‘Ye comin’ with us, Mrs Roche,’ he said, making for the door with Sam, who was now screaming with his arms stretched out to his mother.
‘Give me back my boy!’ she screamed, enraged, and instinctively pulled Sam away from the parish constable. He had not expected to face any resistance and quickly backed down, allowing Sarah to take Sam and settle him down. After mother and son had been reunited, the situation quickly calmed down and tempers receded. The commotion had caused a stir among the neighbours, who were at their doors waiting to find out what was going on and putting forward their own theories. The two men escorted Sarah, with Sam in her arms, out of the house and into the street. A couple of the neighbours were at their front doors, their shawls wrapped around them, waiting to learn the outcome of the commotion. As Sarah came out into the street they cried out.
‘She’s nothin’ but trouble, that one. Lock ‘er up, constable.’
‘We don’t want ‘er livin’ round ‘ere’ no more, disturbin’ the peace.’
‘That poor child should be taken off ‘er.’
It was not going to take much for Sarah’s simmering rage to return to the boil.
‘What have I ever done to you lot?’ she screamed. ‘I was just nearly killed in there, and none of you came to help me.’
‘It’s none of our business,’ replied one.
‘So why are you out here now then, you nosy fat cow?’ The constable could see what was coming and looked flustered; worried that half a street of women, with the potential to erupt, might leave nothing of his shins to return home with. Another woman started to blurt something out, but was stopped in mid-sentence by a hard slap across the face from Sarah’s free arm. The victim let out an almighty shriek, as she clutched her stinging cheek. The constable quickly jumped between the two to prevent any further escalation and the watchman forcibly guided Sarah away.
‘Ye bloody witch!’ screamed the injured neighbour over the constable’s shoulder. ‘Ye deserve all ye get!’
Sam started to wail again, gripping on to his mother in the midst of all the mayhem. Within minutes, the trouble was over. The disgruntled neighbours slowly returned to their homes and the parish constable and the watchman led Sarah and Sam away.
Sarah found herself in court, just as her husband had done months earlier. Her claim that the debt collector had tried to rape her and had almost strangled her to death was disregarded. She was the wife of a murderer and had shown that she was more than capable of violence herself. The debt collector, Frederick Webber, stood up in court, with a patch covering his now empty eye socket. Sarah felt a certain amount of guilt on first seeing what she done, but she fought the emotion, he had got his just deserts.
Because of her lack of remorse and her constant interruptions and aggressive outbursts, repeatedly insisting that it should be Mr Webber on trial, since it was he who had attacked and tried to rape her, and indeed had almost killed her, she was found to be in contempt of court. She could not contain her frustration, why wouldn’t they listen to her, since she was the victim in all of this?
Meanwhile, Frederick Webber gave a convincing performance, playing to the audience, as if expecting a standing ovation at the end of the show. It was a marvellous display and not a shred of villainy to be seen. Smartly cloaked by his clean appearance and irreproachable demeanour and humbling himself to the court, he was barely recognisable as the same person. This clever disguise only added to Sarah’s frustration; a spade, so to speak, to assist with the hole she was digging for herself.
Sarah herself looked like she had been sleeping on a bed of nails, in the midst of a cess pit, but how could she possibly clean herself up, confined as she was in a large cell in the Bridewell, along with so many other destitute women. Her final blow came when a character witness was called, who else but the neighbour Sarah had slapped across the face? Revenge came sweeter than a hive full of honey and the magistrate wasted no time in his summing up. He told Sarah that she was a black mark on the community and should follow the fate of her husband, and he sentenced her to seven years’ transportation to Van Dieman’s Land. She felt a strange sense of relief on hearing this sentence; at least she would be closer to Pat. Indeed, there was almost a sense of excitement about it all. She had escaped the dismal slum she was in, and now she was going to be near him again, but as she sat in her cell, waiting to be reunited with Sam before being taken away to prison, the doubts started to crowd in. What kind of company would she be forced to keep as a convict? And would she now be classed as such herself? Never had she imagined that she would end up with a convict label, after the way her parents had brought her up. Better that they were not around anymore to bear witness to what she had become. She felt the shame burn inside. This was not meant to be, her life was supposed to be a happy one. Yet maybe it could still be happy again someday … if she found Pat.
