by Mary Arrigan
His words livened us up. Mama laughed as Rose hugged her and declared that we were all on our way to good fortune. John Joe whooped, mounted his horse and circled around our small gathering. Adam came to stand with May and me, but it wasn’t on me his eyes were fixed.
‘This is it, then,’ he said to May.
I didn’t know what he meant. May looked down at her bunch of flowers and said nothing. I wished I could say something, but my thoughts were all mixed up – joy at having got here safely, doubts about what lay ahead, and fear of the unknown.
I jumped, when Grandpa tapped me on the shoulder.
‘What are you thinking, Esty, child?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, Grandpa. I’m feeling young and old at the same time. Isn’t that strange?’
Grandpa chuckled. ‘Not strange at all,’ he said. ‘You’ve had to grow up very quickly, lass. Too quickly. You’re entitled to let your childhood come through now and then. I’m proud of you.’
I turned to look at him. ‘Really?’ The thought warmed me.
‘The diggings,’ James called out, pointing with his stick. ‘Just an easy distance from the town.’
‘And see, Mama?’ I said. ‘There are houses and some grand buildings. It’s not the wilderness you thought it might be, is it?’
‘We may not have one of those grand houses yet, Esty,’ Mama replied. ‘We may have to live quite rough for a while. Indeed, if things don’t turn out well…’ She paused and glanced at Grandpa.
I shook my head. Trust Mama to look on the bleak side.
‘Of course things will turn out well, Mrs Maher,’ put in John Joe. ‘It won’t be long before we’ll have fine houses just like them. You’ll see.’
‘Why don’t we go down?’ said Grandpa. ‘Let’s see just what this Ballarat has to offer.’
In silence we went towards the busy town. The choking dust coming up from the street settled on our shoes and clothes. People stood to one side as our procession of two wagons and a flock of sheep stirred up even more dust.
‘Shops, Esty,’ May whispered to me. ‘I didn’t think there’d be shops.’
‘What did you expect, May?’ I asked, trying not to show that I was as surprised as she was.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied, clutching her flowers and looking around at buildings that seemed to sell everything we could ever need. The delicious smell from the bakery reminded me that I hadn’t tasted fresh bread for many days. May nudged me and nodded towards a dress shop; its fashions were just like those in The Illustrated London News, only these were in brighter colours, tastefully displayed in the window. There was an apothecary, a post office and a well-stocked grocery store. Mama was struck dumb again, and Rose was shaking her head at the wonder of it all.
‘A hotel!’ exclaimed May, nudging me again. ‘There’s even a hotel. Look, Esty.’
I laughed with delight. ‘We’ll dine there in our finery one day, you and I, May.’
Grandpa slowed down the horse and pointed to a neat building with a white front and decorative roof parapet.
‘The Gold Office,’ he read. He turned to us with a smile. ‘That’s the place that will help us make our fortunes,’ he said. ‘It’s where miners take the gold to be weighed and exchanged for money.’
I could scarcely contain my excitement. I squeezed May’s arm. I wanted to shout and dance right here in this busy street. We went on down the street towards the vast tented area, the goldfields.
At the boundary between the town and the diggings, we put together a makeshift corral for the sheep, whilst Grandpa and James rode back to verify the documents for our digging site and for the Baker’s patch of land for their sheep farm and butcher’s stall. Mama, Rose, May and I settled under some trees. Tess, ever watchful, lay panting near the sheep.
‘We’ll have a look around, me and Adam,’ said John Joe. They set off towards the diggings. We fanned ourselves and swatted the flies that bothered us.
Rose brushed the dust from her shoes.
‘That itchin’ dust gets everywhere,’ she said, fluffing out her lacy collar. ‘But wait until the wet season comes!’ She rolled her eyes towards the sky.
‘Why?’ asked May.
‘Why?’ Rose echoed. ‘Because, child, all this dust turns to muck. We’ll be knee deep in the stuff, you’ll see.’
But even those words couldn’t dampen our glee. May looked at me and made a cross-eyed face that made me splutter with laughter. I knew that she, like me, wanted so much to go back and see that street again, to savour its smells and look into the shop windows. But instead, we had to mind the smelly sheep.
