Southern Gold

by Jude Thomas

  Billie is not considered different by her fellow pupils, other than the strange fact that she enjoys extra tuition, and she engages with them in her usual outgoing way. They will all progress from Arthur Street School at the end of the year. Some boys will go on to work and some to Otago Boys’ High. Some girls will stay home with their mamas and the fortunate few will continue with private education, or even go on to secondary school.

  The new Provincial High School for Girls is to be established next year after six years of petitioning by Miss Learmonth Dalrymple and her associates, including Mary Clayton and Amy Barnes. Encouraged by Provincial Treasurer Julius Vogel, the dauntless band of women advocated the view that girls deserve more than embroidery lessons and singing tuition designed to help them attract suitors. ‘Intellect is of no sex’, claim the petitioners, to the horror of those who believe the very word exemplifies debauchery. But at last girls will be able to achieve more than learning how to balance a book on their head and make calming conversation, through the opportunity of a more rigorous academic education.

  Edwin’s plan is for Billie to have this opportunity, but not immediately. After conversations and general opinion at dinners, he feels it will take a while for protocols and directions to settle down. For one thing there is not yet a building fund and the girls will initially be taught in one of Boys’ High classrooms. For another thing, for all his forward thinking Edwin is not convinced that girls will do well in a mixed, higher-educational environment like their American counterparts. Not that the sexes will be taught together, but their physical proximity in the initial buildings may take the focus off learning. He feels that Billie’s education should not be subjected to the trials and tribulations of a new school, despite his admiration for Miss Dalrymple. Instead she should be engaged productively for a while yet.

  After that perhaps she may be ready – and may be permitted, at not yet thirteen years old, to enter straight into the fourth form, where she will no doubt mix with a wide range of academically-inclined girls and go as far as she can.

  Meanwhile, he proposes that Billie does not go on to high school at its outset and her guardians deliver this news.

  ‘But I want to, I want to go!’ she cries with a flash of fury. ‘I want to go and be able to kick about!’

  ‘Kick about indeed, miss. There will surely be no kicking about at all. We are talking about a high school and you will remember that you are privileged to be able to apply,’ Meg states sternly.

  ‘Oh, how I wish I were a boy – and I have never done so before. But I shall, I shall go on to learn more and more!’

  ‘A fine passion you show, but Mr Northey thinks otherwise at this time and you have been very pleased with his suggestions to date.’ Meg struggles to be firm. ‘Yes, he does hope you will go, only not at this time. So for next year you shall probably go on with Miss Clayton.’

  ‘I do love Miss Clayton, certainly. Only, I think it would be marvellous to kick about with high school girls.’

  ‘Kick about, indeed!’ says Meg once more.

  And I shall, thinks Billie. Alf glimpses the Look, smiles and gently pats his wife’s arm in the long-familiar way.

  Now the young ones are exhausted and dusty. With flushed faces and eager bellies, they are agitating to come inside for their afternoon tea of bread and jam, cake and ginger beer. Edwin has acknowledged Billie’s opinions on high school. He has watched, thought and reflected on where to from now. As he descends the main stairwell and joins the flurry of youngsters in the private parlour Edwin decides it is time to consider a new direction.

  Billie could be a real leader; a leader of her time. Not only shall she have a secondary education, she may even be able to go on to university one day. Although the prospect is well into her future and tertiary education for girls is not yet on the statutes in New Zealand, Edwin believes she would enjoy the challenge. The notion is not outrageous; Sweden and America have been producing college-educated women for years and now England has joined the ranks. Thinking far ahead, of course, but perhaps he can find a way for her to sit the first scholarship examination to be introduced by the University of New Zealand next year. He will think on it further. He will make investigations. Yes, yes, he must scope Billie’s future carefully.

  As Edwin strolls along Princes Street early that evening with Miss Amy Barnes on his arm – they are bound for the Theatre Royal and have alighted the carriage some way before so as to take exercise – he is alerted to a din outside Wain’s Hotel. The stagecoach from Central Otago has just arrived in a flourish of whinnying and clatter.

