‘I’m a farmhand over at McDonald’s place.’ Ben Matthews gave Daniel a hopeful look. ‘I want to get my own place one day...’
‘Have you a family over there too?’ Hannah asked.
‘No, Mrs. Clarke, just me.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘I left my family behind in Warwickshire. I’m on ticket-of-leave and hope to be fully pardoned soon.’
‘That makes two of us.’ Hannah laughed, breaking the tension. ‘At least I was last time I looked.’
‘Trust you, Mum,’ Mary Ann giggled.
‘Mr. Clarke, ah . . . I just wanted to ask you if Mary Ann and I could keep company, if that’s all right with you and Mrs. Clarke.’ He scooped a lock of sandy hair from over his eyes and looked hopefully from one to the other.
‘Well,’ Daniel stroked his chin, ‘here we go again.’ He gave Hannah a wry smile. ‘I guess it is okay with me if you respect her properly and providing her mother and Mary Ann are agreeable. What do you think, Hannah?’
.Hannah nodded. She smiled at her daughter’s anxious face. ‘Yes. It should be okay,’
‘And you, Mary Ann?’
‘Oh, yes, Daddy, I’d like that.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Clarke.’ Ben put out his hand.
‘Just a couple of things first . . .’
‘Call me Daniel and secondly treat her well. You understand?’
‘Of that you can be certain, ah . . . Daniel.’
Daniel gave the relieved Ben Matthews a grin and shook his hand. ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘I want to walk you over the block and we’ll have a pleasant little chat.’
‘Gee, Mum,’ Mary Ann exclaimed when the men had left.’ I thought Dad would have ordered Ben off the place like he usually does with all his daughter’s suitors.’ She shot a glance at Charlotte who returned a wry smile.
‘Perhaps your father is maturing with age,’ Hannah told them and the entire family joined her in laughter.
‘Gee, Mum, you are the funny one,’ offered Lucy, giggling now, but normally the quiet one.
The year of 1832 ended, not with one wedding, as Hannah and Daniel had originally planned, but with two. Mary Ann, aged seventeen, married Ben Matthews at All Saints Church on 11 June and, before the year was out, another daughter would be married in the same chapel.
‘If we’d known they were both getting clucky at the same time, we could have combined weddings and saved a few pounds,’ Daniel grinned.
‘They’re going off like flies,’ Hannah responded, then grew thoughtful. ‘It could be Elizabeth next, I suppose.’
‘Ruddy hell,’ Daniel exploded. ‘Do not even joke about it, Hannah. In case you haven’t noted, we have no more money left.’ He gave her a sly glance. ‘I might have to go to sea, I be thinking.’
‘Still on that, are we? Aren’t you too old for that lot, now?’
‘What? I’m only forty six, Hannah. I’m just a boy.’ He put his arm around her, ignored his tittering daughters and kissed her on the lips. ‘Your little boy,’ he said, mussing her hair.
‘Yes,’ she said softly, resting a head on his shoulder. ‘Just a little boy sometimes but the answer is no, Daniel. Remember what happened last time you brought up this stupid nonsense?’
‘Aye, I do.’ He released her and turned to eye his daughters. ‘It seems your Daddy won’t be going to sea.’ He grinned. ‘Your mother has made up my mind for me.’
‘Mum’s right.’ Mary Ann wagged a finger. ‘You stop home, mister.’
‘Okay,’ he conceded, opening his hands. ‘I give in. Anyway, I guess someone has to be around to keep you girls out of trouble.’
‘Ha-ha,’ Elizabeth chuckled. ‘Funny, Dad.’ She linked arms with her mother. ‘Tell us the story again, Mum, about how you beat those nasty escaped convicts.’
‘Oh, God, you’ve heard that all before quite a few times. It’s no big deal.’ She smoothed Elizabeth’s fine dark hair back over her ears. ‘Your hair needs cutting, young lady.’
‘Oh, go on, Hannah, tell them the story again.’ Daniel sat down at the kitchen table and motioned at the others to sit. ‘Your mother’s one tough lady, you know,’ he added and winked at his wife who rolled her eyes.
