The Quarantine Station

by Michelle Montebello

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘If you continue down the hill and to the right, you’ll find the first and second class precincts. They’re across from each other. You can’t miss them. I guess Miss Dalton’s office is in there somewhere.’

  ‘You are terribly kind.’

  ‘And be sure to stay on the path at all times. We have brown snakes in these parts.’

  ‘Are they dangerous?’

  ‘One bite will finish you, ma’am.’

  Rose suppressed a gasp. ‘I will keep an eye out. Thank you, sir.’

  She was off again. Her shoes were starting to pinch and sweat was running down her back. For all the effort she’d put into dressing for her interview, she would be a dripping mess by the time she found Miss Dalton. And she still had a walk back to Manly to endure if she didn’t get the position.

  A further thirty minutes on foot and Rose arrived at the Second Class Precinct. It was at odds with all that she’d perceived of the place. The disease and death had either been grossly exaggerated or was confined to another part of the station. Here groups of adults sat on the grass, smoking and eating oranges, with relaxed faces turned up to the sky. Children with glowing cheeks chased each other or played quoits, their peals of laughter ringing through the air.

  She asked a young lad to point her in the direction of first class and Miss Dalton’s office, and he gave her petite waist an admiring glance before directing her across the road. Within minutes she was standing outside a wooden door with a brass plaque that left little doubt as to whose office it was.

  There were no other applicants in sight and Rose’s heart sank. She was extremely late and the others must have already had their interviews. The position was likely filled and she would have to find her way back to her boarding room jobless and penniless.

  She straightened her hat, dabbed at her brow and gave the door a reluctant knock.

  It opened and a tall, thin woman in a white blouse and high-waisted ankle-length skirt greeted her. She had short brown hair pinned at the sides. ‘Hello, can I help you?’

  ‘I’m Rose Porter,’ Rose said. ‘I’m here for the parlourmaid position. I have an appointment for an interview.’

  The woman’s eyebrows lifted. ‘How did you get in here?’

  ‘The guard at the post gave me directions.’

  ‘I asked those guards to send for me if anyone arrived for the position. This is a quarantine station, not a park. The public can’t walk in and out as they please.’

  ‘The officer was new and didn’t have a radio.’

  The woman huffed. ‘I suppose you’re here now. Best you come in.’ She stepped aside and Rose entered.

  The office was small with dark oak floors and a thin Persian rug. An uncluttered oak desk stood in the middle of the room and a carriage clock on a mantelpiece ticked loudly.

  The woman gestured for Rose to take a seat opposite her. ‘I’m Miss Dalton,’ she said, sitting behind her desk. ‘I’m head of housekeeping here at the Quarantine Station. I manage all passenger accommodation—first, second, third and Asiatics.’

  Rose set her suitcase down and sat in a high-backed chair, trying to persuade her body to stop sweating. She longed to take her hat and gloves off, to fan herself. The room was stuffy and the only window was closed.

  Miss Dalton shuffled papers around on her desk and looked at Rose. ‘So, you’re applying for the parlourmaid position in first class.’

  ‘Yes. Am I too late? Has the position been filled?’

  ‘Filled?’ Miss Dalton’s eyebrows went up again. ‘Hardly. You’re the only one to have applied.’

  ‘The only one?’

  ‘I’ve advertised the position twice. It’s been running in the paper for weeks. There’s been not a single enquiry.’

  ‘You mean—’

  ‘That’s right, nobody else has applied. You’re the only one.’

  Rose opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

  ‘Don’t look so surprised. Most people are fearful of this place.’ Miss Dalton reached for a jug of water on her desk and poured Rose a glass. Rose accepted it gratefully and while she sipped, Miss Dalton spoke. ‘You’re English.’

  ‘From Bethnal Green in London.’

  ‘The war must be terrible there.’

  ‘My family have relocated to the countryside to escape it.’

  ‘And you decided to move yourself across the other side of the world?’

  ‘I’m looking for opportunities.’

