Chapter 3 - 1841 - Arrival in Australia
There was a smell of burning in the air as the boat tied up to the wharf in Cockle Bay. After months of sailing out from a cold, dreary Scotland, bright light bouncing off the rocks and water in this sheltered bay, combined with wisps of smoke from headlands on the north side of the harbour, was his first real view of this strange land. To the east was Port Jackson where they had berthed briefly, late last night. Some people had come off there but Sydney town was crowded with no space to stay tied up in Campbells Cove. So most passengers stayed on board as the harbour pilot directed them around the headland to this sheltered bay, to tie up and unload the next day.
Archibald stretched his cramped muscles and walked around the deck in the early morning of October 5th. A slight chill was in the air, but with bright sky and the promise of a warm day to come. His home in Barnyards village, Scotland, would be damp and misty on a day like today, but some of his heart still yearned for its comfortable familiarity. His wife and their two small children slept still in their cramped quarters. He tasted the early morning ocean breeze, sea brine, shellfish, gum tree and wood smoke all mingled.
The Cockle Bay wharf was already bustling, as merchants with carts sought to unload their supplies and boats jostled for space to tie up on these crowded wharves. Extending out from shore was a forest of other masts and canvas which rocked gently in the swell, with sounds of creaking hulls and the squawk of birds.
To the west, perhaps half a mile away, was another headland, mostly covered in grey-green trees, but with patches of clearing towards its end and some houses, newly built. As he watched a small boat headed out from that shore and rowed steadily across the gap, before disappearing around the headland to the east. Sitting in the back was a distinguished looking suited gentleman, while two oarsmen pulled steadily.
Now that seems to be a good place to live and a good way to get to work, he thought, as he contemplated the view across the sparking water, so different from work in his poor country village in Scotland, moulding metal implements over a forge in a smoky barn, with the muck and mud and grey skies outside.
A new life was in front of him. What would it hold? Anticipation mingled with regret for no longer seeing his 6 brothers and sisters and his worn parents in their small cottage. Not much future there. Still he missed the small grave for John, little Archibald’s twin brother. They had dug it into the hard frost, on a cold day of last winter, looking down across the loch.
As the early morning passed into full day, Archibald negotiated for a man with a cart to haul his furniture, tools and other bulky goods to a store shed behind the wharf.
He left Hannah with their children and went off, walking up to the town, where he found a boarding house with a spare room in George Street. They could stay here for a few days until he found something better.
It was amazing how busy the town was, they said it had now passed 40,000 people. That did not seem a lot after England and Scotland, yet there were crowds pushing along George Street, and lots of redcoat soldiers and convicts in work gangs. Everywhere was noise, dust, flies and a stench of unwashed sweat, horses and manure.
It all seemed incredibly alive and busy with industry. The buildings ranged from sandstone and brick houses over two and three levels, to little more than timber hovels, particularly on the side streets. Gradually he came towards Semi-Circular Quay, where they had berthed last night and here the order increased, crowds thinned and fine buildings of local sandstone were more numerous.
Archibald was captivated by the vitality of it all, all these people, free settlers, soldiers, emancipists and convicts, all trying to make a life for themselves and seeking their own advantage. Everything seemed to cost a lot, but it was definitely a place of opportunity. Then, realising that the day was running away and they had much to do, he returned to the ship.
Soon it was time to leave the ‘William Turner’, their home coming over the water for 4 months. They loaded their luggage onto a cart and were driven away from the boat, wheels clanking on the rough wharf decking.
Coming off the dock the Customs man checked them over and wrote their names in his log book; ‘Archibald Alexander Rodgers, aged 27, Black Smith, Presbyterian, can read and write, Hannah Rodgers aged 24, Dressmaker, Presbyterian, can read and write. Children: James aged four and Archibald aged two.’ As he watched them drive away the Customs man thought, this tall, dark haired, almost saturnine, man and his pretty, fair haired wife, with the sunlight smile, but also with quiet competence; they would be two who did well in this colony.
Hannah and the children stopped at the boarding house while Archibald went off looking for work, as they had little money left after the trip.
Someone told him that they were looking for iron-workers at McVey’s, on Mace’s Wharf in Sussex Street. He wrote directions on a scrap of paper and walked the half mile there. Sure enough, anyone who could work metal was wanted, lots of ships needed repairs and people were looking for cart wheel repairs and iron implements for farming and building.
