Mrs. Cook

by Marele Day

  ‘You can vouch for his behaviour on the third voyage also?’

  ‘There would have been talk. Especially as he had never previously indulged in such behaviour. Unlike Mr Banks. Quite the opposite. There were occasions when he had to decline the invitation of amorous young ladies, and do it deftly enough not to cause insult. Quite amusing, really,’ Isaac’s voice trailed off.

  Elizabeth wondered how life might have been had she not married James but instead taken a safer, less adventurous path with someone like Frederick, Reverend Downing’s son. Her childhood friend would certainly not have died in the way James did, killed by numerous and tumultuous natives. But Death was ever inventive and may have found its way to Elizabeth’s loved ones no matter which path she had taken.

  Perhaps it would be better never to have been born at all. What decision would Elizabeth have made if the Almighty had revealed His plan for her? I will send you a great man and you will love each other profoundly. But he will die, and so will all of your children. Your well of grief will be so immense you’ll think you can’t bear it, but you will survive, living out the missing years of your loved ones’ lives. Would Elizabeth have said no, I want a husband and children and grandchildren who’ll remain with me into old age.

  She looked at Cousin Issac, the only one who had remained with her. James would have preferred the quick sudden death, violent though it had been, to the slow death nibbling away at Isaac, a once proud rear admiral shrunken inside the uniform he still insisted on wearing, even at home. Would Isaac have said yes to this, to a long life of voyaging, in which he never found love, never married and had children? What would anyone say if they held in their unborn hands a map of their life?

  ‘Marm, can I help you?’ It was Sarah, one of the servants, sounding a little alarmed at finding Elizabeth bending over the fire so early in the morning, throwing sheets of paper in, one at a time, watching them curl and burn in the flame.

  ‘Thank you, Sarah, it is a task I must do myself.’

  Despite the words that had been written to Mr Locker, Elizabeth still did have papers with James’s signature in the house. But fire could easily turn that lie into a truth.

  Isaac coughed as he entered the living room, a blanket around him as he felt the cold so terribly nowadays. ‘Are you feeding the fire, Elizabeth? Surely, one of the servants . . .’

  Elizabeth suddenly felt exasperated. Would they ever leave her alone? ‘I am burning letters, Isaac, what do you think I am doing?’

  ‘Letters?’ said Isaac. ‘But . . .’

  ‘They are private correspondence between me and my husband,’ Elizabeth said curtly. Elizabeth was burning all the letters James had written to her, and she to him. There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of them. She could recall each and every word without even glancing at the page. Nevertheless, she had spent the entire night beforehand leafing through them one last time. ‘Too personal to be printed in a book for the public to gawp at,’ she added, more to herself than to anyone else in the room. ‘It is only paper, Isaac,’ she said softly.

  Occasionally, a coloured flame, blue or green, appeared as the letters burnt, a stain or pigment in the ink. The wax which had once sealed the letters melted and ran over the burning letters, concealing them from prying eyes forever.

  ELIZABETH COOK’S MONUMENTS

  Charles died in 1827, Isaac in 1831. Dear Gates, who had been with Elizabeth for more than fifty years, died in 1833. Lord Sandwich was dead, Sir Joseph, Sir Hugh, Cousin Frances. Everyone.

  Elizabeth remembered the games of bullet pudding played at Christmases long ago. She was now the only one left in the game. Soon, the bullet would fall to her. But Elizabeth had to make sure the living would remember the dead before she could finally lay herself down.

  Lawyers drew up a long and complicated will for Elizabeth Cook. She remembered everyone. James’s relations and her own, all the Smith descendants. Her friends, neighbours, her doctor. She bequeathed bank interest from her investments as well as specific items—the Copley Medal to the British Museum, the contents of her kitchen, wash house and scullery to one servant, and bedroom furniture to another. She made bequeaths to the Elizabeth Cook’s Monuments School of the Indigent Blind, the Royal Maternity Charity, to widows and poor aged women. She also left money to continue the family monument in Great St Andrew’s Church, the church in which she wished to be buried, in the middle aisle as close to her sons, James and Hugh, as may be.

