by Wendy James
Then she carries on. ‘Oh, and Biddie thought you might be interested to know that your Doll seems to be gettin’ friendly with one of James Crotty’s boys – the eldest lad, which one did she say again?’ She peers at the letter. ‘Would it be Arthur? Or maybe Harold? You’d know which. Maggie … Maggie?’
But I am halfway gone already and I make no reply.
I have never been one to think too far ahead – have never seen the point in looking before I leap – and though this has sometimes got me into trouble, it has usually been to my own and others’ advantage.
I will always be the first to crush a spider with my bare foot, to chase a steer out of the garden, or to take on a schoolyard bully – whatever their size. I’ve never had hysterics; I don’t shriek, squeal or swoon. My Dad always calls me his game girl, though Ma of course has a different slant on it and uses words like thoughtless, careless, irresponsible, reckless, foolhardy. And right now – sitting alone in the Melbourne train with scarcely a penny to my name, a baby in my belly and no real idea as to where I’m going and what I’m going to do when I get there – right now even I’m shocked by my own foolhardiness.
I’m beginning to think that maybe Ma has got it right.
‘Why you sly thing,’ May Heaney says when I tell her about my condition. ‘Who would’ve thought? Three months,’ she huffs, her fat cheeks trembling. ‘Well, I’d never have guessed it – the idea never crossed my mind. I thought you was pining for home, or that maybe you was on the delicate side.’
When I tell her that I have arranged to meet up with Jack in Melbourne at the end of the week and that we are going to elope, not wanting to wait and cause a fuss, she seems more excited than put out by my leaving. ‘You want to go when?’ she asks. ‘Soon as you can? Tomorrer? Well, daresay I’ll manage. Always ’ave.’ She promises me that she will stay tight-lipped until I write to tell her that the deed has been done. ‘And don’t you worry ’bout talk. You’re not the only one to sail in that perticular boat,’ she says. ‘My Dicky was well on ’is way before me and Mr Haitch tied the knot, and if one half of women told the truth about it they would have to confess to doing just what you and your Jack have been up to. You only have to count the months between wedding days and first-borns and the number of big, fat, healthy babies that come a month or three early.’
May packs me a good lunch, pays me for my three months, and takes me to the station in the buggy. She gives me a fine reference too, and the address of the Junction Hotel in Preston where she and Mr Heaney stayed on their honeymoon. ‘I don’t know as it’ll still be there, lovey, but it was a comfortable enough place and not real expensive.’
Then, just before I board the train, she gives me another slip of paper. ‘Now, don’t you mind this, but I’ve writ down another address for you, Maggie. It were given to me years ago, before Frederick and me were hitched, and I held on to it, though I’ve never needed it, my Fred not being one to shirk his responsibilities, being a noble-minded sort of chap even if not the smartest.
‘This here’s a sort of hospital where – well – where they can give you a certain kind of help you can’t ask for in the usual way – though I’m certain that your Jack’s as honourable as you say, and you won’t have any bother about that. But always better to be safe …’
And I know then that she doesn’t believe me, that she has guessed that there is no Jack meeting me at the end of the week, and no wedding plans. ‘And Mags,’ she goes on, ‘if you get into any strife, or if that rascally Jack Hardy don’t come up to scratch, you can always come back here – with or without the bairn.’ She gives me a little shake, ‘You’re a silly, naughty lassie, but I’d hate to hear of you winding up in any worse trouble.’ She hugs me so tight against her great bosom that I’m half smothered, but I’m glad to have a friend, even so far away as she will be. Somebody who knows.
I unfold the slip of paper that May Heaney gave me at the station. ‘9 Chummie Place, Carlton,’ I read. ‘Ask for Mrs Arthur.’ Like everyone else, I read all about the Yarra River mystery, when a year or so ago the body of a young servant girl was dumped in the river after an ‘illegal operation’. So I know without having to think too hard what sort of a ‘hospital’ it is that this Mrs Arthur runs, and am not as shocked as I suppose I should be, but glad to have the knowledge.
If my plans go wrong there’s no chance that I’ll be going back home and throwing myself at the mercy of my mother – Ma’s notion of mercy being worse than almost any imaginable alternative. Including a visit to this Mrs Arthur.
I am not bothered by anyone on the journey down, which is a great relief to me, as I have worried that I would be in close confines with some drunk or other, as I have heard is a common experience. But luckily an old man is the only person to sit nearby, and as he lets me be and sleeps most of the trip (my only complaint being his loud snores and a habit of very noisy and disagreeable chewing, owing to his dentures) all in all it is a much better trip than I had expected. The porter hands out some blankets and extra cushions, and there is a new serial starting up in The Australasian, so being quite comfortable and with my mind nicely occupied with the troubles and worries of others, there’s no time to be thinking about my own.