We were hot, sticky, fly-bitten and bored by the time Grandpa and James returned. Grandpa was waving a piece of paper.
‘Here it is,’ he said. ‘Our plot. Eight feet by eight feet.’
Our plot. After all that travelling and hardship, we finally had, in that scrap of paper, our passport to wealth. The Bakers’ plot for their sheep area and butcher’s stall was beyond the camp, but near enough for us to keep in touch. That pleased Mama and Rose. I could see from her happy face that May was especially pleased.
Grandpa was strangely silent as we loaded up once more on the last leg of our journey. John Joe and Adam had been watching Grandpa and James return from the town. They made their way towards us.
‘Eight by eight?’ said John Joe. ‘Is that all?’
Grandpa shrugged. ‘Any more than that and we’d have to have another licence,’ he said.
‘So, no panning then,’ muttered John Joe. ‘Just digging, eh?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘I thought that was the whole idea. Isn’t that why we brought shovels?
‘We thought we might get by panning for gold,’ Grandpa explained. ‘The fee for diggings is high, Esty. We thought we’d make a start by panning, and then make enough money to buy a licence for a dig.’
‘Panning means sieving the surface gravel in water that’s washed down from the hills,’ went on John Joe. ‘It’s called alluvial mining. But that’s all been panned away. We have no choice but to dig ourselves a shallow mine.’
‘Well, now we have the permit,’ said Grandpa. ‘All we have to do now is set up our tent and get ready.’
I sensed his apprehension. It wasn’t because of the hard work – we were all used to that. It was wondering whether we’d find gold before the money for the monthly licence fee ran out.
Such thoughts weren’t troubling May. Adam went over and took her hand to help her up. The light shone in her eyes again. John Joe didn’t even seem to notice. I glanced at Mama and was surprised to see her smile at Adam’s chivalrous gesture. But now there were other things to think of. We had to take our leave of the Bakers.
‘This isn’t goodbye,’ said Rose, as she embraced Mama. ‘When we have set up, we’ll come and see you so often, you’ll think we’re family. There’ll always be a discount for you folks, and the odd sheepskin to keep you warm.’
‘Will you stop, woman,’ laughed James as he rounded up the sheep. ‘We haven’t even started yet.’
Adam still had a hold on May’s hand, even though she was now on her feet. They seemed oblivious to the rest of us.
‘Adam,’ called James. ‘Let’s get those sheep to their new home.’
Adam gave one last, lingering look at May and went to join his parents. Again I glanced at John Joe, but he was busy talking to Grandpa.
Chapter Twenty-One
We felt as if we were trapped in the Tower of Babel. The tented area was crowded with people of all nationalities. Some had built crude wooden huts with verandahs, which were raised above the dust level. The noise of many different languages mingled with the clanking of the machinery of the larger mining companies and distant hammering at the smaller diggings. It was exciting and terrifying at the same time. How would we ever fit in with all these strangers?
Nobody paid any heed as we guided our wagon between the holes in the ground to our plot. Children, most of them barefoot,
ran wild between the tents. Some of them gathered curiously round us when we began to unload.
‘Shouldn’t you children be at school?’ Mama asked.
‘No, Missus,’ one of the urchins replied. ‘School’s too full. Ain’t no room for us.’
Mama shook her head and tut-tutted. The children simply laughed and ran away. Once more it was Mama, May and I who shared the tent while Grandpa and John Joe made up their beds in the now-empty covered wagon. Everything we owned was stored under the wagon and in the space left in the tent.
‘Never mind,’ said Grandpa, straightening up painfully after all the lifting and carrying. ‘This is all temporary. As soon as we can, we’ll build a wooden hut and have our comforts back again.’
Mama nodded, as she surveyed the limited space in the tent.
‘A wooden hut would be a palace,’ she said.
‘I don’t care,’ twittered May, clapping her hands. ‘We’re here, and that’s all that matters.’
‘And you’ll look after us men,’ laughed John Joe.
The excitement on May’s face froze for just a moment, but she quickly regained her good humour and set about unpacking some bread and tinned meat.
