“It was dim and gloomy down below. Peggy couldn’t believe that this dreadful place was where she would spend the next five to six weeks. She could see so much in the faces of fellow passengers – excitement, hope, fear, and, in a few, utter misery. They all were aware of the noise of water slapping against the wood of the ship’s frame. Suddenly it seemed louder and stronger, and they realized that the ship was casting off and leaving the quayside…At once there was a mad rush up on deck. They formed a human chain all round the ship. No words were spoken as they feasted their eyes on a last look at Ireland…the journey had begun.
It was dusk when they filed down below. Everyone was aware that there was no going back.”
- from Wildflower Girl by Marita Conlon-McKenna
I have always been an avid reader of historical fiction since my days of literary adventure with the American Girls. I fled from slavery with Addy, I embraced Nordic traditions with Kirsten, I helped impoverished girls with Samantha, I became a penny pincher with Kit, and I rode horses through revolution with Felicity. Every one of these adventures instilled the culture and trials of various historical periods in my long-term memory because they were through shared experiences of story. Because of Felicity and my brief years living in Virginia, my propensity has been towards the colonial era in my historical fiction reading, and to this day I love tales of that time. I used to wear my very own colonial dresses (sewn by my skilled, kind mother) through the streets of colonial Williamsburg and pretend that I worked there like every other costumed passerby. No doubt I will always adore that era of history.
In coordination with my colonial fascination, I read a humorous account of our American forefathers entitled John, Paul, George, and Ben written and illustrated by Lane Smith. This witty narrative tells a short tale about each forefather when they were just a boy: John Hancock, Paul Revere, Benjamin Franklin, and George Washington. Each tale highlights a predominant trait in the boy that ends up being useful as they become part of the American Revolution.
John loves to sign his name as largely as possible on everything, and so, when it came time to sign the Declaration of Independence, John made his historically famous signature. Paul is depicted as a boy who cannot control his speaking volume, and so, when the British finally arrived, Paul was there to loudly proclaim the warning. Ben had many clever sayings that helped form the American government. George chops the cherry tree and cannot tell a lie, and so, he becomes the trusted first president. Even so, the funny final page of the story shows that they keep George away from trees.
The ending pages of the book give a truthful account of each man’s history to compare with the humorous tales in the story. The pen and ink illustrations bring life to the story and include speech bubble details that make the book incredibly interesting and entertaining. Children can enjoy relating to our American forefathers in the approachable context of childhood follies that we all share.
Beyond my appreciation for colonial fictions, I also have a fondness for historically accurate tales of fictional characters overcoming hardship through persecution, immigration, or evasion. I was fortunate enough to spend my honeymoon last month in Northern Ireland, and I encountered this trilogy of books by Irish author Marita Conlon-McKenna. She writes the tale of Peggy O’Driscoll through her survival of the Great Famine, her immigration to America, and her expansion to the west. Wildflower Girl is the second book in the series, and takes Peggy through her decision to immigrate, her horrid experience on the ship to America, and trying to find her place and employment in the busy city of Boston.
Seeing the cities, villages, and fields of Irish country firsthand, I could understand what Peggy was giving up by gambling a better life and employment in America. I can easily imagine her shock and horror at the devastating conditions of life on the ship. Immigration tales are numerous, but I had not read one of Irish immigration, and I knew the fare would be cheap and difficult, but the wretched affair was worse that I had imagined. I would regale you with the sorrows, but I rather you read them for yourself. Finally, Peggy does arrive in Boston, and after various failed attempts at proper employment, she finds a place in a fine house as a scullery maid. I look forward to continuing her tale when I read the next book, Fields of Home.
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