A Distant Dream

by Vivienne Dockerty

  Bessie Filbey had been quiet and very withdrawn for most of that journey to the city. They had been fortunate in that as they had emerged from the property early that morning and headed towards the village, a cart driven by a farmer who was taking his bags of wheat to a flour mill at Noarlunga, stopped and asked had they wanted a lift? He was only going as far as Noarlunga, but they were welcome to climb aboard, even if they were going further. Clarence, who could have gone to the settlement and asked if there were any wagons setting off for Port Adelaide that morning, leapt at the chance. Although Molly’s little body had been buried under the shelter at the dead of night, he wasn’t going to hang around the property longer than he had to.

  They had arrived in the city later that day, early enough for Clarence to find a good class hotel on King William Street, where he had left a still scared Bessie with a still stunned Hannah in a bedroom there. He planned to find Sir Rodney and throw himself on his lordship’s mercy, (explore all avenues in Adelaide first rather than having to throw the towel in) tell him that their daughter had died having been bitten by a venomous spider and that Bessie, grieving for their small child, was pining to go back home. The rest had seemed a bit of a blur to Hannah but a couple of days later, Mr. Filbey had taken her to the orphan depot. Mr. Filbey, somehow she could never have brought herself to think of him as her dada, had a long conversation with the superintendent. He’d said goodbye, told her to behave herself and walked away.

  She’d been sent to work, first into the Catholic household of an Irish banker, who had a wife and four children and hailed from Dublin. She was sent to assist the nursery maid, whilst the lady of the house had her lying in. The work was hard, with unpleasant jobs, mostly the emptying of chamber pots, washing of soil cloths, keeping the children clean and tidying the nursery, given to the girl who seemed to have been robbed of her senses. Then one day she was no longer needed and she was sent to the depot again.

  The superintendent, despairing that she was never going to place this child in a permanent position, a bit of a dolt if the truth was told and only fit to do the lowest of jobs, had sent her later to Willunga to join a group of Irish girls, presently accommodated at the government reserve, until they’d found a place of work.

  Hannah hated it. It was reminiscent of the orphanage in Crossmolina, where girls, young as they were, had all sorts of cat fights. Picking on the weakest, jeering at a girl with a speech impediment, pointing fingers at a girl who perhaps had a deformity, with Hannah sometimes also at the butt of it, as she was as quiet as a mouse. There was a group of girls, young women really, who had been sent to look for work at the farms in the area, as due to the sudden exodus of labourers who were tempted to find their fortunes in the Victorian gold fields, the farmers were having difficulty with their harvesting.

  The girls were a raucous lot, led by a flame-haired hoyden called Mavoureen. From the sounds of sniggering that came from the corner of the room where they did their chattering, some of the girls were already earning their money by lying on their backs. Hannah hadn’t a clue what they were talking about, but there seemed to be one or two young fellows always hanging around the house.

  That morning, the Matron, a gentle mannered woman who had her charges’ interests at heart, was being berated by some member of the local council whilst Mavoureen, hands on hips,was using language that was most unsuitable. Hannah was able to slip away unnoticed in order to try to find a peaceful corner away from the heated debate indoors.

  *

  It was a cool day. There’d been a few spots of rain that morning and Aubretia was standing on the verandah, speaking to Dorrie. Both women were dressed simply in long sleeved gowns, the hems just above their boot laces, with Aubretia wearing a large hat trimmed with a few goose feathers, as she had just been into the township with her children. Her eldest boys, Bertie now fifteen and Ralphie a year younger, had been home schooled. She had been the one to teach them to read and write and add up numbers, seeing as she had been a headmaster’s daughter before, but little William, now six years old and very bright for his age, was to be educated in a local school, run by a teacher who hailed from England.

  The work at Meant to Be had increased sevenfold since the Filbeys had left and the McMahons had taken over, Bill having turned out to be an excellent worker, now he had settled down with his family. Aubretia, now unable to give her youngest her full attention, had decided her son would attend the Buckland Hill Academy in St.Luke’s Street.