When it was dark, we sat under the stars of the Southern Cross and listened to the voices – some arguing, some laughing – coming from the hundreds of tents that surrounded us. Somewhere, someone struck up a tune on a fiddle; elsewhere there was singing; farther away, a flute was being badly played. Those sounds, and the hundreds of fires dotted about the goldfield, added a dreamlike quality to that first night. That’s the way I like to remember our first taste of Sovereign Hill.
‘I wonder what they’re all doing now,’ said May, poking the fire with a stick.
‘Who, May?’ asked Mama.
May looked up with a grin. ‘Miss Emma and her ma. I wonder who brushes their hair and brings them their afternoon tea. And who mends their underthings?’ she added, with a giggle.
‘Why, May,’ I said. ‘Their hair will have gone so matted by now that birds will have made their nests in it. As for afternoon tea, well they’ve probably had to boil a kettle and pour tea for themselves, poor dears. Think of the hardship! And, regarding their underthings, they’re so full of holes that the wind chills their nether regions.’
‘Esty!’ exclaimed Mama. ‘That’s rude.’ But May’s laughter was so infectious that we all laughed. A silly little joke, but it helped break up the overwhelming mixture of excitement and fear that seemed to infect all of us.
There wasn’t much time to reflect on our fears after that night; it was straight to work for all of us the next day. Despite what John Joe had said, there was no distinction between men’s and women’s work. We all had to knuckle down. While Grandpa and John Joe dug the beginnings of our shaft with picks, Mama, May and I shovelled the rubble into buckets and carried them to a mound formed by other diggers. It was back-breaking work, made worse by the ruthless heat and the flies that continually buzzed into our eyes and hair. Sometimes we were too exhausted to undress at bedtime. We grew so used to the late night sounds of raucous singing and brawling that we slept through them – though now and then we’d jump at the sound of gunshots, as diggers fought over their territory or possessions.
‘They’re not all ruffians and ne’er-do-wells,’ Grandpa said, trying to console Mama, who’d become visibly frightened. ‘I’m told there are barons, lawyers, doctors, ships’ captains, all sorts of fine people out there – even artists and poets, Kate. Good people like ourselves. We must ignore the brutal outbursts of the ignorant. All will be well.’
‘Ha!’ laughed John Joe. ‘Barons? Lawyers? They’re probably the ones causing the most trouble, Mr Maher. We know all about the brutality of the so-called “gentry.”’ He stopped when Grandpa nudged him in the ribs.
We soon found other things to add to our discomfort – spiders, scorpions, centipedes and relentless ants. We shook out our bedding every morning and hung it over a makeshift clothes-line to keep it off the ground. Even then, there always seemed to be one or other of the wretched creatures in the tent at bedtime. It was wearying.
I worried about Mama; I could see the strain on her face with every bucket she lifted. It was a relief when Grandpa suggested that she’d be of greater service if she’d leave the plot at noon to cook our meals and look after our camp. That meant more work for May and me, but at least we’d have a hot meal to look forward to each evening.
We blessed Grandpa’s decision when we sniffed the aroma of her stew on our way back each evening. And the tempting smell caused banter among the other diggers.
‘Lucky beggars,’ the nearby workers would call out. ‘Save us the left-overs.’
But there never were any. Mama, well used to keeping a good larder, bought vegetables and cheap bread rolls at the Ballarat grocery store and bakery, and created meals that made all our hard work worthwhile.
‘Look at my hands,’ May groaned one night, as she held them up in the firelight. ‘I’ve seen sausages more attractive than this. And as for my face,’ she went on, looking at me, ‘if my nose and cheeks are as red and raw from the sun as yours are, Esty, I think I’ll just bury myself in that mine shaft.’
‘Well, you can start digging right now,’ laughed John Joe. ‘You look like one of Mrs Casey’s boiled lobsters.’
‘Really, John Joe,’ said Mama. ‘That’s most ungentlemanly.’
John Joe laughed again. ‘But I’m no gentleman, Mrs Maher,’ he said.
‘That’s for sure,’ muttered May, getting up and going into the tent.
‘John Joe!’ I snapped, getting up to follow her.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘What have I said?’
‘Oh, you’re hopeless,’ I said.
