by Jane Smith
‘No more rats,’ Carly said, and Mrs Chisholm grinned. ‘Not one,’ she said.
There were dozens of women at the Home. They were all young and cheerful, and they greeted the newcomers warmly.
‘You’ll want some supper,’ said Mrs Chisholm, pulling stools out for the girls to sit upon. ‘And then we can talk.’
Supper. Carly wished she had taken the opportunity to eat something decent in her brief return to the present. ‘... bread?’ she asked, hoping the answer would be ‘no’.
‘Yes, bread,’ Mrs Chisholm replied, smiling. ‘And potatoes. I know how you Irish girls like them, Sophie.’
As they ate, Mrs Chisholm talked. ‘You’ve come at a good time,’ she said. ‘Just in time for my next scheme.’
Carly took a bite of cold boiled potato and washed it down with some water. She hoped the water was clean. Sophie was shovelling potatoes into her mouth as if she hadn’t had a good meal in months. She probably hadn’t. Carly felt bad about being fussy over food. If potatoes and bread are good enough for Sophie, she thought, they should be good enough for me. She chewed and swallowed. It was OK. Not brilliant, but OK.
‘A lot has happened since you were here last, Carly,’ Mrs Chisholm went on. ‘After our night here with the rats, I wrote to Governor Gipps and told him that I had found the shed to be perfectly suited to my purpose. In the end, he agreed to let me have it. The government gave us linen and furniture, and my friends donated money, and within a week of setting up, we had ninety or so girls staying here! It has been a huge success. Even young men want to stay here, but I don’t allow that. I must protect the girls.’
‘You do great work,’ Dora said through a mouthful of bread. ‘I’ve heard about how you even bring homeless girls in from the streets and find them homes and jobs.’
‘You’ve heard about my work?’ Mrs Chisholm was surprised. ‘All the way from Ireland?’ Then she peered closely at Dora. ‘You don’t sound Irish. I can’t quite place your accent. Where are you from?’
‘Tell us more about your plans,’ Carly cut in.
‘Ah, yes, my plans.’ Mrs Chisholm beamed. ‘You see, girls, there are too many people in the city and not enough jobs. But at the same time, the people out in the country are crying out for more workers. They want labourers and servant girls. But they can’t find those servants, because they’re all stuck in the city!’
‘So you want to take the girls out into the country and find them jobs,’ said Dora.
‘Well, yes, exactly!’ said Mrs Chisholm. ‘How did you know? You are a very bright girl, Dora.’
Dora blushed and smiled. She had clearly been listening in her history classes.
Carly rolled her eyes.
‘We have two problems,’ Mrs Chisholm explained. ‘One: getting the girls to the country to find employers. Two: training them for work. Most of the girls who come here are young, poor and inexperienced. They have no skills.’
‘Like me,’ said Sophie. She had finally wolfed all her potatoes and joined the conversation.
‘Don’t worry, dear,’ Mrs Chisholm said, clearing away Sophie’s plate. ‘While you are under my roof, you will learn skills.’
‘So, what’s the plan?’ Carly asked.
As they were talking, five or six young women drifted into the cosy room and sat with them. Some of them knitted as they chatted, and others sewed.
‘We leave this afternoon,’ Mrs Chisholm said. ‘I have arranged for some bullock drays to take us west. We will stop at some farms – places where I know the owners are kind and honest – and see if they can offer work.’
‘I’m not going!’ a dark-haired woman shouted from behind her knitting.
Startled, Carly jumped and turned to look at her.
The woman’s brow was wrinkled in terror.
‘Now, Emma, we’ve been through this before,’ Mrs Chisholm sighed. ‘You will be quite safe.’
‘Not with all them bunyips and bushrangers out there, we won’t!’ cried a blonde girl in the corner.
Carly and Dora exchanged amused glances.
‘Bunyips aren’t real,’ Dora said.
‘How would you know?’ the blonde girl retorted. ‘You’ve only been here five minutes.’
‘And what about the bushrangers?’ the girl called Emma joined in. ‘They’re real enough.’
Fair enough, thought Carly. She knew about bushrangers. She knew of at least two of them who had passed through Apis Creek – where her farm was – back in the gold rush days. She knew that it was best not to mess with bushrangers.
