Sian: A New Australian

by D. Luckett

  The street was always busy even after it got dark. People were walking past, horses, carts, handbarrows, even a motor car or two. Nobody said anything much, though. After a while I said goodnight and went inside. When I went to bed I could hear Ellis and Olive start to talk but they kept their voices down, so I couldn’t make out the words. They didn’t want me to hear.

  It was like getting on the ship and coming to Australia. I’d find out about it when it happened. I went to sleep, thinking that.

  Ellis left for Port Darwin only three weeks later. ‘The sooner the better,’ he said. ‘There won’t be another ship for nearly a month.’

  It was Easter when he left and the weather was still very warm. We’d had presents. I got a library card and a book called The Wizard of Oz. I read it over and over.

  Port Darwin was a very long way away from Sydney and you could only get there by ship. There was no train. There wasn’t even a road. Olive and I went to the big library in town and found a book that said Darwin was going to be Australia’s doorstep, its gateway to the north. It also said that they only have two seasons there. It’s always hot but half the year it rains and half the year it doesn’t, so they call the seasons the Wet and the Dry. Fancy, no autumn, winter or spring, just always summer.

  I wondered what it would be like. Strange, I thought. But I soon found out Ellis would be going on his own. Olive and I would stay in Sydney and he’d send us money.

  I didn’t want Ellis to go but he went anyway. We saw him off at the dock. The ship wasn’t as big as the one we’d come to Australia in. He kissed Olive and me. Then he picked up his bag and climbed up the ramp to the ship. We waved. The ship hooted and moved away and we watched it as it found its way out of the harbour and eventually went behind a headland. Beyond was the open sea. It would take Ellis a week or more to get to Darwin.

  Olive and I took the tram back to the house, came in, took off our hats and looked at each other.

  ‘School for you again, next week,’ said Olive.

  I nodded.

  Olive went on: ‘There’s enough to get by on, until he gets his first cheque. Paid into the bank here.’ She seemed to be talking to herself mostly. ‘But he won’t be back until next Christmas. He can’t be. He’s signed a contract. If he leaves before it’s up he won’t get paid his yearly bonus – and that’s half of it. And he’d have to pay his own passage home and that would gobble up the rest of his wages. So he won’t be back until the end of the year and we just have to make our minds up to it.’ She got up and put on her apron. ‘Come along. You can help me. I’m making fig jam, there’s so much fruit on the tree. Mrs Lowell gave me the recipe. We’ll take some to the church sale.’

  So we kept ourselves busy. Trying not to miss Ellis too much. School was easy. I thought I’d missed out on a lot but it didn’t seem to matter much.

  Then Olive started getting sick in the mornings.

  I heard her, the first time. First her feet running, then the back door slamming, and then she was being sick. It was very early in the morning. When I got up there was no hot water to wash with so I had to get the fire going and boil a kettle. While I was doing that Olive came in again, looking pale.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked. She sat down.

  ‘I think I must have eaten something bad,’ she said.

  I got the water hot, took the kettle into my room and washed. I put my school clothes on and came out. Olive was still sitting at the table in the kitchen. She smiled at me but it didn’t look as if she was happy.

  ‘Can you make your own breakfast, Sian?’ she said. ‘There’s an egg in the pantry. I don’t feel like it this morning.’

  So I boiled an egg for myself and there was bread and potted meat for sandwiches and a banana. I’d never even seen a banana at home and now I was taking one to school to have at recess.

  Olive was feeling better when I got back from school. So that was all right, I thought.

  But she was sick again the next morning, and the next. She said she’d be all right. It was nothing.

  But it wasn’t nothing. Johnnie Carmichael was still teasing me at school but I couldn’t tell Olive about it now. She wasn’t well.

  A week later, when I came in from school, Olive was in the kitchen making a bacon and egg pie. I asked her how she was feeling. Her hands were floury but she dusted them. ‘I’m quite well. Now, listen, Sian. I’m going to have a baby.’

  I think my mouth dropped open. But she just nodded at me. ‘Well, it happens, you know. You ought to. Eleven brothers and sisters you have.’

