by Di Morrissey
‘Pretty dreadful.’
‘I feel it. Thanks. I’m in your debt. My name is Hock Lee,’ he said in a soft sing-song voice, extending his hand to Robert. The men shook hands.
‘I’m Robert MacIntyre. What was all that about?’
‘I’m not sure. They’d been drinking down at the creek and a crowd of them came here while I was working and started accusing me of stealing their gold and burying it. I think they were just looking for a fight. I was the unlucky one this time.’ They turned back towards the camp, Hock Lee walking stiffly. ‘We get picked on a lot. O’Mally especially hates us. Last time he tried to burn down our joss house. Said we were smuggling gold back to China with the ashes of our dead. One time they put dynamite in the crackers we use to celebrate our New Year. It’s strange because I haven’t ever looked for gold — my father runs the general store and I help him.’
Robert liked Hock Lee. He hadn’t talked to anyone his own age since arriving in Wattle Flat. ‘You speak well, where are you from?’
‘Sydney. My mother and father came to Australia from Canton years ago when I was little. It’s a long story . . . but quite an interesting one.’
‘I’d like to hear it some time.’
Hock Lee glanced shyly at Robert and smiled. ‘Would you like to take tea with us? Though my mother isn’t going to like seeing me like this.’ Ruefully he dabbed at his cut eyebrow and bleeding lip.
Robert spent the rest of the afternoon talking to Hock Lee in the shade of a tree overhanging the simple wooden shack where Hock Lee’s family lived. They discovered they had a lot in common and both shared an ambition to achieve and make their mark on the world.
‘I thought I was the only person who dared to dream so high above his station,’ laughed Hock Lee.
‘Just dreaming won’t get us there. It takes money,’ sighed Robert.
Hock Lee looked thoughtful. ‘Gold . . . and a little luck. That could be the key to our destiny.’
The two young men began talking in earnest. By nightfall they had agreed to become partners and stake a claim together.
‘My younger brother can take over my work; I’m sure my father will agree. Though people will consider ours an unusual partnership, you know,’ said Hock Lee. ‘You might find yourself on the outer with your own people.’
‘If a partnership founded on trust and honesty is unusual, then so be it.’ Robert held out his hand and Hock Lee shook it firmly.
Robert’s swift assessment and judgement of men proved to be one of his greatest assets in business and it rarely failed him. His impulsive friendship with Hock Lee and their informal partnership never faltered in all the years they were together.
The few occasions Robert went alone for a drink to the Green Man pub, he was forced to defend his friend and partner with his fists. But the drinkers and sceptics stopped laughing when the two of them struck a rich seam of gold and, several months later, quietly left the goldfields, wealthy young men.
Having agreed to go their separate ways for a time, Hock Lee went to Melbourne and opened a string of lucrative eating houses and tearooms. Robert stayed in Sydney but continued to visit Hock Lee’s family who had moved back to Sydney with their own fortune, and settled in the elite area of Mosman in a large house overlooking the water.
By the time Robert was in his twenties he had doubled his wealth by becoming a founding member of the Mercantile Bank and financing a sugar-cane company in the far north of Australia. The sugar crop was abundant and kanakas — labourers from the Pacific Islands — were brought in to work in the cane fields, their toil translated into a list of impressive figures in the profit column of a ledger.
After several years, Hock Lee returned to Sydney to open a large emporium and the two friends joined forces once again, forming a large import and export company. They went into shipping, bringing in goods for the emporium and exporting commodities such as wool and coal. Later they started their own shipping line and by building a refrigerated hold in their cargo ships they were able to export meat and dairy products to England. Robert and Hock Lee devoted all their time, energy and interest to their burgeoning business.
Although Robert was considered one of the most sought-after bachelors in Sydney and prominent and ambitious mothers pushed their eligible daughters in his direction at every opportunity, he was too wrapped up in his business to find a wife. It was true he had enjoyed a discreet dalliance or two, but he had remained emotionally unencumbered.