Like her husband before her, she was taken to Kirkdale prison to await transportation. Her days there were spent pushing a giant treadmill, grinding flour; a punishment every bit as exhausting as the notorious Pyramid, which her husband had had to endure. The treadmill itself could hold one hundred and thirty prisoners at any one time, each pushing the wooden bars in a great circle in the prison courtyard. Sam was left to cope as best he could, while his mother was a slave to the grind.
It was now almost four months since Pat’s departure, and Sarah was relieved to be freed at last from behind those infamous walls of Kirkdale prison. Before she had time to take stock of her new situation, she and Sam found themselves on board a convict ship, heading straight down to the southern hemisphere.
The female ships were similar to the males, though with more bed space to accommodate children. They did not have to sleep on the floor and there was only half the military presence. For this voyage the women were escorted by regular soldiers of the foot regiments, infantrymen, not the specialist Marine Corps. The women were not seen as that much of a threat, but emotions seemed to run a little higher, perhaps because there were so many children on board. To Sarah’s relief, she found that a lot of the convicts were just ordinary women like her, and she knew several of them from Kirkdale. To her surprise, some of the women had deliberately committed crimes in order to be transported, and so be closer to their husbands, who had already met that fate. For others, their situation was heart breaking. One woman, with whom Sarah had become friendly with and shared a berth, was in a pitiful state. Mothers were only allowed to take one child with them and this woman, Mary Burgess, had four children. The eldest was a daughter of ten, then two sons aged seven and five and then the youngest, three, whom she had brought with her. Her husband had died the year before, and the fate of her three children, left standing at the dockside, was now out of her hands. It was excruciating for her to have to watch them crying and calling out for her as the ship left the dock. It was the same story for many others. Another woman dropped dead, apparently of a broken heart, just days after setting sail. She had left behind a husband and five children. Her crime was stealing three yards of muslin.
Sarah was convinced she would have to get used to sharing her confines with prostitutes, drunken waifs and strays or woman suffering from some form of insanity. She wasn’t wrong in part, but she soon began to realise that the majority were just petty thieves, trying to feed and clothe their starving children. This life was hard and cruel and for some it would get even harder. Surprisingly, some even believed that this transportation would be the best thing that ever happened to them because anything was better than what they had.
The women had more freedom than the men on their ships and were not locked away in the hold for most of the day. They were also allowed to wear their own clothing and were offered duties, like cleaning the decks and washing the soldiers’ and officers’ clothing. There were other domestic chores on offer too, such as assisting with the cooking and serving up the meals. They even received payment in the form of extra food rations, or a bottle of rum. Given the choice, more often than not they chose
the rum. The women of the Mary Jane appeared to be settling in nicely with any major concerns, though it wasn’t without its rogue elements, there was plenty of bitchiness and a fair number of loud mouths. One of the latter being Bella Dolan; who would stubbornly refuse to do any work and end up spending much of her time in the solitary cells.
There was brooding darkness that was slowly emerging onboard; girls were being enticed into sexual activity whether they liked it or not. Rum was plentiful and younger girls were encouraged to drink with the soldiers and crew. Once under the influence, they would be subjected to multiple rapes. But there were also tales of optimism too, there were stories going round of single girls who had been transported and courted soldiers on the way and had gained their ticket of freedom, married and were apparently living happily. They were also being told that many women when they arrived in Van Dieman’s Land they could quite easily gain their freedom by marrying a free settler, or soldier. Others were sceptical that these stories were just told to cheer them up and make them feel all was not lost.
In the last few years there had been a rise in female transportation, the underlying reason being that the male population of Van Dieman’s Land outnumbered the female population by almost five to one. The British Government, however, were blaming the rise on an equivalent rise in female related crime, such as prostitution, intoxication and violent conduct, whatever the excuse, the new colonies needed women in order to increase population and the government had to come up with political ploy to get them out there.