  ‘When?’ I asked. I mean, was Olive going to have it now?

  ‘The midwife thinks about the end of October.’

  ‘Midwife?’

  ‘The lady who’ll be helping me, when the baby comes.’

  And that was the way of it. There was nothing more to say. I had to get used to it.

  I went to school and came back home. Olive wasn’t well a lot of the time so I started doing the shopping for her and the house cleaning and the cooking, with her to tell me what to do.

  Olive said Ellis was sending plenty of money but we shouldn’t spend any more than we needed to. So I learned the prices of things. I found out how much money we had and I was careful not to spend more than I had to. I learned to add up in my head. And I learned more about cooking and housework.

  Mr Wright at school was pleased with me, especially my compositions. He said I should try for a scholarship to go to the Ladies’ College.

  After a while Olive got bigger around the tummy. But she was still sick, hard and often. I worried about her.

  Ellis wrote letters but not very long ones. The work was tough, he said, and it was very hot, and it rained. I used to think that bit of Australia was a desert but Ellis said that the rain made it feel hotter, not cooler. Wet and hot, both at once. But he was pleased with the wages he was earning. Olive read that bit out loud to me.

  ‘Will Ellis – sorry – will Mr Williams be coming back when the baby comes?’ I asked.

  Olive put the letter down. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not until the end of the year.’ She didn’t say any more.

  That’s when I wondered if she’d even told him about the baby coming. Maybe she hadn’t because she knew he’d come straight back. Olive was good at not telling people things.

  The weather in Sydney got cooler. It was still like summer but more like summer back home. It rained sometimes. The rain was harder than at home too. It was all different but I was getting used to it.

  And then the baby came.

  Olive woke me up, shaking me in the dark. ‘Quick, quick, Sian,’ she said, and she groaned and bent over. Her nightie was all wet. ‘The baby’s coming.’

  ‘But …’ I started. I was still half-asleep.

  There was no time for buts. Olive groaned again, leaning up against the bed rail. She screwed up her face and then spoke, gasping. ‘You must get dressed and run for Mrs O’Leary. The midwife. You know where she lives. Remember? I showed you. In the next street … Oh!’

  ‘But it’s too soon …’ It was only August. The baby wasn’t due until October.

  ‘It’s coming anyway. Up. Run. Please Sian, I can’t … Oh!’

  So I got up and got dressed, fast as I could and I ran. Out of the house, through the yard, banging the gate behind me, into the dark street. There was a policeman with a lamp and he shone it on me. ‘Where are you going so fast?’ he asked, and I told him my sister was having a baby and I was running for Mrs O’Leary, and he said, ‘Go on, then.’

  And I ran. How I ran! I soon found Mrs O’Leary’s house and I banged on the door. Nothing. Not a sound. I banged again, with the knocker. This time I heard someone moving about. A window opened with a rush and Mrs O’Leary looked out of it.

  ‘Yes?’ she said. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I’m Olive’s sister,’ I said. ‘Olive Williams. You know. The baby’s coming. She sent me.’

  ‘Oh. It’s not time yet, at all, at all. Is she sure? Hav
e her waters broke?’

  ‘Her nightie was all wet. Is that what you mean?’

  Mrs O’Leary nodded. A light went on behind her and I could hear a man’s voice but I couldn’t see him. He didn’t sound pleased.

  Mrs O’Leary took no notice of him. ‘I’ll come.’

  She turned back and closed the window. I waited. The light went on inside the hall, and then the door opened and Mrs O’Leary came out buttoning up her coat and jamming her hat on.

  We didn’t run. Mrs O’Leary was stout. We walked quickly, though. We passed the same policeman and he tipped his hat. ‘Good morning to you, Constable Hannon,’ said Mrs O’Leary. ‘Seems we both have to be up and about.’

  ‘’Tis the work we do, Mrs O’Leary, so it is. Good luck to you, and to the lady,’ he said.

  We came to our house. The door was open – I’d forgotten to close it. Mrs O’Leary followed me in and then went into Olive’s room. I could see Olive lying on the bed. There was blood too but I saw that for only a moment. Mrs O’Leary went in and closed the door.