In 1896, aged thirty-eight, Robert decided he wanted a holiday and was overcome with a longing to see the land of his birth again. He travelled to Scotland and visited his elderly aunt, the only relative he could find. She was frail but sprightly, living in a small cottage cared for by a young woman, Catherine Garrison. Catherine acted as nurse, companion and housekeeper, and Robert fell instantly in love with her. Here was the ethereal beauty of his dreams — fair, fragile and sweet natured.
Robert extended his trip to stay on and slowly but ardently courted her, finally enlisting the willing help of his aunt to persuade Catherine to marry him and venture to far-off Australia.
Catherine was concerned that Robert’s elderly spinster aunt be well cared for — she had become fond of the old lady, having little family of her own other than her widowed father in Ayr. So Robert arranged to pay for a replacement companion, a jolly widow from a nearby village.
He promised Catherine a wonderful life in Australia where he would build her the grandest house in Sydney and take her on a honeymoon to the most exotic land in the world. Such promises meant little to Catherine who was slightly bemused by Robert’s passionate undertakings. Robert, the man she had come to love, appealed to her heart and soul, and she was unaffected by his modest confession of being well-to-do and successful. His protective strength, gentle nature, warm laugh and the light in his eyes when he looked at her, gave her a feeling of deep security and love. She knew this man would love her with all his being until the day he died.
Robert and Catherine were married in tiny Kirk Alloway in Ayr where Catherine’s elderly father handed her into Robert’s care. It was a short tender ceremony and Catherine, looking even younger than her twenty-three years, wore a traditional wedding dress and lace veil which had belonged to her mother, and carried a bouquet of Scottish wildflowers. Robert wore a sprig of heather on his jacket.
They were pronounced man and wife in the tiny, ancient stone church, and when Robert took Catherine in his arms it seemed to him the heavens had ordained this moment centuries before. Every moment he’d lived before this minute faded. As he bent his dark head to his golden-haired beauty he knew his life had truly begun.
From then on each day was one of bliss for Robert. For the first time in his life he had a true and loving mate. Hock Lee was, and continued to be, his closest friend. Catherine was his soulmate and sweetheart. In her soft arms he felt like a man who could conquer the world, here he could whisper his wishes, hopes and dreams. He knew he would never know loneliness again. Her gentle understanding, her caring and giving nature, her tender sweetness, clutched at his heart and frequently brought tears to his eyes. In the darkness as he held her slim sleeping form, he knew he would give his life for this woman.
After their wedding they spent a few days at a small inn close to Catherine’s father while she packed her belongings. There, one bleak chilly Scottish afternoon, Robert sat with a world atlas spread before him. ‘Catherine, my sweet, where in the whole world would you like to go for our honeymoon before we set out for Australia?’
Catherine sat on the floor, curled her legs beneath her and looked at the coloured pages of the book on his lap. ‘I haven’t even been to London, Robert. It’s all a mystery to me. You decide. Anywhere will be an adventure for me.’
He lifted her fingertips and kissed them. ‘Catherine, dear, I am happy to make decisions for us. But I want to share things in this marriage. Everything I have is yours. I want you to help me make decisions, express your own feelings and thoughts �
� even in my business. I think it would be wonderful for me to come home and discuss matters with you. I want you to be my friend as well as my wife.’
She smiled up at him. ‘Thank you, Robert. I don’t know anything about the world you describe — your work, your life in Australia — but I’ll learn. Sometimes it’s more helpful to be an honest and sympathetic ear. I feel this will be a time of growing for me.’
Robert leaned down and kissed her smiling lips. ‘My sweet Catherine, you are like a flower bud. It’s going to be a joy to watch you blossom. Now . . . Africa. Does that excite you? Or Europe. What about Paris? Or the frozen north or the exotic east?’
Catherine laughed. ‘They all sound wonderful. I know the best way. Open the atlas to the map of the world and I shall make a decision in my infallible feminine way.’ With that she squeezed her eyes closed and stabbed a dainty finger at the world. It fell onto a pink shaded area of the British Empire. ‘India,’ she breathed.
‘India it is then, my darling.’
