Time to sit, time to read, time to talk and play games. Alison felt her life slow. The bond with Charles and her children forged new links. When they came to London, they caught the steam train to Edinburgh then found a carriage to take them to the small villages of her parents and grandparents in County Fife. Her aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews all welcomed her.
Her own grandmother, Alison, was now frail and her other grandparents all dead. She sat with her grandmother for a long time, two kindred souls, as they joined hands and built a new link, sharing memories of Hannah, long lost daughter and mother.
Then they both walked to the small graveyard, down the side of the hill. Here Alison stood and gazed at the tiny grave of her long lost brother, and beyond to the still waters of the loch. A feeling of great peace washed over her. It felt like a closing of the loop, the final shreds of pain fell away after all those early hard years. Now there was rest and contentment in her soul.
That night she and Charles loved each other with new passion and tenderness, and she knew they had created another life. She felt a longing to be home.
Three months later they stepped ashore at Balmain on a clear winter’s day, with clear sharp light. The water sparkled in the fresh wind. Alison tasted the rich smell of gum and ocean and felt the solid rock hill beneath her feet.
Tom and Mary did not know to expect them, and she wanted to surprise them. She shushed the children and Charles and they all quietly climbed the path to the top.
There was their dear little house, roses straggling over it, now with two extra rooms joining the side, a bedroom for Heather and office for Charles. She loved it with all her soul, and it beckoned her to stay awhile, but no time to stop now.
Instead they tiptoed up the path to where the old sandstone house of Tom and Mary stood; its bulk solid against the sky. She took the door knocker in her hand and gave it three firm raps. A shuffling of feet in the passage, and a voice called out “Who is it?” She knocked again, did she hear annoyance in the old man’s voice as he opened the door.
With a squeal of pure delight she pulled the old man to her and hugged him. And there was Mary, silver white hair but those sharp eyes that missed nothing. “Oh my child, my child,” she said, gathering Alison to her. “How we have missed you all, and you, John and Heather, how big you are grown, and Charles, Welcome, welcome, welcome. You should have telegraphed; then we would have something ready to welcome you with.”
Suddenly, amongst all this chatter, Mary drew back, looking intently at Alison. “I know you, you have your own special news,” she said, gazing directly into Alison’s eyes and putting a hand to her belly. “My old bones can feel new life. What a blessing is this. Oh, Charles and Ally, what better gift could you have brought me today.”
In the full heat of summer the new baby came. She truly was of Alison, the brown hair and those steady green-hazel eyes, and that wise loving soul. They called her Maria, their gift from God.
Chapter 11 - 1872 -Another house in Balmain
Michael Williams was a coal miner from Wales. He had gone down the pit following his Dad before him, as soon as he was of an age. But times were hard there and the wage for a day’s work was little enough. His Dad’s wages barely bought food for the table.
For Michael, the idea of him slaving his whole life for a pittance seemed a poor choice. So, five years ago, he had packed his few things and bought a passage to Melbourne with the promise of gold and work and wealth. The gold was hard to find and with it the wealth, but there was work aplenty. Those who had the gold were building grand new houses, and the docks were bursting with ships to be loaded and unloaded. After a year working on the Melbourne Docks he took a passage to Sydney to see what it had to offer. He soon found work on the Balmain docks, no shortage of need for human brawn. But this was little different from the mines, the labour just as hard, but at least not down in a dirty hole underground.
He had a room in a boarding house just behind the docks. After his long shifts, when his friends went to the tavern for a pint, he often found himself walking up the hills of Balmain and around the streets, pondering the need for something better to do with his life.
Some fine houses were being built and he wondered if this building trade was something he could learn. There seemed to be a real skill in it in making something to last, different to the endless, useless occupation of moving heavy things from one place to another.
One day he came past a building site as the builder was packing his tools for the day. The builder, a fit young man only a few years older, called to him. “Hey you, not looking for work are you? My apprentice got sick on me and I need someone to take his place.”
So Michael found himself with a new job. It was something he seemed to pick up easily. The work was easier and more interesting than moving bales and bags around the docks. He found he had a fine eye for detail and skill with his hands; smoothing plaster after they attached it to the lath board, shaping of the cornices, fine cutting and carving of joinery.
After a year he was the site foreman, building his own houses for Master Builder, Jim Roberts. By now he even had some money saved. In 1871, there were new blocks of land for sale on a street called Smith St. He knew this because he was building a house for a rich merchant on the edge of the ridge where the street crested a steep hill. As he worked there he looked out, across the harbour to Cockle Bay. Blocks opposite were for sale and, when he added in his next pay, he reckoned he should have just enough to buy one.
The day, when his next wages were paid, he collected his money and carried it to the courthouse where land sales were recorded. He counted it out, pound by pound. Sure enough the money was just enough and the land was his, a fine level block at the top of the hill on Smith St.
In his mind he gave this land, where soon his house would stand, the name ‘Ardwyn’. It was the name of the house of the rich owner of the mine back home, who lived on a hill top above the mine where the air was clean and he could look across the valley with its dirty smoke and the poor houses of the workers below, to the clear mountains beyond.
