Bent over, I stand at the edge of a lake in North Ireland, I am 25 years old and have embarked on my journey through life, beginning at age 17. Maria was my wife, a Spanish-French servant girl in the lord’s household, Fenn Fenwick, Isle of Man.

We are distressed at the news of war in the north. We see fires lit on the hills in anticipation of the need to pass the word. There are stone cairns in these hills; it is a very old area. I have visited my uncle here five or six times. He is a shopkeeper in Dublin. He is a tallow man mutton-fat maker and dealer.

I brought Maria here with me one time when I was 22 or 23. We were expecting our child

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at that time. It was a boy, born dead, and she soon after from a milk fever. Her sister offered to marry me but I cannot go that course again.

I have a fine blue silk jerkin under my robe, leather leggings wrapped with thongs, trousers tucked in and bloused at the knee, a cloak with a hood, and a blanket of rough wool over my shoulder. I walk with a staff at this age, too. I am not too sure of foot, due to clew-foot.

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There are geese flying overhead, going south. It is going to be a hard winter. Many cattle and souls will starve. The peat fires will run still and freeze the babes and the old. The stone cottages here-abouts are poor habitation for humans in cold weather without sufficient fuel.

We get up to 12 inches snow which can lie on the ground for as long as three months in January to March and makes travel and food-gathering a trial. We have wolves here and a deer that winters in this area. It is a source of fresh meat for the people in winter. We use the calendar of St. George. Augustus is Pope!

I was married when quite young but my wife died of childbirth and I decided not to try the matrimonial state again; better service to mankind in general than the heart invested in one.

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I ask for a drink of water but we are out. My throat dries easily since the stroke. I also get cold on my left side. I wear a shawl in winter and bound feet for warmth. I use a walking staff now. I am 69 or 73 years of age; I am not sure which.

There is talk of war in the south. We hear news from traveling merchants and mendicants come spring. It is very cheery to hear gossip from outside – so far to London, I have never been there.

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I am speaking to you of a time when men lived on the fields and on the farm; when man’s spirit was close to the earth; when man’s sole concern was how he would put bread on the table.

I see that you in your time have no conception of how this would concern the average man. You have so much plenty, even the poorest of you. Even those on welfare feel disadvantaged, but have no conception of what it is to garner the very sparcest meal from the land.

I see a time when man ate the seeds of trees, grubs from the ground and from the logs, the very small things – even earth just to satisfy his hunger.

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Some monks of my monastery moved into the territory and became instrumental in raising the economy. The people were walking in bloody rags, with barely a cloth to hang over their shoulders for shelter, and those were men such as you are today.

Can you imagine the sympathy we had for these individuals? We came from a much richer area, where we had many skills that became very valuable to these poor creatures.

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We wish to speak of Basil and Emery; they were two wise monks who did wondrous deeds in their own way. They composed much material still used today in Catholic liturgy, and did much research on Oriental literature and were much aid to their community in good works.

They were instrumental, was the monastery, in the development of the economic life of the area. Much backward were the people then, before the introduction of the Order in this area. I saw people go from rags on their feet to shoes and sound houses in less than 50 years. I hope to see such real improvements in your time.

Basil and Emery were of an order of working monks who served the surrounding country, much like your Peace

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Corps of today. I do not feel there is a true understanding of our life and duty of the times. We were much proud and more earthly than you esteem us. We used alcohol at times and had many worldly vices, but in the name of love.

It was a jolly time for us – quite wholesome for all. We ate well (much donation from our parish), and wore warm, comfortable clothes – brown robes and sometimes white upper-garments like your peasant shirt, over trousers of brown or black, and slip-on shoes – when working and in the area. We sometimes shaved the head as a symbolic gesture. We were dutiful to our prayers and much did they benefit us. We were in love with our work; it was a very satisfying life.

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We are of the 4th, the 4th of our Order. We are on a stream. There is a ruined castle nearby, destroyed by the Normans after our time. Sheep graze nearby and the miller’s daughter plays on the fen. Deersmith is the local gentry. This is our first location in the Isles. The Old Track lingers here and there and some remnants of former times still exist but most is in rack and ruin. We wish you to see it as it was then; lovely, bare and lonely, and so green.

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We are eleven in the glen. There are no Fathers. We work together as men in the common field. We are dedicated to work together. One has a wife; she is fat and fair and a good cook. She does not stay the year but goes home to her parents to care for her babies. We Brothers live together 52 years – in the end but nine of us left.

Prayed together and planned, did we. Our brothers in the fields were in deep misery. Plague and war had laid low the land – all was in ruin and starvation was near. Some ate fat smeared on the inner bark of trees and babies sucked the juice from straw soaked in water. Proud people sat in doorways, near starving, helpless to help themselves. God have mercy on their souls. Cannibalism was whispered of and thieving ran high. How broad the misery on the land.

Our Order began its healing of the web of man by gathering all to one place for counsel and shelter. We spent the winter with 120 souls, more or less, gathered in the ruined great hall of the fort, sustained by mutton, fat and gruel. Soldiers from the north gave us fruit saved for their Christmas treat as they passed through. There were oranges from Naples, figs and dates – much rejoicing and delight. Many babies died that winter; it was very cold. Most wood was picked clean in that portion of Britain.

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Spring brought tides of fishes in the streams and we waded to gather them and later feasted. How joyful to eat of the sign of our Lord. The fishes had returned to feed us.