night. The woman I had seen before told me that the coach would start
about 3 o'clock in the morning. Daylight was just breaking as I wearily
got ready for my unknown journey. The driver of the mail was a quiet
young man. There seemed a lot of parcels and luggage, but I was the only
woman among the passengers. I hoped to reach Kingston that night. I was
not much interested in our stopping-places, as I was longing to be back
in Adelaide.
I had no one to talk to, so I stood by the coach while the horses were
being got ready. I heard a gentleman say, "Has anybody thought of
getting a cup of tea for this girl?" and the answer was "No." Then he
said, "I will." In the bar they were all drinking by the lamplight, and
he held a little saucepan over the lamp and made me a cup of tea. I
watched him from where I was standing, with grateful thoughts that could
not find expression. I often saw that gentleman afterwards in Adelaide.
I was often tempted to go up to him and thank him for that cup of tea,
but I did not like to do so, as I never learnt his name.
At last we were off. The inside of the coach was filled with luggage, so
the passengers all sat outside, and the arrangement was not very
comfortable, as there was nothing to rest one's back against. Some of
the men who mounted the coach that morning were the worse for drink.
Still, no one said anything unpleasant to me. We went speeding along
through desolate scrub. The road, or, rather, the mail track, was very
uneven, and I expected every moment to be thrown out. I asked the driver
what I was to hold on by. He laughed and answered, "Hold on by your
eyebrows." There were places on the wayside for refreshments, and about
8 o'clock we had breakfast at one of these.
I would have liked to stop at Mosquito Plains to have a look round, but
on account of the change of landlords the hotel was topsy-turvy, and I
did not care for the woman I saw there. I was disappointed, for I knew
that I would have to wait at Robe till the wool-dray came with my
things, and there are some very interesting caves near Mosquito Plains,
which is now called "Narracoorte."
We arrived at Kingston and drove at once to the Kingston Hotel, which
was kept by an ex-trooper from Adelaide. To my astonishment a
nicely-dressed little blackgirl met me at the door. She came to see what
I wanted. She was about 12 or 13 years old, and was the only female
attendant in the hotel. I was a little upset, but I thought that I must
not be too particular for one night, so I told her I would like some
tea. She brought me quite a nice cup of tea on a tray and told me that
the master would come and see me soon.
Presently the landlord came in. He was evidently in difficulties. He
told me that his wife had been dead two months, and his sister had been
keeping house for him; but that, owing to the sickness of his little
son, she had to take the boy away to his grandmother. He said she would
return on the following day. I asked if there was no other white woman
about the place. He answered--"Yes, there is one; but she is ill in bed:
and I am at my wit's end." I asked if I could see her, as, being a
working-girl myself, I thought I might do something for her. The man was
much agitated and replied--"Yes. She is a married woman and has been in
my employ for six weeks. She had a baby this morning."
He led me through a long billiard-room and a kitchen, where some
black-gins were sitting round a fire smoking, into a little back-room in
the yard. There lay the poor woman and her face lit up with joy to see
another white woman. I soon learned her story, which was like that of
many other wanderers. Her husband had gone away to look for work, and
had forgotten to come back. I sympathised with her trouble and did what
I could for her that night.
On enquiry I learned that there was a doctor staying at the hotel. He
was attending to several men, who were suffering from ophthalmia after
shearing. But my sympathy was all with that weak woman and the dear,
little baby. I learned, also, that there were only a few white women in
Kingston.
Two young men who had been shipmates with me in the Morning Star came
into the hotel the next morning. Their name was Ring, and they were with
their father, Mr. Herbert Ring, who had a contract to facilitate the
shipping of goods at Kingston, as before that no ships could come in
near the shore. I was pleased to see them. They are both in Adelaide now
as sharebrokers. They brought their father to see me and it seemed like
civilisation again. But I had not yet done with the mail-coach.
As the coach left Kingston every day, I determined to stop with the sick
woman till the landlord's sister came home. Meanwhile the people about
were negotiating with the landlord to get up a supper as they wished to
celebrate the opening of a branch of some lodge. I think that the
Messrs. Ring were the principal officials in that lodge. So when the
housekeeper came I set to work and helped her prepare this bush
"banquet." I did not know very much, but every little was a help, and
they all said the supper was splendid.
Just in the middle of the preparations for supper a travelling dramatic
company arrived and began to get ready to hold a performance that
evening in the billiard-room. I never saw such a mixed lot of people
together. I looked for the doctor, expecting to see a man in decent
black clothes, but he was dressed in old, tattered garments, just like
the poor shearers to whom he was attending. I understood the reason of
this when I saw him staggering about. Be was a very clever man, but
abandoned to drink.
