Brigid the Girl from County Clare

by Vicky Adin

  The three days inching our way along the canal between Port Said and Suez were awful – it was so hot and I found the endless desert right scary – but the days since then as we head into the Gulf seem longer. None of it is gladdening to my mind. Sand and dust. Dust and sand. Towering cliffs, a few buildings ...

  Mr Harrison-Browne tries to amuse me with all those wonderful ideas of his, but I don’t know what to think. Nothing like that happens to the likes of me. What he talks about is out of my reach, but he makes me feel so special, and important. I get all quivery when he’s around.

  I’ve not seen Jamie much at all in the last week. He spends his days either with the menfolk, gambling or else with Maggie, I suspect. Not that I’ve missed him as much lately. Not since Mr Harrison-Browne has befriended me.

  But why would Maggie watch me? She’s always hanging around and bothering me with something. I can’t believe half of what she says is true. Some of it seemed likely, but Maggie’s doing doesn’t always match her saying.

  At least another week has gone, and we are a week closer to our new home and what that brings us. I both dread it and long for it ...

  Brigid shut the notebook with a bang and shoved it deep into her pocket, her latest entry unfinished. She hated this glum feeling that let her deepest worries surface. What would her mother tell her to do, if she could?

  Stop that! her brain screamed. Her mother could never help her again.

  She thumped both feet firmly on the deck, stood up and squared her shoulders. She’d made up her mind to stand on her own two feet, proud of her achievements, without constantly worrying about what people thought or said. No longer was there anyone to tell her what to do or when. No one to help her make a decision, no one to guide her – except the Lord. She was her own woman responsible only to herself.

  Part of the problem was Mr Harrison-Browne and his advances, but the business with Maggie and Jamie had unsettled her the most. She needed to talk with someone. But who?

  Ironically, Brigid was the one Maggie picked to chat to. Or rather Brigid listened while Maggie talked, full of praise for Jamie and complaints about her own family.

  “He’s such a sweet lad, nothing like my Michael. It’s so nice to find someone who cares and treats me right ...

  “And those girls are uncontrollable. No wonder Michael wanted me to help. Not that they listen to me. They don’t. And he’s no help ...

  “I don’t know how I’d manage on board this boring old boat without Jamie.”

  And so the story went, over and over. And every time, Brigid tried to work out why, and fretted. What was the girl playing at? Her story – and manner – changed so often Brigid could barely keep up.

  Jamie was no better. On the few occasions she managed to find him alone all he could talk about was ‘his angel’, but she noticed how heavily he drank, and nothing she said made any difference. Where he got the drink she didn’t know, and she was sure Maggie was following her between times; that odd feeling of being watched lingered.

  She had tackled Maggie about it once.

  “I’m far too busy looking after that impossible brother of mine and his children to have the time or interest in what you are doing.” Maggie stormed off as if the world owed her something, leaving Brigid to wonder where Jamie fitted into the picture.

  Sally was no help either. “I told ye, family cause more problems than they’re worth. Ignore them, I say. Put them right out of your mind and live your own life, my girl. It’ll be better for ye in the end. Here, try some of this. It helps, I promise.” She offered Brigid a swig from the gin bottle, but once more Brigid refused.

  She hadn’t asked her friend about Philip Harrison-Browne again either. Brigid knew Sally’s thoughts, and they didn’t help her one little bit.

  Sally’s musical evening coincided with the crossing of the equator, a celebration in itself with crazy antics dreamt up by the crew. When everyone was on deck, Neptune and his entourage appeared dressed in strange clothing. The children, and some of their parents, screamed with fright. The unfamiliar paganism of the celebrations clashed with her Catholic upbringing. Seeing other women say their prayers, Brigid found respite in her rosary and said her own Hail Mary.

