Title: The Wind That Shakes The Barley
Brennan Liam Shaughnessy - November 29, 2010 07:47 PM (GMT)
[dohtml]<div style='width: 320px; text-align: justify;'>Brennan's journal- it's as old as he is, given to him by his parents as a child. The first few pages are covered in doodles and chicken scratch handwriting. A few pages have been torn out after them- attempts at songs that Brennan threw away. There is one photo stuck between the pages of Brennan's parents in Sunday's best, and a note they wrote on the first page before he left for Queenstown.
Photo by Roger Vaughn
Brennan Liam Shaughnessy - November 29, 2010 11:52 PM (GMT)
March 5, 1912
The day we leave can't seem to come quickly enough. As much as I love home, I love more the idea of finally seeing something else; Mama and Da might be content to stay in Cork, but I'm not. I want to travel, and the first step is Queenstown. Siobhan and
Twatface Connor and Deirdre are going to join me a few days before we sail, but I plan to be there for two weeks ahead of time.
I've heard from a few people that the first thing you see coming into America is their Statue of Liberty. Unfortunately, though, nobody I've met so far can tell me what the statue even looks like. But I presume I'll find out in a few weeks' time.
Brennan Liam Shaughnessy - January 2, 2011 05:04 AM (GMT)
March 30, 1912
Well, this trip is off to an interesting start.
Spent a day killing time at one of the local pubs, and I managed to win enough money off of poker and blackjack to take a detour over to England; I think I'm going to spend a week here, since I don't want to be bored of Queenstown too soon before sailing day. Being away from home is... I could hardly imagine the experience. For one thing, being surrounded by people I don't know is kind of strange, but not in a bad way... it makes people-watching more entertaining in the very least. I found a room at the local inn that I've been sharing with another man like myself, staying in Queenstown until the Titanic arrives.
England is... different. Though I could do without all of the looks once people find out where I'm from by my accent; as if they've any right to look down on me considering England's working class struggles just as much as those in Ireland.
I'll say this much though, the place is entertaining. I stopped at a tavern for a meal and a drink the other night, when some upper-class lady walks in. I still have no idea what she was doing there, but it was... interesting. Besides, you know, the fact that she was looking at me the whole time like I had a second head.
On an unrelated note, English gruel looks and smells suspiciously like the slop farmer O'Rourke fed his hogs back home.
Brennan Liam Shaughnessy - March 5, 2011 08:33 PM (GMT)
April 2, 1912
The upper class confuse me.
Or maybe it's just Sorrel Langley, I have no idea. Either way she's easily the most stubborn and confusing woman I've ever come across. Twatface thinks he has his hands full with Siobhan, I'd love to see these two verbally duke it out.
But first of all, I have to wonder why on earth she picked me out of a group to do a job considering our last, eh... encounter gave me the impression she'd like my head on a pike. The hell was I just going to stand there and let them toss me in the paddywagon, so I still don't know what the hell she was mad about.
In any case, I'm writing this from inside the biggest stable I've ever seen on the Langley estate; apparently the lord of the place wants a fountain or something and got fed up with dealing with contracted labor. After this job, considering what he's paying, I'll be in damn good standing once we board the ship; 2 to 5 shillings a day, I'd have to be a madman to refuse considering what factories want to pay Irish workers.
Bunch of cheapskate bastards...
In any case, I should probably try and catch some sleep before tomorrow. Langley pays well, but he also demands long hours and few breaks.
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