Government House, Perth,
_1st May 1884_.
Before we left Rottnest at the end of March, the dry weather showed
signs of breaking up, and the extreme heat gave way before an
occasional distant thunderstorm, of which only a few heavy drops of
rain reached our island; but even these cooled the air, and freshened
us up amazingly. One great inconvenience which we escaped by spending
the summer at Rottnest, has been the extra heat caused by the numerous
bush fires on the mainland. They could be seen, blazing belts of fire
by night, and thick clouds of smoke by day, in three or four places at
once along the coast. Sometimes it looked as though Fremantle itself
must be on fire, but the morning light showed us the smoke hanging
heavily over the background, and the white houses of the little Port
gleaming cheerfully in their accustomed place.
It is impossible to say what sets the bush on fire so often during
the summer. Of course, sometimes it is owing to gross carelessness,
but more often the blaze is started by a burning-glass, made by an
accidental bit of an old bottle flung aside months, or it may be years,
before the sun happens to find it out. The sheltering bush into which
the glass was thrown has perhaps been cut down, or itself burned in a
former fire; the scanty grass and leaves are just so much dry tinder,
and a little extra heat in the sun’s rays is all that is necessary.
It is, however, curious to see how long and how fiercely a fire will
rage through a “bush” (remember I mean a giant forest!) and how little
real damage it will do. Of course until the next heavy rains everything
looks charred and ruined; but when the spring comes round again, all
the herbage and underwood is greener than ever; the few trees which
have fallen are as busy putting forth young shoots as if they knew
nothing of the fire, and only the blackened stems of the thick enormous
jarrah trees are left to show what has happened. This blackening only
means singeing, and the tree is as good as ever.
I had to go across to Perth on business for a couple of days, at the
end of February, and I can hardly tell you what an aggravation of the
heat these immense fires caused. As I drove up from Fremantle I saw how
one fire had only been stopped, by a wide and bare bit of road, from
burning up a little homestead on the opposite side of the way. The poor
people who lived in the cottage must have been sadly frightened, for
the tops of the tall gum trees, close by, had plainly been on fire at
one time, and their bit of garden looked quite scorched from the flames
darting across the road. On the return sail across the bay we specially
noticed how cool and light the air became, in spite of a hot sun, as
soon as we got far enough away from land to escape the breath of the
fires.
For the last month the evenings and mornings have been deliciously
fresh, and the nights really cold. Certainly the spring and autumn
months are exquisite in Western Australia. Long stretches of absolutely
perfect weather. Some days of the summer are too hot for comfort, and
there are rather long intervals of cold rain and wind in winter; but
neither extreme lasts for more than a week or two at a time, and is
therefore quite bearable.
I have been very busy ever since my return arranging all the nice new
furniture, and enjoying the flowers and fruit of the garden which has
remained green all summer. Every other blade of grass in and about
Perth looked shrivelled and burnt up at the end of April; but these
cool arcades of vines, and clumps of shady olives keep as delightfully
green and fresh. The abundance of fruit is nearly over, but we still
have grapes and figs, and the oranges are coming in. The quality of the
fruit is not very good, but that is only for want of proper pruning and
grafting. Sandy as the soil is, it appears capable of growing anything
with cultivation. I dare say you would have been quite content with the
peaches, pears, and apricots, which were very sweet, though small, and
rather tasteless, but in great quantities. There are lots of almonds,
too, in the garden, and a few apples.
The only thing I have to tell you about this mail is my postponed
Christmas trees; you remember they had to be put off, first, on account
of the measles, next, for our going to Rottnest, and even after that,
for other reasons. However, we luckily chanced on three absolutely
perfect days towards the middle of April, and upwards of five hundred
children in Perth saw a Christmas tree for the first time in their
lives, in Easter week. I don’t believe we could have had the trees at
Christmas, even if the measles had not broken out, for I am sure the
tapers would all have melted in the shut-up room, large as it was.
The first afternoon I gave a sort of large garden-party, to which all
my friends’ children, as well as themselves, were asked; and very
pretty the little people looked in their smart frocks, with eyes
wide-opened from expectation. The brilliant tree, with its large
dangling waxen angel, rather alarmed the younger ones; but they only
clung the more to their mothers’ hands, and were soon quite bold and
happy, with a drum, or trumpet, or something which made a hideous
noise. All my friends declare I have turned quiet Perth into an
unbearable place by my musical instruments!
One of the groups which helped to make this first Tree-day so pretty
was formed by my “Own Cadet Corps.” I assure you I am very proud of
my soldier lads; they know their drill so well, and are ardent in the
performance of their duties. They furnished the Guard of Honour for
the tree, and you can’t think how smart they looked. We have more
recruits than uniforms, and I really believe if I could only clothe
them, I should have a youthful regiment all to myself. They have spent
an afternoon here occasionally before this, and gone through their
military exercises on the lawn, in a highly satisfactory manner,
enjoying a game of football, and a heavy tea afterwards, immensely.
