A Letter From Michael

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Dear Siobhan,

Why didn’t you tell me where they took ya?                                                                                    

I’ve been asking your ma for weeks now. She would hardly talk to me, besides from telling me to get the feck off her land and call me some names like a Devil’s whore or some shite like that.                                   

I had to round the neighbouring towns, asking everyone that knew ya, if they knew where they shipped ye off ta.  Hadn’t had a baldy notion on where you’d gone, you were here one minute, and it was like you’d turned into some forgotten ghost the next. No one was talking, or at least none of your family were. Some of them even had the nerve to say they didn’t know who you was. Took me weeks to find out where you’d gone.       

When I went up to Aughrim for the cattle show, Martha O’ Connor (the girl that was in your year at national school, she said you’d know of her) told me of the rumour of you that’s been spinning round the country.            

Tuam? Why’d they take you there? Was it the priest that pulled your hand into going? I’ll have a right word with him if it was, slimy gombeen of a man. Good for nothing that one is.           

And your mother is a foul witch for even letting you go. Had she not heard of what they do to women like you in there? Run by Ol’ biddy’s who wash themselves in religious, holy notions and do feck all in this life besides from taunting devilish actions.  I’ll tell you something now Siobhan, I am never stepping foot on your farm again whilst your Ol’ hag is alive. I know she was a bitch, but a cruel woman? They’ll have a special place in hell for her, taking you and the ween away from me.                                                

I’m coming to collect ya next week, I don’t care how they try to spin it, we’re going home. I don’t even fecking care if home is Australia or somewhere not on this soil, you are fecking leaving that place!         

Why didn’t you tell me? You know I would’ve looked after the both of ye. I always want to do right by you.

I’m sorry, I’m just panicking. It’s given me a bit of a fright, now.                                     

We’ll be fine now. We’ll get married, I have a few pennies stored so we can buy somewhere nice, and we’ll raise the child together.                                                                  

It will be okay, just make sure you pack your bags ready for next Thursday. I’ll pick you up around 8ish. Meet me out the back, I’ll be in me dad’s truck, and we’ll set off for somewhere. We’ll be grand Siobhan, live a nice life together, I just wish you’d told me sooner, so you didn’t have to step foot in that wretched place at all.                                

I lo- It’ll be okay; I’ll make sure of that. Just make sure you’re ready to leave.

Ní neart go cur le chéile. I will look after you.