I know my life is to be cut short by this miserable consumption, but in many other ways I’ve been and still am a lucky man. While work has mostly brought me satisfaction and with it, the money that has allowed me to live comfortably, my two boys and Jane have really made my life worthwhile. Neither of the boys has found a wife yet, but both have settled into jobs that suit them and I believe they’re happy. Jane has been beside me for over thirty years and her kindness, composure and level head have seen me through even the most difficult of times.
But now, like me, the inkwell is almost empty. The dry well and this wretched cough prevent me from writing anymore, so there is nothing more I can do except, for the last time, put down this quill and resolve to make the best I can of the days I have left to spend with Jane.
Admonition
A Taste of Freedom
It was something I hadn’t expected. After all, when we got here, we both knew we were bound to end up in different places. It was just that one day we were both stuck in that squalid hold and the next, though she’d only known him for an hour or so, Mary was saying she was marrying some farmer. The following morning she was gone, leaving me not knowing if I’d ever see her again and I was bereft. And that’s really what surprised me.
The women who’d been in the Factory a while told us conditions had improved since it was re-built after a fire had gutted the place. God only knows what it had been like then, because conditions were still worse than on the Sydney Cove and in some ways even worse than on the Brunswick. For a start, on the hulk, although they made us wear chains, we were otherwise free to move around on the top deck during the day. But in the Factory the women from the Cove who hadn’t already been assigned elsewhere, took the number of women expected to live in a couple of rooms big enough for about fifty, up to nearly two hundred. To complete the pretty picture, the Factory roof leaked and the privvies, there were only two, stank.
When there was work, we spent our days weaving or making rope, but for more than half the time, stocks of wool or flax ran out leaving us idle until more arrived, which could take weeks. When that happened, the days seemed to go on forever and we passed the day sleeping or just lounging and hoping the next day would bring new supplies. But when we had nothing to do, spending every idle hour, both day and night in the same overcrowded place, most of us not yet used to the heat, there was bound to be friction.
Rachel said she’d been there the longest and that was the reason she was the leader among the women in the Factory. Whilst she might have been ‘top dog’, several women had been there longer than her; it was other reasons that made the women in the Factory do as she bid. She was broader, taller and just plain stronger than anyone else, and there were some who hid behind Rachel’s size and made sure there was no dissent. But it was the simple truth that no one ever dared challenge her, no one took the risk and that’s what kept her on top; that was until Amy arrived.
Transported from Cork with a group of other ne’er-do-wells, Amy O’Brien arrived only a month after the Sydney Cove deposited almost one hundred of us into the already full Factory. Since we’d arrived a number had been assigned elsewhere providing much-needed labour, mostly on the farms that were spread thinly across New South Wales and us with much needed space.
Unfortunately, the newest arrivals had more or less replaced the ones who’d been moved on and that’s why Rachel paid them special attention. Of course, if anyone had pointed out to her that no one in the Factory, including these latest additions, had any choice but to go where they were put, I suppose she might have behaved differently, but no one ever did because everyone was too frightened of her. She hadn’t really paid much attention to Amy, but as the young Irishwoman was barely four foot tall and by nature very quiet, that wasn’t surprising. Small and quiet she might have been, but as Rachel was to discover, Amy bowed to no one and when she was ready she made very sure Rachel paid her the closest attention.
Amy had been with us about three weeks when she decided to sleep in Rachel’s ‘spot’. I’m in no doubt she knew exactly what she was doing. She’d already seen how resentful most of the women were towards Rachel and so had chosen the thing that caused the deepest and widest resentment against her. Whereas the rest of us spent each night cramped in spaces so small it was impossible to turn over, Rachel slept raised a little above all of us and lying on three bales of raw wool. Able to stretch out to her full length if she wanted, she was also free to turn to either side without disturbing anyone – especially herself.
One night, Rachel was late joining us. She’d spent the day on a detail ferrying supplies to the Factory from a ship docked in Sydney Cove and Amy saw it as the chance she’d been waiting for. When Rachel came in about an hour after we settled down, she disturbed everyone in her path, moaning loud enough about her day to make sure we were all awake – she wasn’t to know we were all agog, waiting to see what would happen when she got to her ‘bed’.
“What the… Get out of my place before I throw you out. You’re lucky I’m too tired to do anything about you now, but you can be sure we’ll be having a little chat in the morning.”
I couldn’t see Amy from where I was lying, but I could make out Rachel as she stood looking down at the bales. She obviously expected Amy to pull herself up and scuttle away into the dark. But that’s not what happened. In fact, at first nothing happened because Amy just lay there, apparently the only person in the room still asleep. Amy snored, we all knew she was awake but she really did, she actually snored and someone, I never found out who, couldn’t contain their laughter. This infuriated Rachel and she bent over and shook Amy roughly. What happened then went from comic to threatening and finally to the deposing of a tyrant and the start of a whole new atmosphere in the Factory.
Apparently just roused, Amy turned slowly over,
“Waser matter? Why’ve you woken me up? It’s comfortable here. You should try it sometime.”