‘They will not harm us,’ Mrs Chisholm said calmly. She turned back to Carly and Dora. ‘Farmers bring their wool into town on bullock drays. They take them back empty. It occurred to me that they might as well take the girls on their drays – and it won’t cost anyone a penny. I arranged for a dray to take some girls yesterday, but they refused to go. They were afraid. We have another dray waiting for us this afternoon. If we don’t take up the offer, my plan will fail.’
‘Well,’ Dora said. ‘Here’s an idea. How about you go with them? That will show them that you have no fear.’
‘Dora, you really are very clever.’
'‘And,’ Dora added, her face pink with excitement, ‘Carly and I will come too!’
‘What?’ Carly gaped. She had no wish to risk a meeting with a bushranger. Or a bunyip, for that matter.
‘Come on, Carly,’ Dora said. ‘It’ll be fun.’
The bullock dray was big and flat with huge wheels. The girls climbed into it — a tricky thing to do in a long dress, petticoat and corset. There were no seats. It was like being in the tray of a ute, except bigger and made of timber. When it got going, the differences became more obvious. The ride was bumpy and painfully slow.
‘I’ll ride ahead,’ Mrs Chisholm told them. She was mounted on a beautiful white horse. ‘His name is “Captain”,’ she said.
Carly reached over the side of the dray to stroke Captain’s nose. He reminded her of home. She loved horses. Stroking Captain gave her a twinge of homesickness. Butterflies spread their wings in her stomach.
Mrs Chisholm was an excellent rider. She sat tall and proud in the saddle.
‘Isn’t she amazing? ’ Dora whispered.
‘You just like her ‘cos she thinks you’re so smart,’ Carly whispered back, but she agreed with Dora. Mrs Chisholm was amazing. It seemed there was nothing she couldn’t do. Carly wished she could be so brave. ‘Where are we going?’ Carly asked Emma, the darkhaired girl with the fear of bunyips and bushrangers.
‘Parramatta,’ she replied.
‘Parramatta?’ Dora repeated. ‘I thought we were going to the country!’
‘Parramatta is in the country,’ Emma snapped. ‘Don’t you know anything, smarty-pants?’
‘Maybe it was in the country in the old days,’ Carly whispered in Dora’s ear.
Dora smacked herself in the forehead. ‘Of course,’ she said.
The dray rumbled out of the city and into the bush. The warmth of the sun and the rocking of the dray made Carly drowsy. She fell asleep with her head on Dora’s shoulder and dreamed of Tim Tams and burritos with chilli sauce.
‘Wake up!’ Dora was shaking her. ‘We’re here.’
Carly rubbed her eyes and stretched. A corset bone stabbed her in the chest. ‘Ow!’ she yelped.
They were parked in the driveway in front of a low stone house with wide verandahs. There were shady trees all around and a sparkling river in the distance.
‘No bunyips along the way, then?’ she asked.
Dora grinned. ‘Not one. No bushrangers, either.’
Emma scowled at her.
Mrs Chisholm was walking towards them from the house. A white-haired man strolled on her right and a lady walked on her left. Mrs Chisholm was chatting happily and waving her arms about.
When she reached the dray, Mrs Chisholm smiled at them. ‘Carly and Dora,’ she said. ‘I’ve found positions for you. Mr and Mrs Smith would be happy
to take you on.’
Carly and Dora looked at each other.
‘But—’ Carly began, but Mrs Smith cut her short.
‘Welcome, Carly. Welcome, Dora. We hope you will be happy here.’ Mrs Smith had grey hair and smiling blue eyes. Her husband looked like Santa Claus, but thinner.
‘Umm ... thanks,’ said Dora.
Carly couldn’t speak.
Mr Smith held out a hand to help the girls down from the dray. They tumbled clumsily onto the grass, and he helped them up. Carly was grateful for his help; it was pretty hard to move in the heavy dress and corset.
‘We’ll go and prepare your rooms,’ Mrs Smith said, and the old couple turned and walked back to the house.
‘Well, cheerio, then,’ Dora said to the girls on the bullock dray.
‘Bye!’ said Sophie. ‘Good luck! And thank you.’
‘Mr and Mrs Smith will be kind to you,’ Mrs Chisholm said. ‘Work hard and be polite. I have no doubt that soon you will find good husbands and start families.’
