An Unconventional Wife

by Mary Hoban

  Bitter at the injustice of his words, enraged that her soul should bow to his, Julia swept the flower basket from the table and ran into the garden, where she filled the basket with stones and hurried after him, indifferent to her dishevelled appearance, heedless of the glances and whispers she provoked, intent only on releasing the pain inside her. When she reached the church, she put her basket on the ground, picked up the first stone and sent it flying through the window, the crash and the falling shards of glass splintering the silence around her. She had done what she had to. The vehemence, the physicality of her action, stood as a memorial to her anger and humiliation. She left the basket, the rest of its mute stones gaping at the sky above, and returned home to her children.

  8

  Between Two Worlds

  In the weeks following Tom’s conversion, Julia came to dread the newspapers as the campaign to remove him from his position as inspector of schools gathered vitriol. The Courier argued that a pernicious bias, though it might be an imperceptible one, would inevitably result from his conversion. Private individuals might have personal religious liberty, but the inspector of schools, as holder of a post which influenced the future training of youth in this Protestant community, did not have the same liberty. That the system of public education in Tasmania was non-sectarian and disavowed religious instruction or that Tom had made every attempt to ensure that religious conflict was kept to a minimum — it had been his idea to form a Board of Inspection representing Anglican, Presbyterian, and Catholic interests — mattered little to The Courier. Quite simply, a Catholic could not be the inspector of schools.

  Tom did have some support. The Tasmania Daily News and Launceston’s Cornwall Chronicle both defended him, although the Cornwall’s defence was hardly overwhelming:

  We confess that deplore as we certainly do, the change in Mr Arnold’s sentiment, and disposed as we are, to deprecate any sinister influence incompatible with the unsectarian character of the government schools … we cannot for all this, acquiesce in the justice of making Mr Arnold pay the penalty of forfeiture of office for his religious opinions … We might indeed, from the fact of his CHANGE — from the circumstance that a religious persuasion substituted for one cast off, is more apt to evince a proselytising energy — we might from the particular complexion of that belief itself — be inclined to a suspicious watchfulness upon his official acts; but that is all …

  And even the governor himself, Sir Henry Young, expressed his support, confirming that there was no contractual obligation on him to resign from his post and while he continued to perform his duty impartially, there could be no issue. And in another clear signal that his position was safe, he was, in January 1856, granted a further pay rise to more than £679 annually.

  Julia was not blind to the effects of Tom’s conversion. She knew from her father and others that various members of the Legislative Council were angry about his action and were determined that he should resign, but when Tom himself began talking about resigning, she was mystified. He seemed determined to fall on his sword as he became increasingly unwilling to continue in his position without promoting his new faith. As with his previous epiphanies, he needed to manifest his change of faith and he seemed utterly indifferent to their financial position, simply saying that God would look after them, a view that Julia could not share. Unbeknown to her, Tom had already written to Newman asking if employment could be found for him in a Catholic institution, in the event of his being forced to leave the colony, and he had discussed with Bishop Willson his capacity to continue in the role as a Catholic without promulgating his new faith. The bishop, a strategic thinker, was determined that Tom remain in his post, as no doubt were Julia and their friends, although for different reasons to those of the bishop.

  As the loud and colourfully expressed cries for Tom’s dismissal grew rather than abated, Julia felt them drawing closer to the chasm each day. She knew that day had arrived when the colonial secretary called Tom to a meeting. As several members of the Legislative Council believed Tom’s religion should preclude him from his position as inspector of schools, the colonial secretary proposed that Tom either take leave of absence and go back to England with an understanding that he not return, or alternatively, exchange his current position for another. To Julia’s great relief, Tom chose to exchange his position, and although they would have to leave the old schoolhouse she had grown to love, at least he still had a secure position. And now the newspapers would surely stop hounding him. As she packed up the house, she felt the dread inside her begin to dissipate. That feeling did not last.

  Within a month of taking up his new position, Tom declared it impossible and on 8 May 1856 he formally applied for eighteen months leave of absence, on half-salary, to enable him to proceed to England upon important private business. His application was granted to take effect from November of that year with the tacit understanding that there was little possibility that he would ever return. Tom had cast himself adrift, and with him, his wife and their children.

  Julia was devastated. She was being forced to leave her family and her home, probably forever, her husband owed money, and he had no prospect of work. Their position in Tasmania had been an enviable one. Tom’s salary was more than £600 a year, they lived in a comfortable house at reduced rent, they had a productive garden and a cow provided all their milk, butter, and cream. How could they possibly fare as well in England? But Tom appeared oblivious to the consequences of his decision: divine providence, he said, was all that mattered. He would not listen, no more than he would hear. He ignored everyone’s advice, even that of his own mother and brother, who told him that with responsibilities as a husband and a father, to return to England without definite work awaiting him would be wild & very wrong. Tom’s mind was made up. They would leave Hobart in November 1856.

