Authors: Philippa Carr
As for myself and my family—it was different with us. This was merely a visit and when it was over we should all go back to life as it had been before.
My father was perhaps a little quieter than usual. I daresay he remembered a great deal of that part of his life when he had come to her in chains—figuratively—a prisoner of Mother England, to submit to the humiliating ordeal of being chosen as someone’s slave during seven years of bondage. And my mother would share his mood for their lives were so closely interwoven, and even, at periods, when she was a child, she had known him and thought of him in that land overseas.
Jacco was exuberant. He was longing to explore. He had found the entire voyage exciting and interesting, as it had been for me but for Helena’s problems.
And so we came to Sydney.
I stood on deck as we approached what has been called the finest harbour in the world. And what a sight is was! It was early morning; the sun was just coming up and the sea was pale aquamarine, calm and beautiful. My father, standing beside me, slipped his arm through mine. I turned to look at him and I saw the faraway look in his eyes. I knew he was thinking of arriving here all those years ago. I turned from him to look at the magnificent harbour with its cove-like indentations fringed with foliage and numerous sandy beaches.
My mother came and joined us and we stood silently together.
It was some time before we could go ashore. We had said our goodbyes to the Captain and those members of the crew with whom we had become friendly. The Prevosts were with us when we went off. They said we must keep in touch and my father explained that we should be staying at the Grand Hotel in Sydney for a little while and then we should be going to a property he owned some hundred or so miles north of Sydney. It was known simply as Cadorsons and was near a place called Sealands Creek. Knowing a little of the land, he would be happy to advise them at any time they cared to call upon him. That seemed to give them a certain comfort and it was clearer than ever that now their dreams were about to be realized they were growing very apprehensive.
Helena and Matthew were to stay with us for the time being. I knew that Helena wanted to stay with me, but Matthew wanted to go off in search of material as soon as possible. But for the time being we should all stay at the hotel until my father had discovered what accommodation there would be for us at the property at Sealands Creek.
We went from the dock to the Grand Hotel in our buggy and as we rode along my father expressed his amazement at the change in Sydney since he had last seen it.
“It is quite different,” he said. “When I was last here the narrow streets were quite dangerous because of the pigs, dogs and goats which would be getting under your feet. The buildings were shacks. Now the streets have been made wider and the buildings …”
“Well, it was rather a long time ago,” said my mother.
“Yes. I heard that Macquarie had worked wonders.”
I said: “It must be an extraordinary experience … coming back after all these years.”
He nodded. “It brings it all back. I can see myself standing on deck with the rest of us, half blinded by the brilliant light after weeks shut up in the hold, waiting to be selected by those who would be our masters for the next seven years. But that is all in the past. Here I am with my family, and soon I shall be seeing the property I managed to acquire in spite of my degrading arrival.”
“You should be proud,” said my mother. “How many could do what you did?”
“Quite a number, I assure you. Just look at this city. It might be an English provincial town. It shows what can be done with energy, determination and convict labour. Look at those warehouses. Some of them are quite imposing. I would never have believed it.”
We had arrived at the Grand Hotel which though it did not quite live up to its name was comfortable. There were red felt curtains everywhere held back by brass chains. They added a cheerful colour to the surroundings.
We were regarded with some curiosity by the people in the foyer of the hotel, but I expect they were accustomed to arrivals from England for I learned later how many people, like the Prevosts, were coming out attracted by the cheapness of the land and the labour of convicts which meant that they could start to build a fortune without a big initial outlay.
My father had arranged for the bulk of our baggage to remain at the docks until it could be sent straight to the property.
And so we had arrived in Australia.
T
HE DAYS WHICH FOLLOWED
were full of new experiences.
Helena and Matthew went through a marriage ceremony in accordance with the custom here; and my parents with Jacco went to the property which was some two hundred miles north of Sydney. I wanted to go with them but Helena was so frightened at being left without me that I said I would stay behind. My father’s idea was that he and my mother should “spy out the land” and find out what living conditions at the property would be like. He knew there was a dwelling house and that in the interests of the property it had been added to over the years; but he did want to make sure that conditions would not be too primitive, and before we moved out he wished to investigate.
