Millie giggled and rolled her eyes.
‘When her mother died, she finally married James Calvert,’ Aunt Jessamine continued. ‘Her mother was always against Louisa marrying because she had such delicate health. Her mother was proved right. Louisa only had three short years of marriage. She died at Oldbury eighteen days after the birth of her daughter from a heart attack caused by seeing her husband’s horse returning without a rider.’
‘Tell me James didn’t die young as well!’ Mum begged.
Aunt Jessamine laughed. ‘No, James inherited Oldbury when he was twenty-one and later married and had lots of children. It was after his death that his widow auctioned off Oldbury and had a huge bonfire, burning most of the family’s paintings, sketchbooks, drawings and scientific specimens. Louisa’s daughter, as a teenager, could only take what she could carry away on foot.’
‘Those poor girls,’ Bella said. ‘Can you imagine how different their lives would have been if Charlotte Atkinson hadn’t married George Barton?’
‘It seems to me, Bella,’ said Mum, ‘that lots of good things came from that misfortune too.’
‘Really?’ asked Bella, screwing up her nose.
‘Well, for one, Charlotte Waring Atkinson would never have written her children’s book if she had not been destitute. Louisa would never have become a journalist or author if she had not had to earn her own living, and she may not have become such an outstanding botanist.’
‘The girls would probably not have been brought up to be so independent if they had grown up with a father,’ added Aunt Jessamine. ‘By the way, did I tell you that George Barton was eventually charged with murder? During a drunken argument, he shot one of his workers in the stomach. He was convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to two years hard labour at Parramatta Gaol. He survived that and outlived most of the Atkinson family.’
Aunt Jessamine shook her head then stood up, turning to Millie. ‘Millie, don’t be frightened of life. Be brave. Be adventurous. And be true to yourself.’
Millie thought for a moment, then smiled. ‘Just like Charlotte?’ she asked.
‘Just like Charlotte,’ Aunt Jessamine agreed. ‘Let’s go back home.’
Images from Aunt Jessamine’s stories played through Millie’s mind like scenes from a movie. She stood by the water’s edge and stared out over the waterhole, then at the ancient elms towering overhead.
Aunt Jessamine and Mum started walking back to the house, with Bella skipping along between them.
Millie picked up a pebble and threw it at the waterhole. It skimmed perfectly across the surface –skip, skip, skip. She picked up another pebble and it, too, skimmed perfectly across the water.
‘Did you see that?’ called Millie. The others had already gone.
Millie laughed with exhilaration. She turned to follow them back to the house, the bracelet she wore jingling against her wrist. At the rose garden, a slight noise made her pause. It was the sound of laughter.
She turned and looked back to the creek.
Under the elm tree were four children dressed in old-fashioned clothes. The boy, James, was fishing in the waterhole, the cap on his head covering his shock of unruly hair. He gave a shout as he reeled in a wriggling eel.
Two girls sat on the bench under the tree, playing a game of chess, both with curly brown ringlets and long, pale gowns. A third girl in a white dress stood up, her dark hair waving about her face. She knelt down under the tree and picked a bunch of creamy, star-shaped flowers. The girl was humming to herself.
She turned and walked towards Millie, a dreamy smile on her face. She stopped and handed Millie the bunch of flowers.
‘Thank you, Charlotte,’ Millie whispered, reaching out to take the gift.
Millie blinked. The girl and her siblings disappeared. She glanced at her hand. It was empty, but Millie felt a sensation of warmth spread through her body. Was it love? Was it courage?
She turned and ran towards the house, following her family.
Two weeks later, back in Sydney, it was the night of the Young Artist Awards at the Art Gallery of New South Wales in the city. Mum had surprised Millie with a brand-new floral sundress and a pair of rose-pink ballet flats. For once she wore her hair out of its tight plait, and it flowed down her neck, wavy and brown. Mum, Dad, Bella and Millie arrived and took their name tags. Next, they saw Mrs Boardman and two of the young teachers from the art department. Mrs Boardman waved madly.
