Goldfields Girl

by Elaine Forrestal

  In the evening I tried to feed him some plain boiled rice. He chewed a little but couldn’t swallow it. He retched painfully and the mush ran down his chin and onto his flannel which was already soaked with sweat. He lay back, exhausted. I cleaned him up and let him rest. He looked so bad that first night that I expected him to be dead before long.

  The next morning I went into the room to find Paddy Hannan lying motionless in the bed with his eyes closed. To my surprise, he was still breathing. I took out the bucket and put the empty chamber-pot from under his bed in its place. When I put water on his lips he licked them, but did not seem to be aware that I was there.

  I continued to check on him as I went about my work. In the evening, when I opened his door, I could see that he was awake.

  ‘How are you, Mr Hannan?’ I asked. He tried to speak but it was only after I had spooned some of the boiled water into his mouth that any sound came out.

  ‘Better … I think.’ His voice was so faint that I had to lean in to hear him. There was a sickly sweet smell to his breath. He tried to sit up, but his elbows wouldn’t support him. I put some more water on a spoon and he opened his dry lips eagerly. Some of the water trickled out of the corner of his mouth. I wiped it away and tucked the handtowel under his chin before I offered him more. When most of the water was gone, he closed his eyes. I straightened out his bedding as best I could.

  ‘Remind me of your name, lass,’ he said faintly as I bent to tuck the sheet around him. His flannel now stank of dried sweat and the smell of his body almost made me gag.

  ‘Clara,’ I told him, straightening up. ‘Clara Saunders.’

  ‘Thank you, Clara,’ he said. I left him then. There was nothing more I could do.

  May 1893

  For the next two days I took water to Mr Hannan, emptied and cleaned out his chamber-pot and made him as comfortable as possible. There was very little change in him, although when he was awake he would say that he felt better.

  Tobias’s Store did sell a remedy called Mrs Watson’s Stomach Powder, which claimed to cure all stomach disorders, when taken with water. Mrs Fagan said it was just cornflour in a fancy box, but I thought it was worth trying. And we had plenty of rice in the pantry. If I boiled some up to make it soft enough for Mr Hannan to eat and added the powder, perhaps he could keep a little of it down. I remembered Mother feeding us freshly grated apple when we were ill, but fresh fruit was extremely rare in Coolgardie.

  By Wednesday morning I was convinced that there was an improvement. Mr Hannan’s breathing was steadier and the whites of his eyes were almost clear.

  ‘You are looking much better today,’ I told him, and hurried back to the kitchen to try out my rice idea.

  Over the next ten days Mr Hannan’s health slowly improved. He told me that he had been prospecting further east and had found some ‘colour’, but his supplies had run low. On his way back into Coolgardie to pick up more stores, a hole had developed in his waterbag. In desperation he scooped up some muddy water from a clay pan and drank it.

  When Paddy Hannan was strong enough to sit up, he talked to me about his travels. He was a very successful prospector and knew how to survive in dry country. He had been prospecting in remote areas of the Kimberley and all over Australia. He’d lived in some of the same places as us – Bathurst, Ballarat, Bendigo, Charters Towers. I told him that my father and brothers were still in Queensland and he knew of Cooper’s Mine, where they worked. I hadn’t heard from them in a long time, although Mother sometimes received letters from Pa. She knew how much I missed him and always passed on his love to me through Jack or Mr Snell. Her own writing was not as steady as it used to be, but Susan wrote to me most weeks. She said that Mother was well, but starting to show her age. I wrote back when I could, but after working all day I sometimes fell asleep with the pencil in my hand.

  I could see Paddy Hannan getting stronger, day by day, which made me feel good about taking him in. I would be sad to see him go when the time came, but the prospect of having my room back was something I did look forward to. Bunking in with Florrie was fun, but there was not much space. I had never had a room of my own before and I did miss it.

  Although Florrie was seven years older than me, she was easy to talk to and good company. She was still getting used to things like heat and dust and flies, but she was most unhappy when the camel trains didn’t arrive on time and we ran short of food. In spite of her dainty figure, Florrie was always hungry.

