Not the Same Sky (13 page)

‘Are you all right?’ Anne whispered to Honora.

‘I think so. I’m going to see tomorrow if I can write to Florrie.’

‘I’m not going to write to anyone,’ Anne said. ‘I don’t see what good it would do.’

‘Will we be able to walk outside?’ a voice whispered.

Another said, ‘If it’s not too hot, I think so, but not far. You wouldn’t want to go far.’

‘Go far? Well, that’s something to be worried about now,’ said Julia.

In the morning the nuns called again to continue their praying, some of the girls wishing the prayers to be over so they could rush out and see Charles who they had just seen coming to the door. They wanted to ask him about the rumour of Yass—where was that and how many were going?

‘One hundred and eight,’ he said.

‘And it’s not only Yass, it’s Gundagai and places around there. More or less south-west of here. Now remember, we will have to travel by horse and cart on road or track, for a number of days and nights, possibly two weeks.’

One hundred and thirty hands were raised. Wherever he thought fit to bring them would be all right by them.

‘We will be sleeping in tents, which will be put together as best we can. And we will be travelling through bushland,’ Charles said, hoping to change some minds but only two girls put their hands down. Charles would now have to choose who of the surplus twenty or so would stay in Sydney.

He called them to him—he tried to choose girls who had lived in towns, he would prefer to get their agreement rather than tell them they must stay here.

Anne Sherry said she definitely wanted to stay in the city. Honora Raftery looked surprised.

‘Would you not prefer to go to a place in the country?’

Anne looked embarrassed. She turned her eyes away from Honora.

‘No, I’d prefer to stay here,’ she said.

Julia Cuffe had not volunteered—she was still moving about around the edges, sometimes quiet, sometimes making scoffing noises. Charles thought that Bridget Joyce might be better here, he would talk to Anne Sherry about that, now that she too would be in Sydney. There were other Bridgets who would suit life in this growing city better perhaps than the country. Molly Plunkett had cried, ‘But I want to go to the country. Maybe it will be better …’

‘But it will be a rough journey, with the possibility of bushrangers. And many of the places for work will be very far from others, not like here.’

‘What are bushrangers?’

‘Like pirates on the land,’ another girl answered. She was still at sea.

‘But it might be like home,’ Molly said, and cried again when she said the word.

‘Molly, you’re terrible silly, it won’t be like home …’

But another girl added, ‘Well, it might be more like home …’

Charles would also have to see if any were needed in Brisbane, and if so who they would be.

The hiring of the girls chosen to remain in town now began in earnest. A woman came to the landing and ushered the first six down the stairs. Wearing their bonnets, the girls nervously went into the room set aside for the purpose of viewing. One girl cried, others looked on with hope on their faces. That man seemed nice, that woman appeared kind.

A tall robust man came into the hall.

‘I want one of them, no two of them. Find me two,’ he bellowed in a voice that carried to the ceiling.

He had decided to take on the editor of the
Herald
, who had again lambasted the orphan girls. That was how he would show him—hire two of his own.

‘Yes, Commissioner,’ said the woman directing the girls.

Charles might have liked to make a suggestion, but the authorities here preferred to make their own judgments. In the room the hirers looked the girls up and down, checked their references, spoke some words. More girls were brought down. Some of them looked at the floor. Some dared to raise their faces—Julia Cuffe looked one and all straight in the eye. Anne Sherry was the first chosen for the commissioner, and Rose Larkin the second. They were led out and up the stairs again and more girls were brought down. One of them was crying.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ a matron asked, trying to put some care into her voice.

‘Nothing. It’s just that at home the animals don’t kill you.’

‘Who has been telling you nonsense?’

‘No, it’s all right,’ the girl snuffled. ‘I’ll learn which animals to stay away from.’

‘Good girl. Now dry your eyes and come down with me,’ Matron said, and led her into the room of hirers.

A ritual of goodbyes began. Despite being fearful, they always ended with an expression of hope for each other and themselves. Then the girl walked out with her trunk, her bonnet firmly on, beside a man who would be her new master. Most of them did not look back when they came to the street—perhaps because they forgot, now being taken up with new thoughts, or perhaps because they were afraid to show what was on their faces to anyone who might be there watching. One by one they went, until it was time for Charles to ready his charges who were travelling to Yass, Gundagai, and places on the way if they were needed. And maybe a little further. There was plenty of work to be done. There were new settlers and men who had freedom now, who had gained squatters’ rights and had houses to run. And there were banks opening and hotels that could have a girl in the kitchen. But not in the bar, he would not allow that. There were many Irish there already in these places, places that Charles had never even heard of. This would be good for the girls.

‘How many Irish?’

‘Some. I’m not sure.’

But plenty of work, of that he was sure. This was why the request had been made. The remaining girls now put on their bonnets firmly and walked out of Hyde Park Barracks.

CHAPTER 16

The first night of the journey was spent on a steamer to Parramatta, on water so unlike the open sea, on a ship so unlike their own. At Parramatta they stayed in a depot, an old convict barracks quite like Hyde Park.

‘Another barracks,’ a girl said, ‘you’d think we’d done something wrong.’

‘But we’ve got a big room, look at the space,’ Honora Raftery said.

‘I suppose you’re right,’ a voice from behind her replied.

She missed Anne Sherry and Bridget. She even missed Julia.