The little black girl was a great help. She could fetch and carry for
these poor men, who, I am afraid, were very much neglected. I saw a
little of the country about Kingston and liked the look of the whole
place very much. My stay at the hotel lasted from a Tuesday to the
following Saturday, when the landlord drove me into Robe in his own
waggonette. I had no bills to pay and received some remuneration for
being so helpful. For years afterwards, if anybody who knew me stayed at
the hotel, they heard kind things of me and brought me nice messages.
Neither my trunk nor the steamboat had arrived, so I had to wait till
the next Saturday at the Robe Hotel. The same people were there as when
I went to Mr. Binney's. I felt just as if I were at home with them, for
they were so interested in my experiences all through that year in the
bush. I had enjoyed good health all the time I was away, and I arrived
in Adelaide safe and well.
It was on a Sunday afternoon when I reached the Port, and my brother was
on the dock waiting for me. Father and he were living at Hilton. They
had a horse and trap, and my brother drove me to Hilton; but I was not
many days at home, when I found that my father seemed in touch with some
acquaintance I did not like; I felt outside of everything, and asked
myself why I came back if there was nothing to come back for. I was out
of sympathy with my surroundings, I learned that my father was about to
get married again, and I felt as if I was not wanted. I could see that
the old condition of things had changed. In any case, everything seemed
hard for me, and I could not put matters right for other people. At
best, there would be a muddle, and I thought if things came to an end
quickly it would not be so hard to go. I had to go forward alone, I
knew, and to face bitterness and desolation. When some one said, "I
wonder you sent for your people," I thought that it did not matter
whether or not I lived at home, for I could not skip out of their lives.
Wherever they were they were my relations. Still, if there are no
love-ties, that makes loneliness more solitary. There was no ill-will,
but my brother said that he would not live with father and his new wife.
So we had to do something. I told my brother that I must have some work
to do, and then we might manage some little business. What else could we
do? It was either that or we would have to go and live in a top-garret
somewhere. So we took a house with a shop attached in Rundle-street. It
stood this side of the Tavistock Hotel, but it was pulled down many
years ago. There is now a saddler's business there. I had it fixed up as
tearooms, and my brother made furniture. In any case I had to face a new
kind of life, and I had no right to grumble. When we were children I
remembered the happy comradeship which always existed between my brother
and myself, and I was glad to be alone with him. It was a splendid time
and we did fairly well, and had something to give thanks for. I could
not expect that happiness to continue, and when we had been there for
some time I had a strong belief that all the rest would come right in
time. It was a joy to feel that I was working for my brother. Such
trivial incidents may not seem worth recording, but that was my only
experience in business on my own account. Youth is full of hope, but I
did not know what I hoped for. There was the present and the future to
think about.
Just at that time a Scotch corps of volunteers were raised. It was the
first in South Australia to wear the kilts. There was such merriment
about this dressing every day. Mr. Buik had an ironmongers shop in
Rundle-street, and he was the captain. My brother also became a kilted
volunteer. The kilts were sent from Scotland partly made, and then
altered so as to make a suitable fit. They looked nice, only the
stockings were of some kind of checked tartan, with no shape or figure.
I knew how to knit, so I knitted a pair of stockings for my brother, and
set in the wool in different coloring and in diamond shape. They looked
unlike the others, and they were made to fit. Mr. Buik came to me and
asked me if I would do a hundred pairs. I was so surprised, that I
thought I would not knit any more stockings which could be seen. In the
Foot Police at that time there was a Scotchman who stood, so they said,
over six feet in height; his name was Archie Dixon. He had his own kilts
and knitted stockings, together with the bagpipes. He brought all the
equipage with him from Scotland, and truly he did look a picture in the
kilts. The past is, indeed, past, but it all comes back to me when I
want it.
The news spread about that in a few months the Queen's son, the Sailor
Prince, would visit Australia. I can trust my memory for that time. It
can never be forgotten. As for the people, it is no exaggeration to say
they were full of joy, as in some sort of way it appeared that this
visit was to be made a pleasure for all. I seemed to have no plans in
life except to see the Prince. In a few weeks the warship Galatea came
in to port. It was a fearfully hot day, and the Scotch Volunteers, with
Mr. Archie Dixon in the front playing the bagpipes, went all the way to
the Port, with other volunteers as well, to meet Prince Alfred. The town
was all one "festival." They marched in procession and came to the city.
In their route they marched around the spot where the new Post-Office
now is. I had a nice seat on some of the old buildings in King
William-street. The men who wore the kilts must have suffered from the
heat. However, there was the Queen's son, bowing and looking so
distinguished as he passed along to Government House. Sir Dominick Daly
was there, too. There was no electricity then, but the splendor of the
gaslight in the night-time will not easily be forgotten, nor the vast
crowds who gathered there.
