A Final Port of Call

Submitting yourself into the care of the Workhouse came with the relinquishment of your freedom and the destruction of your reputation. Both were seldom restored.

The inmates felt this stigma even before entering the Workhouse and accepted that the shame they felt would hang over them like a cold shadow for the rest of their lives. Many alive today still feel that stigma; let us not forget that the English Poor Law Act was only abolished in 1948, so there are people from the North of Ireland and Great Britain who still live with this stigma.

Those who escaped the Workhouse saw their reputation in tatters, being eyed as untrustworthy, as someone of low moral character, often suffering harassment and assault. It is a horrendous thought, but if we look at how we treat the homeless today, viewing them with suspicious eyes; drunks and addicts, convicts and charlatans. It’s clear that classism is not a modern-day invention. It has been inherited.

We could further discuss this stigma and what life was like for inmates outside of these drab grey walls, but instead we shall turn our attention to those who did not escape.

Many entering the Workhouse realised that it would be their final port of call; laid to rest in an unmarked grave on the sites Burial Grounds. Death and disease were rooted into the stones of the Workhouse; many suffered from illness and starved.

(Above: how inmates were recorded by the Board of Guardians.)

Following the potato blight and the resulting famine, scurvy was rampant in Ireland and the Workhouses. Inmates were Vitamin C deficient, which lead to compromised immune systems and susceptibility to illness. The leading cause of death in the young and infirm was diarrhoea and dysentery, this was exacerbated by the overcrowded and unhygienic conditions, particularly where food preparation and water storage was concerned. Milk would be brought into the Workhouse each morning and left in a bucket of water to keep it cool. By the end of the day, it was thick and blue, so inmates watered it down to make it more palatable, leading to further cases of gastrointestinal discomfort. There were also cases of cholera.

Overcrowded conditions lead to the rampancy of relapsing fever and typhus, often referred to as famine fever. Additionally, fireplaces were reserved for the Master and Matron of the Workhouse, as well as for teachers and meal preparation. The cold conditions were thought to keep disease and illness at bay, and the logic is sound, so many vents were incorporated into the accommodation buildings, but without a way to warm the stone buildings, dampness seeped in. As a result, inmates were stricken with influenza, pneumonia, and bronchitis. Tuberculosis (the consumption) lay ruin to the adult population of the Workhouse. Should you want to learn about specific cases, we invite you to come to the Museum and learn about the tragic tale of John Byrne.

(Above – Left: The cover of the Minutes Book 1851-1852. Right: The cover of the Mintes Book 1886.)

Negligence played a key role in the cold and unsanitary conditions of the Workhouse, but it should be made clear that the doctor serving these inmates was not negligent in his duties. John Farren Hart – fondly known as “The Big Doctor” – was dedicated to the people he served in the Infirmary Ward (Fever Hospital). Along with the adult female population of the Workhouse, he took care of inmates until 1860 when he succumbed to famine fever, like the many inmates he served. So, this begs the question, how many people died in the Workhouse? Regrettably, there is no clear answer.

For every year that the Workhouse was in operation, the Board of Guardians kept a Minutes Book where the number of people who were admitted, discharged, and died were recorded. Births and inmates transferred between Donaghmore and Roscrea were also recorded. The first book began on the 12^th of July 1851, while the final entry in the last book was dated the 25^th of September 1886. Given that the Workhouse operated for 35 years, there ought to be 35 Minutes Books. Unfortunately, only ten remain. However, if we look at the table below, we can try to estimate how many inmates died in the Workhouse

A total of 223 deaths were recorded in Donaghmore Union Workhouse, and from that we can calculate that there were 22 (22.3) deaths a year on average. Therefore, by applying the average to the missing twenty-five years’ worth of Minutes Books, this suggests that about 558 (557.5) deaths occurred in the Workhouse during those years. Adding the 223 deaths that we know about to the estimated 558 deaths, that gives us a total of 781 (780.5) deaths. However, it is worth considering that given the variation in the number of deaths per year, this estimate is unreliable at best and misleading at worst.

(Above – Left: The first inmates recorded in Donaghmore. Right: The last inmates recorded.)

The chances are that we will never know how many people died in Donaghmore Union Workhouse or what happened to those twenty-five missing Minutes Books. This isn’t just true for Donaghmore Union Workhouse, but for Workhouses in Abbeyleix, Mountmellick, and Roscrea, where most of the books are also missing. What started as a system of poor relief meant to serve the destitute and the sick, ended up prolonging their suffering. The Workhouse, as an institution, has left behind a legacy of suffering and indifference, stigma, and shame, that is still sharply felt today.