  ‘Make way for Ned Devine!’ smiles Edwin and proprietorially soothes the slim hand of his companion who is not in the least startled by the commotion. ‘Such a showman, but a capital chap indeed. We’ve done business many times. I’d trust Ned with my life – even if he is an Australian!’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  When Edwin proposes that Billie should have the opportunity to travel around Central Otago by stagecoach from mid-January next year, Meg is horrified. Why in heaven’s name would anyone go on such a dangerous journey if they didn’t need to get to that part of the world for any good reason? The tracks are fraught with hazardous slips, the rivers flood in a moment and drownings are rife. They believe the drivers are extremely uncouth and the carriages vastly overcrowded. Murders are said to be commonplace. And just last week they heard that a posse of gunslingers – mad, pistol-packing bushrangers – shot a driver who refused to disembark, leaving him and his escorts to freeze to death overnight in the gully.

  ‘Dangerous and unnecessary – I doubt it very much, Mr Northey, sir!’

  But Edwin presses on. He explains his plan, that Billie would be strictly chaperoned by his good friend Angus Macandrew, Esquire, who makes the journey regularly to inspect the Bank of New Zealand branch offices. His business is not connected with the gold escorts, who travel separately and do face the possibility of stickups. Also, he and Macandrew know some of the Cobb & Co coachmen. One Mr Devine is the best in the business with an excellent record and arguably the finest skills: indeed, he recently turned his carriage’s rear wheel on a half crown for a wager outside Wain’s Hotel! The gold rush is dwindling, most prospectors having moved on to Nelson and the West Coast and the threat of outlaws and stickups is much lower these days. In any case, robbers target the gold escorts, not passenger coaches. Yes, the Yankee and Aussie whips are the best, superbly skilled and experienced and Macandrew chooses his ride accordingly. And as for that story about the gold escort being left to perish – well, it was surely put about by one of the other coach competitors.

  ‘Outlaws! Stickups! Yankees! My dear Lord, I thought I’d never see the day when any travel was worse than our journey across the seas all those years ago!’

  Meg is faint at the thought of the entire prospect. It is surely improper for a young girl to be traipsing off on a six weeks’ tour of the goldfields, or indeed to be travelling alone with a man.

  Edwin knows he has glossed over the potential dangers, but he has made the journey each year without incident and Angus Macandrew does his circuit every six months. The likes of One-eyed Jimmy, Captain Moonlight and Bully Hayes need not be drawn attention to. He must gently press the point about how clear and clean the air is, how Billie will be closely chaperoned, and how much she will learn.

  It takes Meg several weeks to come around to the notion of Billie coaching around the gold trails. Edwin assures them the journey will not only be safe, but Macandrew is a very respected gentleman, whom they shall of course meet – together with his wife who will assure them of her husband’s honour and attention to his duties. He is also likely to bring his son as he does from time to time. This venture will be a great educational opportunity for Miss Billie.

  ‘Educational? How is she to be educated if she is kept away from her schooling?’ frets Meg, but Alf makes a wide smile now and nods.

  ‘Indeed, Mr and Mrs Maguire, Billie’s education is very much in my mind. She
will see and absorb an astonishing amount of education by watching the process of commerce in this manner and I am sure she will be delighted to have the chance to do so in another geographical environment. She will stay only in good quality accommodation where the proprietors are of excellent character.’

  Meg acquiesces; what good would it do to forbid and deny? No doubt there is nothing new under the sun and females of ancient times may well have done similar things! She tries to convince herself not to worry and says, ‘Alfie, why am I taking on like this? We know our Billie will do what she will – although she is a sweet pigeon, she will get her way in the end. I daresay I am like any mother who frets on their children. So Meg Maguire,’ she commands herself, ‘you shall now stop mithering and let Providence protect our beloved daughter.’

  ‘Fire,’ agrees Alf calmly.

  Billie is ecstatic at the prospect of the next few months’ adventures and hopes she might have a Yankee driver, one who has fearsome tales to tell of the Wild West. She hopes she might encounter a gunslinger, a daring and masked highwayman who shouts, ‘Stand and deliver!’ He will have flaming blue eyes and only rob those who deserve it, and no doubt give it to the needy.