  Sally ignored the women’s concerns, laughing off the sailors’ actions as men behaving like children, and spurred everyone to do their own celebrating. That evening, the concert began as planned. Sweet voices and sad songs brought tears to many an eye, and Brigid’s dancing soon had others leaping to their feet. Ignoring the heat, more and more people joined in until a line of dancers jigged to the traditional tunes the fiddlers played. Philip looked to be enjoying the spectacle as much as any of them and clapped in time to the pounding rhythms.

  A few jokes and some fairy stories added to the hilarity and a lusty sing-along led by Sally made sure everyone was included – even Annie and Lettie. They had to be the two quietest and most unassuming people on board, but they managed to recite a poem together. Minnie and Rosina, the two German women in the adjacent bunks, sang a Schubert duet with such lilting beauty they silenced the audience.

  Next up was Maggie, who sang a rather bawdy song and, much to Brigid’s astonishment, Jamie, who was already three sheets to the wind, added his loud voice to the chorus. Brigid could hazard a guess where Jamie had learnt such a song, but as for Maggie – she certainly wouldn’t have learnt that from the genteel mistress of the manor she supposedly once worked for.

  The moon glowed in the late night sky, with no sign that people were ready for sleep. The rafters rang with the sound of laughter, and joy filled every heart. With Australia now closer than England, and the day and date changing at the same time, their new lives seemed only a hair’s breadth away.

  Out of breath after the extended dancing, Brigid could barely speak. “Thank you ... Sal. For making me – and the others – do this. You’ve done wonders. I feel so much better.”

  Swallowing another mouthful of gin from her nearly empty bottle, Sally wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Told you, hen. We needed something to lift our spirits, and there’s nothing like a-singing and dancing to do just that. Except ‘Mother’s Milk’ here, of course. Want a drop?” Sally offered Brigid the gin bottle.

  “No, ta.” Brigid shook her head in amazement. “But I thought they called it ‘Mother’s Ruin’?”

  “Only if you’re a mother,” she guffawed loudly. “’Tis nourishing milk to me.” Never mind how much she drank, Sally always had a good word to say about everyone and everything. With a seemingly endless supply of gin at hand, Sally made a bright and happy companion, but where she got it from was a mystery. “You don’t know what you’re missing, lass.”

  “I’ll manage,” Brigid shouted back above the noise as the musicians started up another round. Soon the spoons came out, adding percussion to the rhythms, and she leapt to her feet again.

  Brigid had no idea what the time was when Philip reappeared. He’d been there early in the evening, laughing and clapping along with the rest of them, wearing a singularly amused expression on his face, but then she’d lost sight of him – until now.

  “You look delightfully young, Miss Breeda, if exceedingly hot and bothered. Would you care to take a stroll to cool off?”

  He’d discarded his hat and cravat, and wore his shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He looked so startlingly handsome it took her breath away. Even so, it still took her a full five seconds of staring into his eyes trying to fathom what he was thinking – intending – before she agreed.

  Away from the party, the promenade deck was almost empty. Most of the passengers had retired, others seemed determined to dance, drink and sing the night away. Their voices carried on the night air.

  “Better?” he enquired after a few moments.

  “Much. Thank you.” Brigid’s hand rested easily in the crook of his arm as they admired the night sky, both happy to saunter in silence.

  At the stern, they stopped to marvel at the phosphorescence on the wake stirred
by the ship’s propellers. For once, no other moonlight strollers disturbed their solitude. Standing side by side with barely a gap between them, the air shifted with another form of energy.

  “I find you utterly alluring, my dear.” Philip kept looking over the rail, staring out at the water. “I know I shouldn’t ...” He turned his head, took her chin between his fingers and turned her towards him. “And I know it isn’t fair to you, given my position – but I can’t help myself.” He moved closer, his eyes fixated on her lips. He licked his own and sighed. “I ... that is ... you look adorable ... standing there with the moonlight catching your hair ... Oh, my dear ...”

  His arms reached around her, enveloping her, his head above hers, looking down into her eyes, at her lips. Unsure, enquiring, Brigid stiffened but, sensitive to the glow of his eyes and his moist, swollen lips, she surrendered to an unknown instinct and closed her eyes. His lips met hers, softly, gently imploring, compelling. Seconds passed. Minutes. A lifetime. He gave her a final squeeze before releasing his hold.