The captain and crew of the women’s prison ship, the Mary Jane, were merchant crewmen, with military guard providing escort. Captain Arthur James was a stout little man, shaped like a barrel of ale on legs. He was rather partial to rum, but only once they had distanced themselves from the coastline. He was detested by all, but of course he didn’t know it, as no one dared tell him to his face, unless you were Betty Dolan, that is. As for the soldiers, they did not like being ordered around by such a slob of a man, as for the crew members, well they were too busy lusting after the women, like they had never seen one before, to even care about the captain. The female ships were gaining a reputation among sailors and soldiers alike; they were becoming known as the ‘floating brothels’. When the ship left the port at Liverpool it all seemed to be no more than a bit of harmless flirting. However, once a few weeks had passed, it would be a different story.
It was a dull afternoon on board, with grey skies hanging overhead. Some of the women were busy with their various chores, scrubbing the decks, washing and mending clothes, whilst others sat idly about, or flirted with the soldiers and crew. In general, the main deck was bustling with activity, with the children running around, ducking in and out of the busy bodies, without a care in the world, though the adult prisoners still had a designated area that they could not go beyond, unless they had permission. Sarah and Mary had been assigned to scrubbing the decks while another girl, Ellen Davis, who shared their berth, had been assigned the task of washing down the bulwarks.
The three had hit it off very quickly and enjoyed one another’s company by day, but by night, the gloom of the hold would bring on a sombre mood. They would talk about themselves and their lives of hardship and sorrow whilst drinking their day’s wages in rum. It was a fairly easy acquaintance in their berth, as they all had children. Ellen had nine-year-old Annie, she loved Sam and at every opportunity she would try to carry and cuddle him, smothering him with affection. Sam would soon tire of this, as he was quite an energetic child, and although affectionate, he only wanted to be carried by his mother. Sam loved nothing more than to run around on the main deck, playing with the other children, or sitting on his mother’s lap and watching the world go by.
Having momentarily stopped to give their backs a rest, armed only with two scrubbing brushes, one in each hand, and a bucket of soapy water, they were working along the main deck, which was over fifty foot long and twenty foot wide. Ellen took the chance of a break, as she was tired after bending over the bulwarks for half the day. Little Sam was playing in the bucket of water, soaking himself in the process. None of this had escaped the attention of the captain, who was watching from the poop deck. In a stern voice he called down, ‘You three wretches! Shut up and get on with your work!’ It was not so much that he enjoyed the power of his authority particularly; he was just naturally of a grumpy disposition. The ship was running smoothly and in good order and the prisoners were all good natured, tending to their duties. Sarah, Mary and Ellen were just taking a well earned five minute rest, but quickly returned to work at the captain’s orders.
Betty Dolan, however, took exception to his attitude and stormed between Sarah and Mary as they knelt on the deck,
‘’ey! You! Who d’ye fink ye talkin’ to? … cum down ‘ere and scrub the bloody deck yeself … Call yeself a captain? Ye a fat ugly bastard, that’s what ye are!’
Those in earshot could not decide whether to laugh or gasp in shock. Was her outburst really in defence of the three girls? Or was it just a challenge to the captain’s authority? Whatever it was, the captain was furious. The humiliation burned through his cheeks as he looked down from the finely carved wooden railing to see all on deck staring up at him, awaiting his reaction. It seemed to him they were about to burst into laughter.
‘Arrest that witch at once!’ he cried. ‘And put her in solitary confinement.’
Betty was apprehended and taken down into the ‘tween decks. It was to be the first of many sentences to the ship’s solitary cells and a turning point for the prisoners. Their settling in period was well and truly over.