  I stood in the hallway. What else could I do? I felt like crying. There was something wrong about this. I didn’t know what but I knew it was something.

  After a while Mrs O’Leary came out again. ‘Well. That bit’s over with. But now we need the doctor.’

  ‘Doctor?’

  ‘Yes. Do you know where he lives?’

  ‘No.’ We’d never had a doctor come.

  ‘Well, it’s me who’ll have to go for him, then,’ she said.

  ‘Is Olive going to die?’ I asked. I already knew that it could happen. My mam had died.

  Mrs O’Leary didn’t answer. She just shook her head. ‘I’ll bring the doctor. Don’t go in there for a bit. Your sister is resting.’

  So I didn’t go in. Mrs O’Leary went and brought the doctor. He came with his bag and went into Olive’s room. I stood in the hall the whole time. Nobody took any notice of me.

  After a while – it seemed like a very long while – it started to get light.

  The doctor came out, at last, with Mrs O’Leary. They still didn’t take any notice of me. ‘Is there a husband?’ he asked.

  Mrs O’Leary looked at me. ‘Yes. She said there was. But he’s away.’

  ‘Mr Williams is in Port Darwin,’ I said. ‘He’s working there.’

  ‘Oh,’ said the doctor. ‘Well, he’ll have to be told. Quick as possible. There’s a telegraph, I think.’

  Mrs O’Leary looked at me. ‘There’s the child,’ she said, and nodded at me.

  Just then, Olive cried out, and the doctor went in again. He didn’t come back for a long time. When he did, he was shaking his head.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘That’s that.’ And then he turned to me and knelt down. ‘I’m very sorry,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t save your sister.’

  That was the worst time. I don’t remember much about it. It was like when I couldn’t say in words how much it hurt when I got Da’s belt. There are no words. You can only cry. And crying was all I could do.

  I remember bits, mind. Memories come and go in flashes. I remember the doctor kneeling down to tell me. I remember the look on his face. I remember Mrs O’Leary taking me to her house. I remember her asking what church we went to and I told her, and she went and told the minister, the Reverend Mr Broad. He came and talked to me for a while but I don’t remember much about that. He said he’d do what was right by Olive. His wife and the ladies of the parish would do what had to be done.

  ‘Well,’ said Mrs O’Leary, when he’d gone. ‘I suppose that’s something you protestants have over us Catholics. Your priest has a wife he can send for.’

  I didn’t know what she meant by that. I didn’t ask. Nothing mattered much, just then.

  It all gets mixed up in my mind. I don’t remember what happened next, or after that. I only remember bits. Olive lying in her bed, all pale and still, with a kerchief tied around her head, and all the bedclothes changed, right down to the mattress. And they’d wrapped the baby up, too. Mrs O’Leary said that the poor thing had never taken a breath.

  Everything was white. Clean and white. Except for a stain on the floor. They couldn’t get it out, they said. The floor would need to be revarnished.

  I remember burying Olive and having to pick up a bit of dirt and drop it on her. I don’t remember a word of what they said though. Not a word.

  I stayed with Mr and Mrs Broad, the minister and his wife. They didn’t have children. I don’t remember how long that was for. A week, two. I don’t know. There were arrangements to be made, they said. I didn’t know what that meant. I cried a lot and wrote a letter to Da and the others, back home. It would take six weeks to get there, anyway. Mr Broad put it in with a letter of his own, after the tears had dried on it.

  The next thing I remember we were sitting at the table. Mrs Broad always brought in the morning post and the Reverend Mr Broad would open it as he ate. She put it by his plate.

  He said grace, and something about comforting those who mourned, and then he said Amen, and he reached for the letters and sorted through them. Then he said, ‘Ah,’ and opened one, took it out, and read it.

  When he’d finished reading it, he looked at me. ‘Mr Williams writes, Sian. You know he replied to my telegraph but this is in more detail. He has sent a sum of money and instructions. He says he is your only kin in Australia and that he is your uncle by marriage. Is that right?’

  I nodded. I hadn’t heard anything from Da. It would be weeks and weeks before anything they wrote could arrive.