It was past midday on Friday so he said he would like to go to church on Sunday and come to start on Monday. Mr McVey said, “Well you’ll be looking for the Presbyterian Church then. I will see you there on Sunday morning and introduce you to the other parishioners. We are just a wee flock yet, but we try to help each other. Call me Tom.”
Weeks in Sydney soon passed. Archibald struck up an instant friendship with Mr McVey, who reminded him of his father with his Scottish brogue and manner; a grizzled man, now moving into his fifties, with years of hard living starting to show; but still a tireless bull of a man, with corded muscles built up from years of hard labour in the engineering firm. Archibald’s work was often back breaking, casting and moulding ships fittings and building tools for the frenetic activity around the town, but his years in the forge in Barnyards had given him stamina and a capacity for hard work. Often he was the last to leave, his pride insisting that he finish his jobs. However, the money was good and they lived frugally so, suddenly, they had some small savings.
Sunday was a day of rest. They had become expected visitors for lunch at McVey’s, after church, at their house just behind the shipyard. Two of the McVey children, the older sons, had returned to London and married there, and the youngest, a boy around Archibald’s age had disappeared on a voyage five years ago. So it felt like they were adopted as a new set of children. James and Archibald Junior were favourite grandchildren, spoiled and their antics much loved. Mary McVey looked with fondness on their blond heads, so like her own children of two decades before and the grandchildren she almost never saw in London. Without a daughter of her own Hannah seemed the daughter she had never had.
Mr McVey had found them two small rooms with a share kitchen in a tenement near the Engineering Works, but Sydney Town was crowded and good places were hard to find. Hannah was expecting another child and they would need somewhere better soon.
One day, over Sunday lunch, Mrs McVey broached the subject. “Have you made any plans about a place of your own?”
Archibald and Hannah exchanged glances. It was something they had talked about with no solution. Their meagre savings still would not extend to building their own house further out and, with the long hours of work, it would be hard to move too far away. Still, it was getting hard to live with an exuberant 2 and 4 year old in two small rooms and there was no place for children to play in the busy, crowded city streets. Now, with a baby growing inside her, Hannah was often tired. She was making dresses to sell in her spare time, to earn some extra money, but this was getting harder.
Without waiting for an answer Mrs McVey plunged on. “Tom and I, we have been thinking, blocks are for sale across the water in that new suburb they call Balmain. We know ye don’t have the money yet, but we know you will soon, the way you work at the yards, Arch, not to mention all the extra hours Hannah finds to make dresses when these two rascals let her.”
Tom came in. “You need to have a look yo
urselves first to see if you like the place, but if you do, I could advance you the money to buy a block of land over there. You can pay me back from your wages over the next year. How about next Sunday we all go over there for a look? Then you can decide if you think it is a good idea.”
The following Sunday, as he got out of bed, Archibald realised Hannah was already up, working busily in the kitchen. He came quietly up behind her and put his arms around her waist. She jumped at his unexpected presence, almost dropping the tray of buns she was taking from the oven.
“Mm, they smell good! You have been busy, are they for our breakfast?” he said, reaching out as if to grab one.
Regaining her balance, Hannah slapped his hand away. “No you don’t you greedy thing, these are for lunch. Yesterday, while you were at work, Mary and I made plans for a picnic in Balmain today, when we go over to look at the land. You hadn’t forgotten had you?”
After church they all headed down to the shipyard where Tom had a boat waiting. James and Archibald Junior perched on the front, Tom and Archibald each took an oar and Mary and Hannah sat in the stern.
Archibald could not help but catch the infectious excitement of his boys, at this their first outing away from Sydney Town, and on a row boat. What could be better than a trip on this beautiful harbour?
He remembered his first morning, watching the suited gentleman rowing across from the headland just to the west, and realised that this was the place they called Balmain. Until now it had just been a distant grey-green rocky shore and a name. For a minute after they pushed off he and Tom bent their backs to the oars. Soon they had a good rhythm going and were flying over the water, with the little waves slapping against the bow and the boys cheering with excitement at each splash.