  Stand and deliver – how marvellous!

  Part Two

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Saturday’s homeward journey starts quietly enough. Invigorated by the last few days’ hospitality and wrapped against the warning press of autumn, they board the Cobb & Co stagecoach. They are sad to leave such bonhomie, but very glad to be nearing their loved ones after such an absence.

  The whip bows ostentatiously as he assists the ladies into the coach. ‘Cabbage Tree Ned!’ Billie is ecstatic. ‘Gidday again!’ Their driver could have been one of a dozen now plying the route, but as circumstance would have it, here is the one and only Ned Devine.

  ‘Bugger me days!’ he laughs. ‘You have shot up, young lady – shot up tall since I last had the pleasure! I wager we shall have a trouble-free journey this time, hey? No wild cats this time hey what!’

  He orders the lead pair to perform their showy rear-up before they settle into a brisk trot along the Naseby Road. Being a public coach and not a gold transport escorted by a team carrying carbines and revolvers, there is no hint of trouble.

  Until they near the Pigroot junction. Suddenly, from out of a tussock bluff, comes an uproar of shouting and gunfire. Armed bandits descend upon the coach and challenge its driver and occupants: ‘Stand and deliver!’

  Passengers scream, leathers screech, horses rear, and pandemonium sets in over a half-minute that seems like many.

  Angus Macandrew takes control. ‘Wheesht, all of ye, and listen to me now! Dinna move. Turn out your pockets and reticules. Toss your coins and trinkets onto the ground. Do not show any fear. Sit tight and do not look about.’ And as the agitation subsides he adds, ‘Stay calm ladies, and keep seated gentlemen. Equanimity is the best form of defence.’

  Billie is agog with the thrill of it – ‘Stand and deliver!’ To think she should hear those words right out of the Wild West of America. But when Ned Devine swears violent, bloodthirsty oaths at these outlaws and the terrified horses scream, her body reacts with bolts of fright.

  However, Devine knows this band of robbers; he knows the blighters are aware there’s unlikely to be loot on this stage. They are just posturing and enjoying themselves. ‘You bloody bastards! Hell’s bells – just look what’s been done to me brake straps! Ripped to smithereens by the pressure and me horses practically frothing with fright. You know there ain’t no gold on this transport! Piss off and don’t let me see your bloody arses again!’

  And as the wild men whirl their mounts and gallop back into the hills shooting at the sky and laughing hilariously, he thunders after them, ‘You’ll be too big for your britches one day, mateys!’

  Ned comforts his passengers, all of them still shaking. ‘You behaved like troopers and that’s a fact. I salute you in staying calm. Here’s a tot of brandy to calm your nerves – yes, even you should take a swig, missie. Now folks, at least no harm has come of it, so we’ll be on our way as soon as we fix the bloomin’ brake leathers.’ His handsome grin and assured stance belies his fury, and by the devil, if any other coachman dares to mock him for the incident he’ll flatten him!

  Other horsemen have galloped ahead and by the time the coach draws in to Wain’s Hotel, news of the stickup has arrived. There is Meg, weeping at the thought of her darling being shot up. There is Alf, beaming with relief. Hugging and kissing and more hugging and more tears.

  Billie knows her tiny gold nugget and celadon tile are still safe in the seam of her petticoat. She also knows it will be impossible to conceal the bandit situation from her guardians. The ‘holdup without a cause’ will become front page news.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Stars are suspended like a caught breath in the black canopy of night. Billie strains out of her casement window to absorb as much as she can from such an angle. She is bedazzled by the pulsing lights that seem near enough to touch. How marvellous it would be to stroll outside and see more.

  She pulls on her mama’s shawl and slides along the polished hallway on her bed stockings to the bedroom shared by Robbie and his father. Mr Macandrew is away for two days on business.

  ‘Excuse me, Robbie. I know I shouldn’t disturb you in your reading, but I should like to take a walk about outside to look at the stars like the other night. You can test me on the names.’