  “I urge you to think of sending your boys there too, Dorrie” Aubretia was saying, full of praise for the place after looking in on the pupils and the teacher. “They’re not too old to pick up a little reading and counting numbers. Mine would have gone there as well, had I not home schooled them myself.”

  Dorrie however, sounded rather reluctant.

  “I don’t think I’ll be sendin’ them and I’m sure Bill would agree with me. The boys are wanted on the land and what use would educatin’ do for ‘em, beside the cost of it all? Anyroad, they go to Sunday school, that’s enough learnin’ as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Perhaps they might get their own farms in the future.” Aubretia wouldn’t be put off by the woman’s negative words. “They’d need to be able to count at least, so that they could see how many cows or sheep they were buying or selling at market and Mr. Colmayne isn’t asking a lot for his efforts.”

  “I’ll think about it.” The subject was closed as far as Dorrie was concerned. She’d never been educated herself so she couldn’t see the need for her children. “Now, shall I get on and ask the boys to fill a few of those baskets and now that it’s stopped its rainin’, we could get some washin’ pegged out whilst it’s fine.”

  Aubretia nodded. Dorrie was a hard worker, all her family was, even little Cathy. It didn’t matter that Bill liked his jug of ale now and again down at the Bush Inn, in the Willunga high street; the McMahons had been a Godsend at what could have been a very trying time for Aubretia.

  She’d allowed Bill to build a little place beyond the almond grove and with the help of a couple of friends from the church that his family attended, he had erected a workman’s cottage and a bunkhouse for the boys.

  At the same time, Aubretia had employed a couple of builders to improve her property. Gone was the mean dwelling that existed in her husband’s time. They built a new, stone built place, its footings made from local hardcore, with a verandah that stretched across the front of the property. It had two large rooms, a kitchen with a large cooking range, a scullery, and three bedrooms. All dwelt comfortably under a fine slate roof. It was an extensive undertaking, one large for a widow who’d had little income when the Filbeys had gone away, but Bill had been aware of the need to diversify, after a number of failed harvests of wheat in the area had occurred during the drought years of 1850-51.

  The ten acres, initially under scrub, with dense, dark woodland on the perimeters, had made way for a field full of potatoes, another of oats, and an additional field had been purchased from the landowner next door, in order to expand the thriving almond grove. With pigsties, fowl-houses and a larger market garden area in front of a paddock, Meant to Be was doing well.

  Her deceased husband, William, would have been proud of Aubretia’s enterprise, even if she did owe a little to an Australian bank…Though perhaps he wouldn’t have been too happy about that.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hannah watched as the two women walked away from each other and the lady she remembered went indoors. She was trembling a little, suddenly scared that what she was about to do was perhaps a stupid thing. Surely she’d be recognised and if she was, what was her story? What could she tell the lady without getting the Filbeys into trouble? Perhaps it would be best to forget her plan to ask for some employment. It was just that she had been drawn to visit the place since arriving in the town.

  “Can I help you?” Aubretia called after she had come through the door, still wearing her outdoors hat, and spotted Hannah hovering. Her
voice carried over the fence, with its newly replaced posts and rails and the young girl nodded. No going back now and she did need to find some work. Aubretia beckoned in a friendly fashion and Hannah scurried down the path in an effort to obey.

  “Do I know you?” Aubretia smiled, looking into Hannah’s thin nervous looking face inquiringly.

  “I don’t think so, Missus. My name is Hannah and I only just come to Willunga ‘cos I’m lookin’ for work.”

  “Oh. It’s just that you reminded me of someone that I met a few years ago. So what are you good at? Child minding, fruit picking, working as a domestic servant? There’s such a shortage of workers at the moment, with everyone rushing off to the gold fields to try to make their fortune.”