They spent several days in London before sailing for India on the Peninsular and Orient Line. Once Catherine found her sea legs she settled into the ship’s routine and confided to Robert it was like being on a floating star, part of a sparkling universe. At night the stars shone in a crisp clear sky above them, while around them spread the calm dark sea reflecting the moonlight, and dancing in their wake sparkled luminous lights of phosphorescence.
They devoted time to each other in the privacy of their state room; they strolled about the deck; and while Robert played deck quoits, Catherine sat in a deckchair and read a book. Often she found the book dropping to her lap as she stared out at the sea sliding past, mesmerising her, and drawing her closer to her new home.
They were seated at the captain’s table where the ladies appeared each evening in splendid gowns and lavish jewels. The men, resplendent in formal attire, and the captain in his dress whites, discussed world events and paid courtly attention to the ladies decorating their circular table of ten.
Robert and Catherine were befriended by an older couple, Sir Montague and Lady Charlotte Willingham, returning to India after home leave. Sir Montague was the British Resident of Kaliapur and was charmed by Catherine’s deep interest in India, although she confessed she knew little of the exotic country they had chosen for their honeymoon.
However, Catherine learned far more about life in India from Lady Willingham who sometimes joined her for afternoon tea in the sunshine on the leeward deck.
‘I see you’ve learned to follow the sun and avoid the wind. The other thing you must remember, my dear, is when travelling by sea to and from England to be sure that you get a state room which is port out, starboard home — POSH, we say.’
‘I’ll remember. Though once we are settled in Sydney I doubt we will make regular journeys back to the old country. Robert only has an elderly aunt and my father is a widower and very frail.’
‘It must have been a great wrench leaving, my dear.’
Catherine nodded. It had been desperately sad leaving her father as in her heart she knew she would never see him again, but her love for Robert was so great there had been no choice.
At dinner that evening the couple extended an invitation to Robert and Catherine to visit them at the Residence in Kaliapur.
Robert thanked them for their kind offer, but Catherine’s heart sank for she could tell he thought it a polite offer and not one to be actually taken up.
Recalling her husband’s wish that she express her own feelings, Catherine leaned forward with excited eyes. ‘I would like that very much indeed. I do hope we can travel to Kaliapur.’
Robert glanced swiftly at Catherine, a small smile pulling at his lips.
Lady Willingham graciously leaned over and touched Catherine’s gloved arm. ‘I do truly mean it, my dear. It’s not often we have such charming company. We would be delighted to entertain you both. I’m sure you’ll find it quite fascinating.’
‘Thank you, Lady Willingham and Sir Montague, we accept with pleasure,’ replied Robert.
Catherine lowered her eyes, a pleased flush tingling her cheeks. She lifted her wine glass and felt the gentle, good-natured nudge of Robert’s shoe against her foot.
Catherine was sleeping peacefully when the white-hulled ship nudged slowly into the dock in Bombay. Robert felt the shudder and was aware that the familiar tremble of the ship had stilled and they had berthed. He heard shuffling and muffled voices in the gangway and curiosity finally got the better of him. Wrapping a woollen dressing robe over his sleepwear, he pulled on carpet slippers and carefully closed their cabin door so as not to awaken Catherine.
A yellow dawn was breaking but the entire sky was streaked in a murky muddy light that looked more like fumes from some festering furnace. Sour and sickening odours assailed his nose and he coughed and put a hand to his face as he went to the railing and peered over the side. A narrow gap of sluggish foul water littered with floating debris separated the ship from the solid wharf smothered in ant-like humanity. As he stood there attempting to assimilate the sight of such squalor, chaos and confusion, two huge black ravens swooped before him with a rush of wings fanning the thick tepid air, their evil eyes glaring at him. He recoiled as another pair flew close to him and for a moment he felt like a helpless fieldmouse about to be attacked. Of all the horrors around him, these birds unnerved him the most.
Robert crept back to their state room and slid into bed beside Catherine. She reached for him, murmuring, ‘Are we here?’
‘Yes, my darling. But it will be hours yet before we go ashore. Sleep a while longer.’
She smiled drowsily and snuggled close to him. As he held her sweet-smelling body in his arms he wondered how his gentle bride would fare in the wild, grand, sad land that stretched beyond the teeming docks.