According to those who were nearest, it was only then that she opened her eyes and apparently for the first time realised who she was talking to.
“Ah, Rachel, it’s you. Glad to see you’re back from the Cove, but if you don’t mind, I don’t really want to talk just now. I’m sure whatever it is that’s on your mind will keep until morning.”
With that, she lay down again and turned on her side, away from Rachel. This was too much for Rachel who, with a roar of frustration, grabbed Amy’s arm and dragged her from the bales. But as she was swung from her bed, Amy reached out and grabbed a handful of Rachel’s hair. Her grip was surprisingly strong and as she left the bales and flew past her she kept a hold, so the scream that followed wasn’t from Amy as she flew across the room, but from Rachel who had provided Amy with a brake. When Amy stopped moving, a lump of Rachel’s hair fell to the ground. Rachel looked down at it and put her hand to her head and gingerly rubbed where it hurt. She looked past Amy, her gaze ranging round until it settled on one of the women she used when she thought she might need support, and in an oddly steady tone, she commanded,
“Bring me the mirror.”
The ‘mirror’ was a small piece taken from a pier glass that had once been part of an order for the Governor’s Residence. Back in 1800, Governor Macquarie decided to extend his residence and the pier was part of a mirror arrangement he intended to install in Mrs Macquarie’s new dressing room. All the mirrors, including the pier, had survived the journey from England and it was only as they were being transferred from Sydney Cove to Parramatta that the cart carrying them slipped into a deep rut and the pier had slid off. Unfortunately, a rock that stood proud in an otherwise stone-free surface had smashed the mirror into many pieces and the driver had been flogged for his carelessness. Though he’d been treated unjustly, the driver didn’t dwell on his treatment. Instead, he got up early the next morning and went back to where the accident happened and collected all the larger pieces of mirror and sold them in Parramatta. One of those pieces had found its way into the Factory.
Rache
l held up the mirror and moved it around slowly, so she could see all of the bare patch; there were pinpricks of blood welling up all over the surface. Bending down, she picked up the clump of hair and it started to break apart in her hand. For some reason, this relit the fire in Rachel and she reached out to grab Amy, but all this time Amy had never taken her eyes off her and so as soon as Rachel’s hand came towards her, she was ready. Catching hold of her arm, she used Rachel’s momentum to pull her past and as she went, stuck out her leg. Amy still had hold of her arm so when Rachel hit the ground Amy, bending Rachel’s arm to an impossible degree, landed with both knees in the small of her back. Rachel let out a silent scream, silent only because Amy had knocked all the breath out of her.
This was all too much for her cronies and led by those who could see the obvious pain on Rachel’s face, they all started to pick their way through to rescue their protector. But as they weren’t all together yet, others buoyed by Amy’s example and recognising the chance she’d given them, stood up and prevented any help from arriving. When she realised no help was coming, Rachel had no choice but to gasp her submission and once Amy was satisfied, she was not going to meet further resistance, she relaxed her grip and Rachel slowly got up. Never taking her eyes off Rachel as she also got carefully to her feet, Amy was always ready if she was attacked. But the fight had left Rachel and whilst she viewed Amy with a new respect, her last act as leader was to signal to those who still might offer her support that they should lie down again. Picking up her blanket, which Amy had left folded neatly at the foot of the bales, Rachel made to move away, but then she heard,
“Rachel.”
It was Amy and she’d spoken quietly; there was no threat in her voice. Rachel turned and Amy smiled and with open hand offered her the bed.
“It’s your bed. I never wanted to take it from you.”
Rachel looked bemused as Amy picked up her own cover and moved back to the place she’d occupied earlier. Rachel may have been unsure as to what had just happened, but to the rest of us it was crystal clear. She no longer had any control over us. Amy had made sure of that, but she also had no desire to replace her.
So over the next few months, I can’t say life in the Factory was easy. There were times when the work seemed never-ending, others when we had nothing to do, and we were always overcrowded. But there was no trouble; the first sign of trouble Amy, if necessary backed by Rachel (unsurprising if you think about it), made sure it came to nothing.
Finally, after about eight months, the morning came when I was summoned to the Supervisor’s office to be told I’d been assigned to the service of the Governor. Because I could read and write a little, my first assignment turned out to be my easiest. Starting with the women in the Factory, before moving on to all other convicts of both sexes in the Parramatta area, I checked that the information held on them was complete and up to date. Where new information was received, most commonly notification of marriage, reassignment or quite often both, it was my job to update that record. But where records were simply incomplete, I was only required to identify them and the missing information and then pass both to my Supervisor.
Whilst I returned each night to the Factory to sleep on the hot and crowded floor, by now something I’d become used to, each morning I was allowed to walk to work accompanied only by two or three other women similarly assigned. As I’d been unassigned long enough to become a familiar sight among the others, though I’m quite sure many didn’t even realise the change in my status, nobody objected to me adding to the crowds each evening. But that walk every day in the bright, but still cool, morning air is something I still remember with fondness and probably always will. You see, it wasn’t just the cool air, pleasant as it was after a stifling night in the Factory, but the feeling of freedom that, every day, for twenty minutes came with it. Escape was pointless because there was nowhere in New Holland for me to go and England was further away than I could imagine, but that never took the shine off the feeling of being truly unchained.