Millie nibbled her nails then stopped – she had promised herself she wouldn’t bite her nails anymore.
The room was packed with people all dressed in suits and cocktail dresses, sipping on champagne and discussing the artwork. Waiters dipped and flitted among the crowd. A television crew set up their equipment; the camera scanned the crowd. An impeccably dressed woman interviewed a handsome boy about Millie’s age, a student from another local school.
‘Can you tell us about your artwork, Zach?’ the television host asked, flicking back a tress of platinum blonde hair and unleashing a dazzling smile.
‘I was inspired by the themes of grief, love and loss,’ said Zach. ‘I wanted to paint the alienation that immigrants feel when they have left their homelands and settled here, in a strange land.’
A photographer flashed a picture.
Millie took a second look at Zach’s painting. To be honest, she hadn’t felt any of those emotions when she observed his painting. However, it was very good.
All the finalists’ paintings were displayed on easels on the stage – each one uniquely different, but all outstanding. To the side was her own painting, The Dream Girl.
The television presenter checked the tag. ‘Has anyone seen Millie Mitchell? We haven’t interviewed her yet.’
Millie ducked out of sight.
The mayor in her gown and ceremonial regalia stood on the stage beside the master of ceremonies and the director of the art gallery. They were all smiling and chatting.
The master of ceremonies began to speak. Millie felt ill, wondering if anyone would notice if she went home to bed. She was just creeping away through the crowd towards the bathroom to hide when a loud voice hailed her.
‘Millie,’ Aunt Jessamine cried. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late. There was terrible traffic on the freeway.’
‘Hi, Aunt Jessamine,’ said Millie. She hung her head and scuffed her ballet slipper on the floor.
‘What a night,’ said Aunt Jessamine. ‘I had no idea there would be so many important people here.’
‘I know,’ Millie whispered, her voice croaky with fear.
‘As promised, I brought you the charm bracelet,’ Aunt Jessamine confessed.
Millie smiled. Memories crowded in of the wonderful scenes that she had witnessed while wearing the bracelet.
‘I thought you might like to wear it to give you courage tonight?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Millie.
Aunt Jessamine slipped the bracelet off her own arm and clasped it around Millie’s narrow wrist.
‘To remind you where you came from, and where you are going . . .’ Aunt Jessamine murmured.
Millie took a deep breath and shook her wrist. The bracelet gave a reassuring jingle. ‘I’m ready . . .’
Aunt Jessamine held out a bouquet wrapped in dusky-green tissue paper. ‘I brought you some flannel flowers . . . to match the painting.’
Millie took the flowers and stroked their velvety petals. She smiled, her eyes brilliant with emotion.
‘Thank you, Aunt Jessamine,’ Millie said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘Thank you for everything.’
The director of the art gallery stood up to begin his speech. Aunt Jessamine and Millie went and stood beside Mum, Dad and Bella. Mum squeezed Millie’s hand.
‘I acknowledge and pay my respects to the Gadigal people, the traditional owners of the land on which we meet, and pay my respe
cts to the elders, both past and present . . .’ the director began. He went on to discuss the importance of art in Australian culture and to praise the outstanding talent of the young generation.
Then the mayor stood up and added her own words of encouragement.
‘Now,’ said the mayor. ‘It is time for a drum roll . . .’
In the crowd, Millie could see the other hopeful young artists clutch each other and thrum with anticipation.
Mum leant over and whispered, ‘Good luck, sweetie. No matter who wins, you’ll always be our favourite artist.’
Millie smiled weakly. The charm bracelet seemed to tingle.
‘I am thrilled to announce the winner of the inaugural Margaret Forsyth Young Artist Award is . . .’ The mayor paused dramatically. ‘Millie Mitchell!’