  Elizabeth had a headstone made for Gates in the church grounds at Clapham, which read simply: ‘Elizabeth Gates, of this parish, died 30 July, 1833’. Then she commissioned William Wyatt to sculpt a memorial in St Mary’s at Merton, to the Smiths. Charles and Isaac, their nephew Isaac Cragg Smith, Caroline Cragg Smith who died in childbirth, and her infant. ‘Sacred to the memory of those whose names are here recorded,’ the inscription read, ‘and whose remains are deposited in the family vault adjoining the chancel of this church. This monument was erected by Mrs Elizabeth Cook, widow of Captain James Cook the circumnavigator in affectionate remembrance of the many estimable qualities of her departed relatives.’

  The sculpture featured a kneeling woman looking upwards to memorial plaques. Carved into the stone beneath her were the words ‘THY WILL BE DONE ON EARTH’.

  May 13 1835. Elizabeth chose a fine spring day to slough off her worn old coat.

  ‘Mrs Cook?’ enquired Sarah when she came in to open the curtains and attend to her mistress. Elizabeth was very still and quiet. Sarah was alarmed. She crept over to the bed, bringing her cheek close to her mistress’s nose, and was relieved to feel the warm dampness of breath.

  ‘Gates?’ said Elizabeth, her voice barely a whisper.

  ‘It is Sarah, Mrs Cook. Sarah Westlake.’

  ‘Where is Gates?’

  Sarah hesitated. The mistress knew Gates was dead. She visited the stone in the churchyard the first Friday of the month. It was not like Mrs Cook to let her mind wander so. ‘Shall I plump the pillows? Are you feeling all right?’

  ‘Bring me the embroidery.’

  ‘Which embroidery would that be, marm?’ There were so many.

  ‘My husband’s voyages.’

  Sarah looked about at all the paraphernalia that crowded this room but which Mrs Cook would not have stored away in cupboards. The embroidery hung on a wall, beside the coat of arms and Captain Cook’s medals. Sarah carefully lifted the embroidery down and laid it on the bed. Her mistress felt around for it. Gently Sarah guided her hand, such a cold hand, till it found the embroidery. Something was terribly wrong. ‘I shall get Charles to fetch Dr Elliotson.’ She pulled the tasselled cord which would bring a servant to the room.

  ‘Is Cousin Charles here?’

  ‘No, Mrs Cook. Charles Doswell, your servant.’

  He came to the door and Sarah signalled him to get the doctor.

  ‘Please open the window.’

  ‘But Mrs Cook, it is cold, you’ll catch your . . .’ Sarah was going to say ‘death’ but stopped herself. Her eyes may have deceived her, but it appeared to Sarah that her mistress smiled.

  ‘Open the window, the bird wants to fly out.’

  ‘There is no bird in here, marm.’

  ‘Open the window.’ Sarah heard the determination in her mistress’s thin small voice, and opened the window a crack. ‘More. It is a big bird.’

  ‘But Mrs Cook—’

  ‘Do as I ask.’

  Sarah sighed and opened the window fully, letting the crisp breeze carry in the morning song of birds, although Sarah was sure there were none in the house.

  ‘Thank you, you may go.’

  ‘I will stay, if you don’t mind, marm. Till Dr Elliotson comes.’

  ‘If we are having visitors you must make tea.’

  Sarah reached her hand out to touch her mistress’s forehead but withdrew it. She quietly went to a stool in the corner and sat down.

  Elizabeth’s eyes were closed but she saw everything as her hands glided over the embroid
ery of the world. The great continents, the equator and all the latitudes. The tips of her fingers traced James’s voyages across the oceans. She felt the breeze of the world through the window, and it occurred to her that with such a breeze blowing in there was no longer any need to breathe. She could finally let out the breath she’d been holding all her life. Breeze flowed effortlessly through her.

  The white bird, as large as the room itself, started to lift its great wings. Elizabeth heard voices, felt her clothes being loosened, the coldness of a stethoscope on her breast. But she was already lifting into the air on great white wings.

  She saw the house in Clapham, heard sobbing, such a small sound in the greatness of the world. ‘Elizabeth.’ Sequins danced in the breeze. Elizabeth was ready, she would fly with the bird wherever he took her. She nestled in the soft downy feathers of his bosom, high above everything.

