There are times when Murdo appears to be on the mend. He sits up in bed, jokes with the children and drinks nearly a whole mug of broth. Annie breathes a sigh of relief and takes some time to rest her own weary bones. Sitting on a stool by the fire she remembers all the happy times they have shared. She knows Murdo is a good father to his children and a good husband. She longs to believe that he will not let this illness get the better of him; that he will live to see their young children become adults. She imagines them both as grandparents, enjoying old age together.
Then there are other times when Murdo’s bouts of coughing seem endless, leaving him exhausted and barely able to catch a breath. The mucus is nearly always bloodstained. Annie can see Murdo’s pain. His breathing is rapid and each time he inhales he winces in agony. At these times, Annie clings to the knowledge that Murdo has always met his obligations to his family and now he has an obligation to stay alive. She cannot believe that he will betray her. She cannot think thoughts of death rather than life; to do so may be a real factor in what happens.
Achadh’ a Braigh remains in the grip of a Highland winter. Fog and mist shroud the croft, seeming to prevent the illness from escaping. The normal banter of the children becomes subdued murmurs as they try to let their papa rest in peace. Sometimes Annie wonders whether she has imagined that Murdo ever seems to be recovering. Now when he is able to speak he no longer jokes with his children but tells them that he loves them and voices his wishes for their lives. There is no private space in the tiny croft, which is the home to the nine Campbells, but Murdo wants to talk to each child individually. He beckons Angus to the side of the bed.
“Angus, ye are me first born. I’ve tried to teach ye all I know. Ye are a good lad and I know ye to be able to take good care of the animals. Ye be good and loyal to ye mama and ye brothers and sisters.” Murdo struggles to get the words out at more than a whisper but Angus hears them and that is all that matters.
The fourteenth day comes and goes. Annie is subconsciously counting down. She can see no improvement in her husband’s health and the implications of that must finally be faced.
Murdo calls Mary to the side of the bed. She kneels and Murdo cups her chin in his bony hand. He rubs her tears away with his thumb.
“Donna fret for ye pa, me fair wee lass. God is calling me to a better place. Ye be a good looking young woman and ye be finding yeself a good husband soon enough. Until then be sure to help ye mama with the cooking and taking care of the young ones.”
Young Murdo overhears his papa’s message to Mary. He feels angry with God. What right does God have to take his papa away? He resolves to find his own better place. His papa beckons him to his bedside.
“Murdo, ye be a fine young lad and it’s proud ye should be to carry the Murdo Campbell name like me and me father before me. Ye should do as ye mama and Angus ask. Ye and Angus will have to be the providers for this family and all in Achadh’ a Braigh.”
Young Murdo nods his head in agreement but he is glad that Angus is out of earshot. He will happily do his share of the work to provide for the family but doing everything that Angus asks is something quite different.
Two more nights pass. The time spans between Murdo’s coherent moments increase. His weakening body takes longer to draw the strength to be able to say goodbye to each child. The smaller the child the fewer words he is able to manage. John and Alexina are too young to remember any words but Murdo tells them he loves them.
There is a subtle shift in the croft’s aura. The feeling of dread lifts. Acceptance replaces it. Relief replaces anxiety. The Campbell family knows they have reached a turning point in their lives.
At dawn on the sixteenth day, Murdo wakes to find an exhausted Annie dozing at his side. He brushes his dry lips across her forehead and pushes the loose strands of hair away with his fingertips. She stirs and looks into his eyes.
“Oh me dearest Annie, I do love ye,” he whispers. His eyes close. They do not reopen.
Chapter Six
Voyage to Sydney 1898
“Mama, come sit by the fire, I need to talk with ye.” Murdo pats the stool next to his.
“What is it me lad?” Annie wipes her wet hands on her apron and joins Murdo by the fire. She has noticed her son’s restlessness since his return from a trip to Ullapool some two days prior and is eager to find its cause.
“Mama, it’s been eight years since Papa died.”
“I donnae need reminding of that, me lad, I miss him every day. And with Seanhair Murdo dying just six months later, 1890 is a year I’d rather forget.”