  Brigid staggered with the emotion of the moment. She raised her hands to her lips, amazed. “I’ve ... I’ve never ...”

  “You were wonderful. You are wonderful.” He took her hands and swung her in an arc. “I’ve never felt so free.”

  “Did you just giggle?” asked Bridget, giggling herself.

  “I suppose I did. You make me feel ... alive. So ...”

  “Oh. Pardon me, sir.” The sailor’s voice startled them. “I didn’t realise anyone was ’ere at this hour. I’ve just come to check the rigging, sir. If you don’t mind.”

  Pulling his jacket into place, Philip immediately fell into being the gentleman he was. He flipped his hair back. “Not at all, my good chap. We’ll leave you to it.”

  He extended his arm to Brigid, and they made their way around to the other side of the ship until they reached the hatchway leading to Brigid’s quarters.

  “Until tomorrow.” Philip bowed, kissed her hand and departed.

  Not until Brigid lay in her bunk, with her heart and mind in turmoil, did she realise she’d not spoken to Jamie all evening. Nor had she seen him or Maggie after her song. A sudden wash of longing swept over her, and she shuddered.

  5

  Distancing of Heart and Mind

  Monday, 22nd November 1886

  The passengers’ spirits remained high in the days following the equator crossing party, knowing the journey was more than half over. Even so, Philip’s daily appearances had a far more uplifting effect on Brigid’s state of mind, despite her still being bothered by convention.

  “No, I’m not worried about what people think.” Philip’s response to her continued doubts surprised her. “And neither should you. People may be jealous and gossip, but let them. You are above all that nonsense.”

  Brigid had never considered herself above anything in her whole life. Philip’s constant praise was something she’d not experienced before, and she talked endlessly about it to Sally.

  Sally only encouraged it. “If he wants to sweet-talk you, hen, then let him. You might just win him. For goodness’ sake girl, the only way we will better ourselves is by being bold. Doing things we never did at home – nor could do, because the old biddies of the town would shame us. There’s no one can do that any more. Only we can shame ourselves.”

  But where this friendship was going and what it would mean when they reached Brisbane niggled at Brigid’s sense of decency. There had never been any question of anything unseemly – not yet, anyway – but why had he chosen her? They only met on deck in the open where people could see them. Men were not allowed into the girls’ quarters anyway, and she would never venture into the First Class area, where she might be seen and compared. Not that he’d suggested it.

  Brigid enjoyed their conversations as much as his company and open admiration. He was an articulate and knowledgeable man, happy to discuss literature, art, music – topics as distant from Brigid’s reality as the moon from the earth.

  “Once we reach Brisbane, I shall personally escort you to libraries and galleries, and museums, and you can see for yourself.”

  She started to believe in the impossible. “That would be grand, that it would. I’ve never been to any such places in my life.”

  She treasured the stolen moments of bliss when he stroked her cheek with the back of his finger, or tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. But mostly she looked forward to their nighttime strolls when they could hide in the shadows and she would succumb to his embraces, fervently returning his kisses.

  He never talked about what he did for money. His father had business connections, he’d said, but beyond that Brigid had no idea what work he did – if any. She could never have imagined anyone not working for a living, before meeting Philip, but he dismissed it as unimportant.

  “I’ll be going into service when I arrive. How am I going to do all these wonderful things if I’m bound by a mistress?”

  “Don’t worry your perfect little head about it.” He tapped his finger on the tip of her nose and made her laugh. “I’ll find a way.”

  “But I’d like to do more than be a maid one day, I would. I’ve seen the lacework on ladies’ gowns and t’ink I could use my lace like that. I could make clothes for babbies and for the fine ladies, and on linens and such like. I’ve got all sorts of ideas, I have, aye. But I suppose it’s just a dream.”

