I knew about the bush telegraph, of course, but in Queensland people lived closer together and passed on any news or gossip whenever they met. We had just travelled for two days without seeing anyone else on the road, although I did see a cloud of dust away on the horizon. They must have seen our dust behind them and told the Wilkinses.
Mrs Wilkins cooked a meal for us and afterwards there was lots of singing and laughing. She played her piano accordion and Mr Wilkins started us off by singing ‘The Ship that Never Returned’. We all joined in for the chorus. Susan, who has a sweet voice, sang ‘I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen’ and Mother sang ‘Good Old Jeff’. The driver had lots of jokes and tall tales to tell. I laughed so much I forgot about my aches and pains. It was midnight before anyone even thought of going to bed.
April 1892
I woke to the harsh cries of magpies, and the sound of them dropping half-eaten gumnuts on the tin roof above my head. It was time to get up and go on our way.
All day we clopped along in the buggy over the dirt road to Southern Cross. The further we went, the more flat, dry and boring the countryside became. Hardly anything moved – except us. A few black cockatoos flew up from a ragged clump of trees. Once we came across a group of kangaroos. They sat perfectly still, staring at us as if we were the strangest creatures on earth. Then they turned and calmly loped away across the plain.
Just before nightfall, we made camp again under the only large tree for miles around. Within minutes the magpies and parrots started shouting at each other – or at us, I’m not sure which. We made a fire and the driver cooked damper. Then we spread our bed-rolls under the stars.
By morning the fire had gone out and every last crumb of damper had been eaten by wild creatures in the night. I could see the black shapes of cockatoos high up in the tree. They sat perfectly still. I stared at them and they stared back with just the odd quick turn of a head or flick of a beak. The wind sighed across the empty plain.
We made do with a few dry biscuits and water, boiled the night before, for breakfast. Then we set off again.
As the day wore on the heat became intense. We sat in the buggy with our hats pulled down, our eyes closed and our heads lolling from side to side while the horses plodded on across the sandy countryside. Their pace slowed. Their hooves sank into the loose surface of the track. Once or twice we all had to get down and walk until we reached firmer ground. Then we climbed aboard again and sat dozing and waking by turns. I was convinced we were lost and thought we should turn back.
‘Don’t be silly, Clara,’ Mother said sharply. ‘I’m sure the driver knows exactly where we are.’
At the top of a rise, the driver called ‘Whoa’. The horses stopped and we all sat up. I thought he was going to ask us to walk again. I squinted into the glare. Away in the distance I saw a cluster of buildings. Southern Cross? The driver rested his horses briefly on the ridge and we came down into the town.
As we drew closer, I heard a familiar sound. An unmistakeable thump, thump, thump, like a heartbeat, drifted out across the plain and my spirits lifted. It was a sound I hadn’t heard since we left Queensland. The sound of a gold mine, the mechanical feet of its hammers stamping away, breaking up the rock to reveal the treasure inside.
Pa had always followed the gold: from our first home in New Zealand, across the Tasman Sea to Victoria; from Bendigo to Ballarat, up into New South Wales, and on to Queensland. When the gold petered out and the mines closed down in one field we moved on to another. ‘This time,’ Pa would say. ‘This time we’ll strike it rich for sure!’ And we did – sometimes. A nugget here, a panning dish full of colour there. So many small celebrations. Sometimes we were cold and hungry but there were always fish in the streams, rabbits to trap, kangaroos to shoot. Mother planted carrots, peas and silverbeet. Then a new field would be discovered and we would move on again to try our luck on fresh diggings. Gold is in Pa’s blood.
The main street was full of people.
‘There they are!’ Mother said. She leaned so far out from the side of the moving buggy that I was worried she would fall as she waved to Mary and Emily. They were already jumping up and down, turning to hug each other, then waving to us again.
The crowd surged forward and I saw four little girls playing hide and seek in and out of legs and skirts. A man who was probably their father was reaching out, trying to catch the children and keep them from running under the wheels of the buggy. Mary and Emily pushed to the front of the crowd of locals who had gathered to collect their long-awaited supplies.
