Eviction

‘Did you hear what happened at the Gallagher’s farm?’ Michael Confrey asked.

‘I heard tell that Tom died of a fever and that Nancy’s abed with nursing fever. Is that what you mean?’ Pat Earley replied.

‘There’s that. It’s Lord Leitrim that’s the problem.’

‘What’s he done now? Haven’t we enough on our plates with trying to survive the crop failure and still pay his tithes?

Michael took a sip of his poitin and a draw of his pipe. Pat waited for him to speak and supped his tea.

‘He’s after serving her an eviction notice because they cut those brambles back without asking for leave to do it and her unable to get out of the bed to fight it in a court of law.’

‘Ah sure that’s not right,’ said Pat. ‘Surely there’s something can be done about it.’

‘That’s the thing. Frank Reynolds son has a friend who’s a lawyer, trained in England so he did and he’s heard about the evictions and wants to help.’

Pat scratched at his stubble, caught a louse there and squished it between his fingers. Michael had been telling him to dip himself in the lake to kill the creatures. He hadn’t done it yet.

‘It must cost money, even so,’ he said, catching another louse and flicking it into the fire.

Michael sat back out of its trajectory.

‘Lord in his mercy save us. Would you for goodness sake use Biddy Murray’s cure if you won’t wash them yokes off you.’

‘I did. Them’s the ones that’s left,’ Pat answered. ‘Tell us about the lawyer.’

‘He’s a solicitor,’ so he is,’ he said drawing on his pipe and slowly blowing out its sweet nutty peaty flumes into the air around them.

‘Well it turns out Nancy isn’t the only one in Drumshanbo. He has some fella who’s trying to rent as much land as he can off him for twice the rent we pay. He’s looking for any excuse to evict. If someone plants a carrot in their yard without asking him first or is a day late, he slaps on an eviction notice. And anyone with a daughter or a wife isn’t safe from his lechery. I’ve heard tell that any woman left alone with children is out if she won’t give him a bit of how’s your business. But evicting a sick relict not two weeks after giving birth and three since losing her man, the man’s gone too far. There’s a meeting in the hall tomorrow night with the lawyer fella. He wants every able bodied farmer and his wife to show up after ten o’clock mass. Are you in?’

‘I am,’ said Pat.

‘Bring some coins with you.’

Pat nodded and poured another cup of dark strong tea.

The hall was jammed with angry tenant farmers. They were inured to the smell of manure, sweat and old dirt they exuded. It was cold and damp outside. Inside, steam rose from the heat of the bodies packed like turf ricks in the assembly. Their voices hummed.

The lawyer stood on the platform and waited for silence. Only the local priest and the schoolmaster had the same commanding presence as this young man.

Frank Reynolds introduced him as Jack Hennessey to the silenced crowd. Only the odd hacking cough interrupted his flow.

‘Ladies and gentlemen. Did you know it costs us five shillings to issue a writ to bring a suit against a man?’ Jack declared.

‘Sure and what does that matter when we can’t afford the court fees?’ A disgruntled voice heckled from the floor.

‘Well the thing is. It costs five pounds to defend one and that’s just to have the case heard in court. There’s the matter of paying for a barrister every day, not to mention that he might lose.’

‘The gentry never lose,’ muttered a woman’s voice. ‘The courts is in their pockets.’

Jack raised a hand for silence.

‘I want you to list every initiative and expense ye and yer ancestors took on that improved the value of your land. Every outhouse, every acre cleared, every house built and window you installed. I need volunteers who can read and write to come up here and make yourselves known. They’ll take down the details from you.’

When all was recorded, it transpired that the farmers had been industrious in their improvements. As well as building houses and outbuildings with their own hands, they had introduced crop rotation and enclosure before Lord Leitrim had inherited the title. When they totalled the improvements made, their expenses exceeded the value of the potential sale or the cost of ten years’ rent.

Four hundred farmers paid five shillings to lodge their writs with the assizes the following morning. The courthouse had never been so busy.

Within a week, Jack had negotiated an out of court settlement. They would withdraw the writs in exchange for: 100 year leases, first option to buy if land was sold, a stay on evictions and compensation of 100 shillings.

Nancy heard the news when the biseach an bháis came upon her (the false improvement that comes shortly before someone dies). Her son inherited the lease when he was a month old.