Achill’s tattie hokers worked in ‘slavish conditions’

By Tom Gillespie

LAST August we serialised the reprinting from The Connaught Telegraph of the Kirkintilloch bothy disaster in which 10 Achill youths lost their lives in September 1937.

In December 1936 the Connaught carried a harrowing report on the ‘slavish conditions’ in which the Achill labourers had to work.

The report read: Practically every train arriving in Achill Sound recently carried a contingent of women who for months had been labouring in the potato fields of Scotland, and men who had spent the summer and autumn helping the English farmer with his harvest.

In almost every home on the island great reunions take place at this period of the year, for almost a third of the population had returned after six months of toil in farms across the water.

Widows and their children, girls from 14 years upwards, fathers of large families, and even grandmothers are amongst the 2,000 who leave their little homes on the island at the end of spring each year to toil in the fields of England and Scotland.

After six months of the most gruelling labour, during which they have toiled from dawn till dusk, they are once more amongst their own people.

Their meagre earnings have been carefully hoarded, for on the few pounds saved they have to exist throughout the winter months, when this barren but beautiful island can render them so very little.

Not since they left school have many of the young folk here seen their own homes during that portion of the year when tourists are flocking to admire the beauties of the place that gave them birth.

I witnessed the arrival of a group of girls. They got into Achill on the first train, having crossed from Glasgow the previous night.

The eyes were red for want of sleep, and every face was a picture of utter weariness. In age they ranged probably from 15 to 25, but most of them seemed prematurely old.

Long hours of continuous stooping at potato gatherings and exposure to all kinds of weather had left a mark upon them.

Shoulders, which must have once been erect as those of the younger girls who were present to greet them, were drooping and bent, their fine hands, never intended for the work which they had been engaged, were coarse and red.

As willing helpers relieved them of their baggage, and cheery words of welcome fell on their ears, their wan faces were lit up with smiles, and the thoughts of Scotland and what it had meant for them were cast aside.

Until the end of next May they can enjoy the small comforts of their own firesides. While the gales howl in from the Atlantic during the dark winter evenings they can rest in preparation for the time when the heartbreak of leave-taking must be experienced all over again.

And so it has been on this island for many years.

Some of the older people had hoped to see the day when conditions would change, and something would happen to put an end to the miserable existence of their children. So far they have hoped in vain.

One old man who worked for 35 seasons in Scotland said to me: “We thought that things might have changed when we got our own government, but now my own grandchildren are doing the same kind of work I did in the potato fields.

“It is not so bad for men, but surely something could be done to prevent our women having to do such awful work.”

I met a girl of 15 - a mere child - who had just been a fortnight back from Ayrshire. Her father was dead and she had been over there with her mother and two elder sisters.

She told me that had been her second year in Scotland. She had gone out for the first time last year after leaving school.

“What is the work like out there,” I asked her.

“I hate it,” was her answer. “The boat always makes me sick and I thought I was going to die the first time we went over.

“We have to be up at half-past two in the morning and at night we sleep with all the others on straw. It’s a cruel, hard life, but sure we have nothing else to do.”

The bitterness and despair of this child was pathetic, and the very thought of having to go back next year seemed to terrify her. Many of the young girls are like that when they go out first, I was informed by a man who gave a harrowing account of conditions on the Scottish farms.

During the summer, he said, all the girls had to be out of bed at 2.30 and they were at work shortly after three. In the winter they had to be at the potato pits at 6 a.m., working on their knees for many hours at a stretch.

After separating the good potatoes from the bad they had to bag them and get them ready for the market.

Frequently the work had to be carried out in the rain, and on many a night the women returned to their bothies with their clothing wet through.

In the bothies, or sheds, in which 30 or 40 women had to sleep, he said, there was no such thing as a bed. The occupants had to carry their own bedding material with them. This usually consisted of straw and some poor bed clothing. The straw was placed on a few boxes, and on this the unfortunate women and girls had to sleep. Sometimes they danced for hours to get warm before going to bed.

Tramps were not infrequent visitors to the bothies during the night, and very often brothers had to come from the sheds in which they had been sleeping to protect their sisters from these nocturnal visitors.

When passing from farm to farm on lorries the girls had to suffer all kinds of insults, and were most frequently referred to as ‘the dirty Irish tattie hokers’.

Prominent residents of the island with whom I discussed the problem see only one solution - the establishment of one or two industries for which a monopoly must be created.

Only in that way, they claim, will the women and men of the island be enabled to remain at home.

They admit that the government has not altogether neglected them, and their roads and homes are being improved, but they want something which will give employment on the island for 12 months of the year. With the exception of a few employed at knitting, there is absolutely no industry on the island.

A few dozen fishermen eke out a bare existence, but are now disturbed by the rumour that the railway line to Westport will be closed early next year.

“Should that happen,” said a prominent resident, “it will prevent industries ever being established here and put Achill in the position it was 50 years ago (1886).”