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The Grave is written over more than one era and this excerpt is from Victorian times
Just before she left, her Ma fastened her prized possession in the World, a small silver locket around Sorcha's neck. It contained a lock of silver hair, plus a tiny crude photograph of her own mother from recent years.
Sorcha was petite, with very fair skin and emerald green eyes; typical of her Irish ancestry. She had long hair, auburn in colour, which she sometimes wore in a bun, covered by a navy bonnet; perhaps in a vain bid to look a bit older. Her very old, extremely well -worn, hand me down lace up boots pinched her feet.
Sorcha tried to object. “I can’t take this Ma ...” but she was hushed.
“Quiet, child, it will keep us close. And make sure you take good care of it.” She hugged her daughter, giving her a final kiss goodbye on her forehead.
A little while later at the docks, Sorcha jostled amongst a crowd of mainly male foot passengers, as everyone with some trepidation stepped aboard a steam ship bound for England.
None were dressed in finery, and almost all had scrimped and saved for their passage, in the hope of finding work and a better life in England. A few lucky ones already had work to go to but most were searching. Sorcha had been fortunate enough to have had the whole journey to the new place of work paid for by her new employers.
Bad weather ensued for the majority of the crossing. Heavy rain poured down and the wind whistled around. Dark clouds hid all trace of the sun. The day was truly a miserable one. Sorcha tried to smile as a tear ran down her cheek. She also missed being with the rest of the family. The unknown, although exciting, appeared slightly daunting too. She had never met her employers and wondered what they were like.