Marita Conlon-McKenna

Under the Hawthorn Tree

The first book in the famine trilogy

Under the Hawthorn Tree is Ireland's top selling children's book. The phenomenal success of this original and enthralling book is celebrated with this beautiful hardback gift edition. This novel has become a classic for young readers worldwide. Under the Hawthorn Tree continues to go from strength to strength and this new edition is a must for any collection.

Ireland in the 1840s is devastated by famine. When tragedy strikes their family, Eily, Michael and Peggy are left to fend for themselves. Starving and in danger of the dreaded workhouse, they escape. Their one hope is to find the great aunts they have heard about in their mother's stories.With tremendous courage they set out on a journey that will test every reserve of strength, love and loyalty they possess.

Also available on DVD.
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    b2742057823har citeretfor 10 måneder siden
    at Mother, waiting for her reply. She nodded her head silently.
    ‘Under the hawthorn tree in the back field,’ she whispered. ‘The children always played there and its blossom will shelter her now.’
    Dan motioned to Michael and they left the cottage and disappeared up to the field carrying a spade.
    ‘We’ve no coffin,’ said Mother hoarsely.
    Kitty looked around the cottage and begged Eily to help her. Eily cleared her throat. ‘What about using grandmother’s wooden chest?’
    Kitty and Eily pulled it out from under the old bed and lifted it onto the blanket. Mother walked over and nodded silently. Kitty began to take out the family treasures and
    b3926091144har citeretsidste år
    THE AIR FELT COLD and damp as Eily stirred in her bed and tried to pull a bit more of the blanket up to her shoulders. Her little sister Peggy moved against her. Peggy was snoring again. She always did when she had a cold.
    The fire was nearly out. The hot ash made a soft glow in the gloom of the cottage.
    Mother was crooning quietly to the baby. Bridget’s eyes were closed and her soft face looked paler than ever as she lay wrapped in Mother’s shawl, her little fist clinging to a piece of the long chestnut-coloured hair.
    Bridget was ill – they all knew it. Underneath the wrapped shawl her body was too thin, her skin white and either too hot or too cold to the touch. Mother held her all
    b3926091144har citeretsidste år
    THE AIR FELT COLD and damp as Eily stirred in her bed and tried to

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