Ballycastle, County Mayo. 1847.
He left Ireland with a promise. A story told in letters. Posted from Ireland. Kept by you.
Read Mary's opening letter ↗
Mary. Ballycastle, November 1847.
Six weeks. Two days.Still no word. “Only write, Patrick. A line on a scrap would do me.”
Watch Mary's film ↗
Patrick. Boston, December 1847.
“I am landed and I am living.” An ocean between them. A letter on its way.
Watch Patrick's letter ↗ Pause motion Yours, From Ireland
One promise. Twenty-four lettersbetween them. Patrick is a second son with no land coming to him. He leaves for Boston and promises to send for Mary. Her father has a different future in mind.
You meet them through their letters. The waiting, the small things, the words they choose to put on paper.
Read the back story Original historical fiction, researched from the record. The opening letters, on film
A moment in their world. AI dramatisations of our original historical fiction. Choose a film to play.
Ballycastle, November 1847
Six weeks and two days. Mary waits, dictates her letter, and sends it.
Watch Mary's film Read the film transcript Mary stands at the window. Six weeks and two days. Still no word from Patrick.
At Father Mullan's table, he writes as she dictates: “He is putting down what I say.”
Her letter is folded. “Only write, Patrick. A line on a scrap would do me.”
Read Mary's opening letter. An AI dramatisation of original historical fiction.
Boston, December 1847
A moment with Patrick. A room in Boston. A letter to Mary. A road he is trying to remember.
Watch the film or read the transcript below.
A dramatisation of Patrick's opening letter. Play to listen.
Read the film transcript Patrick sits at a small table in his Boston lodging and begins a letter. We hear his thoughts as he writes.
My dear Mary. I am landed and I am living and I am in work.
The town is very big, Mary, and it is built close, and there is no soft ground anywhere in it.
I will not put the crossing down on paper. It is over, and there is no good in the two of us carrying it.
Tell me the small things.
I do be lying awake putting the road from your house to ours in order in my head, gate by gate, in case I lose it.
Your own, Patrick.
He remembers a lane in Mayo, then returns to his letter and folds the paper.
The correspondence
The story, through your letterbox. Twenty-four letters over twelve months. A complete story, 1847 to 1857.
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