‘Well, okay. Let me see. It was only last month so I can remember every detail and I have to, don’t I, because I have to go to Sydney to the court to give evidence sometime next year. Anyhow, there was only young William and I at home alone.’ She looked intently at Daniel. ‘Your father was away in Berrima. All you children were at the school except for you, Mary Ann and Charlie, and both of you had taken our Henry for a ride in the sulky.’
Hannah paused, smiling at the eager faces of the family that Daniel and she had created. A sense of contentment came over her as she continued. ‘I was in the milking shed and I’d just about finished when William ran up and told me there were two men at the house. I asked him what they wanted but he couldn’t tell me. He seemed a bit frightened. Nevertheless, I wanted to finish Edna. You know what she is like, always wants to kick and fuss, so I told him to go back and ask them what they wanted. I thought no more about it until I had finished with Edna whereupon I gave her a smack on the rump and sent her on her way with the others. I was standing, straightening my poor old back, when two men entered the shed. The oldest one asked if I had any muskets or pistols. I said no and told him to leave the place. The younger one asked me to get him some money. Again I told them to go and said my husband was due home anytime now and they laughed at that and told me they knew he was away.’
‘Gee, Mum, how exciting.’ Mary Ann’s eyes glistened. ‘What did they look like, Mum, these two scoundrels?’
‘Well, cherub, they were right ugly, both of them. The oldest one had a scar down his face, probably an old knife wound I would think, and the younger one had a rough beard down to his chest and piercing dark eyes. You could tell they were evil just by the look of them.’ She shot a glance at Daniel and winked. ‘Certainly, they were not good-looking like your father,’ she added and the girls giggled.
‘What happened then, Mum?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘Did they attack you?’
‘The youngest one did. He came forward and grabbed me. I tried to break free but he was too strong. ‘Tell me where the money is, woman,’ he shouted and I screamed ‘Take your hands off me, you ─ sorry girls for the language ─ bastard.’
‘Golly, you’re brave, Mum,’ Charlie shook her head in admiration.
‘That’s your mother all right,’ Daniel commented. ‘Now, you know why I’ve been frightened of her all these years.’
Hannah smiled and continued. ‘Anyway, the young one, whose name was Batchelor, by the way, released me. I tried to run out the door but the older one, the ugly one with the horrible scar, stopped me. He held a cudgel over my head and called me some disgusting names. I screamed at him — I heard Batchelor call him Drake — and demanded to know what they had done with my son. Oh, God, children, I was so worried about our William. This Drake fellow laughed and said that he was helping them to find things and to shut up. While this was happening, the other fellow, Batchelor, was drinking milk out of the urn.’
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. ‘How terrible, Mum.’ She touched her father’s arm. ‘If Dad had been there, he would have given them short shift, wouldn’t you, Dad?’
‘Yes, Beth.’ He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I only wish I had been there.’
‘Go on with the story,’ Mary Ann urged. ‘There are too many interruptions.’ She glared at Elizabeth.
‘I told him to take all the milk because it was contaminated now since he had drunk out of it. Batchelor swore at me then and said he would do me in. He stood over me, shoving me to the ground, and held the cudgel over my head. I told him if he did that he would be up for murder and he would hang. Drake said they didn’t care, that they were escaped convicts and they were desperate. Then I said to them that I was a convict too, still on ticket-of-leave, and that seemed to change their attitude somewhat. Batchelor removed the cudgel from my face and I stood up. My legs were trem
bling, children, let me tell you but once more I told them to leave and, glory be, they did just that but shouted insults at me as they left.’ Leave the old cow with her cow’ I heard the young one say and the other one laughed as if it was a great joke. I watched them push through the south fence into Bradbury’s block before running with all my breath towards the house.’ Hannah paused. ‘I need a drink of water. My throat’s parched from so much talk.’
‘I’ll get it.’ Mary Ann raced to the dipper and brought back a mug of water and Hannah drank thirstily. ‘Now the story, Mum, what happened next?’
‘Yes, where was I? Oh, yes. Well, I ran to the house dreading what I would find. I screamed for your brother. ‘William, where are you?’ I heard him answer although it was a weak sound and I ran wildly through the passageway into his bedroom. He lay on the bed, motionless, and began to cry. I held him close, kissed and hugged him until he could speak. He told me the scoundrels told him they would kill him if he didn’t show them where valuables were kept in the house.’