So with a little bit of freedom in the morning, an interesting job during the day and a safe place to sleep at night (Amy was never assigned.), whilst I hung on to a secret dream, it was nevertheless a way I could have seen out my days, let alone my sentence, quite happily. But it wasn’t to be.
I’d been in the Records Office for about eight years when Lt Edward Granger, newly arrived in Sydney, became our Supervisor. The lieutenant was a qualified engineer. The project he’d been sent all the way from India to command had been delayed indefinitely. Rather than sending him straight back to India, the army decided he should stay in New Holland until the future of the project, to clear dangerous shoals in Newcastle Harbour, became clear.
The problem of what to do with him was solved when our Supervisor fell sick and the Governor and the lieutenant’s commanding officer realised they could solve each other’s problem by appointing Lieutenant Granger as the Records Office’s temporary Supervisor. Edward’s father had, by dubious means, built a sizeable Estate on the west coast of the Scottish Highlands, after a drop in the value of kelp had forced a number of landlords to sell at rock-bottom prices. Edward’s older brother, Stephen, would inherit the Estate, but before joining the army Edward had been responsible for the Estate’s administration, an experience he agreed suited him to the work of the Records Office.
Our Supervisor never recovered his health and died in that Summer’s heat. Edward was more than happy to stay as our Supervisor because by then he’d met and fallen in love with Catherine, the daughter of the local shipping agent. He stayed with us for three years, during which time he talked often of his plans for when he left the army. The day after Catherine agreed to marry him, he started to include her in those plans and as their relationship deepened, their plans became more and more detailed.
Of course, it was only after Edward and Catherine had decided: first, the date they would marry, then when the Lieutenant would resign his Commission and even after that, when they’d found some land where they could build a homestead, funding for the clearance project came through. Lieutenant Granger had little choice and he knew it; the decision had been made and he would have to go to Newcastle. Knowing there was nothing else he could do, the lieutenant served notice that he would resign his Commission in exactly one year.
There were three women from the Factory working in the Records Office and when I heard that I was the Governor’s choice to accompany the Lieutenant to ensure his paperwork was completed fully, I was delighted. My own plans were still not fully formed, but I knew that whatever they turned out to be, they could only be helped if they were supported by the Lieutenant. Spending the last year of my sentence, and his last before leaving the army together, could only make that more possible.
We were due to leave immediately, but torrential rain made the road impassable until June, so we barely had time to settle in Newcastle before he told me that he and Catherine had set the date of their marriage for October. That didn’t surprise me, but what came as quite a shock was when he told me that when he and Catherine were married, they would be moving to Morpeth and I should no longer be required. My shock must have shown because he said,
"You’ll be alright, because we’re getting married at St John’s in Parramatta. I’ve made arrangements for someone to collect you from the Church and take you back to the Factory.
It can’t be long until you’re a free woman, can it?" I told him that I had about four months of my sentence left to serve, and he said,
“Clearly, once you’re free, if I can help you in any way I will.”
I didn’t tell him that I had hoped he’d take me with them to Morpeth, but what I wasn’t to know, couldn’t have known, was that his decision to leave me behind was the best thing he could have done for me.
Mary
Ellis
Ellis Johnson was both a grazer and a loner, content because one suited the other. He’d served fourteen years for coining, most of it assigned to a free farmer and then,
his sentence served, had put into action the plan he’d spent all those years devising. He told me about it the first time we met and loads more times over the years I knew him. Sometimes he’d forget things, sometimes he remembered new things he hadn’t told me before and other times he remembered things I think he only wished had happened; whatever the whole truth, this is what he told me.
Before he was transported, Ellis had lived all his life in Birmingham where, as a skilled craftsman, he made an honest living producing shoe buckles for the gentry. He turned to a life of dishonesty when the shoemaker, who bought all his buckles, was himself forced into bankruptcy by so many of his well-to-do customers not settling their accounts. Of course that meant he couldn’t pay Ellis’ bill, leaving him penniless. He did find bits of work but nothing regular, so in desperation he turned to the only trade his skills would allow. He first rented a cellar from another metal-worker and then set up with all the implements he would need for coining – an iron press, a die for guineas and others for whole and half-crowns, a cutting tool for making the blanks and an edging tool for milling the coins.
Though he didn’t live where he worked, it was still a risky business and Ellis made it worse for himself by being good at his work. When I questioned how that could make things riskier for him, he told me his coins were so good the Royal Mint would have trouble identifying them as fakes. And though he tried to keep to the shadows, making sure that any repairs to his tools or amendments to his blocks, which he did himself, he had to rely on many others for supplies of charcoal, brass, copper and other metals. One of his suppliers was a man who went by the colourful but appropriate title, Pegleg Johnson. Pegleg supplied Ellis with charcoal, but he had many other customers, and Ellis was a long way from being his biggest; that honour went to Tom Fordham.
Admonition Page 32