After a few minutes Tom stopped rowing and said, “Rest up a second to have a look at where we are going.” They sat there, like a tiny cork bobbing in a bath, while Archibald surveyed the scene. A few hundred yards behind them already, the Sydney shore was fading into a view of masts and sheds, with the land rising up behind them to the town. Ahead was a low scrubby peninsula of land, Balmain, with grey-green trees and jumbled boulders, big sandstone slabs like those being quarried to build the fine houses and the public buildings of the town.
Tom pointed out some landmarks. “See the mills on the hill, back Sydney side, that’s why they call it Millers Point. Further round there you can see that fine house and the gun battery, that’s Dawes Point; on the other side is Semi-Circular Quay and there, sitting in the middle of the harbour, out from Balmain, is Goat Island, where they kept a mad convict chained for years”
Then he turned his attention back to the land in front. “See that timber jetty a few hundred yards away, that’s the Balmain wharf. Most houses are behind it though I hear they have started work on a new town centre about a mile back. There is a rough cart track from the wharf going up there but the convicts are building a better road. It will be hard going with all the rocks and gullies. You can see it’s only a short way across here by water but it’s a long trip around by horse; five miles by road rather than half a mile by boat.”
Soon they pulled up to the shore, tying the boat to a rough hewn timber jetty with big tree posts to hold it up. It looked strong enough to withstand a wild winter storm. They left the wharf and went in single file up the path. It was a narrow way, winding between gaps in the boulders. To the right there was a cart track, gradually coming up where the slope was gentler, but their path went straight up.
For Archibald and Hannah it was so strange, a land of opposite seasons, summer now with bright harsh light when their home was winter; grey rain, heather covered hills swathed in mists which swept up from the firth, and hard frosty days with low slanted light reflecting off the loch as the sun tracked briefly in an arc just above the horizon.
Here was a land which smelt of gum, and now, as the morning heat rose, it gave off a smell of dried out leaves and dead grass. Prickling them on the path were sharp grasses, spiky twisted leaves and odd shaped twisted cones, something which Tom said was called Banksia, named after that redoubtable scientist, Joseph Banks.
Tom carried little Arch on his shoulders and Hannah walked behind, almost side by side with Mary, while Archibald enjoyed the boy chatter of young James, who marvelled at every new discovery, the ants and beetles on the path, bright feathered birds called parrots which swept through the trees with a raucous squawk. Half way to the ridge was a flat place on the hillside, towered over by a giant fig whose roots made huge projections out from the trunk and across the ground.
Here they sat for a minute, in the eye resting shade, and felt the sweat prickle their skins in the late morning heat. Suddenly a huge raucous laughing sound came from high above in the trees. Archibald and Hannah looked up, alarmed then glanced at each other for reassurance.
Tom, noticing their concern, laughed. “Don’t worry about that, it catches everyone first time, it’s the laughing jackass, kookaburra as some call it, see that blue-brown bird and its mate high in the foliage above. They call to each other in that strange laughing sound. Soon it will be so familiar you will barely notice. They are great birds for killing snakes; that is something you will have to watch out for in this hot weather with the two lads. Snakes here are bad ones with a poisonous bite that kill people, some use a dog to keep them away though often the dog gets bitten and dies. The main thing is to make plenty of noise so they hear you coming and get away.”
They walked on, now with eyes glued on the path, to avoid snakes which may be lying in wait. Tom could not help a trace of a grin as he watched the seriousness of the novices. As they reached the crest of the path there was a sudden thump-thump in front. Running alongside the path, heading across a clearing, ran two animals They looked like a small type of the kangaroos that they had seen in story books of Australia.
Hannah pointed in excitement and little Arch and James screamed “Kangaroo-Kangaroo”.
Mary laughed saying, “That’s just a rock wallaby, you see plenty around here, mostly kangaroos live further out, on the other side of Parramatta, in places where there are good open grasslands.”
Up on top the land opened out. There were patches where the trees were cut down, some with new built houses and others only with pegs to mark boundaries. Tom led them to the east, along the ridge to where the best view across to Sydney Town was. Its sprawl of distant buildings, seen over the water, covered much of that land, some were grand houses, others just shacks.
Tom pulled out a map he had brought and said, “I think there are some vacant blocks around here, Lots 406 and 407 should be nearby. Soon Tom found a peg in the ground, showing the corner of one. It was level ground with a little lip of loose boulders, and a half screen of banksia trees rising near the edge, before it fell away to the water.