“Aye Mama. We’ve all worked hard since then to keep the farm going and look after ye, Seanmhair Jessie and the young ones.” Murdo pauses, not sure how to go on. “John and Alexina are at school. Angus runs the farm by himself and Ann helps ye with the cooking and washing.”
“Aye, I be proud of all of ye,” muses Annie thinking her son has grown into a fine young man.
“Mama. I’m trying to tell ye that I need to leave. I need to make a life for myself. The croft cannae keep all of us forever. I need to find a better place.”
“Och Murdo, what can be better than ye home with ye family?”
“Uncle Roderick says his lads are doing well in Australia. They have good paying jobs. I heard tell from some of the lads in Ullapool of ships sailing for New Zealand. There is work aplenty there too.”
“New Zealand. Where is New Zealand?”
“Down by Australia.”
“Murdo, ye donnae have to leave. This New Zealand – it sounds so far away.” Annie doesn’t want to lose her son to foreign soils. Her children are her reason for living since her dear husband Murdo died.
“Mama,” Murdo takes his mama’s hand in his, “there’s a ship leaving London in August. Uncle Roderick has lent me the money and I have a ticket.”
“Ye Uncle Roderick has gone too far. Ye shouldnae be asking him for money.”
“I didna ask Mama. With Auntie Barbara gone, he says he is too old and has no desire to start anew. He wants to lend me the money. I am to repay him when I save enough from my job in New Zealand.”
“It appears ye have ye mind set. I donnae want to lose ye but I know ye need to make ye own way in the world eventually. I hoped it wouldnae be for a while yet.” Annie resigns herself to his decision and pulls Murdo into a hug. “I suppose ye have it all organised to get yeself to London.”
“Aye, Mama. There’s a fishing boat going over east. I can get to Edinburgh in return for working on the boat. Then I just have to catch a ride to London.”
“Oh Murdo, ye sound so full of confidence.” Annie goes to the dresser; there are a few coins in the moneybox.
“Mama, I donnae want ye money. Ye donnae have enough.”
Annie knows he is right. “If only I could spare ye a few shillings. I would like to help ye on ye way. Tell me, when does this big adventure start?”
“I have to be in Ullapool the day after tomorrow.”
“Och Murdo, ye donnae give ye poor Mama much time to get used to the idea.”
“Sorry Mama.”
Two days later they hitch the wagon to the old Clydesdale so that everyone can go to Ullapool to farewell Murdo. It is a beautiful summer’s day as Murdo leaves Achadh’ a Braigh, the only home he has ever known and one he may never return to. On the back of the wagon Jessie, Alexina and John tickle Murdo and draw him from his reverie. He amuses his younger siblings by telling tales of what he hopes he will find. The innocence of their age allows them to accept his hopes as reality. The older siblings, having seen some of life’s trials, reminisce about good times they have shared with Murdo and cautiously wish him the best for his journey. Annie sits quietly up front. She absorbs all the chatter going on around her and thanks God for giving her such wonderful children.
When they arrive in Ullapool, the village is full of hustle and bustle. It is the peak of the herring season and the pier is once again a hive of activity as the herring boats return with their catches
, reload with supplies and set off fishing again. The Campbells have never seen so many people in one place, nor heard such a cacophony – gulls squawking, fish flapping about with their last breath, ships’ captains yelling orders, fish women chattering.
Uncle Roderick can see their bewilderment as he crosses the street from the general store. He has a gift for Murdo, a new pair of leather boots.
“Here Murdo, ye may have a need for these where ye be going,” he says, handing Murdo the shiny new boots.
“Roderick!” admonishes Annie, “Ye have been too kind to the lad.”
“Nae, it’s nowt much. When the lad is rich, he can repay me.”
Murdo quickly changes into his new boots. The old ones were getting too tight for him but he didn’t like to tell Annie, knowing there was no money.
“Here, John, ye’ll soon grow into these.” Murdo hands his old boots to his twelve-year-old brother.
There are hugs and handshakes all around. There is no time for second thoughts or regrets. Murdo can see that the last of the supplies are being loaded onto the fishing boat he has arranged a working passage on; he must join the other men and farewell his family.