  ‘Sorry, lassie, no can do. Father told me to keep a strict eye on you and one thing you may not do is go out at night unaccompanied. And you should really not be wandering about in your nightgown, do you think?’

  ‘Bother then. I daresay I can ask Mr Eichardt to find me an escort.’

  ‘I daresay too, that Mr Eichardt is busy in the saloon. Och, don’t be a pest, Billie. Just go back to bed now. And remember to lock the door.’

  She returns to her room and again leans out of the window to gaze at the heavens. Bother again! She pulls on the clothes that had sufficed during the day and buttons her short boots. No need for petticoats or stockings now. Once again the paisley shawl is slung on and as an afterthought, the tweed cloak that Meg has insisted she bring for travelling and similar situations. Yes, she thinks, it may be rather chilly tonight. But it is not the chill-to-the bone cold of Dunedin, more a crisp shiver.

  Most certainly young guests are not permitted in the Public Bar on the ground floor. And they should not be seen in the vicinity at all after 9pm; they must venture no further than the upstairs landing. Eichardt’s is a respectable hotel and in a town of much disrespectful behaviour with its gaols full of the consequences, the Proprietor does not encourage any dubious goings on. Billie does not think her plan is dubious; on the contrary, studying the stars is educational, is it not? Who needs an escort? The night is bright with stars and pools of light are flowing from establishments all along the road.

  She creeps along the hallway to the rear balcony and deftly negotiates an iron staircase to ground level. She scans the sky, knowing the Southern Cross and Orion’s belt, the Milky Way and the brightest light, Jupiter. But they are much more real tonight; she can almost reach out and touch them. Slowly she scuffs along, head upturned, sometimes stumbling on the rutty road, but without concern. When she finally looks ahead, she finds herself far away from Eichardt’s. She might as well keep going on, to see what’s what.

  The route is noisy, filled with grog shops, bars and billiard rooms, punters and revellers. She crosses a paddock into Cow Lane, alive with drunkenness. Men are slumped, or ranting in alcohol-induced fits, or just lying prone in their own vomit. Until they crawl away, or are shoulder-hefted by their companions, likely just as sodden, but still on their feet. Some don’t ever make it back to their camps, dying instead of alcohol poisoning, pistol shots or punches to the brain. Life is not all a bed of roses, nor a pan of nuggets, on the goldfields and in the towns – but the brandy and rum and ale flow and the proprietors of their
supply get rich on the takings. Billie has seen plenty of drunken individuals over the years and takes it for granted. She does not approve or disapprove, but is only glad that her nearest and dearest are not inclined to be so dissolute.

  A ragged dump of hay, placed for the convenience of horses during the daytime, is the perfect place to watch and listen and she curls into it. The sound of entertainment flows out of the many bars and bordellos along the littered lane. Pianos plonky-tonk. Squeezeboxes drone. Harmonicas jag and jaw. Men’s rough voices sing, brag, accost. They talk big and squander their makings on bets and booze. They fight over claims or they fight over women. Or they fight simply because there’s nothing like a good fight.

  A man staggers towards her and belches, then gains focus and leers. ‘Whacha doin’ here li’l gal? This ain’t no place for a li’l gal.’ He lears out to grab at Billie’s blouse. ‘Aw, ya ain’t so li’l after all, are ya?!’

  She draws back in alarm, suddenly aware of her surroundings, but the drunkard lurches away swigging at his bottle before falling face down in the dust.

  Inside the establishments, barmaids serve with come-hither pouts. Pocked crones in gaudy colours cackle, draw on their short pipes and offer their filthy bodies. Younger harlots hitch their bosoms and rock on their men’s laps and stroke their egos as they finger the next fool’s pocket. Entertainers sing and dance and flutter their satin petticoats while urging the clientele to spend well. Other customers take their cue after little encouragement and are deftly guided upstairs to private apartments.

  Billie is cosy in her hay nest, warm and sleepy despite the diabolical cacophony. The noise is deafening – so loud that if anyone screamed nobody would hear.

  Nobody does hear the screams of an entertainer in an upstairs room. When her throat is slit and her supple young body is slashed to ribbons. As happens on other occasions, in other goldmine towns.