Their captain who has, by the way, ever so many other things to do,
takes such enormous pains with them that it would be odd if they were
less perfect in their drill than they are. The serjeant is a very fine
handsome lad, and Louis is the corporal! I am sure if either of those
boys eventually becomes a Field Marshal (which is the least I expect
from them), their _bâtons_ will not give them half as much pride and
delight as their stripes have afforded them. Perhaps the soldier to
whom my heart most inclines, is a wee dot, full of martial ardour, but
of such tender years, that not only is he too small for the ranks
(that fault will be cured next year we hope!), but his rifle has to be
made for him. The other boys carry rifles of a disused pattern, cut
short in the barrels, but still capable of being fired off. The only
time I ever feel inclined to summarily disband my Corps is when I know
they are going out for ball practice, with real cartridges in their
pouches. I live in terror of Louis’s secreting one of these deadly
missiles, and practising in the garden. It is quite dangerous enough
as it is to walk in the garden and have a light spear, tipped with a
needle or pin, thrown with terribly accurate aim, flitting past you,
nor do I find Louis’s shout of “Don’t be afraid, I’m aiming over your
head!” at all reassuring.
But to return to my tree, I confess that I enjoyed the second day more,
and the third day most of all. It was so satisfactory to see the way
the school children first ate an enormous tea, then had a noisy game of
romps on the large lawn, and finally, as soon as it grew dusk enough
to light up, the sight of the tree. I could invite but fifty girls or
boys from each school, and that only represented about a-third of their
number. Still we numbered over two hundred that second evening, and
still more on the third. The children came in charge of their teachers,
looked very nice, and behaved perfectly well. After tea and a romp
outside they marched in, one school at a time, took a good look at the
tree, and then Pater—who enjoyed it every bit as much as I did—helped
me to hand each child its little gift from the tables at the side. We
did not touch the tree till the last evening, and then we “looted” it
for the amusement of the Orphans.
As I told you, we enjoyed this third evening the most of all. In the
first place it seemed a greater treat to these poor lonely little
people, whose lives are not so brightened by amusement and presents
as those of the children who can live at home with their parents; and
in the next funnier things happened. Besides one hundred and fifty
Orphans I had contingents from the children of the Police, from the
Pensioners’ children, the Volunteer Band, all the Mission children, and
a great many outsiders who did not belong to any particular class. We
recognised several little guests on that third day, who had also been
present the day before, which was against all rules; but they were so
intensely happy it was impossible to send them away, and I contented
myself by not giving them a second lot of presents. However, they did
not mind that; what they most cared for was the romp on the grass, and
another sight of the tree. One funny, fat, little fellow was standing
at the tea-table munching a bun with great contentment, when father
came up and recognised him as having been there the day before. He wore
such a conspicuous cap, with a large red tuft at top, that one could
not help knowing him again, so the Governor said, “Hulloa! you were
here yesterday, weren’t you? Who are you?” The little chap looked up
as brave as possible, nodded his head, and said fearlessly, in answer
to the two questions, “Yes, I was, sorr; I’m an Independent, and I’m
coming again to-morrow.” You may think how we all laughed.
Another very pretty sight was the serjeant of Pensioners, with the
dozen little children he was in charge of, and whom he kept near him
all the time. The contrast between this fine handsome old soldier,
covered with medals, and the group of blooming children at his knee,
was really charming. He apologised gravely to me for the wilfulness of
a thirteenth child, who had refused to stop behind and had run after
him, not being included in what he called “the draft.” One could not
help laughing at this little monkey, but he was much too pretty to
scold; he had huddled on his best clothes in such a hurry they were
all upside down, and he carried his shoes in his hand. The anxiety
and eagerness in his chubby face was something wonderful, and when I
laughed and said, “Oh yes, he may stop,” he gave a sigh of relief, and
instantly sat down on the grass to put on his new shoes.
It was a brilliant moonlight night, and, even after coming out of the
tree-lighted room, everything looked as clear as day. The children
were quite as much pleased with the tapers and flags and shiny things
off the tree as with their presents. The dear little orphans from the
Roman Catholic Homes grouped themselves in front of the house, and
before they left sang, quite charmingly, some of their prettiest songs,
winding up with God save the Queen, “by the whole strength of the
company!”
It was all very successful, and personally I enjoyed it quite as much
as even the small “Independent.” The children, big and little, rich and
poor, all looked so nice, and behaved so admirably well. My one regret
was that I could not manage to have all those who were left out in the
cold, for want of room, poor little dears; and I make many projects of
trying to have other Trees, specially for them, next year, please God.
I was quite astonished to find how many children attended the various
schools in Perth. I should think there must be about eight hundred; a
good many for so small a place.
I am sure I never could have got a bun into each child’s mouth, or a
present into its hand, those two last days, if it had not been for “my
girls.” You don’t know anything yet about my girls, do you? Ah, well!
I am sorry for your ignorance. Imagine being able to choose from a
bevy of charming volunteer daughters, with not an ugly one among them.
They are all quite as useful and as devoted to me as if they were
real daughters fifty times over. Whenever I want flowers settled, or
children fed, or help with bazaar work, or anything, I have only to
summon “my girls,” and lo, whatever is pressing on me with a sense of
weight, is done directly. At these Trees, not only did they slave at
the tea-tables, saving me all trouble and fatigue, but one took the
bags of marbles in her charge, another the tiny sacks of sugar-plums, a
third the flags, a fourth the spare tapers (which I really believe the
children prized more than anything else), and so forth. My Cadet Corps
was highly ornamental that first day, but my girls not only looked like
so many blossoms, but were exceedingly useful on the three afternoons,
and must have been much more tired than I was, when everything had
ended happily.