He makes promises to write. He makes promises to return. He is not sure he can keep these promises. Annie cries. Ann, Mary, Jessie and Alexina hug one another. Angus stands tall, bracing himself against any emotion. John clings to Uncle Roderick for reassurance. Murdo rubs the moisture from his eyes with the back of his hand. He is a young man going out into the wide world on a huge adventure; he should be happy. He turns away from his family and toward his future; takes a deep breath, picks up his small bundle of spare clothes and walks to the fishing boat. There is no turning back now.
On board the captain gives him a brief introduction to the rest of the crew and gets one of them to show him to his bunk where he leaves his bundle of possessions. It’s all hands on deck to raise the anchor and haul the sails as the boat pulls away from the pier. There is time for a quick wave to his family before he’s following orders to tie off ropes. When Murdo next raises his eyes to look, the pier is in the distance and his family but specks on the shore.
“That’s the way lad,” the captain gives Murdo a congratulatory pat on the back, “Ye’d best get yeself down to the galley now.” Knowing Murdo has limited fishing experience the captain decides he’s best kept busy in the galley. There are supplies to be stowed away and the night’s meal to be prepared. No time to ponder his decision or speculate about his future.
The next day establishes the routine for the rest of the voyage: three meals a day to be prepared for the crew, three lots of dishes to be washed, dried and cleared away and the galley to be mopped. Murdo has only ever seen women doing cooking and cleaning but there is nothing womanly about the head cook who is yelling orders at him. He is a huge bulk of a man, with a bald head and a moustache that he twists the ends of so that they point both east and west. After a couple of days when Murdo becomes proficient at the jobs assigned to him, he begins to enjoy the cooking. The cook recognises the intelligence in the lad and is happy to explain some of the secrets he has for getting the wood-fired ovens just at the right temperature. Murdo’s only ever stoked a fire with peat bricks and is eager to learn.
At the end of each day Murdo’s body and brain are both exhausted and he retires to his bunk. The gentle rocking of the sea quickly lulls him into a peaceful slumber.
.....
By the time the boat docks in Edinburgh two weeks later Murdo, has made friends with most of the crew, but it is time for another goodbye. The hustle and bustle of Ullapool is nothing compared with the bristling metropolis of Edinburgh. Murdo is overwhelmed by the sheer size of the wharf. There are more boats than he has ever seen in one place. Huge ships, carrying cargo and people. Not people like he has seen before – ladies in fancy dresses carrying parasols, their hair piled high atop their heads; little girls with white frilly petticoats and ponytails full of ringlets; men with suit tails and top hats leaning on their canes and smoking pipes while they discuss matters of great importance. These people look down upon the workers loading their luggage. Murdo remembers the factor having that same disdainful look when he called at the croft looking for rent money.
“Donnae stand there day-dreaming lad. Ye’d best be finding yeself a ride to London.” The captain slaps Murdo on the back. “Here lad, here be five shillings, ye share of the catch on the way round here. Ye be a good lad, a hard worker and ye’ll make a go of it in New Zealand if ye ever stop staring and get moving.”
Murdo looks at the coins in his hand. He has never held so much money and to think that he has earned it makes him mighty proud. The captain thinks the dumbstruck lad will be getting pickpocketed if he’s not careful so calls one of the crew over.
“Thomas, take young Murdo to the freighting company and help him find passage to London.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Murdo is taken off to begin the next part of his journey. It takes the form of a ride up front on a horse and cart bound for London with a load of wool bales. The driver of the cart, Francis McGuffie, is a jovial fellow, grateful for the company. He has many a tale to tell to entertain Murdo along the way. Francis is a Londoner making the return journey. He speaks only English not the Gaelic Murdo is used to.
Francis is eager to make it home to his family and so they travel as far as possible each day. The further south they go the more the landscape changes. Gone are the high barren hills of Murdo’s homeland. Now they drive on gravel roads amid lush green pasture and through dense forests. At times Murdo can see grand homes standing regally behind perfectly trimmed hedges. The paddocks are full of sheep, cattle or horses, not just one or two like the crofts at home. Each night they stop at a different local inn along the way. They water and feed the horses before Francis and Murdo make their way indoors to enjoy whatever meal the innkeeper has cooked for the night – usually beef stew or meat pie. The night’s bed is a comfortable pile of hay in the stables. Murdo cannot believe his good fortune. He thought his life would change once he reached New Zealand but he hasn’t even reached London and everything is so different.