  Miss Dalton nodded appreciatively. ‘Well, I must say, I admire your tenacity. It’s something you will need here. The Quarantine Station is not for the fainthearted.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘The station has been in operation since 1830. Ships entering Sydney are subject to mandatory health inspections. Any passenger suspected of carrying an infectious disease will force the ship into immediate quarantine. This includes passenger ships as well as troopships. No one is exempt from the process.’

  Rose nodded. This much she had deduced.

  ‘Once all passengers and crew have been assessed on board, the infected are moved off the ship and into our hospitals. The uninfected passengers are moved into appropriate accommodation to wait out the duration of their quarantine.’

  Miss Dalton stood and smoothed down her skirt. She walked to the window and opened it, cool salty air rushing in. Rose felt it instantly on her face.

  ‘It’s terribly warm for this time of year,’ Miss Dalton said to no one in particular. ‘Warm air is good though. It keeps disease at bay.’

  Rose remained silent as Miss Dalton continued to stare out the window.

  ‘We cater for all illnesses here—cholera, typhus, bubonic plague, smallpox,’ she said. ‘Without a quarantine system like ours, the population would perish. The stories out of Europe are disturbing. They say there’s a deadly flu circulating. They’re calling it Spanish Influenza. We pray it never reaches our shores.’ She shook her head grimly and returned to her seat once more.

  ‘The logic behind quarantine is simple, Rose. The average passenger remains here for forty days. If they do not present symptoms, they are free to leave. If the passenger is ill, they remain until they recover or until such time as they die.’

  Rose suppressed a shudder. Tenacity. She had to exhibit tenacity.

  ‘Our burial grounds are filling up. We have two on the station.’ She indicated somewhere behind her with a wave of her hand. ‘We’ll need a third one soon. Many people die here—men, women, children, soldiers, the rich and poor. It’s something you’ll have to get used to. Refrain from making friends with the children. No good can come of it.’

  Rose nodded again, battling the voice inside her head that was telling her to stand up and run.

  ‘The key to living, working and surviving here on the station is to remain vigilant to the spread of infection. If in proximity of the hospital or isolation precincts, wear a mask at all times and scrub your hands upon leaving the area. Scrub them until they bleed, if you must.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘So with all that in mind, are you still interested in the position?’

  Rose didn’t pause, lest her courage dissolve. ‘Yes,’ she said determinedly. ‘I’m still interested.’

  Miss Dalton gave a small smile. ‘There’s that tenacity again. Very good. The position of parlourmaid is right here in the First Class Precinct. The role will consist of three shifts a day in the dining room and kitchen with breaks in between. You may or may not get a day off. Board, meals and a wage of two shillings a week are included, as well as uniforms. Female housekeeping reside in the female staff cottages just up the hill. No males allowed. All housekeeping report directly to me.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Dalton.’

  ‘We have strict rules about engaging in inappropriate relations with the male staff and especially with the male passengers. If anyone is caught doing this, it will result in their immediate dismissal without pay or references. The rules are in place for a reason. We don�
�t have a schooling system here nor the budget to fund your babies.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Well, that concludes the formalities. Do you have references?’

  Rose reached into her handbag and produced two pages of references from London.

  Miss Dalton ran her eyes over the details. ‘Your references are good, but I see no experience as a parlourmaid. Have you worked in a great house?’

  ‘No, but I’m a fast learner. I pick things up quickly.’

  Miss Dalton spent an age considering her. Finally, she sighed. ‘It’s not like I have any other applicants to consider. And I do need to fill this position.’ She shrugged. ‘Very well Miss Porter. It’s yours if you want it.’

  Rose, despite all she’d heard, smiled broadly. ‘I want it very much.’

  Miss Dalton stood and Rose did the same. ‘It’s settled then. Your first shift will start at six o’clock tomorrow morning. And I see you’ve already brought your suitcase. Excellent. I’ll show you to your room.’