  Down below was a river of ice. Elizabeth saw all the stalls and amusements of the Frost Fair before she was born, boys playing skittles, food sellers, jugglers. She saw her mother and father walking arm in arm towards the printer who would print their names in the ice, the great dome of St Paul’s, and all the buildings of the city. How small the hustle and bustle of life appeared.

  ‘Elizabeth,’ the bird called once more. How her heart thrilled to hear that voice. Up, up they went, over the whiteness of ice. The bird no longer needed to flap his wings, he had found the tides of wind and sailed with them. Below was the continent of ice, yet Elizabeth felt warm and safe in the feathery bosom. She saw all the peoples of the world as the bird rode on the winds circling the globe. Eskimos, Tahitians, English, Chinese. Higher and higher he went, towards the stars that were her babies, and higher and higher, to the bright star, whose light would guide her into the Great Ocean.

  WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

  Mrs Cook was a great accumulator of objects, her house in Clapham ‘crowded and crammed in every room with relics, curiosities, drawings, maps and collections’ as Canon Frederick Bennett, son of John Leach Bennett, executor and residuary legatee of Mrs Cook’s will, remarked. Frederick was twelve years old at the time of her death.

  It seemed in character to structure her story thus. More generally, we reconstruct the past through the artefacts left behind.

  The Frost Fair Print

  The print described bears the name Mr Edward Hurley, and was ‘Printed on the river of Thames when Frozen over, January 18, 1739 (from Nichola Johnson, Eighteenth Century London, Museum of London, 1991, page 42).

  The Quill

  The method of making a quill pen, pupils with marks against their names, spelling and arithmetical problems from Dan O’Sullivan, The Education of Captain Cook, Captain Cook Schoolroom Museum booklet, Great Ayton, England.

  The Bell Alehouse

  The building was probably redeveloped during the early nineteenth century, in common with the rest of Wapping, where the expansion of trade resulted in a demand for warehouses. That warehouse has been subsequently demolished and the site stands empty, being used for car parking.

  The Great Tree

  A cedar of Lebanon flourishes near the site of James Cook’s birth. It may have been there during his time but more likely was planted by Henry Bolckow when he bought the Marton estate in 1858.

  A Box of Letter Tiles

  A popular eighteenth century educational toy.

  John Walker’s House

  Now a museum dedicated to Cook. A little poetic licence has been taken here, as Walker did not move to this house till after James had finished his apprenticeship.

  Execution Dock Stairs

  This is the old name for King George Stairs, the set of steps closest to where the Bell alehouse once stood.

  The Fan of Time

  The fan as a fashion accessory reached its height of popularity in the eighteenth century. They were made of silk, paper, chicken-skin parchment and other materials. England adopted the Gregorian calendar in 1752. For practical purposes almanacs were used. The Book of Common Prayer contains a church calendar with a table of lessons.

  The Porcelain Teapot

  National Maritime Museum, London. Mrs Cook’s teapot is c.1750, from the Ch’ien Lung Period. Tea, silks and porcelain were the main imports from China to Britain.

  The Oriental Box

  State Library of New South Wales, Sydney. It is said to have been Cook’s first present to Elizabeth.

  The Marriage Certificate

  National Library of Australia, Canberra.

  A Plan of St John’s

  State Library of New South Wales, Sydney. Measurements: 20 x 26 cm. Original ink MS, hand coloured, showing soundings, sand banks, coastline, buildings, wharf, batteries.

  The Telescopic Quadrant

  State Library of New South Wales, Sydney.

  The Endeavour

  The Endeavour became a transport which during the American War of Independence was deliberately sunk, along with other ships, to protect the harbour at Newport, Rhode Island. Marine archaeologist, Dr Kathy Abbass, heads a team currently trying to locate it.

  The Folding Table

  State Library of New South Wales, Sydney. An elegant piece of furniture used by Captain Cook during his three voyages. Mrs Cook bequeathed it to her servant, Charles Doswell, who married Sarah Westlake, another of Mrs Cook’s servants.

  The Book of Common Prayer

  State Library of New South Wales, Sydney. Frances (nee Wardale) Lieber took the Book of Common Prayer to America with her. She married John McAllister on 28 August 1783. The inscription on the flyleaf reads: ‘presented by Capt. James Cook to Frances Wardale in the year 1769’ (an error here? In 1769 Cook was already in the South Seas).