The manager of the property had come to Sydney to welcome us. He was a man of about thirty with strong features and dark curly hair. His skin was very bronzed and his hearty manner seemed to us a little brash, but I think that was more or less natural to people here for although they had originally come from England, life here had changed them. I had the idea that some of them despised us for our courteous manners and more refined way of speaking. Gregory Donnelly was a man of the country. Strong, uncompromising, independent, contemptuous of those unlike himself, a man who would be ready to face any difficulty and, I imagined, make a good job of extricating himself. He was what Mrs. Penlock would have called “a real man.” I felt a faint revulsion towards him on the first day we met.
“Hi … ya,” he said. “So here you are,
Sir
Jake. I’ve been expecting you for years. We’ve got a lot to show you.”
“This is my wife,” said my father.
“Lady Cadorson,” replied Gregory Donnelly, bowing his head with a gesture of respect which he managed to convey that he did not feel.
“My son … my daughter …”
Did I imagine it or did his eyes linger on me with a hint of speculation? I felt myself growing hot under his scrutiny. I felt he was trying to see too much of me, to sum me up in a somewhat crude manner.
“So what’s your plan, Sir Jake?”
“I’m coming out to take a look at things. We all want to come out. We have two more with us … a relative of my wife and the man she will be married to very soon. We didn’t expect they would be with us, and I am wondering what accommodation there is out there. That’s what I want to make sure of.”
“Well, there ought to be room. There’s a shack adjoining the place which I could move into. Casual labour use it, but there’s no one there now.”
“We’ll come and take a look,” said my mother.
“That’s best, Lady Cadorson. I don’t promise the ladies there’ll be what they’re used to.”
“We shall probably be able to get a few things in Sydney,” suggested my mother.
“Reckon there’ll be no trouble at all. It’s a fine town, Sydney. Every time you come in there’s something new. Buildings seem to spring up overnight. There’s plenty of labour about. Should be another cargo coming in soon.”
My mother looked horrified to hear human beings referred to as cargo—criminals though they might be.
Gregory Donnelly had a meal with us and there was a great deal of discussion about what would be needed. Helena and Matthew had been introduced to him. I saw his quick appraisal and dismissal of Helena which angered me. There was an arrogance about him which I found distinctly irritating. He was a disturbing man; his essential masculinity made one think of relationships between men and women and I would rather not be disturbed by such thoughts.
Matthew was very interested to meet him and I could see that he was preparing to ask him many questions.
There was no lack of conversation. Gregory Donnelly made sure of that.
Jacco asked how long the journey out to the property would take.
“Depends,” said Gregory Donnelly. “Good horses might do the journey in a couple of days. You can take a buggy. There are two inns where you can spend a night. I usually camp down somewhere. I know the place. Been coming in and out of Sydney for years.”
“You make it sound simple, Mr. Donnelly,” said Jacco.
“I’m Greg,” he said. “We don’t stand on ceremony out here. I don’t know myself as Mr. Donnelly. That all right with you, Jacco?”
“That’s all right,” said Jacco, and Gregory Donnelly turned his eyes on me.
“That goes for all round,” he went on. He looked rather apologetically at my father. “Better to fall in with the ways of the natives. Makes for the easy way.”
“I’m quickly realizing that,” said my father.
And from then on he was Greg.
The nicest thing about him was his pride in his country. He talked of it with glowing enthusiasm. “There’s something about a town that grows under your eyes. There have been men here whose names will always live in Sydney, though they’ve gone now. Their names are on our streets. When you think a short time ago there was nothing here … Settlers are coming in now. Oh no, Miss, er … Annora, we’re not all convicts now.”
“We know that,” I retorted. “There were two people on board with us. They’ve come out to get land.”