  “I can do all them things, Missus.” Hannah spoke eagerly, glad that she hadn’t been recognised, at least not yet. “I can work cheap, just a few shillin’ and me bed and board, if you’ve got a place for me that is, or I can bunk down at the depot in the village if yer like.”

  “I could do with extra help for the almond harvesting.”

  Aubretia considered, looking to see if this was a well young woman, not pockmarked or suffering from any disease. She looked healthy enough, maybe a little thin with bony features, but certainly capable and coming from Irish stock if she was not mistaken, given that her accent reminded her of someone else. Her memory stirred again. The young woman definitely had a likeness to…then a little boy with dark, curly hair pushed his way in front of her and the moment was lost.

  “This is my youngest son, William.”

  It was said with pride. The little fellow was strong and handsome and the apple of his mother’s eye. William put out his hand politely and Hannah shook it gladly.

  “William is to start school next Monday and not a moment too soon.”

  She ruffled his hair and smiled at him fondly. Hannah felt a stirring of something akin to envy; she could never remember anyone doing a thing like that to her.

  “I could take him to school for yer, Missus.” She spoke quickly. “And pick him up after if you’d let me.”

  “That would mean I would have to offer you accommodation,” Aubretia replied. “With my two older boys and the McMahons’ two, I don’t think that would be very wise.”

  “Oh.” Hannah wondered what boys had to do with her staying at the homestead, but only having to sleep at the depot was a better outcome than before.

  “However, you’ll be very welcome to give us a hand from tomorrow onwards. It’s all hands to the deck for the almond harvesting and then perhaps when that has finished I can find you something else to do.” She stopped to consider something for a moment. “I suppose I could send my boys to the bunkhouse if you were to come and work for me permanently.”

  “Oh thank yer, Missus.” Hannah felt relieved that she had found employment, even if it might be temporary for the moment. “I’ll work terribly hard fer yer, so I will. Ah, before I go would yer allow me to use your dunny?”

  “Of course you can. It’s around the back, just across from the pigsties.”

  Aubretia walked through her front door, pushing William ahead of her, leaving Hannah to wander along the side of the property alone.

  Her heart in her mouth, Hannah walked along the front of the verandah, turned to her left and looked across towards the creek, looking for the shelter which she had shared with Molly when they had lived there with the Filbey’s before. The shelter had gone, along with all the buildings that used to be in that vicinity, because the house had been extended into the yard.

  They must have found the body, please God, had they found Molly’s body and had she been buried in the local cemetery? She’d never know unless she asked about it and how could she ask about that now?

  “I remember, it’s little Hannah.”

  The gentle sounding voice caused her to jump with alarm. She’d been recognised.

  “You’re Mr. Filbey’s daughter.”

  It wasn’t said in an accusing way, more said in delight, as Aubretia rounded the corner and looked towards her, having made her way to the back of the house.

  “Where did you all disappear to, Hannah, dear? I thought perhaps you were going back to Ireland; that’s what Mr. Filbey told me he was intending to do. Come into the house, I’ll make you a drink and you can tell me all about it. Why didn’t you tell me it was you that had come calling?”

  Hannah was at a loss. She felt panicky; her heart was beating very quickly in her chest. What to tell this woman, whom she had known as the nice lady who had been kind, had made Molly and herself a nightdress each and had given them slices of bread topped with tasty dripping. Some of the truth? She blushed red, she couldn’t help it, as she had been taught at the orphanage that she must never tell a lie. Following Aubretia, her mind was quaking as she cast around wondering what story to tell.

  “Sit there.” Aubretia pointed to a horsehair sofa opposite the mantelpiece where a warming fire kept the cold at bay in the large room. She bustled off to the kitchen and brought back a glass of milk which she put into Hannah’s hand. Her little boy followed and sat beside his mother in a winged, upholstered chair, where he gazed curiously at the newcomer.

  “You can tell me Hannah, I won’t shout.” Aubretia’s eyes were kind. She had noticed the girl blushing and trembling since she had addressed her.