  ‘No bread again today?’ she said. I shook my head. Florrie lifted down the biscuit tin from the mantle shelf above the stove and prised the lid off. ‘And only three oat biscuits left!’ she exclaimed. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘Tobias might be able to find some more rolled oats in his storeroom somewhere,’ I said, not holding out much hope. The whole town had been waiting since the end of April for Abdul’s team of camels to arrive with the supplies. It was now three weeks overdue.

  ‘If he doesn’t come today, I’ll be forced to eat my boot leather,’ Florrie wailed.

  ‘We’ve tried to get a message to Mr Snell, but his coach is only set up for passengers. Even if he made a special trip out here, he couldn’t bring enough flour for the whole town.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll pay him double – triple, anything he asks,’ Florrie declared.

  ‘At least we have eggs,’ I tried to console her. ‘Although even the chooks’ oats are getting low. They may not keep laying if we use up all their food to make our biscuits.’

  ‘I’m glad I wasn’t here when the first rush was on,’ she said. ‘I can’t imagine how anyone survived.’

  ‘It wasn’t easy,’ I told her. ‘People shared what they had.’

  ‘What about the greedy ones?’

  ‘Do you know,’ I said, ‘I can’t remember them.’

  While I was bunking in with Florrie, she took to joining me on my morning walks. In spite of her occasional grumpiness she was interested in everything. Like me, she loved the cool early mornings.

  ‘I wish I was a painter,’ she said one day as we watched the sun come up over the corrugated sand plain. ‘The colours out here at this time of day are unbelievably beautiful.’

  We sat for a while, watching the changing patterns of light and shadow, relaxing in the cool air and comfortable silence. Then we headed back to town to face the busy day ahead.

  June 1893

  The weather was still dry but the days were getting shorter and the nights were freezing. Some mornings, when I went into the kitchen before setting off on my walk, the wet hessian strips that hung down the sides of the Coolgardie Safe were frozen stiff.

  One morning in early June, when I went in to do the room for Mr Hannan I found him packing his swag. ‘Ah, Clara,’ he said, ‘I have somethin’ for ya here.’

  I wondered what it could be. Mr Hannan had barely left the room since he arrived. ‘Ya’ve taken good care of me, Clara,’ he said. ‘I owe ya me life, I know that.’ He opened the top drawer in the bedside chest and lifted something out. ‘This is the first nugget I found out there on me new show,’ he said, and unwrapped the cloth from around it. ‘It ain’t worth a lot now, but it has brought me luck.’ He took my hand, turned it over, and placed a stone in my open palm. ‘I’m hopin’ it will do the same for ya,’ he said. Lying there in my hand was a nugget of pure gold.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I gasped. ‘But I can’t accept it.’

  ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Ya’ve earned it ten times over and I will be mightily offended if ya will not do me just one more favour.’ He closed the fingers of my hand over the nugget. ‘Take care now, Clara.’

  He went out into the courtyard, crossed to the stables, and I never saw him again. But I heard about him. It would not be long before the whole world knew about Paddy Hannan.

  In the middle of June, Mr Wisdom came striding into the dining room.

  ‘Paddy Hannan’s back in town!’ he shouted. ‘His new claim is even bigger than Bayley’s!’ We all stopped
what we were doing. There were a few early drinkers at the bar. They swung around to look at Mr Wisdom. ‘A reef of pure gold, a good mile long and just twenty-eight miles east of here!’

  A clamour of voices started up. People came in off the street to find out what was happening. They looked at each other in disbelief.

  ‘Blimey.’

  ‘Aeh, ye’re havin’ us on.’

  ‘There’s never gunna be one bigger than Bayley’s.’

  ‘Fair dinkum,’ Mr Wisdom said. ‘I’m telling you.’

  The bar began to empty. Men hurried back to their camps to pack their gear.

  ‘Will there be a new rush?’ I asked Mr Wisdom.

  ‘Nothing surer,’ he said. ‘Let’s just hope they’ve found water out there, as well as gold. Men will be dropping like flies otherwise.’

  By the end of the week, many of the camps had gone. Coolgardie was not the end of the line any more. Now there was passing traffic to cater for, as well as the remaining locals.