Hannah came over to Arch and took his hand. “Isn’t this a perfect place for a picnic?” Then she noticed Tom looking at his map and pointing to the peg as he said. “This is one of the blocks I thought you might like, sheltered just behind the ridge and with a great view from the edge back across to Sydney town. See over there, you can just make out our shipyard.”
Hannah, flushed from the climb, with her fair hair tied back from her face looked at Archibald with serious eyes of wonder. “Do you think we could buy one of these? It is beautiful; I most love the way the light filters through the banksia trees and how it opens to the harbour before us.
Archibald, caught in the enthusiasm of the moment, found himself smiling back at her. As their smiles touched, he heard himself say. “Well I think that is what Tom here is saying, that these ones are for sale and he will stand us the money till we can pay it back. So, while I hate taking what I don’t own, if that’s what you want maybe we should buy it.”
James and Archibald Junior broke the conversation as they came rushing over pointing. “Da, Da, there is a big creature in the bush there.”
Arch took the two small hands and walked towards the pointing. He did n
ot see anything for a minute, in the broken dappled light of the bushes, at the edge of the clearing. Then his eyes clicked into sharp focus and he saw it, a huge lizard, more than a yard long, stretched out on the ground under a bush, watching them with small beady eyes and slowly flicking out and drawing back its tongue.
Tom following close behind suddenly saw it too. “What a beauty, an old man goanna, the aborigines really like them to eat when they are good and fat like this one. Now that most of the aborigines have left here to camp near the end of the bay, it seems they are getting common again.”
It was time for lunch. They all sat on a rug in the shade and ate their fresh buns and accompaniments. From where they sat at the edge of the ridge they could watch the boats come from Cockle Bay around the point. Suddenly they would catch the breeze which swept up the harbour, heeling over as they rounded Dawes Point.
As they sat, eating, a breeze off the harbour came sweeping up over them and washed away the heat of the still morning. “Ah,” said Tom, “the blessed relief of that first breath of afternoon sea breeze. Normally it comes up about now in summer, rising up and over these headlands, and making for a cooler afternoon.”
Then Tom turned to Archibald and said. “Well, what do you think? Do you like the idea of living here?”
Archibald felt awkward. These kind people had done so much for them. He felt greatly in their debt. It cut against his Scottish ways to take what he had not already earned. But he knew that Hannah loved it and he could feel it was right for him and the children too.
He hesitated, not sure what to say. As he paused two little blue birds came fluttering out of the bushes and down amongst them, searching for crumbs, beautiful blue flashes of light on their iridescent wings, so tiny you could hold one in each of your palms. One hopped over, standing next to him. It looked up and surveyed him with tiny eyes and bobbed its head as if in agreement that this was a good place for them all to be. Just as suddenly, it flew away, brilliant blue flashing wings lighting up the sky. It seemed a good omen for living here. Archibald found he was unconsciously nodding his head in agreement.
Tom continued on “If you keep your jobs up on other days, why don’t you finish early on Saturdays. Then you can come over here and get to work building your own house. In fact, when we have a quiet day, I could get a few of the boys to come over to help. I reckon if we all get to it we will soon have something built. There is plenty of spare timber that you can start with in the yard, all those planks from those machinery packing crates we just bought in for starters.”
Archibald and Hannah felt stunned at this generosity. Before they could reply Mrs McVey came in. “Well, right then, it’s all settled. Not that you said yes, too proud for that, but you did not say no either. We know you’ll do well with it, so that’s it”.
All they could do was stumble out some thanks.
Summer moved into autumn. By autumn their first Balmain house was built, a room for them, a room for the children, a room to sit in with a table and chairs, a kitchen and wash house out the back, and a shaded porch at the front, where they could sit and look across the water to the windmills on Millers Point. It seemed so grand after what they had had. On the day when the nailing of the boards was finished, Archibald brought Hannah over to look at the finished structure.
She said, “It’s well done and grand.” Now all we need is a name. She cast her eyes around, thinking aloud. “Perhaps soon I will grow some pink and yellow roses to ramble over the outside, a bit of the old of Scotland to sit alongside the new. Roisin is a name to fit, ‘Roisin’, our rose covered home.
The Old Balmain House Page 6