Millie stood there stunned, feeling arms pushing her forward. In a dream, she climbed onto the stage, a broad smile across her face. She felt the bracelet tingle on her arm, and its warmth spread right through her body – a sensation of hope, joy and relief. Cameras flashed. People cheered and clapped.
Down below in the crowd, Millie could see Mum crying and Bella cheering. She could see Mrs Boardman with tears in her eyes, hugging the teacher beside her. She could see Aunt Jessamine beaming and congratulating Dad. The mayor and the director of the art gallery shook her hand.
The blonde television presenter pushed forward with the microphone, the cameraman looming behind her.
‘Millie, tell us about your painting?’ asked the presenter.
Millie looked at The Dream Girl and paused. She turned to the presenter and smiled.
‘This painting was inspired by my great-great-great-great grandmother, Charlotte Elizabeth Atkinson,’ Millie began in a clear voice. ‘Like so many girls and women in the early nineteenth century, she and her family faced almost impossible difficulties. Yet she faced these obstacles with courage, strength and dignity, and fought for what she believed in.
‘Charlotte reminds me that I, too, have a secret strength within me,’ Millie continued, beaming down at Aunt Jessamine. ‘Charlotte reminds me of where I came from, and where I am going . . .’
Fast Facts about Australia in the 1840s
•Australia experienced a financial depression from 1841 to 1845 caused by a severe drought, the recession in England and a slump in the price of wool, livestock and wheat. Many previously prosperous settlers were ruined. By 1844, approximately 200,000 sheep, which had previously provided a high income from the export of fine wool, had to be slaughtered and boiled down to make tallow for soap and candles.
•Women in the 1840s had no legal rights to property, education or profession. Until 1882, the common law of coverture meant that a married man could do anything he wished with his wife’s property, even the money she earned herself. He could sell it, destroy it or give it away without her consent.
•Divorce was not legalised until 1857, and it was considered scandalous for a woman to leave her husband – even if he mistreated her and her children. In the 1840s, a woman’s profession was marriage, so by leaving her husband a woman was perceived to have failed in the eyes of society.
•In the early 1840s, less than half of the children in the colony received any form of education. Education for wealthy girls was often restricted to domestic skills and decorative arts – music, drawing, singing and needlework.
•The transportation of convicts to the colony of New South Wales was suspended in 1840. Between 1840 and 1843 the number of assigned convicts shrank from 22,000 to about 4,000. The issue of transportation was the cause of much political debate during the next decade, with landowners wanting cheap convict labour and workers fearing the effect on wages and crime rates. The last convicts arrived in 1849.
•In the 1840s many of the local flora and fauna were still known by the names of English plants and animals, for example native dog for dingo, native bear for koala, native cat for quoll and native squirrels for possums. I have used the names we know now to avoid confusion, though I have used their 1840s names in dialogue.
•In the 1830s, the population of New South Wales was about 60,000 people, with only 12,000 people of European descent who were born in Australia. The population swelled rapidly during the early 1840s with mass immigration, particularly from Ireland due to the potato famine. The city of Sydney was proclaimed in 1842 when approximately 35,000 people lived there.
•In November 1841 alone, approximately 2,000 immigrants arrived in Sydney. There was not enough accommodation or employment for such a large influx of people. Hundreds of immigrants were sleeping under the rock overhangs near Lady Macquarie’s Chair. Caroline Chisholm became famous for her work with female immigrants, organising protection, accommodation and employment.
•Most of the labour was provided by convicts transported from England, Scotland and Ireland, as well as ticket-of-leave workers (ex-convicts).
•Bushrangers, often escaped convicts, made travel within the colony dangerous. Newspaper reports show that the Southern Road in the vicinity of Oldbury was frequently the scene of robberies, armed hold-ups and murders.
•John Lynch was arrested on 21 February 1842 for the brutal murders of at least eight people in the Berrima district. He was executed on 22 April 1842. The Sydney Herald published an article claiming that those people would not have died if George Barton had not been too drunk to give evidence against Lynch at his first trial for the murder of Thomas Smith at Oldbury in March 1836.