Husbands! Carly and Dora gaped. They’d only just finished primary school!
‘... but don’t be in a hurry, dears,’ Mrs Chisholm went on.
‘We won’t,’ said Dora.
‘Wait until you are at least eighteen and have found a man who will respect you and treat you well. A man with good prospects, who will support you and your children in all that you do.’ Mrs Chisholm’s nose turned red and she brushed away a tear.
‘Mrs Chisholm,’ Carly said, alarmed. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine, dear,’ she replied. ‘I’m just thinking of my own dear husband and children.’
Carly blinked. This was a surprise. She had assumed that Mrs Chisholm had no family.
‘Ah, you’re surprised,’ Mrs Chisholm smiled sadly. ‘I see my family rarely. My husband, Archibald, is with the Army and is often overseas. My children live just outside of the city. I tried to keep them at the Home with me, but it was impossible to keep them safe and do my work. I only see them on weekends.’
‘They would be proud of you.’ Dora smiled at her.
‘Thank you, Dora. And goodbye,’ said Mrs Chisholm.
‘Well,’ said Dora, ‘this should be right up your alley.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Farm life,’ she said. ‘Farm work.’
Carly stared blankly at her. ‘We have electricity on my farm. We have tractors. And fridges. And motorbikes. We have pesticides for the crops and antibiotics for the animals.’
‘OK, OK,’ Dora said. ‘I get the picture. But how hard can it be?’
The girls had settled into the servants’ quarters. They were pleased to find that they were to share a room, but less pleased that they had to share a bed. Mr and Mrs Smith were kind. They had fed the girls a hearty meal of beef and vegetables and given them fresh clothing: plain wool dresses, caps and aprons. (‘Good grief!’ Dora had whispered, and Carly had struggled not to laugh.)
‘So,’ Dora continued, ‘about these chores. Can you do the milking? I’m not a morning person.’
Carly groaned. ‘I can’t get up at dawn!’
‘But I don’t have a clue about milking! You live on a cattle farm; you’ll know what to do.’
‘I live on a beef cattle farm. Not dairy.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘Mrs Chisholm was wrong about one thing,’ Carly snapped. ‘You are definitely not smart.’
‘Whatever. But will you do the milking? Please?’
‘Oh, all right,’ Carly said. Then she gave a sly smile. ‘I guess that leaves the job of emptying the chamber pots to you.’
Dora turned so pale that her freckles stood out like stars. ‘I don’t know if I’ll be suited to farm life,’ she whimpered.
The room was small but cosy, with patterned curtains and a rug on the timber floor. There was a small wardrobe for their clothes and a table upon which sat a Bible and a book of poetry. The bed was more comfortable than the straw mattress at the Home.
The girls were sitting up in it, reading the poetry by candlelight, when Mrs Smith called in to see that they were settled. She was impressed to see them reading. ‘Good Heavens, you can read!’ she exclaimed. ‘How clever you are!’
Carly shifted uncomfortably. ‘Um, thank you,’ she said.
Dora stifled a giggle.
‘Well, sleep well, girls,’ Mrs Smith said. ‘The rooster will wake you at dawn.’
Dora groaned. She had undone the fancy arrangement of her hair, and it frizzed brightly about her head. The two girls were dressed in white long-sleeved, floor-length nightgowns, with their orange shawls draped around their shoulders.
We look like a pair of grandmas, Carly thought.
‘Best take off your shawls, girls,’ said Mrs Smith. ‘You don’t want to spoil them.’ Then she reached out and grasped Cady’s shawl with her left hand and Dora’s with her right.
‘No!’ they cried together, snatching at the shawls as Mrs Smith plucked them off their shoulders.
And, just as if the candle had been snuffed, their world sank into darkness.
‘Gosh,’ said Dora. ‘That was close. Chamber pots!’ She shuddered.
‘Still,’ said Carly, ‘the Smiths were nice.’ She had enjoyed being back in the country, even if she had dreaded the work she might have had to do: milking, scrubbing floors, laundry ... all things considered, she was glad to be back in the twenty-first century.
They were standing on the street with their shawls clutched in their hands. Cars and buses rumbled past. Everything was back to normal: Dora’s pigtails and red-rimmed glasses, Carly’s t-shirt and shorts.
