Free Under the Hawthorn Tree by Marita Conlon-Mckenna Page A

Maybe their luck was changing. They had a little grain, still a few turnips left, some bread and cheese and now they knew they were near the journey’s end.
    They climbed over a stone wall. A lush green field sloped almost the whole way down to the sea. They had never been by the sea before and wanted to see it close up, so they walked towards it through the long grass. The view was deceptive, as the bottom of the field revealed a sheer drop down a jagged steep cliff to the lapping waves below. The children breathed in the fresh sea air, almost able to smell and taste its saltiness. They could never have imagined such vastness. Where the sea ended, the sky began. Far in the distance, a blur, which must have been a boat, could be spotted.
    They found a good place to sit and rest and watch the seagulls glide in the air and circle and disappear near the cliff. They watched the cormorants dive under the water and re-emerge with a fish. The air was still and warm. Michael divided up the bread and cheese. They had forgotten how long it was since they had eaten fresh bread. Eily remembered Mother baking it –the smell would fill the cottage, and the three of them wouldn’t even leave it to cool before they would wolf it down. She felt such a pang of homesickness here, in this strange place, that she had to pretend to look out to sea so the others wouldn’t notice the tears in her eyes. Then they spread out a blanket and lay back, and the distant lapping of the waves soon lulled them to sleep.
    When they woke they breathed a few deep breaths of sea air again and made their way back through the field and on to the dusty road.

CHAPTER 11

Travelling by Night

    THE DRY SPELL CONTINUED . The sun beat down mercilessly. At midday the children would find shade under a tree and rest for about three hours. At times the road, which was now hardbaked, almost burned the soles of their feet. Little bluetits and sparrows chattered in the dust, looking for water. All the little brooks and streams had dried up, and the children’s water can was empty. The shame of it was that in the distance they could still see the rippling blue of the sea mocking them. But they had heard tell that if you drank salt water it would drive you crazy. They chewed grass and pulled unripe blackberries from the brambles, desperate for moisture. They sucked stems – anything to ease the thirst. Their lips were dry, cracked and sore. This was worse than the hunger.
    Rounding a bend in the road, they stopped and stared in amazement at the landscape ahead. Everything in sight was charred and blackened. Here and there tiny spirals of smoke still drifted upwards. There wasn’t a blade of grass to be seen.
    The children blessed themselves. The smell of burning assaulted their senses. They tied rags around their noses and mouths.
    ‘Someone must have set a fire and not put it out,’ said Michael. ‘With the dry spell it just ran in all directions.’
    Nothing stirred in this bleakness, not a bird or an insect or a bee or an animal. It was too quiet. Fields of what had been gorse and heather and pasture had been laid bare.
    ‘Are we in hell?’ asked Peggy, her thin little face drawn and worried.
    ‘No,’ said Eily, ‘just a place destroyed. Come on, we’ll move through this as quick as we can.’
    Gradually colour returned to the terrain and they were surrounded by fields of long, overgrown grass, dried out and standing tall. Peggy had found a ladybird and held it gently in the palm of her hand, chatting to it. Looking at her, Eily realised how young she was, just barely seven, and how brave a little girl she was. There was no point in stopping, they just had to keep going and get tosome water. Eventually they found a ditch. Large weeds and brambles grew over it and protected it from the sun’s sharp rays. They knelt down in the dry mud. At the base of the ditch the earth was still a dark brown and had not yet turned grey. The could not get the water into the