  The ship anchored at Batavia on 25thNovember as expected. Aided by some of the passengers, the vessel loaded over sixty tons of coal, creating dust clouds and covering the men from head to toe, but no extra food or water. Philip reminded her the fear of contamination remained high but, fortunately, the passengers seemed oblivious to the official concerns.

  Once they knew nothing of interest would happen, few people paid attention to the port that offered little beyond derricks and ships. But as soon as they headed south-east again towards Australia, people began counting off the days until their journey and ordeal were over.

  “I’m getting some ideas about what you and me can do together,” whispered Sally one night as they lay in their bunks listening to the sibilant and sonorous sounds of the night.

  “Like what?”

  “Dunno yet. But I think we’d make a good team.”

  Below decks was no more pleasant than it had been the first day. People were more comfortable with each other, and the air of distrust had evaporated, but petty jealousies had crept in instead. Those who could afford to bribe the sailors for extra food or clean water, or other ‘refreshments’, the likes of which Sally enjoyed, had irked the ones without the means. Even Brigid had managed to obtain some soap and fresh water to wash with.

  “How’s it going to work, anyway?” replied Brigid, peering over her bunk, trying to make Sally out in the dark beneath her. “You’re going to Townsville and I’m in service in Brisbane. Can’t see me having time to travel.”

  “You indentured?”

  “No. Not really. A girl from home lives there now, and she’s with a lady who helps newcomers find employment to tide them over. I have to work a six-month probation at some house or other, but after that I can stay, if they want me, or leave. I don’t know what happens if I have to leave.”

  “Well, then, there’s time to come up with something.”

  Brigid tried to sleep but tossed restlessly while her brain whirled. The accumulated smells of unwashed bodies, grimy clothes and foul breath from the lack of decent food had become loathsome. It was little wonder she preferred to be on deck.

  The next day, Philip suggested something uncannily similar to what Sally had said the previous night. “I’ve an idea that might help your dream along its way.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your lacemaking and sewing skills. I think I can do something with those.”

  Brigid’s pulse quickened. “Can ye tell me how?”

  Infuriatingly, he tapped the side of his nose in response. “All in good time.”

  Th
ursday Island in the Torres Strait came into view on Monday, 6th December 1886. The ship weighed anchor, and the tender pulled alongside, with the Medical Officer of Health on board. After the outbreak of cholera a year earlier, the authorities now inspected everyone before they landed and before the ship could continue on its way. If any sign of the disease had been found, the ship would have been quarantined where it anchored.

  Brigid lined up with the others as Dr Salter made a thorough examination of all the passengers, a process that took many restless hours. Mayhem reigned as hot and irritable parents tried to control their unruly children as they waited.

  By late morning, the doctor had found everyone surprisingly well, and gave permission for the two departing passengers to go ashore. Stores were unloaded and the coastal pilot boarded the ship.

  With their own destination now only a matter of days away, those remaining stood by the rails, eager to say goodbye. Their laughter and chatter said much about newfound friends who would soon be bidding each other adieu, wondering if they would ever meet again. It seemed to Brigid as if everyone wanted to cram in as much talk as they could, and make promises they couldn’t be sure of keeping – anything to allay their sudden nerves.

  The Dorunda was scheduled to stop at Cooktown, Townsville, Bowen and Mackay on the way to Rockhampton, the last port before Brisbane, where she and Jamie, and the majority of the other passengers, would disembark.

  The knowledge that Sally would be leaving in just a few days weighed on Brigid’s mind. She would sorely miss the woman, for all her raucous and riotous ways. Sally was the sort who would find her way amid the mire and come out on top with a smile on her face and a penny in her hand.

  “Come on, you must be able to tell me about that idea of yours now?” begged Brigid. “You’re leaving in a few days.” She’d hoped to prod Sally into telling her something she could think about, at least.

  “I know that very well ... but naw. I canna. I have to wait until I see the lay of the land like. Once I’m settled, I’ll send you notice. Promise.” Sally grinned, putting both hands on Brigid’s arms. “I’ll not forget you, little one. You’ve been good for me.”