RICKY
The Story of a Boy in Colonial Australia
by
Sheila Hunter
Winner of 1999
NSW Premiers Senior Citizen of the Year Award
Editors Note:-
While all the main characters in this book are fictitious,
most the important buildings, places
(although not Ricky’s houses and store),
and country settings
are historically correct.
My thanks to Joan Harvey for help with proofreading and to
Olive Eardley for encouraging me to get these fabulous stories printed.
Sara Powter
Cover photos:
1/ Child photo… Jake Cassar taken at Old Sydney Town NSW
2/ Background Cover Painting ...
King Street, Sydney NSW looking East towards
St James' ca 1843- watercolour by Frederick Garling.
Original in Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales
Ricky
The story of a boy in Colonial Australia
Cover Photo is of a young Jake Cassar taken in the Old Kodak Photo booth at Old Sydney Town Somersby NSW
Photo - used with permission.
© Jake Cassar.
Printed by CreateSpace, An Amazon company
CreateSpace, Charleston SC.
Available from Amazon.com, CreateSpace.
Available on Kindle.
also available in large print paperback.
1st Edition Printed 2014
2nd Edition Printed 2015
Sydney Town late 1840’s
Sydney 1830 [view of the Domain and Mrs. Macquarie's Point]
Image from
(http://bibliodyssey.blogspot.com.au/2008/11/old-sydney-town.html)
Dedication
To our family -
who come before and prepared the way for us today!
and to my children -
who have yet to travel the path that was made for them!
Let us learn from each other.
Sheila Hunter
1924-2002
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1 Ricky meets a new friend
CHAPTER 2 Ricky’s Box
CHAPTER 3 The Landons and Tad
CHAPTER 4 Ricky, Tad and Will
CHAPTER 5 An Arrest and some Drawings
CHAPTER 6 Life Skills and Finding Tom
CHAPTER 7 Ricky’s Business and Bushrangers
CHAPTER 8 The English Stores
CHAPTER 9 Ricky’s Three Houses
CHAPTER 10 Tad meets Amabel
CHAPTER 11 Mr English
CHAPTER 12 Ricky’s trip to the Hawkesbury River
CHAPTER 13 Ricky, Mr Forrest and Jenny
CHAPTER 14 Mr Falconer-Mead
CHAPTER 15 Jenny
CHAPTER 16 And then there was Dimity
CHAPTER 17 The Boys spread their wings
CHAPTER 18 Micky
CHAPTER 19 Together Again
CHAPTER 20 Dimity puts her foot down
CHAPTER 21 The New House
CHAPTER 22 Dinner
Extract of Cover
Ricky’s Barrow
Sydney Districts 1824
Sydney (Port Jackson) to the East
Parramatta is 20 kms (15 miles) to the west of Sydney,
Hawkesbury River is just North and runs around West, joining Nepean River, thus encircling the Sydney Basin.
Image from :- http://nla.gov.au/nla.map-nk2456-106
Public Domain
CHAPTER 1 Ricky meets a new friend
Ricky shook himself, feeling very wet indeed. "I don't reckon winter's any good anywhere, but I guess I am happy that I'm not in England. I suppose Sydney town is better'n that. But I'm cold." He looked down at his very cold bare feet as though he wanted to comfort them.
The lad who muttered these things to himself huddled in a doorway and looked out at the pouring rain. The rain came down in huge drops and had soaked his meagre clothing right through. He thought about the situation and decided that as he was so wet he couldn't get much wetter so he may as well head for home. With a skip and a jump he went out it, singing quietly to himself one of the many lovely English songs that his mother had taught him. He always sang one of her songs when he was uncomfortable and he was very uncomfortable now. He wished he had had time to go down to the markets to scrounge some food, for as well as being wet he was very hungry. He sighed as he ran and thought that he could put up with another night of hunger if he could get dry.
He dodged through the few people who were about, keeping well away from the well dressed, who wouldn't tolerate an urchin who splashed them. He dodged and ran until he turned in at a high stable door. He quickly peered this way and that and slipped in, and up the loft ladder before the men could see him. He lay panting trying not to make any noise just before a large wagon came into the stables. Under cover of the noise of unharnessing the great horses he slipped off his wet clothes and covered himself with some sacks that he had secreted into his nest. He lay his wet things out on the hay and snuggled down under his bedding, a few sacks that his friend had lent him. He smiled to himself and lay there listening to the men working below him. He heard the chinking of the chains and the blowing of the lovely big beasts, the soft whooshing of the groom as he rubbed his charges down.
Ricky tingled as he warmed up and was quite content to stay where he was knowing that soon the men would go home for the night leaving him to be free to roam around his domain until they returned to harness the horses again for another day's work on the morrow. One of the men, old Tom, lived in the stables in his room which was just a nook past the furthest loose box, but he took no notice of Ricky. He knew the boy shouldn't be there but had been such a lad himself years ago and so felt a great deal of sympathy for the children who roamed, homeless, about the streets of Sydney.