‘Poor William. Did they take much, Mum?’ Mary Ann asked.
‘Just a couple of old rings, a broach and stuff like that, nothing to worry about.’ She did not mention that one of the rings had been given to here by John Dixon on the Canada, and was one that she never wore in public. ‘So, that’s the story, children. Now, I think it’s time we were all in bed.’
‘You were very brave, Mum,’ Charlie said as she kissed her mother goodnight.
‘And now you’ve got to give evidence and go to Sydney for the court case,’ Daniel said thoughtfully as they lay in bed. ‘Charlie was right, my love.’ He leaned across and kissed her. ‘You’re a very brave woman and I’m a very lucky man.’
‘Be careful, Daniel,’ Hannah pulled him down on top of her. ‘Flattery might well get you everywhere.’
‘We all live in hope,’ he said and kissed her again.
Fifteen-year-old Hannah Clarke wed Edward Hynes on the 31st of December 1832 at the same chapel that her sister, Mary Ann, had married in June of that year. 1832 had indeed been an eventful year for the growing Clarke family of Sutton Forest.
It took over a year before Hannah and William gave evidence against the escaped convicts. They travelled to the NSW Supreme Court and stayed overnight in Sydney Town. It was a traumatic experience for young William facing wild escaped convicts and then all those important people in their powdered wigs.
‘Gee, you’re brave,’ Elizabeth told him on their return and planted a big kiss on his cheek which made him blush.
‘Ah, shucks,’ he snorted, rubbing at his cheek. ‘Ugh, girls.’ This made the entire family laugh.
1833 brought mixed blessings to the Clarke family of Sutton Forest. Mary Ann delivered a baby boy called John in April; it was Hannah’s second grandchild and Daniel’s first. Not long after, Hannah junior gave birth to daughter Emma, Hannah’s third grandchild.
Charlotte remarried a TOL convict, George Erby, in July with everyone’s approval, including Daniel, and only the court case in Sydney ended the year on a sour note although they were pleased to see the end of it and justice meted out to the scoundrels involved.
The years passed and still the Clarke family grew. Hannah’s last two children were born in March 1834 — a daughter called Esther — and in February 1836 a boy called George. When she gave birth to George, Hannah was forty seven years old. Even the midwife cracked up. ‘Hannah, you give birth so easy you could have another five or six.’
‘Oh, my God, Daniel, would you please shoot the midwife.’
‘No troubles, love. Now, where did I put the old Brown Bess?’
‘And while you’re about it...’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘Shoot yourself. I’m not going through this torture ever again.’
The midwife collapsed into an old easy chair and held her sides in deep, belly-rumbling laughter. ‘Oh, you are too much, you pair . . .’ she spluttered, eyes watering. ‘Oh, my God . . .’
‘What did I say that was so funny, love?’ Daniel asked her with a wink.
‘You forget, Daniel Clarke, I am the funny one around here. Why else would I be laying here giving birth to your children?’ She returned the wink. ‘Seemingly forever,’ she added and shook her head.
In 1837, Daniel had two convicts assigned to him, Patrick Horan, a druggist, and Brian Lynch, an experienced ploughman. Daniel took over the entire property called Clapham. He paid rent until 1843 when the final payment was made on the freehold of the impressive holding.
‘Hannah, do you realize that we finally own this place? Every blade of grass, every leaf on the trees—’
‘Daniel, how poetic you are and all this time, I never knew it.’
‘So there we are,’ he said. ‘There’s a lot you still don’t know about me.’
‘We’ve still got a few years to find out, God willing.’
‘Yes,’ he said, thoughtful. ‘We’ve done well here when all’s said and done. Look around you at what we’ve made.’
‘The children will have this property long after we have gone, Daniel. It’ll be somewhere for them to gather, to love each other and to hopefully remember us.’
‘Aye.’ Daniel put his arm around her and they went back to the house.
Chapter 17
‘TERRAMUT BUNG’
THE PROPERTY OF DANIEL AND HANNAH CLARKE
SUTTON FOREST
1852-1869
Most of the children came home on that Christmas Eve in 1852. Only Robert couldn’t make it, his wife Elizabeth poorly with the influenza. Children, grandchildren and — Daniel suspected — great grandchildren were running riot, leaping in and around the sulkies, buggies and carriages parked in the yard. There were some that he could not recognize by name even though they called him grandpa and ran around him in playful circles tugging at his legs. He tried to work out who they were from the hair coloring, the body build, even the mannerisms that he had known so well of his own children, but it was too hard. He’d leave it to Hannah.