‘I wonder what happened to all those girls,’ Carly said. ‘Sophie and Emma and the others.’
‘I suppose she found jobs for them all,’ Dora replied. ‘Unless they decided to go for husbands instead!’
The girls looked at each other and cracked up laughing.
‘Imagine us with husbands!'’ Carly giggled.
When they had settled and wiped the tears from their eyes, Carly said, ‘But seriously, how brave were those girls? To come across the sea to a new life in a country where they knew no one?’
‘Brave,’ Dora agreed. ‘And desperate.’ She peered at Carly. ‘Hey. Are you OK?’
Carly’s lip trembled. ‘I’m fine. It’s just ... being back on the land ... it made me .’
‘Homesick?’ Dora put an arm around Carly’s shoulders.
‘Uh-huh. And ... I’m scared,’ Carly sobbed. ‘I’m really scared of going to boarding school. I’m not brave like those girls.’
‘Ssshhh.’ Dora snuggled against Carly.
She was so small that she reminded Carly of her little sister, and that made her burst out in a fresh round of sobs.
‘Of course you’re brave! You came to Sydney all alone, didn’t you? You came to stay with people you hardly knew. And you spent a night in a cold, dark, rat-infested shed! Don’t tell me that wasn’t brave! And what about Sophie? Remember how you pushed that bad man out of the way and rescued her?’
Carly sniffed. ‘I suppose that was a bit brave,’ she admitted. ‘But you were with me. I feel stronger when you’re there.’
Dora blushed. ‘Aww,’ she said.
Carly wiped her eyes. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said more brightly. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘There’s something I want to tell you,’ Dora said. She was smiling and biting her lip as if trying to hold back her excitement.
‘What is it?’
‘Well, firstly, let’s go back,’ Dora said. ‘One more time. We can find out what happened to the girls. It might make you feel better to see if they’ve settled. Besides, we’ll be able to say goodbye properly to Caroline Chisholm. And then I’ll tell you.’
‘OK,’ said Carly, holding up her shawl. ‘Ready?’
‘Ready,’ said Dora. ‘One, two, three ... ’
They were back on the wharf again. Carly was a little disappointed; she’d hoped
to find herself in the cosy Immigrants’ Home. The wharf was big and busy, and dangerous.
‘Look!’ Dora tugged on Carly’s sleeve. ‘It’s Mrs Chisholm!’
She was right; there on the bustling wharf was a familiar lady in a neat, dark dress with a lace collar, and ringlets framing her face. At that moment, Mrs Chisholm turned and looked in their direction. Her face creased into a smile.
Carly and Dora trotted across the wharf towards her. Carly cursed the heavy skirt and petticoat that flapped about her ankles. It wasn’t getting any easier to wear the absurd clothing. Some things had definitely improved since 1841.
‘Carly! Dora!’ Mrs Chisholm said, clasping their hands in hers. ‘How lovely! You’re back from the country!’
‘Er ... yes,’ Carly said. She wondered how Mrs and Mrs Smith had felt when they had disappeared. If they had been puzzled or angry, however, it seemed as if they hadn’t held a grudge – or if they had, they hadn’t complained to Mrs Chisholm about it.
A small boy was clinging onto Mrs Chisholm’s skirt. Carly glanced past her and saw two bigger boys and a smartly-dressed older man standing amongst a pile of boxes and bags. They were watching the girls curiously.
‘Goodness, my manners!’ said Mrs Chisholm. ‘Let me introduce you. This is my husband, Captain Archibald Chisholm, and my boys, Archibald junior, William and Henry.’
The girls mumbled shy ‘hellos’.
‘Are you leaving?’ Dora asked, waving a hand at the boxes and bags.
‘Ah, yes, still as bright as ever,’ Mrs Chisholm said fondly.
Carly rolled her eyes, before asking, ‘Where are you going? What’s been happening?’ She was desperate to know. ‘How are Sophie and Emma and the other girls?’
Mrs Chisholm smiled. ‘Come sit with me,’ she said. ‘It’s hours until our ship departs. My legs are tired. Let’s sit on that bench there.’ She patted her belly.
Carly noticed that she’d put on weight.