Michael had always remembered this house and the name on the front door from the day when his father had given him the job of taking a note up the hill from the shift boss the mine owner. He was just eleven on that day and the vision of that house on the hill had stayed burned bright in his mind as something to dream of.
Now he walked around his new land. A big gum tree stood in the back yard. He considered cutting it down, but thought, “What’s the harm of it, it’s been there since long before me and there’s room for it still.” So the tree stayed. Before long, work on his house had begun. Mostly he built by himself, making it piece by piece, using the surplus from other jobs. Sometimes his workers helped him for a few hours in return for a couple shillings on the side along with a glass or two of ale at the nearby hotel. Other times, on the long summer days, when there was still light after the paid work was done, Jim, now his good mate, would help him and together it went much faster. In return he promised to return the favour when the time came on the plot of land Jim has just bought further down the street.
In the tavern, where he sometimes went after work, was a pretty young lass called Rosie, black hair and dark eyes like coals. He soon found out when she was working so he could be there on those days. She always flashed him a bright smile and as he walked in she would have his drink poured and waiting for him. But, whenever he tried to talk to her, his words got all in a tangle and he would find himself going red and sounding stupid.
One day she was not there and another girl, Margie, who normally worked in the upstairs bar, was in her place. He mustered the courage to ask her if she knew where Rosie had gone.
Margie replied,“Oh, her Ma is sick and she had to stay home and mind her for a couple d ays. So you’re Michael, the one that she likes but says is shy. Why don’t you ask her out sometime? She lives in Montague St you know, number six.”
Michael went bright red, but felt a thrill run
through him. He thought, Could she really like me when I act so stupid in front of her? He walked out of the bar when his drink was finished and took a deep breath. It was now or never. He called to the flower shop on the corner of Beatty and Montague Streets and bought a bright coloured bunch. Standing in the front of the house with the number, 6, in fancy brass writing on the front door, he though it looked too grand to visit. He could feel his knees knock and hands shake. Finally he managed to bang on the knocker.
Rosie answered with a bright smile and raised eyebrow “Michael?”
He felt his face flush and stumbled out. “I heard your Mum was sick. I brought these for her,” as he handed over the flowers.
Rosie went bright red too. Almost at once she burst out laughing. “Oh, I thought these were for me and did not know what to do, I was so excited” Spontaneously she gave him a hug. “Thank you so much, that was such a nice thing to do.”
Again he went red. Now they both laughed. “I was really thinking about you when I bought them,” he said.
“I know and I like you too. I told Margie at the upstairs bar how nice you were. I hoped you would ask me out or something. Well let’s not stand here, you must come and meet my Mum, Sophia, she’s from Spain you know. That’s where my black hair comes from.”
Sophia was sitting in bed when Rosie came in. “Mama, I have brought you a visitor, Michael Williams, and he has brought you flowers”
Sophia’s face lit up. “Oh so beautiful, bella, bella.”
Then she threw back her head and laughed. “Perhaps these flowers are for you Rosie. Such a handsome young man, who I have never met before, would hardly bring flowers for an old lady like me, when there is a beautiful senorita in the house.
“Well do not leave him standing, a glass of sherry for our guest and another for me”
It was Rosie’s turn to blush as she went off to bring refreshments.
After she left Sophia turned to Michael and said, seriously. “It is good sometimes to flatter the mother, no, though your eyes say Rosie, Rosie. She has already told me she sees you in the bar and likes you, before today. So it is good to meet you at last. You be kind to my girl, she has been sad since her father not come back.” With this the pact was sealed.
Chapter 12 - Sophia
It emerged that Sophia was from Spain but had lived in the Philippines since a child. Mother and Rosie, together, told him the story of how, in 1851, a young ship’s captain, Edward Martin, from Sydney had sailed into Manila harbour seeking a load of teak for building in Sydney, to be supplemented by such finery and silks as he could arrange from the far east. The merchant who provided the lumber was one Senor Carlos Rodriguez.
Senor Rodriguez was a timber merchant who had prospered on trade with Spain and England. He could also supply, through friends and business partners, many of the other goods Captain Martin sought. He was keen to build his business opportunities in the new south land, they called Australia and to which the settlers were now heading in big numbers.
He had heard stories of gold discovery in Australia and arising from this new wealth he saw many opportunities for his business to grow, timber for houses, food for hungry workers, fine clothes for the ladies. All these things he could source locally or from nearby China or Malaya. So he was searching for news about this place, particularly more about the rumoured gold discovery and the prosperity of Sydney.
Young Captain Edward Martin, who had just arrived, having sailed out of Sydney, seemed an ideal source. At first the Captain was cautious, polite but non-committal. So Senor Rodriguez invited him to dinner at his house. He hoped, with wine and hospitality, he would learn all the Captain knew. His wife was indisposed so his seventeen year old daughter, Sophia, took on her role as hostess.
Sophia was impeccably groomed, with a pale green silk dress and her black hair tied back. She had a ready smile and laughed at the Captain’s jokes, even when he suspected that that she did not understand. He found her accented English intriguing. His father explained that she had been tutored by an elderly man from England, who had lived in Malaya for a time. From him she had picked up a passable command of English.