  A few weeks later another hotel sprang up. Florrie and I were pleased to have a little less work to do, but there was fierce rivalry between the two pubs. The days when everyone in the town knew each other were over. There were con men, prostitutes and criminals on the run, mostly passing through but causing plenty of trouble as they went. Since October 1892, when Coolgardie officially became a town, it had gained a reputation as a frontier community with remarkably little crime, but that was changing.

  Soon after that Mr Wisdom appeared in the kitchen with a rifle. While my body automatically tensed, my mind refused to believe what I saw.

  ‘We already have meat for the dinner tonight, Mr Wisdom.’ I grinned at the awkward way he carried the rifle. He was fiercely opposed to hunting wildlife – even though, when we first arrived, we would not have survived without killing some of the kangaroos for meat.

  ‘I’m not going hunting, Clara,’ he said. ‘But I am getting worried. You and Florrie, even Mrs Fagan, are quite vulnerable out the back here when the bar is full. There’s a rougher crowd in town these days.’

  I stared at him. Surely none of us were in any more danger of being molested than we had always been. We all knew how to defend ourselves and none of us had gold claims of our own. I had hidden Paddy Hannan’s nugget in my bottom drawer, but he had said it wasn’t worth much. It was precious to me, but hardly worth stealing.

  ‘You are probably perfectly safe,’ Mr Wisdom said, although he seemed to be trying to convince himself rather than me. At that point Mrs Fagan came in.

  ‘And what are ya doin’ with that?’ she demanded. ‘Sure, ya’ll be shootin’ yerself in the foot, carryin’ a weapon that way!’

  ‘I’m mindful of your safety, Mrs Fagan,’ he shuffled his feet, looking a bit embarrassed, then leaned the rifle in the corner behind the stove. ‘And that of the two young ladies in your care.’

  Mrs Fagan let out a great shout of laughter, which brought Florrie in to see what was going on. ‘In my care?’ the housekeeper was saying. ‘’Tis more like them carin’ for me, now. But sure, we’ve no need of a rifle. We have tricks aplenty for dealin’ with yon larrikins.’ She tapped her temple with one finger. ‘’Tis what’s up here that’ll be keepin’ us safe, thank ya kindly.’ She took her chopping board from where it stood draining on the bench, and picked up the meat cleaver. ‘With maybe a little help from this here,’ she shook the cleaver playfully in Mr Wisdom’s direction. He said no more. But the rifle remained where he had placed it.

  Florrie and I walked around the verandah together. ‘God help any no-good shyster who thinks he can get the better of Mrs Fagan,’ she said.

  ‘Or you,’ I said. ‘You may look as if a puff of wind would blow you over, but I know different.’

  She laughed and danced back to her work, spreading her arms as if she was indeed being carried by the wind.

  November 1893

  Towards the end of one of the hottest days in the summer after Paddy Hannan’s find, one of the regulars at the hotel, Bluey Whitehead, came in from his outlying camp. He had taken off his shirt, which was drenched in sweat, and wore it tied around his waist when he appeared at the kitchen door.

  ‘Bar’s that way,’ Florrie told him. He didn’t move. ‘Or is it the office you need?’

  ‘No, miss,’ he said, snatching the battered hat off his head and holding it pressed to his chest. ‘I come for Miss Clara.’

  ‘What is it, Bluey?’ I asked, wiping my hands down my apron.

  ‘Bill Derby is took real bad, miss,’ he said.

  ‘Did you take him to the nurses’ tent?’ I asked. Four nurses had arrived and set up a sick bay in a tent on the edge of town, with proper equipment and medicines. They were working night and day, doing what they could for the sick and injured, even though many of the old bushmen wouldn’t go near them. They had an unshakeable fear of ending their days in a hospital.

  ‘He won’t come in,’ Bluey said. ‘I fear if you don’t come out to him, he’ll not last the night.’

  ‘How far out are you?’ Florrie asked.

  ‘Five miles,’ Bluey said.

  ‘Five miles! In this heat,’ Florrie said, shaking her head, but Bluey’s eyes never left mine.

  ‘Please, miss, he knows you from all the time he spends at the pub. He’ll listen to you.’ The man looked so desperate that my heart went out to him.