The buggy finally came to a stop and we clambered down into the arms of our family. The children hid shyly behind the adults, staring out at us with big round eyes. There were tears and laughter, hugs and greetings. Mother held both Mary and Emily at once, kissing their wet cheeks, and wiping her own eyes. When she bent down to speak to the little girls, Mary and Emily hugged me and Susan in turn.
Mary took a step back and held me at arm’s length. ‘Oh, just look at you, Clara!’ she exclaimed. ‘You are so grown up.’
Emily held Susan’s hands. ‘Such beautiful girls!’ she said. ‘The young men about town will have to be beaten off with sticks.’
‘I should hope not,’ Mother said, trying to sound horrified. But she couldn’t stop smiling.
Mary’s husband, Tom Farren, searched for our bags amongst the sacks of flour, picks and shovels, parcels and boxes. Mr Farren seemed somehow smaller than I remembered, but he had a jolly face and twinkly eyes.
We thanked our driver for his kindness on the journey, gathered up our belongings and walked across the dusty road to a large, rambling building with a sign that read Club Hotel.
‘The new extensions are not finished yet, but come and see what we’ve already done,’ Mary said, eager to show us around.
‘Let’s have a cup of tea first,’ Emily suggested. ‘You look tired, Mother, and I’m sure Clara and Susan are famished.’
‘Of course,’ Mary agreed. ‘I’m so excited to see you all that I have completely forgotten my manners. Come in to the kitchen and sit down. We are planning a new sitting room, but bedrooms are in such demand we can hardly build them fast enough.’
‘I hope we’re not putting you out,’ Mother said, looking around the large room where one wall seemed to have been knocked out and a wooden bench added.
‘Oh, Mother,’ Mary cried in dismay. ‘We have been so looking forward to you coming, how can you even think that you would be a bother to us?’ Mother smiled as Mary hugged her yet again. Tom sent the children outside and dragged extra chairs to the table in the centre of the room. There was a wide fireplace against the outer wall. Two huge pots, suspended on chains, hung above the fire. A stew was bubbling away in one. It smelled wonderful and reminded me how hungry I was. Steam was rising from the other where water was being boiled to make the tea.
The room was hot with the fire on one side and a warm wind blowing in through the open window on the other. It was late afternoon, but I already knew that it would be several hours before the chill of the desert night began to cool the building.
Emily poured the tea. I asked for cold water, but was told that it was not safe to drink unless it had been boiled first. They had run out of rainwater and had to have it carted from a bore outside the town. Mary offered beer and soda from the bar instead. Mother was aghast.
‘She’s only fourteen,’ she said. ‘Far too young to be drinking beer.’
‘I know it’s not legal,’ Mary replied. ‘But there are more important things for the police to be worrying about out here.’ Emily stopped pouring for a moment and gave Mary a meaningful look. Mary met her eyes and went on quickly. ‘They understand that sometimes beer is all we have,’ she said.
We drank our tea and ate the griddle cakes that Mary placed on the table. An animated conversation started up again and it was hard to get a word in between Mary and Emily telling us about Southern Cross and Mother enthusing over our visit to Fremantle. Tom had gone back to his
work in the bar but the children hovered until Mary gave them a cake each and sent them outside again.
That night we slept in real beds for the first time since we left York.
May 1892
In the morning, Emily showed me around and told me what my new tasks would be.
‘You will be looking after Mr Finnerty, and his new wife, doing their beds, their cleaning, their dusting, taking care of everything they need. Mr Finnerty has just been appointed warden for the district. It’s a government position, like a magistrate, but he’s not at all stiff and starchy. He’s a very noble gentleman, and Mrs Finnerty is lovely. You’re lucky because they’ve just moved in to the new suite. Everything is still easy to clean in here.’ She gave me a big grin and a reassuring pat on the shoulder, though I didn’t need reassuring because really it was not much different from what I did at home. The boys went out to work with Pa each day and I did the chores. Susan was so good at wriggling out of them I got tired of fighting with her. I was always happy when Mother needed me to go with her to deliver someone’s baby or patch up their broken bones. Even though she wasn’t trained and relied on her ‘doctor book’, as we called it, people trusted her. She has steady hands and doesn’t panic in emergencies.