The drawback all this gaiety had for us was that we had not much
capital. I did not want anything in the way of stock, but my brother's
work was different, for to make it he needed materials; worse still, he
let furniture go on credit, not realising enough to meet his debts. On
turning back to that time my thoughts were not glad. I could not be gay,
for I could see no brightness in the future. It was said by some that my
acts and life showed great self-denial, but if it did it did not bring
me any of the inward satisfaction which is said to come from such deeds.
I thought I must try and get a new place, for I could see that my
brother was seriously in love with a young woman. Then came the final
decision, and I went and saw Mr. J. N. Hines, at Parliament House, with
the hope of getting some employment daily, as he had so much catering to
do while the Prince was here and in other ways. I used to go to the Town
Hall, and also help at Parliament House. My first employer, at No. 10,
Rundle-street, had got married, or I should have liked to go back there.
Having to be independent and to take care of myself for more than eleven
years I had learnt to use my knowledge and be hopeful. I daresay there
are plenty who will remember the stampede of that time. There was a
sense of whirl during the whole time of that brilliant visit, and its
influence was considerable with us so far as ways and means were
concerned.
We both made up our minds not to get into debt, and we did not, but as
matters went it might have been better to have gone to a situation at
once. I could not take any particular kind of work, but I could help
with most things generally. I can easily recall how little attempt there
was to understand anything regarding cooking, and there were no men
cooks in Adelaide then. The foundations of the Club House on
North-terrace were being dug out while I was at No. 10, Rundle-street,
and it was occupied when I came back from Moonta. A married couple had
the management of the Club, and I got to know the manager through being
at the Town Hall banquets and other places, so I went to help at the
Club. The cooking was very crude. The manager had been a steward on
board ship, and was not well up as a caterer. The work was not at all
delicately done, and I did not like either the manager or the
manageress. I did not stop long at the only club that was then in
Adelaide. Many years have rolled away since then. The affairs of myself
and brother were disposed in such a way that I had many doubts as to
what I should do; but youth is delightful while it lasts.
One thing, I could not be idle. I secured a situation with a lady at New
Glenelg, and was to undertake, with the lady's teaching, household
duties. There were no children. The lady was Mrs. Brind, and another
young girl was kept. It was a comfortable home. We had everything
suitable, and I had a nice bedroom. For the first time since I left
Scotland I found myself living close to the sea, and that suggesting the
great joy of bathing in the ocean once again. How I loved that exercise,
and the sea was only such a little way from the house. My sister had the
care of my brother, and he used to come and see me occasionally. There
was something kind and admirable about Mrs. Brind. She was a leader in
society, there could be no doubt. She went everywhere, and did all sorts
of things. She could sing and act and dance, and, with the number of
guests always at the house, she made a charming hostess. In figure she
was somewhat stout, but had such a nice face, with not a furrow of
anxiety or care upon it. Mr. Brind was her second husband. She found
time, despite her society arrangements, to do kindnesses amongst various
persons, and more particularly to the children. She was whimsical and
kindly, and one day she came and asked me if I would let her alter the
cut of the skirt I wore on Sunday. Gored skirts were worn then, and I
suppose mine must have been straight up and down. Anyhow, it did not
please her. I let her have it, and with her own hands she altered it and
made it look so different. This unexpected treatment of my clothing was
done so pleasantly that I could not be angry. In respect of dress I was
old-fashioned, and had but little choice.
I shall never forget one particular day. It was the other girl's day
out, and I had to attend to the bell. Mrs. Brind had also gone out.
Cards or messages I was to see to. I learned that Sir R. D. Ross and
Lady Ross and a baby girl were coming to stop for a few days. They had
come back from the Mainland war, and I confess I was pleased to get
everything in order for their arrival. It seemed so strange to think
that I was at the Government Farm to receive them the day, they were
married, and there I was again, two years afterwards, preparing for them
again. What a difference I saw in Sir R. D. Ross. His eyesight had
failed, and he could hardly see. But when he learned that I was in
waiting he came and brought his dear little daughter to show me. He
must have had exciting times in New Zealand, for he looked so worn and
worried. He had seen the Prince, and showed me a ring given to him by
the young Prince. I never saw Sir R. D. Ross again, but he was a
thorough gentleman, according to my standard, and he was Scotch. I
forget now where they had met the Prince first, but it was either in New
Zealand or in some of the other colonies. Any way, when the Prince came
back they were quite friendly. All this seems only the other day. I
confess to feeling fatigue in those years, but I have never felt myself
rusting, and even now I am hard at work, and, in apparent hopelessness,
will not despair.
I stayed on at Mrs. Brind's, and found comfort in my work by the
seaside. The picture of what Glenelg looked like then is in my
remembrance yet. There was no railway, and the only way you could get to
Adelaide was by a kind of mail coach at stated times. You could book a
passage beforehand, but if you lost this bus or coach you would have to
walk to Glenelg or stop in town all night. The driver was Mr. George, or
"Dick" George. He had a pleasing manner, which made him the friend of
all. What with his teams of four or six horses and his cheerful voice
ringing out he made the Bay-road very lively. His voice had a haunting
ring never to be forgotten. There was a charm and quiet about the place
which is not present in the much-altered Glenelg of to-day. I think of
the mysterious and resistless disappearance of the people whom I knew
then, and it gives a touch of seriousness to my thoughts.