  Julia could do nothing. She was pregnant again. An insistent thread of desire continued to exist between her and Tom, a desire that was stronger than anything that separated them, and in the tormented days since he had declared his intention to convert, Julia yearned for tenderness, unable to resist loving. Polly drew on her mother’s stormy but constant feeling for Tom to explain Laura’s inability to resist Helbeck even when she was at her most miserable and exhausted:

  The storm of feeling through which she had passed had exhausted her wholly; and the pining for his step and voice had become an anguish driving her to him.

  Although Julia no longer had strength enough to even throw stones, she did have the strength to insist that she would not give birth at sea with all its associated risks. She had lost one child and the prospect of losing another was always with her. But if she thought that her pregnancy might delay their departure, she was wrong. Instead, Tom decided they should leave immediately.

  Julia had no time to lament. While Tom was on a busy round of public farewells, she dealt with all the practicalities, packing up the house, organising the sale of the furniture and the cow, and moving the family into lodgings near her father’s house in Macquarie Street. For her father’s sake, she tried to be cheerful and hopeful, but she dreaded that moment when, once again, she would watch his figure disappear across the water. Amidst the chaos of their departure, those closest to Julia did all they could to support her. They were concerned and uncertain as to how she and Tom could continue living together. They knew that Julia was neither reconciled to his actions nor, since her stone-throwing, was she at all inclined to behave in a wife-like manner. She was too forthright, too rebellious, too unwilling to take any advice.

  These characteristics particularly concerned her friend Bishop Nixon. He decided to make his farewell gift a letter that she could keep beside her when she no longer had her friends and family to guide her. In it he detailed her duty as a wife. She must be, he said,

  uniformly gentle, loving, and considerate, with your dear husband — for indeed he is a very noble fellow — Let him feel that his wife’s face always brightens
at his return home — that her tones are always those of wifelike duty, and wifelike love and desserts. Make him love his home, for its peace, its comfort, its rest. Give him no temptation to see happiness elsewhere. You will be rewarded.

  The bishop, unwilling to witness the protest his advice might cause, handed his gift to Julia just as she embarked on the William Brown, on 12 July 1856. On the back of the envelope he had written, Not to be opened, Ma’am, if you please, until you are fairly out to sea.

  In an era when letters took little more than eight weeks between England and Tasmania, the voyage on the cramped William Brown took nearly fourteen weeks. It was difficult and interminable. From Hobart until they had rounded Cape Horn, nearly six weeks later, the weather was cold and stormy and, as Tom observed, the ship tossed like a cork up and down the great rollers. No relief was provided by stopping for reprovisioning or fresh water. The boat did not land anywhere during the voyage and it was more than two months before another ship was sighted. The food was uniformly poor — the beef was hung up in the rigging till it turned black — and sometimes completely indigestible. Even the children found the voyage far from adventurous. Both Polly and Willy were disgusted by the swarming and voracious rats, and they hated being plunged shivering into huge barrels full of sea water on the deck. Tom, meanwhile, was delighting in shoals of flying fish, splendid sunsets, long moonlit nights, and his imminent return home after nine years on the other side of the world. He was ecstatic at the prospect of seeing once more the familiar stars of the northern sky, to breathing native air, and to setting foot again on English soil.

  Julia was sick for most of the voyage and rarely managed to leave her bed. Adding to her distress, little Theodore developed a disturbing inflammation on his thighs, and she developed a painful abscess on one of her fingers. When they reached the tropics, she found the heat and humidity almost intolerable, and although she gained some relief when the captain rigged up a tent so she could have a bath, she was left to wonder what form of hell she had arrived in and to pray that this interminable voyage would end.

  As the Southern Cross, the glory of the Australian heavens, sank beneath the horizon, she was torn between resentment at having been uprooted and hope that the move to England would mute Tom’s devotion to his new religion and allow them to lead a new, less divided life. She was anxious too at the prospect of meeting his family and was dreading that moment of first inspection. How would she appear, eight months pregnant and trying to find her land legs? From the young woman who Tom Arnold had fallen in love with — someone who loved horse-riding and dancing — she had become a woman whose body was battered by five pregnancies, whose back was racked with pain, and who now needed a permanent truss.

  In this transition between her old world and new, Julia had the time and the privacy to rail against her fate, to mourn her youth, and to understand at last — a truth she had refused to acknowledge before — that for a woman, marriage was destiny. Nothing more and nothing less.

  9

  Facing Reality

  When the ship finally docked in England at the end of October in 1856, Julia was so weak she did not notice the grimy inn that Tom took her to, but Polly did, and its dingy ugliness and barred windows remained, for years, a vision of horror to her — a vision in striking contrast to Tom’s eldest sister, the brown-eyed, graceful Jane, who rescued the family from this squalor. Polly thought her an angel of help. Thanks to her father, Dr Arnold, Jane was an extremely well-educated woman, a scholar of Latin and Greek, a speaker of German and French, and, before her marriage, a teacher at a local night school near her mother’s home. She married the wealthy Quaker manufacturer William Forster in 1850 and was living with him near Bradford, where they would remain until his election to parliament in 1861, after which they lived for much of the time in London. The Forsters immediately took the family to London, where Julia was able to obtain the medical attention she required following her ordeal on the boat. After several days of treatment and rest, she was able to begin the final stage of their long journey to Fox How, the Arnold house in Cumbria. There, Tom’s mother and his youngest sister, Fan, awaited their arrival.