To Robert’s surprise, Catherine found India a thrilling and stimulating experience. The desperation of the poor, the filth, the aggressiveness of the cities made her recoil, but she adopted a practical attitude. ‘It breaks my heart to see such poverty and pain; but, Robert dear, if we give to one beggar we will be overwhelmed. It is a drop in the ocean. Change here will be slow; we can do little.’
After a few days in Bombay, they journeyed through a number of villages and small towns, eventually catching the Rajah Express to Kaliapur.
The train journey had been an adventure in itself. Catherine had been enchanted to find that the giant steam engine was painted a deep rose red and the outside of the first-class carriages were painted with gold and maroon garlands. Their double compartment was decorated with dark wood panelling, wine-red leather seats, and two berths made up with starched white sheets and intricately patterned handwoven covers. A small annex with toilet and washing facilities allowed them to bathe in private.
Deep blue velvet curtains could be pulled across the wide window, but for most of the journey they kept them open, marvelling at the expanse and diversity of the unfolding panorama of India. Its immensity overwhelmed Catherine. The seemingly endless colourless and featureless landscape was awesome. Occasionally a dusty tree shading old men who sat on the ground beneath it flashed past like a painted picture. Small villages seemed like specks dropped onto the barren countryside.
At each stop, a seething mass of frantic humanity swarmed at the hissing and steaming train. Children and street sellers knocked at the carriage windows waving woven rugs and lengths of cloth, necklaces and trays of food. Fruit and nuts were displayed on wide flat baskets atop mounds of rainbow-coloured rice. Passengers who had been sleeping on the platform rolled up their thin bedding and pushed and scrambled for a space on the crowded tail of the train. The excited babble of different dialects and sing-song English rose and fell as crowds pressed against the windows of their compartment, forcing Catherine to draw the curtains.
Meals were eaten in the first-class dining car. They were served by turbanned waiters in immaculate white uniforms trimmed with red and gold braid, at tables set with linen and
heavy silver cutlery emblazoned with the crest of the Royal Indian Railway System. Robert and Catherine befriended several British families, all old Indian hands, and were fascinated by their stories of life in this exotic land.
At the tail of the Rajah Express were the third-class carriages: plain wooden seats, no glass in the windows and jammed to capacity. The travellers were a world away from the occupants in first class. They slept where they could — squashed upright between their travelling companions or stretched out in the dusty corridors. They ate simply from the food they carried with them, or fought to purchase the cheap spicy samosas, chapattis and cooked rice tied in leaves from food sellers when the train stopped.
After three days the train pulled into Kaliapur and as Robert helped Catherine onto the dusty platform they were besieged by red-jacketed porters. They stood in the swirling confusion, watching parts of their luggage disappear in different directions. With relief they spotted Lady Willingham sailing towards them. She brandished a large umbrella with which she parted the crowd, while directing her driver and assistant to rescue the MacIntyres’ luggage.
After exchanging warm greetings, Catherine and Robert were soon seated in Lady Willingham’s open landau with her number one boy following behind in the horse-drawn victoria carrying all the luggage. Lady Willingham handed Catherine a pale blue parasol and snapped open her own black brolly.
‘Keep your face out of the sun, my dear. It’s very harsh and will spoil that rose complexion of yours.’
Robert smiled at his pretty bride. ‘The sun in Australia is also very fierce; you must heed Lady Willingham’s advice.’
Catherine nodded but was more interested in the crowds and the busy streets as they nosed slowly through the township. Gradually they left the bustling commercial district and the streets became broader, shaded by scarlet poinciana trees.
As they passed a high stone wall Catherine asked, ‘What’s behind there, Lady Willingham?’
‘That’s the cantonment, where the soldiers are trained. We have a very smart turnout here in Kaliapur. They mainly appear at ceremonial functions, though Sir Montague had to call them out to quell a small riot some time back. Fortunately it was a bit of a storm in a teacup. Ah, here is the Residence. I am sure you must be looking forward to a proper bath and comfortable bed.’