Francis has to deliver his load to the docks and fortunately for Murdo that is where the shipping offices are located.
“You be sure and look me brother James up. Tell him I sent you and he’ll help you get some work. Remember what I told you, he’s up the valley from Wellington, not far from where you’ll be getting off the ship.” Francis shakes Murdo’s hand and points to the shipping offices. “You’d best be off now. Good luck to you boy.”
“Aye, thank ye Mr McGuffie.” Murdo picks up his bundle of possessions and weaves his way through the traffic across to the shipping offices. He follows the sign for steerage passengers, descends a flight of stone steps and walks along a dark passage before he emerges into a dimly lit room half full of people whom he presumes to be going on the same ship.
Shortly after his arrival a shipping agent appears. He checks the tickets and takes final payment from those who have only paid a deposit. Murdo gets his ticket stamped and sits quietly, hugging his bundle of possessions – more for comfort than the worry of losing them, observing the others around him. A whistle blows and the agent leads them down to the landing stage, where they board the tender. There is a short trip down river and the tender pulls alongside the vessel that is to be Murdo’s home for the next six weeks. Another whistle and the gangplank drops for the passengers to make their way single file on board. Stewards again check the tickets and direct single men to the fore, single women to the aft, families in between. The passengers shuffle along the narrow passage and down the steep flight of stairs to be directed to their allotted bunk. Murdo’s bunk is in the middle of a row of three, atop a stack of three and all that separates his space from those next door is an iron bar. He places his bundle of possessions atop the straw mattress and notes that his bunk, like the others, has a blanket, a battered tin plate and mug, and a knife, fork and spoon. Murdo doesn�
��t know what he expected but he’s used to sharing a bed at home and he breathes a sigh of relief. Other men soon fill the surrounding bunks; they eye each other up but do not make any attempts at friendliness at this stage.
Murdo decides to return to the deck to watch the goings on. Luggage trunks are being hoisted aboard. He assumes they belong to the wealthier passengers yet to board. There is not much to explore on deck; most of it is roped off, reserved for saloon passengers or occupied by freight. Steerage passengers only have access to a small area about the after hatch and a narrow space either side of the deckhouse.
Leaning on the chains, imagining the trip ahead, remembering the faces of his family left behind, Murdo’s mind is a bevy of mixed emotions. The steward’s call interrupts his pondering. All steerage passengers must report for the doctor’s inspection. Murdo guesses there must be at least 60 passengers all mustered together under the hot summer sun. The doctor seems to be in no hurry, inspecting all one by one, looking for signs of illness. The longer it takes, the more the hungry and tired children grizzle and cry, the mothers complain and the men swear. Thrown into this ordeal together the passengers seek a sympathetic ear from each other. They introduce themselves and tell their stories. The language and accents may differ but the stories are all similar. One of the young men who was allotted the bunk next to Murdo’s approaches him, hand extended.
“Arthur Revel, from Scotland I be, going off to Australia to find me a wife and raise a family, and ye?”
Murdo smiles, “Murdo Campbell, from Scotland and I be going to New Zealand to find some work.”
“Have ye not seen the sweet Irish lasses aboard the ship?”
“Aye, I’ve seen them but it’s nae good having a lassie if ye cannae afford to keep her.”
“Ye be right but I’m sure we can enjoy their company in the meantime.”
The two men laugh and a friendship is formed.
Health inspections over, they notice the steamer is moving but it is only a short trip downstream to take the saloon passengers aboard. The new friends make their way back to the deck to watch. The pier is a sea of faces and waving arms, farewelling their loved ones. When all the saloon passengers are aboard a warning bell sounds. The gangway is raised. No last minute changes of heart are possible. The steamer slowly edges away from the pier. Those leaving and those left behind raise a final cry – for some a cry of joy, for others a cry of heartbreak.
A Better Place Page 5