  “I wasn’t the Filbey’s daughter. I looked after Molly when we came on the boat and I stopped with them to look after her. I came from Crossmolina, from the orphanage. I had a mammy but she died when I was three.”

  “Poor Hannah, but go on with your story. What happened to the Filbeys?”

  “Molly fell over the washin’ basket, hit her head on the tin tub and after that it was decided that we would go to the city, because the Missus didn’t want to stay ‘ere anymore. When we got there they took me to the orphan depot and I never saw them again.” Phew, she’d managed to tell the tale without mentioning the horrible happening. She hoped that the nice lady wouldn’t ask her more.

  “And now you’re looking for employment.” Aubretia’s tone was gentle as her heart had gone out to her. “Poor girl, you have had a precarious life, but perhaps from now we can change that for you.”

  So Hannah stayed on at the property as a live-in help. She became adept at running a household and helping with the harvesting, got to know the seasons and the surrounding terrain. Aubretia took her under her wing, treated her well and gave her a room to sleep in, but most of all she showed her how to run a home.

  *

  In 1859, the marriage of Albert Aldridge and Hannah Sweeney was announced from the pulpit of the local Roman Catholic church. Not that the couple were great attenders, as the homestead dictated their leisure time and now that Meant to Be had expanded into dairy farming, it was decided by the family to change its name to “Aldridge Farm,” and not a lot of time was spent away from it.

  There had been many changes since Hannah had arrived that fateful morning. The McMahonss had moved on, much to the dismay of Aubretia whose closest friend was Dorrie, but one of their boys, a young man now, had appeared before the magistrates’ court charged with assaulting another, whilst “in drink” at the local Bush Inn. He had been sentenced to a spell in the city’s gaol on Grote Street and with Dorrie being mortified, feeling she couldn’t hold her head up high in the community any longer, and then deeply worried when her eldest boy announced he was off to dig for gold in Victoria, the family, along with young Catherine, had travelled north, to where a few enterprising men had begun a couple of fledgling industries.

  The burden of running the place had fallen upon Bertie and Ralphie, with the occasional help from William, a would be academic not a farmer, to run their thriving business, with produce now sold from their milk cart to the settlers of Willunga and beyond. Outbuildings, including a dairy which became the domain of Aubretia and Hannah, were built to house the storage of almonds, potatoes, oats, hay for the animals and all the equipment needed for running a busy farm.
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  It had to be said that the marriage of Bertie and Hannah wasn’t the product of a love match, it was more the joining of two people who were dedicated to the continuing prosperity of the Aldridge Farm for the generations to come.

  *

  The man who bowled along the newly laid Aldinga Road, in the smart, black, open topped barouche, pulled by a sleek looking piebald horse, looked every inch a man of substance, dressed as he was in a manner befitting his position in life.

  Clarence Filbey, was a widower now as Bessie had thrown herself into the River Torrens, having been unable to shrug off the devastating memories of her part in the death of Molly. He was in the area that day on business. Now Sir Rodney’s right hand man, responsible for everything that came under the heading of his lordship’s “investments”, Clarence travelled far and wide around Adelaide, overseeing the tenants who rented acres on his lordship’s extensive tracts of land.

  He couldn’t believe his luck, when on that fateful day after he had presented himself to Sir Rodney with his hard luck story of the death of his child and a pining Bessie, he was given tea and sympathy, a grace and favour residence, as well as a prestigious job. It appeared that his lordship had been let down by various rogues intent on deception and chicanery and was extremely pleased to be reacquainted with Clarence Filbey, an honest and hardworking man.

  Clarence was in the area that day to represent his lordship at the fourth annual Willunga Show, as Sir Rodney was a member of the Agricultural and Horticultural Society. Clarence was taking the opportunity to see for himself how Meant to Be had fared. Perhaps Aubretia, she who had invaded his dreams on many an occasion since he had left in a hurry all those years ago, had removed herself back to England, along with her three young sons.