  ‘This is all of first and second class,’ Miss Dalton explained as they walked down Main Axial Road, separating the two precincts. ‘As you can see, they’re quite close to each other. We keep third class and Asiatics on the other side of the station, well away from here.’

  They sidestepped a cricket ball that had come to rest at their feet. Rose looked up and saw a game in progress, the men turning to throw them appreciative glances.

  ‘Most of the station has electricity now. Certainly the hospitals, isolation and the autoclaves do, as well as the morgue and laboratory. The only places that still require oil lamps or candles are the staff cottages, Third Class Precinct and Asiatics.’

  Rose nodded.

  ‘Your job will be to serve meals in the first-class dining room. You will take plates of food from the kitchen,’ she pointed to a brick building they were passing on one side of the road, ‘and transfer them across the road to the passengers.’ She pointed to the other side where Rose glimpsed a dining room filled with chandeliers, elegant chairs and tables dressed in white cloths.

  ‘Will that be all?’

  ‘That will be your primary role, though we take on many roles here, chipping in wherever we are needed.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘We have the women’s sewing room here and men’s smoking room over there,’ Miss Dalton continued, pointing. ‘The first-class sleeping quarters occupy this whole section with the painters and carpenter’s workshops just here.’

  They navigated around a potato sack race as children squealed. They left first and second class behind as the road inclined and they turned left at a junction.

  ‘Now that you are employed by the Quarantine Station, you are not permitted to leave the grounds at any time without permission from me,’ Miss Dalton said.

  Rose quickened her step in order to keep up, the sudden incline and her suitcase causing her to lag.

  ‘I must then request permission from the superintendent. You should be aware that he usually says no. We don’t want our staff to potentially carry infectious diseases into the population.

  ‘You are also not allowed visitors. You are allowed to receive letters and parcels, after fumigation in the autoclaves, of course. We have a post office that you can collect them from. The postmaster can assist you with all of that.’

  They turned left onto Wharf Road then right onto Cottage, the lovely views of the water sliding away behind them. The bushland grew dense, tall gums rattling in the breeze. A cluster of weatherboard cottages with corrugated iron roofs appeared amidst the trees.

  Rose guessed they had reached the female staff quarters. Some of the women were hurrying off to their shift in uniform or smoking on verandahs, others were hanging washing out to dry on makeshift lines. They were respectful when Miss Dalton passed, stopping to straighten their dresses and flick their cigarettes away.

  Miss Dalton led Rose up a set of wooden steps onto a verandah, pausing in front of a door. She fished around in her pocket, extracting a set of keys and turning one of them in the lock.

  Rose followed her into the room and saw a large girl clamber to her feet, a cigarette dangling from her mouth, which she quickly snatched away.

  ‘Bessie Briar!’ Miss Dalton said sternly. The room was heavy with cigarette smoke and she waved it away with her hand. ‘Goodness, open a window.’

  Bessie turned, opened the window behind her bed and tossed the cigarette out.

  ‘This is Rose Porter,’ Miss Dalton said. ‘She’s new. You’ll be sharing a room.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Bessie said.

  ‘And you,’ Rose answered.

  ‘Bessie is a scullery maid in the first-class kitchen,’ Miss Dalton explained. ‘She’s been here for two years.’

  Bessie was a plump girl with pale, dimply skin and rosy cheeks. She had a tumble of golden curls and Rose noticed her hands were covered with open sores.

  ‘A nurse from the hospital will be here soon to give you your inoculations; six in total. I do hope you’re not squeamish around needles.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Next I will have your uniform sent up. Some of the ladies think they can be a little free around here, but not my girls. You are to wear your corset always.’ She held up her finger for emphasis. ‘Shape is important.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Dalton.’

  ‘Your first shift starts tomorrow morning. We meet at the first class kitchen at six o’clock sharp. Be prompt. I do not tolerate tardiness.’ She gave them a curt nod and exited the room, her heels clomping on the wooden verandah.