‘It looks lovely,’ I said to Emily. ‘But don’t you find it very dull, living all the way out here?’
‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘I love it here in the Cross. There are always dances and picnics and singalongs. Everyone is friendly.’ Then her face changed. ‘We do find it hard to get staff, though. Lots of girls won’t come here.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
She hesitated for a moment. ‘Come, let me show you the yard,’ she said, and steered me outside. When we were well away from the building she said, ‘Mary doesn’t like to talk about it and she certainly doesn’t want me to mention it to Mother, but the whole town is talking about it. Four weeks ago, Sergeant Williams arrested Baron Swanston for murdering his wife and children, and then his second wife, too. Everyone is in shock. Mr Swanston was the new chief engineer at Fraser’s Mine. We have just found out that his real name is Deeming and he was even engaged to be married yet again.’
‘Married!’ I said.
‘Yes. His new fiancée had already started her journey from Adelaide.’
‘She’s had a lucky escape then.’
‘Yes, but how awful to be on your way to a new home and a comfortable life with a chief engineer for your husband, only to find he’s a murderer!’ At that moment a flock of black cockatoos came screeching overhead, circling the town. Emily shuddered. ‘I hope I haven’t frightened you,’ she said. I shook my head. ‘Good. Let’s talk about more pleasant things. Are you fond of dancing, Clara?’ She asked as we walked back inside.
‘Oh yes,’ I replied. ‘I learned to dance in Queensland.’
‘That’s wonderful. I’ll organise a dance for Monday and introduce you to all the boys.’
The next day I started work at the Club Hotel. Mary came with me to the Finnertys’ suite of rooms to introduce me to Mrs Finnerty. When Mary introduced me as her sister, Mrs Finnerty took my hand.
‘Hello, Clara. It’s nice to meet you,’ she said. ‘I hope you’ll be happy here with us.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be very happy, Mrs Finnerty,’ I said, feeling the soft skin of her hands and the warmth of her smile.
‘And how old are you?’
‘I’m fourteen,’ I told her.
‘Well, well, I would have taken you to be much older than that. You are a big girl for your age.’
I was a bit put out by that. I’m taller than Susan, but then she is two years younger and fine-boned, like Mother. ‘I take after my father, Moroni Saunders,’ I said, lifting my chin.
Mrs Finnerty smiled reassuringly and said, ‘I’m sure things will work out very well.’
True to her word, Emily organised a dance for Monday evening. There would be a band, she said, with piano accordion, banjo and a tin whistle – as long as the musicians stayed sober. A keg of beer would be brought across from the hotel to the Miner’s Institute, which had a dance floor in the meeting hall and a small kitchen out the back. Supper would be provided by the women of the town, who were already busy baking biscuits and scones. The men would move chairs, later, and set things up for the evening.
‘Now, what are you going to wear?’ Emily looked me up and down, measuring me with her eyes.
I only had what Mother called ‘sensible clothes’ for working in, but Emily pulled out two beautiful dresses from her wardrobe.
‘What do you think?’ she asked. ‘The blue? Or perhaps the apricot?’ She held them against me in turn and I clasped them to my waist to check the length. Mary came looking for us and Emily asked her which dress she thought would suit me best.
Mary stood back and tilted her head. ‘Hmm … You have such beautiful dark eyes and olive skin, Clara. I think apricot is your colour, don’t you Emily?’
‘Try it on,’ said Emily.
The fabric was so light that the dress seemed to float around me. It was a little shorter than my work clothes and I asked if we should let down the hem, but both Mary and Emily agreed that it looked very stylish and showed off my ankles.
Mary, who is more like Mother and Susan, pulled out one of her dresses for Susan and a lovely skirt for Mother.