After the young ones had been put to bed, the adults crowded in for a singsong. Daniel loved these occasions. Everyone had to sing or give a forfeit. It was a fun time for the children of the First Family — as he liked to call them. Most only came home once or twice a year. He sang the old sea shanties they demanded, his mind flashing back to the Spring Grove, but his eyes always returned to his wife. She, alone, understood.
In turn, Hannah sang old Kent folksongs in her clear, pleasant voice and, inevitably, the children — typically Mary Ann it would be — demanded a convict song. ‘Come on, Mum,’ she’d entreat and soon the room rang with the cry ‘Come on, Mum.’
‘Oh, all right,’ she’d concede and give two or three verses of Jim Jones. ‘Now give us Botany Bay, Mum,’ someone would yell out. ‘We must have Botany Bay.’ Then they’d hush and listen, tears in eyes as she sang the entire six verses while everyone joined in the chorus... singing tooral tooral I addity . . .
It was a wonderful night for the extended family on that Christmas Eve of 1852.
The morning young Joseph Erby appeared on their doorstep in March 1853, Daniel knew something was wrong. Charlotte’s nine year old son stood, hat in hand, tears streaming down his face.
‘Hannah,’ Daniel called. ‘Are you there?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, coming to the door. ‘Where else would I be? No need to yell—’ she froze, eyes on her grandchild. ‘What is it, Joseph?’
‘It’s Ma, gran, she is . . . she is . . . dead.’
Hannah clutched at her heart and stumbled. ‘Dear God.’
Daniel lowered her into a chair. He motioned to the boy. ‘Come in, lad, come in and sit down.’
‘How did it happen, Joseph?’ Hannah asked, recovering her breath.
‘Ah, gran, the cart hit a log and fell on mum and little Charlotte was caught, too—’
‘Is little Charlotte bad too? Don’t tell me—’
‘No, she’s alive, gran, her leg is broken but she
is all right but poor mum, oh, gee, gran, she was dead when we got to her. We tried but we couldn’t revive her. Dad sent me over to tell you and ask would you come over.’
Hannah stood. ‘Daniel—’
‘I’ll get the sulky.’
‘Okay,’ she replied, absently. ‘How did you come over, Joseph?’
‘I came on my horse, gran.’
‘All that way? Come with us, son. Here, hold my arm. Don’t worry about your horse now. We will pull him behind.’ Together, they walked into the yard where Daniel was already strapping the brown bay . . .
Charlotte Erby, the daughter of Hannah Stanley and John Dixon, was laid to rest on the tenth of March 1853 leaving a husband and three children including her namesake five year old Charlotte and a son by her first husband, Richard Edsall. The many friends and extended kin of the Clarkes mourned the loss of their dear Charlotte, the first and eldest child of the First Family.
‘You know, Daniel,’ Hannah said, when it was all over and they were coming home. ‘She never really had much of a life, did she?’
‘I think she was happy with Erby, especially these last few years.’
‘Perhaps, but she was always deep, our Charlie, wasn’t she?’ The tears that had escaped her for days past welled over and she sat, sobbing uncontrollably. Daniel laid a comforting hand on her arm but could do no more with eyes on the rig and the road ahead. ‘Oh, God, Daniel, I’m so sorry for her, my poor little babe. First the fights with Edsall, then she was put in the Female Factory for a short time, which we never knew about. Oh, Daniel, what she must have gone through, our poor little girl. I know I should have spent more time with her, talked to her more—’
‘You did as much as anyone could and so did I. Look, Hannah, she knew we loved her. She would always remember that.’ He passed her his handkerchief. ‘Here, love, it’s clean.’
‘I told George we’d help him with the children until this passes. They’re still young, you know, Daniel, and they are good kids.’
‘Aye, they are.’ He flicked the horse on the rump. ‘Come on, Toby, move it or we won’t be home until dark.’ He turned to view his wife’s face. ‘Are you all right now, love?’
Hannah Page 25