But what a trial it was to me to have to mix so much with strangers;
still I managed to pull through. When we are very young we believe that
everyone has a heart. I brought myself to such a state that I had no
high aspirations except to live in a pure atmosphere. That remained,
even when all was gone, and I was left where the last tide had stranded
me.
Many thoughts of the old time stir within me now. I can see a lady of
lofty lineage, who used to come so much to Mrs. Brind's. Her name was
Lady Charlotte Bacon. She looked dejected and laden with care. While she
was wandering about by herself sometimes she would come and sit down by
me on the sand, just as though she belonged to the disappointed and
ill-used of this life. I saw her some years afterwards sitting on the
steps of the Post-Office, in King William-street. She had a black bag in
her hand. I did not make myself known to her, and I heard of her death
not long after. Yes, there are noble sorrows on the high road. The lofty
are beaten by the tempests, which are as oppressive to them as they
would be to me, who am without defence.
So life went onwards by pleasant dreams to a comfortable future. When I
had been with Mrs. Brind for about a year she used to get me to come
and read for her, as she was not well. She was very fond of Scotch
stories, and I could read them easily. There were no trained nurses in
those days, and Mrs. Brind grew so ill that she was advised to go for a
voyage and change of air. So it was decided that the house would be
closed for a time. We had plenty of time to find employment. I can at
this moment recall that without any effort on my part I was sought for.
I did not lack either energy or sincerity. I would fain have stopped
with Mrs. Brind, but I could not.
I GO BACK TO SUNNYSIDE.
I was told that someone was wanted at Sunnyside who could do cooking. I
knew enough for the place, as the family were growing up, and they kept
a lot of company. I was sorry for Mrs. Brind. She told me that she would
not live long. She had no relations in Adelaide, and her agitation
frightened me. She gave me a key and told me to unlock a drawer, and
showed me all her things ready for the last ordeal, if the worst should
happen. I felt a very great coward, and very uncomfortable. What a
relief I felt when the doctor said she was strong enough to go for a
change, and that he hoped for good results.
I went and saw Lady Milne, and I felt a sense of gladness I was to go to
Sunnyside. It was a strange change for me, but only what might happen to
anyone in ordinary everyday life and amid human influences, to look on
those loved faces again. I was to have skilled help for all the large
parties and balls, and I turned at once to the practical duties of a
cook in a gentleman's house. I cannot help adding here that I have been
able to get my living in that capacity ever since that time, and that I
will give lessons this afternoon on cookery. It was like going back to
the old home. I had a good, wise, generous mistress, who would tell me
to put aside the past and trust to the future. I hardly knew what I
expected in the future, but I was happy there. While in this position I
soon recognised that cooking did not come by nature. Even the most
simple things cannot be done till they are taught. I got a cookery book.
I used to puzzle half the night over them, and then I did not get the
rudiments from that.
People do not always remain the same, but are continually changing. This
can be said of everyone, and growing years make a great difference.
While I was away from Sunnyside the family, from being children, now
seemed to be men and women, most of them. This meant so much more
company. As I thought I could not fulfil the duties required of me, I
had many painful moments, although they had patience with me. I got to
dread the two caterers, who came alternately or both together. The
attention they wanted was more to me than all my other work. They took
such pains that I should not see anything of their skill, and I had hard
toil to learn even gradually. When I had been there more than a year I
felt I had learnt scarcely anything.
My brother had got married, and I knew that I had to give up all and
expect nothing. For me loneliness never had any terror. No one could be
less dependent on outward society than I was, yet I could enjoy it, only
I never craved after it, nor was it necessary for my existence--I was
one who have had always to stand alone. Perhaps the sharpest anguish is
that which nobody knows of. I have been so unaccustomed, to sympathy
that I can sit still and endure anything; I did everything at my own
risk. I have had to work for all I have ever received, and some have
done their best to hinder me, so that I hardly knew what to do, although
I am sure I was most unselfish. The marriages of my father and brother
altered things, and somebody else came in, so that the old relationships
were changed. For a time I felt a soreness.
Turning things over in my mind, I see that I could not have learned
anything at Sunnyside, as matters stood. More than once I thought I
would like to live in Adelaide again, and was tempted to take a post in
some of the business places. Only homely cooking would then be required,
and I could do that well. Then, again, sometimes I had to walk all the
way to Glen Osmond by myself if I lost the bus. It was a lonely road,
with scarcely a house where Parkside now is. All this was long ago.