Flinders Street station is not as frightening as I had thought. Oh, it’s big all right – though what they say about it not being half as grand as Albury station is true – and I have to lug my box myself as it costs twopenny for a porter, but I manage to find my way about and it takes me no time at all to find the right platform for the train that will take me to Collingwood, where I then change for Preston. The whole trip costs me 9d, which is 3d cheaper than the tram. I buy a copy of The Age at a news stand at Flinders Street and although I sit behind it as the train clatters towards Preston I hardly take in more than one word – being unable to settle my mind to reading when there are so many strange and interesting people and places to see. There are two children, a little girl and boy, sitting with their mother, and I can tell that being on the train is nothing to them – they look so bored and sulky. They see me gawping like a fool and the little boy nudges his sister, who pokes out her tongue. I poke mine back, then hide behind my paper before their mother sees. I’m happy to have given them some amusement, but it’s hard to imagine how a train journey could ever be dull, though perhaps these weedy brats would find a ride in the trap with our Nugget far more exciting.
Preston is a little disappointing, not really being in the city at all, though it is only a short distance by rail, but more like a busy country town. The Junction Hotel is not a big grand hotel like the Globe in Albury, which is what I have been expecting, but it’s a respectable enough place with a restaurant and two public bars, as well as accommodation. It is run by a Mrs Ralph, who is a tall handsome lady and quite stylish in her dress. When I tell her I am new to Melbourne and looking for work she is very friendly and sympathetic. She says there is a small attic room that they usually give to a housemaid, but as they are short at the moment I can have it for only 2/6 for the week, which is a cheaper rate than I have expected, and of course I say yes. Having been used to sharing with Doll at home, any room to myself – however small – seems an agreeable thing.
The room is small but cosy, the bed comfortable enough, and being more than two storeys up I am able to glimpse a corner of the city through the little window. I tidy myself up and lay down for a bit on the bed, thinking it a good idea to have a rest after my journey. But I’m too full of energy and excitement, and want to get some things settled – work and a permanent place to stay being uppermost in my mind – so I head back down to the restaurant to have a cup of tea and look through my paper for a situation.
I ask for tea and cake and Mrs Ralph herself brings it over. She says she hopes that I am snug in my little room, which I am and so I tell her. This Mrs Ralph is a funny sort of woman – very like a man, being so big and plain-spoken – but when I tell her that I am from Gundowring near Yackandandah she gets quite interested and, the restaura
nt being fairly quiet, pulls up her chair for a nice old chat. She has a second cousin lives up that way, she tells me: Maria Simon that was, married a fellow from up there – a George Bateman. So then there is plenty of conversation between us about the goings-on in that family, especially where they concern young Sarah who, says Mrs Ralph, is by all accounts a wonderful girl, so pretty and bright and accomplished – and such a blessing to her mother, especially after those boys who have never been easy and always in some trouble or other, and after her Melbourne education likely to marry well, too – so all their expenses will be well repaid. All this rot about Sally Bateman would turn me off my tea if I were not so hungry, but of course I smile and agree, as is polite, though there are some things I could tell her about that girl, given the opportunity.
Despite the matter of our conversation, it’s good to have someone to talk to, and a relief to find that city folk are not as stuck-up as I have heard, if this Mrs Ralph is anything to judge by, but just the same as at home.
‘So what are you doing here in Preston, Maggie?’ she asks, when we have finished with the Batemans. ‘You don’t seem the sort of girl to go gallivanting about the city without company.’
‘Well ma’am,’ I say, my answer ready. ‘I had always thought I would like to come to the city one day and as my fella – my fiancé – will be moving down soon – he has a job with the dairy corporation here – I thought it would be a sensible time to come. This way when we are ready to set up home, which will most likely be here in Melbourne owing to him having better prospects in the city, I’ll be settled here already. And they do say that wages here is a bit better.’
‘Ah,’ she says, nodding, ‘I see. I suppose it is sensible when you come to think of it. Though I can’t imagine letting a girl of mine come alone to a big city with no place ready for her.’ I can see from the way she sighs and shakes her head that she is imagining my parents to be sadly neglectful, which is so far from the truth to be a joke, but as I do not particularly want to discourage her thoughts on this matter I ask if she knows the best way to go about finding a situation. There are labour exchanges in the city, she says, and sometimes positions can be found in the newspapers.
‘But what do you do, Maggie?’ she asks. ‘What sort of work are you looking for?’ I tell her that I would dearly love to find work in a shop, a haberdasher or a florist perhaps, but that I have worked as a domestic and would be content to go back into service. ‘Well we’re short a housemaid here as you know. The pay’s not as much as you’d get in service – ten shillings a week, but that’s with your board included. There’s no bar work involved – that’s all kept quite separate. It would only be keeping the hotel rooms clean, and laundry twice a week, and serving the breakfasts and dinners in the restaurant when it’s busy. It’s not too long hours,’ she goes on, ‘usually from six in the morning till six at night – not as bad as service in a house, which I know from experience can go on all day till bedtime. And then there’s a half day every second week, and four hours on a Sunday, and you are free to come and go as you please outside work hours. Even if I say so meself, Maggie,’ she smoothes the tablecloth with her big brown hand, ‘even if I say so meself, there’s worse places to work than the Junction.’