  ‘I’ll have to finish up here and –’

  ‘I’ll wait,’ he said. A look of relief swept the lines from his face. He beamed and backed out of the doorway.

  ‘You can’t walk five miles in this heat,’ Florrie declared.

  ‘I’ll manage,’ I said, taking my hat from the peg and downing a glass of water.

  ‘Wait. I’m coming too,’ Florrie said.

  I stopped and looked at her. ‘Are you sure?’ I asked. Florrie’s fair English skin never tanned and she suffered badly in this sort of weather.

  She took her hat from the peg and jammed it on her head. ‘Shall we go?’ she said, glaring at me and marching out the door.

  It was mid-afternoon. There was not a breath of wind and no obvious drop in the temperature. We had gone about a mile when Florrie turned to me and said, ‘This is madness. We’ll die of heat stroke and where will that leave your mate Bill Derby?’

  ‘It is hot,’ I agreed. ‘But I can’t let him die out there.’

  Florrie and I trudged along behind Bluey. My dress clung to my back and I gave up trying to wipe the sweat and flies from my face. We passed a low mallee tree and I broke off a switch of leaves. It did little to shift the flies, but at least it created a slight movement in the air as I swung it back and forth. I broke off another one and handed it to Florrie. I swapped my bag, packed with towels, patent medicines and my mother’s book, from one shoulder to the other, not only because it was heavy, but to cool the sweaty patch on my dress underneath. In spite of me telling Florrie not to come, I was glad of her company.

  ‘Not far now, miss,’ Bluey turned his head to reassure us.

  We finally reached a rough bush hut. It was surrounded by rubbish. Everything was covered in the usual layer of red dust. Nothing moved. Even the old dog lying in the shade appeared, at first, to be dead. It eventually opened one eye, but did not get up. Bluey put his head in through the open door, then turned and beckoned to us. ‘You’ll be all right now, Bill,’ Bluey said cheerfully. ‘Miss Clara has come to help you.’

  I stepped inside the one-room hut. Even in the dim light, the mess was confronting. Soiled clothing lay on the dirt floor beside the bed. The mattress had been discarded and a single filthy sheet covered the sagging canvas that was stretched over an iron bed frame. I glanced at Florrie, who had followed me in. I could see she was struggling not to vomit.

  Bill Derby lay inert on the bed. When he opened his eyes they seemed far too big for his shrunken face. The tattered flannel singlet that hung loosely on his body was covered in sweat and grime. He wore no trousers. Bluey quickly pulled the flannel down over
his friend’s crotch. The shape of each bone in his legs showed clearly under the wrinkled flesh.

  ‘Go away,’ he croaked through parched lips. ‘I don’t want no women messin’ about wi’ me.’

  ‘Oh, yes you do, Bill Derby,’ I said. ‘You love women. And we’ve come all the way out here to see you. Now let’s get this flannel off and give you a wash.’

  Bill turned his head away. ‘I ain’t havin’ no wash. Washin’ weakens a man.’ Out of the corner of his eye, he glared at Florrie. ‘Get her outta here,’ he demanded.

  ‘Oh, I’m more than happy to oblige, you ungrateful old sod,’ Florrie almost spat the words at him. An empty wooden box stood just inside the doorway. She picked it up, marched out with it, set it against the wall in a patch of shade and sat there fanning herself with her hat.

  ‘Now, Bill, don’t you go upsettin’ these ladies.’ Bluey came in with a kerosene tin that had been converted into a bucket. I frowned as I peered inside it. ‘Water for washin’,’ Bluey explained. ‘It’s only been used once.’

  I took out a washcloth from my bag and dipped it in the milky-looking water. Bill’s skin was so hot to touch that I didn’t need a thermometer to tell me he had a raging fever. I suspected typhoid, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to treat him properly out in the camps if it was.

  ‘Where’s your drinking water?’ I asked Bluey.

  A makeshift Coolgardie safe stood in the corner. He opened it and took out a pottery jug.

  ‘Has this water been boiled?’ I said. Bluey nodded and I held the jug to Bill’s lips. At first, he tried to push it away, but Bluey pinned down his arms, and I kept coaxing him to try it. Eventually Bill gulped down a mouthful of water.