CHAPTER 3
A FRIEND IN NEED
It was the turn of the nineteenth century and Liverpool may well have been a thriving port, but for the working classes, life was very far from rosy. For Pat and Sarah, even to survive childhood was tough; one in five children under five would not live to see the age of six. Diseases such as consumption and cholera, due to very poor housing and sanitation, were very common causes of death. Some of the dwellings were little more than atrocious: dark, dank and deplorable and grossly overcrowded especially the courts and cellars that ran between Crosbie Street and Blundell Street, that ran east, opposite the Queen’s Dock; an entire community sandwiched between the two streets.
The houses on Crosbie Street and Blundell Street were like any others at the time. Though occupied by the wealthiest of the working class, they were not much better off. Locked away behind the houses were the courts, the only access to them through the tunnelled alleyways that ran between every second or third house along Crosbie and Blundell Street. The long narrow tunnels opened out into dark courtyards, around which small slum houses and cellars faced one another. All of the houses were back-to-back and the court houses backed on to the front houses.
Walking east up Crosbie Street from Wapping and the Queen’s Dock, and taking a right turn at the first arched tunnel, the natural light faded away to almost nothing for the length of the three foot-wide tunnel; the only light filtering through from the sunless courtyard up ahead. Just twelve to fifteen feet, there was a claustrophobic sensation that the walls were closing in on you. Once through the tunnel you would find yourself in Pine Court, where the cramped and filthy grey houses faced one another in rows of three or four, with only ten to twelve feet of cinder, or stony earthed courtyard separating them. The smell of rising damp in every corner gave off a permanently dank stench. Each house had two or three worn stone steps leading up to a door. Standing at two storeys high, the sun rarely managed to filter down to the bottom of the courtyard. The lower parts of the houses were in permanent shade, the midday sunlight only ever hitting the top half of the first floor, at best. A few gas lanterns were attached to the walls in certain areas, but the watchmen could not be relied upon to come and light them every night.
Through another narrow passage was Huyton Court, very similar to Pine Court but a little wider and a little brighter. In the far left corner steps led down into a si
ngle cellar room with a small window at ground level, so silted up, it was impossible to see in or out. This was the wretched home of the Roche family, who had come over from Ireland five years previously to find work.
Jack Roche was a well-built Irish navvy, who was working at the Stanley Dock where a canal was been built that would eventually link Liverpool to Leeds and bring in more trade. His wife and children lived in constant fear of him, because of his love affair with alcohol. After work each night he would head straight for the ‘Bunch of Grapes’ and many a night he would stagger home rotten drunk, all too often giving his wife a beating before dropping off to sleep, while the youngest of his offspring would silently curse him and wish him dead. Little Pat loved his mother dearly, and always got up to attend to her when she was beaten, while his three older brothers were beyond caring. They had inherited their father’s genes, and compassion did not seem to exist in their stone cold nature.
It was a miserable existence for Mrs Roche, but she took her beatings without complaint and suffered in silence for the sake of her children. She could not leave them, besides she had nowhere else to go, all her relatives were back in Ireland. She was a very frail woman, who bore her lot with the utmost tolerance; but her undernourished and abused body could only take so much and she didn’t know how much she had left. Her maternal feelings centred around Pat, the only one of her children who returned her affection. He was now five years old, and his three older brothers were eight, eleven and thirteen. The eldest, Michael, was now almost completely detached from the family and the other two spent their time walking along the busy shipping mile, mastering the art of pick pocketing and petty theft, quickly becoming hardened to a tough life of crime.
The Roche’s were probably one of the poorest families in the courts, although many others were not far behind. They tended to keep themselves to themselves, on the orders of Jack; he didn’t like his wife talking to people, so she didn’t, and that was the way it was. Although Pat was only five, he often roamed the streets until late at night, just to avoid a beating from his father, or witness the possible beating of his mother. Sometimes he would even go and sit with old Billy Wakely, the night-watch man. He would sometimes confide in Billy about his deep-seated hatred for his father. He saw Billy as a kind of father figure and someone to look up to and Billy too allowed Pat to come in to his hut on occasions to talk and get warm. He knew all about Jack Roche, there were not many people that didn’t, but Billy was a force to be reckoned with and he knew he would never have any trouble from Jack.
Bound to Sarah Page 4
