person killed Tilly and ate her! I cried and cried and I have her cowbell on the wall in our house which only has one room.

There aren’t many animals anywhere now. But I have been trying to care for a straay cat. I call her Annie. She’s orange striped and can’t hardly walk far anymore. She just lays down and makes a little soft sound when I pet her. Sometimes she can’t even stand back up. I wish I had milk for her but Tilly is dead and there is no milk for anybody. I give Annie water from my hands. I make them into a little cup for her.

My friend is Duncan and he used to have a nice round belly. You would not believe your own eyes to see how skinny he is now! His grandpa died just lately. Me and ma dressed up – all in black. That’s what you have to do to show R E S P E C T. I kept tripping on my long black skirt all day. His grandpa didn’t have much to eat - none of us do - but I guess old people and little babies die the most. Diseese can make them real sick if they are extra skinny. Mostly you just plain die if you don’t have food. Of course you do! I am not making this up!

But I am not about to worry all day about dying. And you know why? Because I am not a baby or a old person! I am 11! Ma is not a old person but I am a little worred. She is getting very very skinny. And she doesn’t talk so much now. I can do bad stuff and she doesn’t even care. It was just me and her and Tilly. But I already told you that sad story about our cow.

What would I do if Ma died? I wish you could tell me because I do not no.

July 15, 1848…………………………… 4 o’clock in the afternoon

I am hungry. Annie is hungry too.

July 15, 1848……………………………. 8 o’clock in the evening

Old Mr. O’Toole just came by our house. He nocked so loud I started to cry. I don’t know why – I cry all the time now. And don’t call me a baby! I already said I was 11!

He was E X C I T E D about a big ship that is coming into Dublin. The ship will be there for three days and if people have money they can pay the C A P TA I N to take them in that ship far away. To a place called A M E R I C A.

T O M O R R O W (extra hard word) we are going with Mr. O’Toole and some other people in a wagon with horses to get on the ship. Did you hear that news! We are going on a ship across the ocean!

Ma says we will put my church skirt and a few other things in our big flowered bag. And tomorrow morning we are going to walk right out of our house. Just walk right out and leave E V E R Y T H I N G right here. Like the wood tabel in the kitchen will stay right there but we won’t be here anymore.

I really don’t no where we will be. I feel a little afraid but I am only telling you this dairy. I don’t want to leave some things behind. Duncan is skinny but he’s the most nicest boy in the world. He gave me a gray rock one day for a P R E S E N T. I will take that rock and I will take you, dairy. We will step on to the ship and we will go away forever.

July 15, 1848……………………………….11 pm at night

I cannot sleep. I asked ma if I can take Annie on the ship even if she is sickly and made up of bones. Ma said no. I cannot take you Annie. I cannot give you any more water. I am sorry. I am sorry because I S H O U LD have told you before. But I did not no life would go like this.

I should have told you that I love you.

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This story is dedicated to my brave Irish relatives who immigrated to the American Upper Midwest from Carlow County, Ireland during the Great Potato Famine. Between 1846 and 1851 over a million Irish people died of starvation and disease.

I had a relative named Bridgit Cosgrove, whom my grandmother, Annie O’Toole, included in the written story of her own life. Bridgit was from Carlow, and I visited that charming village several summers ago. I like to think that some part of my ancestors’ courage and resilience lives on in me.

Bridgit, I wish I could read your “dairy”, if you ever wrote one. I would treasure it. I would keep it forever.