  Bessie flopped back onto the bed, which groaned heavily beneath her weight. She extracted another cigarette from a packet of Lucky Strikes in her draw and held it up to Rose. ‘Do you want one?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  Bessie struck a match, lit the cigarette and exhaled, blowing a stream of smoke into the air. ‘Are you English?’

  ‘Yes, from London.’ Rose looked around the room. Across from Bessie’s bed were two others side by side, each with a sheet, blanket and pillow at the foot of the mattress.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to go to England,’ Bessie said dreamily, inhaling on her cigarette. ‘I want to meet the royal family and marry a prince.’

  ‘Princes don’t marry commoners,’ Rose said kindly.

  ‘Oh but he would love me so that he would change the law.’

  Rose chuckled. ‘Did you grow up in Sydney?’

  ‘I’m from Leura in the Blue Mountains.’

  ‘Is that far from here?’

  ‘Three hours west by automobile or a day’s trip by carriage.’

  Rose eyed the beds again. ‘Can I choose any one of these?’

  ‘I wouldn’t choose that one,’ Bessie said, pointing to the one Rose almost sat on. ‘Agnes, my former roommate, had a promiscuous way about her. Fifteen times on that bed!’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘She was caught with some of the sailors from the troopship Canberra. Now she’s with child. Miss Dalton made her leave the station without pay or references.’

  ‘That’s terrible. The poor girl.’

  ‘The isolation can make people go a little crazy.’

  Rose moved to the bed that wasn’t Agnes’ and sat on the mattress. She heard a crack and one side of the mattress collapsed. She slid, almost falling off the edge.

  Bessie dissolved into laughter. ‘And that one’s broken! The leg keeps snapping off.’

  ‘So a soiled bed and a broken one.’ Rose stood and straightened her dress.

  ‘You can go in search of the carpenter. He’ll be able to fix it for you.’

  ‘Where can I find him?’

  ‘His workshop is in first class next to the painter’s.’

  ‘I recall seeing it.’

  ‘If he’s not there, he could be somewhere else on the station. You can leave a note for him.’ Bessie flicked her cigarette butt out the window and climbed to her feet. She clutched at her dress and wriggled it u
p over her head, tossing it onto the bed. She was standing in little more than her petticoat, rolls of pale flesh exposed.

  Rose blushed and turned away as Bessie squeezed into a brown uniform and apron.

  ‘I have to get back to the kitchen to warm the ovens for the dinner service,’ she said, tying a bonnet over her head to tame her curls. ‘I’ll see you later for staff supper. We eat at nine o’clock in the kitchen.’

  Bessie left the room and Rose was alone. After a moment collecting her thoughts, she removed her hat and gloves and placed them down on her bedside table.

  Next, she pulled her suitcase up onto the broken bed and opened it. She had brought only a few items from England—some clothes and her small sewing kit, which she rested on the floor by her bed. She placed three tunics and a skirt and blouse neatly into one of the empty drawers in the bedside table, followed by undergarments, two pairs of stockings and two petticoats. Then she set a pair of shoes at the foot of her bed and hung her coat over a chair.

  Aside from the beds and bedside tables, the room was mostly bare. There was a single window near Bessie’s bed, a table that held a wash basin and ewer and plain hardwood floors. There was no closet or mirror nor a cast iron radiator for heating, and Miss Dalton had been right about the electricity in the staff cottages. There were no electric light fixtures, just a small oil lamp and a lantern with a cluster of candles on the floor beside Bessie’s bed.

  Returning to her suitcase, Rose collected her hairbrush, pins and peony perfume and placed them down next to her gloves and hat. She arranged them meticulously, eager to dispel her fears and make this place feel like home.

  The fact that she had managed to secure the position at all was of some relief. Instead of finding her way back to Surry Hills to spend another night in the squalid boarding house, she was moving into the staff cottages at the Quarantine Station. It hadn’t been the position she had expected to fill; not quite seamstress work or a maid in a great house. Nevertheless, it was a job with a wage, food and board. All she had to do was work hard and avoid the cumulative cycle of disease.