May was lying down with one arm over her face. She’d taken off her dusty shoes and stockings and her feet were calloused and red.
‘May,’ I said, throwing myself down beside her. ‘Don’t mind that silly idiot.’
‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘There’s better than him out there.’
‘Do you mean Adam?’
She raised her arm and looked at me. ‘Maybe,’ she said, ‘and maybe not. Now leave me be. If I don’t get my beauty sleep, I may be stuck with this face for the rest of my life.’
But, for all her toughness, I knew that May had a softer side, that John Joe had hurt her feelings.
Next morning, Mama surprised us by producing straw hats.
‘I bought them from a nice Chinese gentleman I met,’ she said. ‘These will protect you from the sun. Tonight we’ll sew some veiling around them to keep the flies away.’
‘Oh, Mrs Maher,’ said May, putting on the hat. ‘That was so … thoughtful.’
‘And you, Esty,’ said Mama. ‘You must wear yours too.’
‘Don’t worry about me, Mama,’ I said. ‘A red face doesn’t worry me.’
Mama sighed, but said nothing.
But it seemed my head now had other things to deal with. That evening I collapsed with a fever.
Chapter Twenty-Two
For three hazy days I floated in and out of consciousness, my head aching until I thought it would burst. I was vaguely aware of cool hands and someone beside me fanning away the smothering heat and patting my lips and forehead with cool water. Someone who seemed to be there day and night. Someone who made me feel safe. I had a deliciously familiar feeling of being wrapped up, secure against the world. I was also vaguely aware of hushed conversations that came and went.
‘The diggings,’ I muttered one day, as I tried to get up.
‘Shush, child.’ It was Mama who eased me back on to my bed. She dampened a cloth and dabbed my brow.
‘It was you, Mama, wasn’t it?’ I said.
‘Shush,’ she said again.
‘You’ve been here all the time. I dreamt of cool hands – soothing hands.’
‘My poor Esty,’ she murmured, and she hugged me gently.
‘Oh, Mama,’ I sighed, and clung to her.
‘I’m sorry,’ I began.
She put a finger over my mouth.
‘You have nothing to be sorry for, Esty,’ she said.
‘I do,’ I said. ‘I’ve been awful. I blamed you. I shouldn’t have.’
‘Oh, Esty,’ she said, easing my head on to the pillow. ‘You can’t imagine how I felt that day when the pony and trap took you away. I had nightmares after seeing my little girl heading into a life of service. I’ve hated myself ever since. But it was the only way out. I truly felt that your grandpa and I would die, and I had to save you from that. They were bad times. So much death and…’
‘Stop, Mama,’ I said. ‘Part of me knew it – that you were saving me. But the silly-child part of me…’ I broke off.
‘It’s all over now,’ said Mama. ‘We’re here in a new place and, with God’s help, we’ll find a new life. But you must lie in bed and get your strength back. You’ve had a fever. We think it was brought on by the sun and the bites of those strange flies.’
I closed my eyes. All that time I’d wasted resenting Mama for sending me away, and all Mama’s time wasted feeling guilty about me!
Those few words had put us on a route towards more understanding. If only we’d talked about it sooner!
Mama smiled.
‘I must prepare supper,’ she said. ‘No, you stay where you are, Esty,’ she added, as I tried to get up. ‘Time enough to go back to work when you’re better.’
But I needed to be out in the open air, so I dressed and went to sit outside.
Grandpa, May and John Joe were so pleased to see me up and about when they came home, that I said I’d go through it all over again just to see their glad faces.
‘How have you managed without me?’ I asked.
‘Ever so much better,’ said May. ‘Nobody to get in our way and hold up the work. You stay there, Esty, and we’ll have our diggings up and running in no time at all.’
‘Thank you, May,’ I laughed painfully through cracked lips. ‘I’ll do just that.’
‘We managed all right,’ said Grandpa. ‘We hired a young lad, an Irish lad,’ he added, with a smile of satisfaction. ‘He was working with someone who gave up and left. Now he gets work helping out, going from dig to dig when someone needs an extra hand. Says he makes a decent living and doesn’t have to worry about licence fees. So we’ve just finished the shaft and are almost ready to mine.’