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Broad. ‘His instructions are quite clear. He thanks me for your care but he does not want you placed in … any other custody but his own. He thinks you should be together, each for comfort in the other’s grief. But he says that he cannot leave Port Darwin. Apparently he is under contract and stands to lose everything if he comes away. He therefore instructs me to send you to him.’

  I sat there, trying to take in what he had just said. Mr Broad took another sheet of paper out of the same envelope. ‘Mr Williams also encloses this, for you,’ he said, and handed it to me.

  10th September, 1911

  Dear Sian

  I want you to come and live here in Darwin, for a while, anyway. I’ve got a house. Well, something like a house. I don’t like to think of you living in an orphanage. You’ll be a reminder of Olive to me and we can look after each other.

  I’ve written home to tell your da I want you here with me but I’ve told Mr Broad that he must ask you if you want to come, and if you don’t, well, you must do what he says. But please come.

  Ellis Williams

  Poor Ellis. He didn’t have anyone. I didn’t have anyone now either. If I went to Darwin at least we’d have each other.

  ‘What do you want, Sian? Do you want to go and live in Port Darwin with your uncle?’ Mr Broad looked at Mrs Broad. ‘Because, well … we welcome you, and it’s our Christian duty but … we’re not your family, you know. You can’t live with us for long, you see. We’d have to find somewhere else for you to live.’

  No, they weren’t family. They’d been kind. But it was up to me …

  ‘I’d like to go,’ I said. ‘Thanking you very kindly but Ellis … he’s very sad and only has me now.’

  ‘Yes. Quite. I understand,’ said the Reverend. He looked again at Mrs Broad and seemed relieved. ‘I think it’s for the best. Mr Williams sent enough money for your passage, I believe.’

  ‘She’ll need a suitable escort,’ said his wife, as if she didn’t like to say. Mrs Broad said everything as if she didn’t like saying it.

  ‘I believe I can arrange something,’ said Mr Broad.

  I went back to school for a while. Two weeks, I think it was.

  Mr Broad visited the teacher, Mr Wright, and told him, I think, because Mr Wright told the class.

  ‘You must all be very kind to Sian,’ he said. ‘She’s having a terrible time. Put yourself in her place.’

  At break I
sat with Denise O’Grady. She didn’t say anything but that was all right.

  Then Johnnie Carmichael came over. He stood over us, his shadow falling across my face. I looked up. If he’d said something mean I think I would have gone for him with my nails and teeth.

  ‘Me mum died, too,’ he said. And then he walked off.

  I don’t know what he meant by it. Was he saying he was sorry? Was he saying he was the same as me, only nobody told people to be kind to him? Was he telling me to stop being a sook? Or to cheer up, or something? After that he stopped following me after school.

  I found myself looking forward to leaving Sydney. Leaving the place where all this had happened. It wasn’t Sydney’s fault, not really, but I wanted to get away.

  Then the ship was ready and we went down and I got on it. The ship had a carpenter and he had a wife and Mr Broad said that she would look after me.

  And so I sailed away from Sydney. I sailed away again.

  But you know, you can’t just sail away. It would be good if you could, I thought. Just sail away and never have to go back. But you can’t just sail away, because you have to be sailing to somewhere.

  It wasn’t such a long journey this time. It took ten days to sail to Port Darwin. The ship was smaller than the one we’d come to Australia in. It was called a coaster and not very much bigger than the ferries on Sydney Harbour. It didn’t have cabins, just bunk beds screened off by curtains. The ship was carrying timber stacked on the deck, tied down with chains, and it rolled and swayed and dipped. The ship we’d come to Australia on had been smartly painted and clean but this one was a bit shabby, worn in places, and it chugged on up the coast with its one funnel making black smoke that drifted along behind us.

  I was allowed to go anywhere I wanted on board. There were no first-class passengers and everyone ate at the same table. The food wasn’t as nice – mostly corned beef out of a tin and ship’s biscuits. Ship’s biscuits look like flat scones but they aren’t sweet and they’re as hard as stones. You have to dip them in your tea before you can chew them.