  Julia found the journey very tiring, but as they approached the house and the garden came into view, a faint wind fluttering the red leaves on the lawn, she felt her heart lighten. It was a similar reaction to that of Charlotte Brontë when she had first seen the house several years before. Then it had been twilight, but Charlotte was moved to write that it looked like a nest half buried in flowers and creepers; and, dark as it was, I could feel that the valley and the hills round were beautiful as imagination could dream. Here was a lovely place for her child to be born, and it was exactly as Tom had described it with the little stone pier running out into the water, and beyond it, the old green-and-white family boat rocking gracefully. Julia was comforted by the tranquillity and by the truth of Tom’s words.

  The serenity of Fox How’s exterior was matched by the quiet dignity of its mistress, and the attractive confusion that prevailed indoors, the tables covered with letters, drawings, dictionaries, needle books, and flowers from the garden. After the tiny cabin of the sailing ship, the house felt immense — it did have three sitting rooms and ten bedrooms — but it also felt embracing and safe, and Julia, now so much in need of comfort and care, warmed immediately to it, and to Mrs Arnold, whose soft brown eyes radiated sympathy and welcome.

  The Arnold family had gathered — the only one missing was William in India — to welcome Tom home and to meet Julia. There were Tom’s sisters: Jane, who had accompanied them on their journey from London; Susy, married to another prominent Quaker, John Cropper, the son of a philanthropist and abolitionist campaigner; Mary, already widowed once and now married to a clergyman; and his youngest sister Frances, or Fan, still at home with their mother. And she met his brothers: Matthew, already a published poet and now a school inspector; Edward, a fellow of All Souls College; and Walter, studying Arts at the University of Durham. They were all eager to see this colonial belle with whom Tom had fallen so deeply in love. And Julia, equally eager to see these almost mythological creatures she had been hearing of and writing to for years, enjoyed meeting them all. She was always at ease with people, and her delight at finding herself off the high seas and in such an attractive place added sparkle to her face.

  Of all Tom’s family, Julia was most drawn to his sister Mary Hiley, a forthright, independent woman with a keen sense of humour. Mary had been something of a rebel in her youth — her family nickname was ‘Small Wild Cat’ — and her generous impetuous character … her passionate Liberalism, her natural love of equality were traits that appealed to Julia. Mary was also the one most able to understand and empathise with Julia’s own lively, open nature. An immediate bond was forged between these two women, drawing them into a lifelong friendship. Since her marriage to the Reverend James Hiley, Mary was living at Woodhouse, a small estate in Leicestershire. Julia also grew close to Susy Cropper, and in the years that followed she would often stay with Mary at Woodhouse or with Susy at her beautiful home Dingle Bank on the River Mersey in Liverpool. Along with Fox How, these houses would all become havens in her now uncertain future.

  Despite the pleasure of meeting Julia and the excitement felt amongst the family at Tom’s return, the fact of his conversion was immediately and harshly felt. He refused to join the family in their routine of evening prayers because the Catholic Church forbids her members to hold religious communion with those who do not belong to her. For the first time, Tom’s family began to realise some of the more intimate implications of this conversion. Mrs Arnold’s tolerance towards her son was sorely tested. She felt his absence from family prayers a cruel betrayal of the moral precepts that she and her husband had lived by and had so carefully instilled in their children. It was, she thought, all the fault of Newman, her husband’s arch rival, laying hold of her son, when her husband himself was no longer there to fight him. Jane Forster had alre
ady expressed herself very clearly in a letter sent to Tom while he was still in Van Diemen’s Land. In it she had written,

  I was understandably astonished by the contents of your last letter to me for I believe the adoption of Roman Catholic opinions was the only change which had never entered into my contemplation with regard to you. And as you knowing something of my conviction — or knowing at least the moral and intellectual principles in which we have all been trained — you would not believe me, dearest Tom, if I were to pretend to deny the sorrow with which I hear of your embracing a creed opposed equally (in my firm belief) to both the one and the other. If there is one belief wrought into the depths of my moral convictions it is that of the personal, individual responsibility of each human soul to God — & to Him alone — the whole Roman system from its lowest & most vulgar forms of priestly power up through the claims of infallibility to the invocation of saints & worship of the Virgin — seems to me one vast device to escape from this responsibility — from this awful but blessed truth of a direct intercourse between God & the individual conscience, in which no third — be it saint, angel or Church — can have a share.

  Tom’s other sisters and brothers were also astonished and crushed by his conversion, and, while Matthew was pointedly silent on the matter, his younger brother William, in India, was not. He expressed his intense distaste, saying there was something unsocial and alien to genuine life in Roman Catholicism. Tom took immediate umbrage at this, and although he wrote a long defence of his position, he believed that William would only think him a fanatic. He was right.