By the end of the meal, not only had Captain Martin given to Senor Rodriguez all the information he possessed but the Captain was moonstruck.
For the next few days, as the loading proceeded, he did not see Sophia again but could think of little else. Then,, on the day of his departure, Sophia accompanied her father on board, when all the bills of lading were finalised, before the ship sailed. While all documents were checked off by the first mate and merchant, before the captain too made his final check and signed for their receipt, a brief opportunity came to engage Sophia in a conversation. He sensed that she had also been seeking a chance to convey her interest. As Sophia later admitted she was equally enthralled by this tall young sailor with blue eyes and tousled blond hair, so different from her family’s dark looks.
Captain Martin asked if he could see Sophia again should he return. She gave him a shy smile and a small nod of his head. She indicated that her father’s permission would be required.
As he weighed anchor and eased off the jetty, both father and daughter waved, and he waved back. Sophia was standing behind her father, out of his line of sight. As she turned to go she touched her fingers to her lips, as if to send a kiss.
Back in Sydney the supplies were well received and he was immediately commissioned for more trips. When next he returned, he went immediately and asked her father’s permission to court his delightful daughter. More easily than expected the father agreed. It was a strictly chaperoned affair.
It could be, he thought, that Senor Rodriguez saw his daughter as making a business opening for him to the port of Sydney.
At this point, Sophia, who was telling Michael the story, as if through her husband’s eyes, laughed. “In fact it was me that helped my father to have this idea. He liked my Edward well enough but did not want him to take me away. It was only when I made my father see the business opportunity in my going to Sydney that he relented. Even then, I had to beg him many times and most earnestly.”
Michael found himself strangely pleased with this thought of Rosie’s mother’s contrivance. It was as if she recognised and gave unstated approval to his own efforts to impress Rosie.
The lady continued. “I also had to encourage Edward so he did not become disheartened with all our courtly manners and slowness. But he genuinely liked my father and also liked his clever business brain, which was like his own. And he knew my father’s affection for me was real as was mine for my father. Though I would have married no one else I would not have gone against my father’s wishes to marry him.”
Rosie continued the telling in the third person. She had heard this story many times, as told to guests at dinner parties by her mother and father.
“Senor Rodriguez had other grown children, a son who helped in the business and a daughter married to a Spanish gentleman in a fine house in Manila, but it was Sophia who was his favourite and brought the fondest smile to his face.
“Before his next trip to Manila my father took all the money he could raise to a fine jeweller in Sydney and had him make a fine gold watch for Senor Rodriguez, a delicate silver necklace for his wife and, for his Sophia, a string of pearls.
As soon as he returned to Manila her immediately sought out Senor Rodriguez, gave him the gifts, and asked for his permission to marry his daughter. Senor Rodriguez accepted the gifts and indicated that he would need to time to consider.
The next day the Captain was invited to a dinner with the whole family. He saw that father, mother and daughter were all wearing his gifts. After the meal the ladies retired and Senor Rodriguez and his two brothers considered the request. Finally it was agreed, the proviso that they must marry in the Catholic Church and that any children were to be baptised as Catholics.
It was a big family wedding with more than two hundred guests, held in the white walled church in a town at the edge of Manila, where ma
ny other grand houses were. They remained with the family for two weeks before they returned to Sydney to live.”
Sophia continued. “Almost 20 years have passed since we built this house in Balmain into which Rosie was born. I hoped and hoped for a second child, a son for my husband, but God did not grant this. But we were very happy, and Rosie loved her father dearly. Then, one year ago, when the return of Edward’s ship, Adelie, from a voyage was overdue, news came that it had been wrecked in a storm far out in the Southern Ocean. All that was found by another passing ship were a few small pieces of wreckage, just enough to confirm its identity.”
Sophia and Rosie held each other’s hands while she said this, tears in both sets of eyes. They told how they clung to each other in their grief and, already close, this brought them even closer. Now, without a captain’s income, Rosie had taken work, to allow them to keep their fine house in Balmain. It was only since Rosie had seen Michael in the bar that she had begun to smile again.
From this day on Rosie and Michael were rarely apart. Soon they were planning the finishing of their new house in Smith St. It may be small but it must be beautiful, fine fireplaces and high ceilings, and places for pictures. It would be a fusion of Spanish and English styles. Together with Sophia they chose the name ‘Casa Ardwyn’, house on a hill, to tell of its shared heritage.
Six months later Sophia summonsed her brother, Jose. He came to Australia to stand in for her husband, Edward, to undertake the father’s role to escort the bride. The wedding was held at St Augustine’s Catholic Church, at the top of the hill in Balmain.
It was a beautiful spring day, their house was finished and Rosie was radiant, with white scented flowers in her hair, as her Uncle Jose led her down the aisle in the church. His own wife had died two years before and it was decided that he should stay on with his sister to provide family for Sophia and the new couple. Rosie’s friend, Margie, was bridesmaid and Jim Roberts was Michael’s groom. By the end of the night Jim and Margie were shyly holding hands as well.
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