Work in a pub, however reputable, is not really work for a respectable girl – which, despite my circumstances, I still consider myself to be – and I do not know what answer to give. Mrs Ralph seems to understand my hesitation. ‘I’ll leave you to think about it, dear.’ She pushes her chair back, stands up slowly. ‘There’s no real rush. You can let me know in the morning. I’d best be getting back. Ralph will be back any moment now and he does hate to see a woman idle, though I must confess it’s only rarely that you’ll see him do anything to raise a sweat.’
‘It’s very kind of you,’ I say, ‘to make such an offer without knowing anything about me.’
‘Oh, I almost forgot. There is one condition of employment – that is if you’re interested. It’s Ralph’s idea: I wouldn’t be so particular meself, knowing that in the end it doesn’t make an ounce of difference that I can see – some’s good and some’s not so, regardless of what another employer might tell you. But Ralph is very strict that we get two references from all our girls. I don’t know why two – I suppose one could be forged but not two, maybe that’s his reasoning. He’s got a very suspicious mind, my Ralph.’
I do not need till morning to come to a decision. I look through the Situations Vacant in The Age and The Argus and there are hardly any suitable positions advertised and none that have the conditions Mrs Ralph is offering. The hotel itself seems respectable and quiet enough, and I would not be asked to work in the bar but only as a general servant doing the same work as I would in a home, with much better hours and most evenings to myself, which will be a blessing in my condition and must be taken into account. When all’s said and done, I think I would probably do better here, even if the wages are lower. I think, too, that there is not such a terrible shame attached to a servant who is expecting in a hotel as there would be in a private house, where it would almost certainly mean an end to the situation once it was discovered, if it becomes impossible to keep hidden.
I only have May Heaney’s reference with me, so, though I am mindful of Mrs Ralph’s remark about her husband’s suspicious mind, I am forced to write myself another. Needs must when the devil drives, and it doesn’t take me too long to come up with a second reference. May Heaney’s letter is so full of praise that I feel it would be laying it on too thick to present Mrs Ralph with another one like it. So I write only a few sentences: ‘To whom it may concern,’ I make the writing as unlike mine as I can, very spidery and delicate, ‘Miss Margaret Heffernan was a general servant in my home from February 1899 to May 1899. I have found her to be Capable Clean Thoroughley Honest and Sweet Tempered as well as Exeptionally Intelligent. I regret that her mother is very unwell and Maggie is needed to nurse her so she must return home.’
I should probably use Mrs Brann’s name, but instead I sign it Mrs Dight, Olive Street, Albury, NSW. Mrs Dight is a real person – a friend of Mrs Brann’s. She is the wife of a bank manager and very hoity-toity, as he is from one of the old families there, so it is a well-known name and one that anyone from up that way would recognise, if suspicious Mr Ralph were ever to inquire. I giggle a bit over the ‘Exceptionally Intelligent’ as I once overheard Mrs Dight tell Mrs Brann that in her experience all the dairy girls, though they made good enough servants, were a little simple – a comment Mrs Brann of course agreed with, even though it is common knowledge that she was once a dairy girl herself.
As soon as the ink is dry and I have folded and grimed the paper a little to make it look right, I go down to Mrs Ralph and tell her that I would like to take on the work here – that I think it would suit me very well. She tucks the references in her apron pocket without reading them, then smiles and says she knows I will be a good hardworking girl, as in her experience girls from the country always are, and far more reliable than their city cousins.
‘I don’t know about that, Mrs Ralph,’ I say, ‘but you’ll never find me shirking.’
‘Well, I must say I’ve had my share of shirkers before this, but they’ve never been from the country. I’ve thought it’s because you country lasses are made to work from a very young age as a necessity, and I suppose some would see this as a cruelty. I think myself it can only be a good thing to prepare a girl for the realities of her life ahead. It’s best to get used to it early and not to have too many expectations, don’t you think, Maggie?’
She doesn’t seem to require an answer, which is probably just as well as I’d have to disagree, not seeing any kindness in making slaves of little children and having always had my fair share of expectations.
‘Now then, Miss Heffernan,’ she continues, taking my arm, ‘how ’bout I introduce you to the rest of the staff?’
With this I am of course agreeable and she takes me to the kitchen, where she introduces me to the hea
d cook, who is a Chinaman called Ling. He appears quite unfriendly and stern and does not even pause in his chopping and slicing, which he does faster than I would have thought possible. Mrs Ralph says he is a funny one, but the best cook in Melbourne in her opinion and that I will get used to him, his cranky ways being only for show.
Then there are the other generals – there are five of us altogether, but I only meet two: Lily and Lucy. Lucy looks about my age and is friendly enough, but I cannot understand a word she says. She is just out from Ireland, Mrs Ralph explains, and will lose her brogue soon enough. Lily is much older, nearer Ma’s age than mine, but she gives me a kind look before rushing off on some errand or other.
Finally there is Mrs Neal, the housekeeper, who Mrs Ralph says is in charge of us girls. She looks me up and down as cool as you like and says she hopes I am a clean sort of girl and not like that Mary Lucas who was a slattern if ever she met one. Then, before turning her back on me, she tells me to be in the kitchen tomorrow morning at ten minutes to six.