Old Tom had come as a child convict and knew what a terrible place this Sydney town could be to the young. He didn't encourage other boys to join Ricky, but he knew that Ricky was a reliable lad and would never let on that Tom was responsible for his illegal tenancy.
As Ricky warmed he drowsed, thinking of his life in this precarious place. He thought of Mam and felt a bit choked up. This wasn't what Mam would have wanted for him. He wondered where she was and if she could look down from that place she spoke about so much and could see his plight.
Mary English had voyaged out to the colony in the 1840's, with her much loved son, Ricky, to join her husband who had come to the colony to take land, twelve months before. Richard English prepared for his family before sending for them and thus started a new life that promised so many riches for them all. They were good, hard working farming folk who knew their abilities to do a job well and so knowing and understanding the difficulties they could expect, were full of excitement as their prospects.
Mary and Ricky enjoyed the voyage, and were fortunate that they were better sailors than some of their fellow passengers. Richard English had procured a good cabin for his wife and son and so they had a modicum of comfort, even being able to furnish their own cabin with some well loved pieces.
Richard had written of his joy at seeing his family again and his wife and son at least expected him to meet the ship, but, on their arrival there was no one to meet them and try as they did they could find no trace of the man. Mary found a room and soon set about searching for her husband. She asked the authorities to help her but to no avail. She was able to find the whereabouts of the farm he was buying, but as he had not paid in full the money due, the land was returned to its previous owner. Mary was heartbroken. Of her husband there was no trace, he just seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. In the 1840's New South Wales was still a rough sort of place and so she
soon realised that anything could have happened to Richard and she may never know what. But it was surprising that no-one knew anything about him.
Mary did not have a large amount of money with her and soon her meagre supply ran low. She was forced to sell some of her furniture so that Ricky and she could eat. She soon fell ill and was no longer able to search any more for Richard; soon she was past trying for some work that might have kept body and soul together.
Ricky, aged 11, knew that his mother was ill and did all he could to try to make a few coppers to help in their plight. Mary knew that she would not live long and so began to plan for Ricky 's welfare after she was gone.
They were living in a rooming house run by Mr and Mrs Curtin. It was a decent enough place in the Rocks area and the couple seemed to be kind. She would often speak to them about what would happen to Ricky and on their assurance that they would keep him and care for him, she made over the little she had, money and furniture, just before she died. She had already been able to arrange for her burial and so when the time came she was decently interred, but the Curtins turned on the boy and almost before Mary was cold they took all they could from him and turned him out onto the streets.
Ricky didn't dwell on this very bad time often but when he was cold and wet and hungry it came to his mind before he knew it. The lad was quite a philosopher in his own quiet way. After the first few days on the streets he reasoned that if he didn't make the best of his situation he too would die, and that wouldn't do him or his father much good. For it was embedded in the boy's mind that his Dad was somewhere, and quite unable to get to his family, for he was a loving man fully conscious of his responsibilities. Not the sort of fellow who would leave without any word, or to drink away his savings. So Ricky was sure that his father was still alive somewhere, just unable to get to him.
Ricky was roused from a deep sleep by a prod from his friend Tom. "'Ere, matey, I seen you slip in soaked to the skin. I ain't got much, matey, but ere's a mug a' char."
Ricky sat up and grinned at Tom, "Gosh, Tom, that's great. Where did you get tea?" he asked. He sipped the scalding liquid, feeling the joy of something hot in his empty middle.
Tom answered, "Don' yer ask, young man. I ain't saying. Yer just drink it up. Lor' look at yer, yer starkers. I got me brazier goin' so bring yer clobber dahn 'ere."
Ricky stuck his head through a hole in the bottom one of the oldest sacks and wore it like a shirt. It wasn't much but it was something. He grabbed his wet clothes and clambered down the ladder to drape them around the charcoal fire in a brazier. He squatted in front of the coals and gloried in their warmth. He breathed a sigh and the old man looked down at him.
"Warmin' up?" he asked.
"Yes, thanks, Tom. Tom," he said hesitantly, "Tom, I don't know where I'd be if it wasn't for you and being here."
"Ah know, lad. Aht on the streets in the rain. It ain't much fun neither. Ah knows it."
"I can't stay here for ever, I have to do something about it. I could get you in strife. I try to be careful, but if they found me you'd lose your job."
The old man smiled. "Yer're a good lad, young'un. I wouldn' be takin' the risk if yer weren't. But it is tricky, ain't it? Like termorra. I gotta get yer out real early 'cos a load a' 'ay is comin', real early. Like as not it'll be rainin' again. Jes listen to it." He cocked his old head on one side and listened to the rain pelting down on the roof.
It was a constant worry to Ricky that he might get his friend into trouble but it was very hard for him to willingly give up the only haven he had found in the time of his street wanderings. He thought that if he could find anything at all, even just a fine weather place, then he would only come to Tom when the weather was at its worst, as it was at the present. There were so many urchins, many who belonged to gangs, that continually roamed the streets, but Ricky was not attracted to these. They were usually ruled by bullies who encouraged a life of crime and that was not the way Ricky wanted to go. During the last weeks of his mother's life, she had used her frail strength to stress again and again that he must keep decent and not let himself go. To keep the high standard that she had always set him. He tried to do this but it was hard, oh, so hard. If you were quick on your feet you could often steal a morsel here and there, but Ricky wouldn't let himself be tempted even when starvation was staring him in the face, but at the same time wondered how long he could last out.