‘I won’t be wearing either of these until after this baby is born,’ Mary sighed. Her swollen belly pushed up and out under her apron and she rested her hand on it. I couldn’t help staring. ‘I’m sure this one is bigger than the others. And more awkward,’ she said, taking my hand and placing it on the tight bulge. Even through two layers of clothes I could feel the baby kicking.
‘Perhaps it’s a boy,’ Emily said. They both laughed.
‘Boy or girl, I wish it would hurry up,’ Mary said, straightening her back and pressing her hands against it to ease the muscles.
The Miner’s Institute was already crowded. Everyone was dressed in their best clothes with their hair brushed. The sounds of music and laughter greeted us as we carried our plates of food through to the narrow kitchen at the back. The long, wooden bench was already lined with plates, baskets and bowls, all covered by tea towels to keep off the flies that, even after dark, still had an uncanny knack of finding food. An urn bubbled away in the fireplace, heating and sterilising water ready for the inevitable cups of tea that would be served during the interval. A keg of beer rested on its own wooden stand and crates of bottled wine were placed on the floor. Everything had been donated, except these more expensive items which would be covered by the small entrance fee.
We moved into the main hall and sat together on chairs that lined the walls along with the other women. The men stood around in groups. Their hair was neatly brushed, their waistcoats buttoned up and their boots freshly cleaned. They chatted to each other while surreptitiously eyeing off the few young women in the room. When the music started several of the men came across the floor towards us. They obviously wanted to be the first to dance with the new arrivals. It made us feel very welcome.
My first partner was a young man with a charming smile and lively blue eyes. He was a good dancer and I enjoyed every minute of it.
‘You waltz well, Miss Saunders,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ I replied. ‘You know my name already?’
A cheeky grin stretched his lips and showed his perfect teeth. ‘How could I not?’ he asked, twirling me around so that my skirts swung out and lifted above my petticoats. ‘I’m Jack Raeside.’
‘Pleased to meet you I’m sure, Mr Raeside,’ I said, gliding back towards him and matching my steps to his.
‘Jack,’ he corrected me. Our bodies fitted together again without missing a single beat of the music.
‘But we’ve only just met!’ I tried to sound shocked but I could not seem to keep the smile off my face.
‘Have we?’ he said. ‘I could have sworn we had known each other forever.’ The music wove some sort of magic as he held m
e in his arms. I felt a sensation of belonging, of the two of us moving effortlessly together, our bodies gliding across the floor. Then the dance was over. We bowed to each other and he escorted me back to where my mother and sisters were sitting.
I sat down and leaned across to Emily. ‘Who is that boy?’ I asked.
‘Jack Raeside,’ she said. ‘His father is a very important man. He is in charge of the water supply in the whole of this area. He and Jack have a string of wells and dams they take care of and a team of horses to deliver water to the town.’
The music started again and I danced with a Mr Roberts, but it was not long before Jack was back, asking me to dance with him again.
‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ I said. Even though he was a much better dancer than Mr Roberts, I felt that it wouldn’t be fair. ‘I promised I would share my dances. There are so few girls and so many young men.’ Jack’s face fell so I gave him a reassuring smile.
‘I’m disappointed,’ he said, looking steadily into my eyes, ‘but I do understand.’ I watched him walk away to join a group of men standing around the keg.
The next evening several of the boys I had met at the dance came along to the billiard room that Tom had set up at the hotel. There was only one table and they had to wait their turn to play. While he was waiting, the accordion player took up his instrument. Soon there was music and singing, clapping and stomping, along with the clack of billiard cues hitting the balls. Lots of voices joined in singing the more well-known songs. After a while someone changed the words, but sang them to the same tune. This brought on a lot of catcalling and laughter. Then it turned into a competition, with others adding new words of their own:
What shall we do with a drunken miner?
What shall we do with a drunken miner?
What shall we do with a drunken miner?
Earl-i in the morning.
Goldfields Girl Page 2