In the morning they collected fourteen drays to be drawn by teams of horses over half-roads, roads, and no roads, to their final destinations. Honora, for the first time in months, thought it smelt like home—horses smell the same. But best not to think about things like that. Food would have to be cooked, a rota organised for eating. These familiarities were welcome to the girls and they organised themselves into groups. Charles told them that care would have to be taken about biting insects—those dangerous and those not—although who could possibly know which was which.

‘We’ll learn,’ Honora said.

Oh, you will, Charles thought, more than you can imagine. He laid down the rules of their journey and no girl thought to disagree. Provisions for the first few days were collected. Honora was put in charge of keeping the food as cold as possible.

‘We will stop at various places to replenish our stock,’ Charles said.

Sleep was fitful and disturbed that first night on the road, the open air was strangely more frightening than a ship at sea. Horses made their own noises too, adding to the peculiar bush sounds. The sounds came from all directions. And just when it seemed they could agree on a direction and what they might be, they merged into one unfamiliar cacophony coming from everywhere.

‘The animals are all different.’

‘Will there be no animals like at home?’

‘Maybe rabbits. That’s all I think.’

‘The man said there are no rabbits here,’ another girl whispered. ‘Nor daisies,’ she added.

They thought about that, and decided they could get used to that too, along with everything else.

The compensations of more room for movement soon became apparent. It was a strange feeling to be able to walk a distance from the other girls—keeping them in view at all times of course. And it was at night that they learned just how different the stars were. Now they were on land and had ground below them, you would think some of the sky would be the same.

‘But it’s a different hemisphere. Remember the map, can you remember the map?’

They could.

‘Remember when we crossed the equator? Well, since then we have been in the Southern Hemisphere.’

‘I see.’

‘There are only two hemispheres, isn’t that right, ours and here?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

So for the next two weeks, Charles and the girls wound their way across the strange-coloured country. There were different ways of dealing with this—wanting to know how long the journey was to be or not wanting to know. The girls stared at the never-ending tree-covered hills, smelled scents of dryness, and tried to cool themselves as best they could. They watched the animals that came close and they learned to sleep at night, lulled by noises that did not now frighten them unduly, even if they did not reassure them either. There was always something new to the eye or ear or nose.

During their journey they were to encounter an obstacle. One dray was passing another when a harness loosened and the two horses collided. Two girls jumped, or were thrown, and a wheel went over them. The two injured girls had to be left behind in Camden in the care of a medical officer. Charles did not like this one bit. He would have to write to the girls and keep their spirits up. He was very suspicious of the local surgeon magistrate, but he had no choice. All he could do was try to keep in touch. He supposed that they could now be hired close to Camden once they had recovered.

The journey continued. The fourteen drays following the one in front, each with its complement of girls watching the strangeness of this new country—the shape of the hills perhaps, which sloped and stretched as far as the eye could see, or the colour of the trees.

‘White. It is white. Who ever saw a white tree?’

‘Well, now you have.’

‘And check your shadow, it falls a different way here.’

But no one could remember how it had fallen at home.

The heat was dry and thirst was ever-present and fresh water was not easily acquired. They saw their first kangaroos, emus, wallabies and wombats. Charles and the men named them as best they could. Girls laughed uproariously as they watched the kangaroo leaping past them in the most ridiculous bounds they could have imagined. But the grace and speed mesmerised them. Yet laugh was what they did most—put their hands over their mouths and shriek with excitement that such an animal could exist. It was the birds that astonished them most. Particularly the parrots, the cockatoos and the lorikeets. Luckily Charles had learned some of their names. When they talked of birds they thought of Bridget Joyce, who had been hired out to a magistrate in Sydney. And in the talking they hoped she was well. She was one of the girls for whom Charles feared most. He could not bear to think too much of what might go wrong for her. He would check on her when he got back to the city. But the girls couldn’t keep thinking of the others they had left behind in Sydney, it might make them think of the fact that they too were nearing the day when they would be left behind. It was best to keep gloom at arm’s length. They knew that well now.

And there were more troubles. Rain made some of the tracks so wet that horses fell. Girls got sick, though not as sick as at sea, and they soon got better. One horse left for good, wandered off in the night. Still, progress was made.

The girls saw their first black people. The sight caused them less astonishment than Charles had expected—it was just another new thing. They collected new things with ease now. And until someone tried to make them believe otherwise, they had no more reason to fear a man who was black than a man who was white.

Picton and Mittagong were left behind. Then on through Berrima and across Paddy’s River, which caused much merriment and wonder. Who could it be named for? Then Marulan and Goulburn. Charles wrote in his diary ‘One of the girls discovered a relative, so naturally we left her there. I like the town, even though I was not predisposed to the place, having read one of the editorials’.

A few more girls were needed too. It was here that one of the better readers found out what the local newspaper had printed about them. One of the men driving the horses must have had a paper. An ex-convict could be well learned.

‘This is about us,’ she said, more in amazement than hurt.

The words—barefoot little country beggars—like the ones Charles had read before, were altogether unseemly, insulting and untrue. He did his best to explain the tirade away.

‘It’s as much to do with a fight between here and London,’ he said. ‘Some people here think they might end up with too many dependents, which London should be caring for. You are caught in the middle of that argument.’

‘Why would that make them say this?’ She hit the paper with the back of her hand, a gesture that had been done by her father before he had died.

‘It’s difficult to understand, I know,’ Charles said.

‘Not for me it’s not,’ the girl replied.