Tom looked at the boy and saw the worried frown on the young forehead. "It ain't thet bad, matey," he said. "I won't toss yer out, yer know, and we're pretty slippy, ain't we?"
"Yes, we manage very well, Tom. But it isn't right and I know it. I'd never forgive myself if I caused you trouble."
"Trouble with yer, matey is thet yer've been brought up too strict by yer ma. Sorry, lad, but she jes' didn't know what it's like on the streets. Now did she?"
"You're right there, Tom. She didn't, and I'm glad she didn't. But she would want me to try everything before I got a friend in trouble. But gosh, Tom, its beautiful in here in the warmth. I'd hate to be out there tonight. I'd reckon I'd die."
Tom shook Ricky out of his loft before dawn and shared another cup of his precious tea with him. His clothes were dry and felt good. But on hearing the rain pouring down on the roof he wondered how long he would stay that way. There was no way he could stay in the stables during the day.
Tom said, "Off yer go mate, I'm sorry to send you out in this but yer must go, but 'ere, take this." Tom took up a piece of oiled cloth that he had been using at one time as protection, and draped it over the boy's shoulders. "You take it, 'cos I won't need it terday. I'll just be dodgin' in and out an' with luck I'll stay in 'ere to tend the 'orses, an' I can cover meself with a dry bag each time I 'ave to go out. 'Ere take it."
"Tom," Ricky said, "oh, Tom, are you sure? "
"Yers, I'm sure. You need it terday. Get aht quick, I 'ear a lorry. Can yer get out without 'im seein' yer?"
Before there was any more chance of discussion Ricky quickly ran to the far side of the high stable door and hid. Tom opened the door to let the driver in with the cart. As the vehicle came in Ricky slipped out and into the pouring rain. He ran up to George Street holding the piece of oiled cloth over him as best he could. Looking in at each doorway he at last found one deep enough to give him cover hoping that no-one would be about so early. If his luck was in he would be able to stay dry for a while anyhow.
Life was pretty hard for the waifs of the streets of Sydney. No-one seemed to care about them, they became quite adept at dodging the law and anyone else who may interfere with them living the only life they knew. Most knew little about their families, but a few had folks who just didn't want to be bothered with children and so had turned them out on the streets. Many of the girls became prostitutes at an incredibly early age and as they grew up, they in turn produced more children to become the the next generation of waifs.
Ricky was getting to know quite a lot about his town. During the few months after the death of his mother he had found life extremely hard, for it had been a cold wet winter and no-one wanted to house a homeless, penniless boy. He was eternally grateful to Tom who was the only one to show him any kindness at all. He knew that the old man did have a need of the oil cloth but also knew that he would not last much longer if he had to live without a better haven than a doorway. He sat quietly trying not to move and give himself away, keeping himself tucked up under his protecting sheet. What could he do?
He became conscious of voices behind him and was afraid that someone would come to the door and so slipped out into the rain and waited, but as no-one came he went back to the shelter. Then he realised that the door was ajar. He had tried to keep his 11year old self so quiet that he had not touched the door, but now he did and it slid open a little more. The voices were quite loud and without really intending he listened to the two men. It took a while for him to realise what he was listening to. The voices were quite cultured and so what he heard astounded him. These men were planning to rob
the Bank of New South Wales in Bridge Street. He sat stunned. He soon heard the date, the time and the method they were to use. Obviously one person was to do the actual theft but the two men were the organizers of the deed. Ricky wondered who they were and considered how he may find out. One of the men had a very gruff voice, one that he would recognise again, the other he knew, would be harder to identify. He heard movement and decided that this was not the place to be discovered and slipped away and ran swiftly up the street before the men emerged. Ricky saw another doorway ahead, it was the newspaper office which had an awning over the main entrance. He slipped into the doorway, peeped round and looked back.
He saw a man in a great overcoat come from the door and turn to bid someone farewell. Hunching himself into his coat the man moved quickly up the street towards Ricky. He went to pass the boy and then stopped, sheltering under the awning. The man turned and spoke to Ricky. "Here you," he said roughly, "get that cab for me. That one up the street and get him to come down here. Go on, hop lively."
For once Ricky did not resent having to go out into the rain, for he had been able to get a good look at the man . He paused to take in the man's features, and he was sharply told to "get on with it."
Huddling under the protecting cloth Ricky ran up the road to the waiting cab. On finding the driver was a man he had a small acquaintance with, Bert by name, he asked Bert to let him know the address that his fare was wanting to go to. Bert reluctantly agreed to tell Ricky who hopped out as the cab pulled up and opened the door for the man to enter. The boy did not expect and got no thanks for the small service. Urchins were not to be considered according to this fellow.
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