“Going cheaply, ha. Well, why not? Get the place going. We’ve got a lot to be thankful for. MacArthur brought the sheep here. We call him the father of the sheep industry, and that is quite something now. We’ve got wool and we’ve got meat. Why, they call some wool Botany Bay. That was where they first came out to with their load of prisoners and when they saw this harbour they came here and they called the place after some important gent in England.”
“Viscount Sydney,” said my mother.
“That’s the fellow, but Macquarie is the man who made the place what it is. He said this was going to be a capital city of the world and believe me it’s fast becoming one. He’s built roads, houses, bridges, factories … We’ve even got our own newspaper. Yes, the Sydney
Gazette
. You can read all about it in there.”
Matthew said: “I’m interested in the convicts. I’m writing a book about them and I’ve come to collect information.”
“Well, take my advice, Matt.” He had already taken upon himself to give what he considered an appropriate version of Matthew’s name. “Don’t let them know what they’re saying is going into a book or they’ll shut up like clams. You’ve got to get them to talk naturally. Let it come out in conversation. I’ll show you a few of them on the property. They’ll be ready to talk.”
“That will be wonderful,” cried Matthew.
“I see you’re looking at me hopefully. Well, sorry to disappoint you. I’m not one of them. Came from Yorkshire. My father was a settler and it was Sir Jake here who put him in charge of the property. He died five years ago and I took over. I wasn’t born here, but then, who was? But I’ve adopted it. It’s my country and I’m proud of the way it’s going.”
He talked a great deal about the city and the property, the price of wool, of droughts, plagues of insects and of forest fires, which were a continual source of anxiety during the summer months.
I found myself listening with interest and wondered what my father thought of him.
I discovered later that evening.
“He’s certainly got a good opinion of himself,” said Jacco.
“I think we might well find a great number of his sort here,” my father pointed out.
“Surely there could only be one Greg,” said my mother. “Really he is most forceful … democratic, I suppose he would call it … insisting on Christian names so soon.”
“I thought your manager might be a little more subservient,” I said.
“We mustn’t expect that here. I imagine they are no respecters of position. It’s the way of the country.”
“He’s brash,” I said.
“I thought you took quite a dislike to him,” Jacco told me. “I thought he should have shown more respect to Papa.”
“Oh, he wasn’t disrespectful,” my father defended him. “That’s what you call masculine dignity.”
“I thought it was arrogance,” I insisted.
“I believe he’s a good man from what I gather,” said my father firmly. “Well, we shall find out.”
“I don’t see why we should delay looking at the property,” said Jacco.
“No reason at all. We’ll go as soon as Greg can arrange the transport.” He looked at my mother.
“I’ll be all right on horseback,” she said. “I’ve been riding all my life, haven’t I? A few miles of this bush or whatever they call it isn’t going to worry me.”
“It’ll be a bit rough going. We shall stay the nights at those inns.”
“Well, I must say I don’t fancy bivouacking—even under the expert guidance of our Greg.”
“No. I shall insist on the inns.”
“Helena can’t come,” I said.
“Oh dear,” said my mother.
“Matthew can take care of her,” put in Jacco. “After all, that’s his job now.”
“She’s nervous still. She clings in spite of everything.”
My mother said: “I think Annora had better stay here while we investigate. She’s right about Helena. The poor girl is in a nervous state. She went through a lot with poor little John Milward. To my mind he ought to know what’s happened. Anyway, you stay here, Annora. We’ll report. Trust me to see that when you come to the property you have as much comfort as I can get for you.”
“I’m longing to see it all.”
“So are we all,” said Jacco. “I don’t see why Matthew Hume can’t look after Helena.”
However it was finally decided that I should stay and a few days later my father and mother and Jacco set out, under the guidance of Greg, to see the property. They had acquired good horses and all that they would need for the journey. It had all been arranged with efficiency, said my father, by Greg.
Helena and I were together all the time. Matthew was out all day and would come back full of excitement. He talked to people and when he returned he kept to his room writing copious notes.