•For thousands of years, the Gandangara people lived in the Southern Highlands around Camden and Goulburn. They lived a nomadic life hunting animals such as goannas, possums and koalas, and gathering tubers and seeds. The local Aboriginal people were severely impacted by European settlement through disease, violence and dispossession of their lands. An influenza epidemic in 1846, the year the Atkinson family returned to Oldbury, killed most of the remaining Indigenous population in the area. By 1856, the local Aboriginal population was considered to be almost extinct.
Acknowledgements
When I was a child, my grandparents, Nonnie and Papa, several times took me down to the Southern Highlands to Sutton Forest to visit Oldbury with my younger sister Kate. We would peer through the hedges at the grand old house which had been built by my great-great-great-great grandparents James and Charlotte Atkinson in about 1828. By then it was looking neglected and forlorn. We would visit the churchyard where the family was buried. On the long drive down and back, they would tell us romantic stories about James and Charlotte, and their four children.
Over the years, these stories would be added to and enriched by my mother, Gilly, and by snippets from distant aunts and uncles at family gatherings. These anecdotes included James Atkinson wrapping Charlotte in his cloak on board the ship shortly after they met – and I was thrilled when this detail was confirmed in Charlotte Waring’s journal.
When my grandmother Nonnie died, she left me a pile of her treasures. Among them were a painting of Oldbury and a pile of old books. One had been written by James and one by Charlotte.
Two years ago an extraordinary heirloom came to light, which had been inherited by a distant relative, Jan Gow. It was Charlotte Waring Atkinson’s sketchbook, filled with exquisite sketches. Three generations of my family went to view the sketchbook before it was auctioned. In complete awe we examined the book, as the curator explained the significance of the drawings. It was more than a sketchbook. It was Charlotte’s teaching book – that she used to instruct her four children about the natural world around them, about the local Aborigines and about her own family stories.
There are two illustrations which I particularly remember. One was of a graceful Aboriginal mother, clad in a possum skin cloak, carrying her child on her back. In her hand she held the glowing ember from a campfire, which would be used to start the flame of the new home fire. There was such beauty and respect evident in this dra
wing.
The other was a drawing of Charlotte’s own mother, Elizabeth, as an unusually small child travelling with her father. This was the illustration for a family story about her mother, who died when Charlotte Waring was just two years old.
Many of the stories which Charlotte told her children are preserved in A Mother’s Offering to Her Children, Australia’s first published book for children, and in the writings of her own daughters Louisa and Charlotte.
My mother has a beautiful rose gold charm bracelet which has been handed down through her family. One of the charms is a red-brown pebble, which, according to stories from our childhood, Charlotte Waring picked up from the river bank just before she left England forever.
The Atkinson family members did not write about this pebble. However, Louisa several times wrote about the charm stones that the local Aboriginal women always carried – ‘the smooth white stone she carries in her wallet . . . a reference to spirits . . . which shall be carefully kept a mystery from the curious white invader’ (‘Recollections of the Aborigines’, Sydney Mail, 19 September 1863).
This story is a work of fiction, based on the life of this extraordinary family. The key events in this book are based on true happenings. For example, Oldbury really was the scene of murders and multiple bushranger attacks. It was the terrifying attack on Charlotte Atkinson and George Barton near Belanglo which triggered their hasty marriage. A convict did shoot at George Barton through the drawing room window, narrowly missing him, and the bullet hole in the window was recorded as still being there as late as the 1930s. Charlotte did flee Oldbury on horseback through impenetrable wilderness down the Meryla Pass with her four young children, an Aboriginal boy called Charley, their pet koala called Maugie, and Charlotte’s writing desk. And Charlotte really did have to fight through the law courts for the right to keep her children – a battle that went on for years and drained the extensive fortune that James Atkinson had bequeathed. Charlotte Waring Atkinson was an inspiring woman of immense courage and determination.
The River Charm Page 23