  The Telescope

  State Library of New South Wales, Sydney.

  Bingley’s Journal

  The quote is from JC Beaglehole, The Life of Captain Cook, Stanford University Press, 1974, Stanford, California, page 269.

  Portrait of Sir Hugh Palliser by George Dance

  National Maritime Museum, London.

  A Pair of Shoe Buckles

  State Library of New South Wales, Sydney. Diamanté-covered buckles used for court wear, as opposed to leather-covered ones for everyday wear, also in the State Library.

  A Damask Serviette

  State Library of New South Wales, Sydney. Measurements: c. 72 x 84.5 cm. Described as a tablecloth in the Dixson Library Realia Collection, but according to staff member Margot Riley is probably a large serviette, the reasoning being that it is too small even for a teacloth of the period, but big enough to cover the large skirts worn by the women. The embroidery ‘EC’ with a number ‘9’ centred below the initials is in very fine cross-stitch in blue/grey thread in one corner. The cloth was number 9 in a set.

  Cook Cottage

  Fitzroy Gardens, Melbourne. Purchased in 1933 by Victorian businessman Mr (later Sir) Russell Grimwade and donated to the state. The bricks of the cottage, along with slips of ivy from the walls, were shipped to Melbourne from Hull, in 253 cases and 40 barrels.

  Mr Kendall’s Clock

  National Maritime Museum, London.

  The Glass Tumbler

  State Library of New South Wales, Sydney. Engraved: RESOLUTION, Capt. Cook, 1772.

  The Staffordshire China

  Captain Cook Schoolhouse Museum, Great Ayton, England. Blue and white china was fashionable during the period. Three plates and a dish from the service are on display.

  A Letter from Solander to Banks

  State Library of New South Wales, Sydney.

  Introduction to a Voyage towards the South Pole and Round the World . . .

  Copies in several libraries including the State Library of New South Wales, Sydney.

  Boswell’s An Account of Corsica

  The journal of a tour of that island, and memoirs of Pascal Paoli, 3rd edition, E & C Dilly, London, 1769. State Library of New South Wales, Sydney. Boswell’s presentation copy to Captain Cook has the signature, ‘J. Cook’ on the back of the fron
tispiece.

  The Portrait of Captain Cook by Nathaniel Dance

  National Maritime Museum, London.

  The Will of James Cook

  The original is in the Public Records Office, London. The will was proved 24 January 1780 by Elizabeth Cook and Thomas Dyall.

  The Copley Medal

  British Museum, London.

  The Unfinished Vest

  State Library of New South Wales, Sydney. Of tapa cloth, embroidered by Elizabeth Cook for her husband to wear to court, had he returned from the third voyage.

  The Ditty Box

  State Library of New South Wales, Sydney. Ditty boxes were used by seamen to hold their smaller possessions.

  Sir Hugh Palliser’s Monument to Captain Cook

  The monument is in Vache Park, Buckinghamshire; copies of the inscription are held in the State Library of New South Wales, Sydney.

  A Letter from Elizabeth Cook to Frances McAllister (nee Wardale)

  Copies are held in the National Library of Australia, Canberra, and the State Library of New South Wales, Sydney.

  A Letter from Mrs Honeychurch to Frances McAllister

  Copies are held in the National Library of Australia, Canberra, and the State Library of New South Wales, Sydney.

  Embroidery on Silk of Captain Cook’s Voyages by Mrs Elizabeth Cook

  National Maritime Museum, Sydney.

  The Bookplate

  State Library of New SouthWales, Sydney. The Bible was printed by M. Baskett, Oxford, 1765. On Elizabeth’s death it passed to John Leach Bennett of Merton, Surrey. The bookplate bears the coat of arms and the name Cpt. Cook.

  Portrait of Elizabeth Cook

  State Library of New South Wales, Sydney.

  A Letter from Isaac Smith to Edward Hawke Locker

  State Library of New South Wales, Sydney.

  Elizabeth Cook’s Monuments

  The monument to her Smith relatives is in St Mary’s Church, Merton, London.

  Most of the other objects mentioned in the text are also in library or museum collections.

  All the churches are still in existence in one form or another. Another St John’s was built close by the original which suffered subsidence because of the marshy ground. Great St Andrew’s is now a community church.