The Eavesdropper

Tuesday 4^th January

adapted from the 1906 oil painting “The Eavesdropper” by Eugene de Blaas (1843-1931)

Mamma may be a veritable Athena, for the boys are all red and sore from sunburn.  Mamma has applied a salve to take the pain away from the burns, but poor little Arthur is very grumpy and uncomfortable; he looks like a big pink apple!  I don’t feel so jealous of the boys as I did yesterday - Annie, Harriet, Mamma and I are only a little pink on our faces and feet; Mamma says the Lord rewards those who discipline themselves and behave respectably. 

Last night, when Annie and I were left to put the younger ones to sleep, we had a spot of bother with Fred (typical) and this led to me finding out some exciting news.   Fred would not go to sleep; he said his back was too sore to lie down (and seeing it this morning, I now understand he wasn’t really being difficult), so he kept jumping up and down on the bed.  In the end, Fred jumped on top of Billy and Billy lashed out at Fred and the two of them then started fighting.  Then Arthur woke up and started crying and Harriet complained that she couldn’t sleep because the boys were making too much noise. 

So whilst Annie tried to comfort Arthur, I went to get dad.  But when I was in the hall way, I realised that dad and Sgt Bull were talking about something they had read in the Sydney Morning Herald on Saturday.  I did not mean to eavesdrop, but it is so easy to overhear what people are talking about here in the Barracks, especially when it’s full with a regiment; and you do hear so many interesting things.  It looks like the 18^th , the Royal Irish Regiment, will soon be coming and that we will all be going back to England!!!!

Anyway, dad, mamma and Sgt Bull were sitting out on the balcony near our room, enjoying the sunset and talking about a newspaper article. Sgt Bull said that the Colonial Office in England had recalled the 18th from New Zealand.  I thought of Bridget, Ruth and Catherine Warde.  Their father was part of the small group of the The Royal Irish Regiment, that arrived as a vanguard about June last year.  They live in one of the rooms at the eastern end of the Barracks, near the Officer’s Quarters.

The whole regiment was supposed to have transferred to Sydney last year, but the settlers in New Zealand and their Governor, had requested that the regiment remain because the natives were still hostile.  So there’s been a lot of uncertainty as to when, if ever, the rest of the regiment would arrive. However, it seems that the Colonial Office and Lord Granville have now insisted that the regiment leave New Zealand, and the colonists are to look after themselves.  Dad said this was a shame on Great Britain, to abandon her citizens to the perfidy of natives; and Sgt Bull agreed.

Mum asked “Why would Lord Granville recall the Military Forces from New Zealand, where the natives were hostile and not from New South Wales, where the settlement is much more advanced and civilised?”

“Gold.”  was Sgt Bull’s answer.  “There is still enough gold here for other nations to cast covetous eyes on our colony.  That’s why we’re still here.”

“But,” Dad continued, “you’re quite right, Jane.  How long will it be, before he recalls us from the Australian colonies also?”

Mum then asked,” So will all of the Irish Regiment come here, as expected? Or will they all go straight back to England?” 

“They’ve only been recalled from New Zealand, not from New South Wales, at least not yet.  So I should think we can expect them shortly” Was dad’s reply.  Then they started talking about the editor’s comments on all the advancements that have happened this century and the prospects for the Australian colonies as nations in their own right.  I’m not quite sure what they meant by this, but all I could think about was the prospect of another regiment in the Barracks. 

image from Clipart

Well, I for one, hope they never come.  It has been peaceful and pleasant here in the Barracks since the 50^th left; we’ve even had a whole room to ourselves!  I can not bear the thought of having to share with strangers again.  And the privies haven’t smelt either.  But, if dad is right and we may all be recalled to England, then maybe the 18^th will go straight home and won’t come here.

 England!?  Going ‘back’ to England? But we’ve never been there! Even mamma was born in the colony. We don’t know anyone there; we never hear from Dad’s family – it’s as though they don’t exist, and all our friends and school are here! I wonder how long before we know?  

I also wonder how Mr Steel will react if the 18^th comes here, because he believes loyal and royal Irish are oxymorons? How will he treat the men and families of the Irish Regiment?  Will his attitude to us change as well?  Will I still be able to play with Janet?

Day out at Bondi

Monday, 3^rd January

So far it is turning out to be a happy New Year, except for Annie’s sulking.  Dad organised some wagons and horses to take the barrack families to Bondi Beach for our Picnic Day.  We’ve done this every New Year’s Day that I can remember.  We didn’t go on New Year’s Day this year, because it was a Saturday, so the Picnic Day was held over to today.  Usually it looks like the regiment is “moving out”, as mamma says, and a long line of wagons trundled east, down Old South Head Road, but this year with only a few Royal Artillery families, the advance guard for the 18^th and the Garrison staff in residence, we all fitted on three wagons.

We had such fun building sandcastles and paddling on the water’s edge.  Some of the boys stripped down to their britches and cooled off in the waves.  Mamma took little Alfie’s clothes off and dad took him to the water’s edge and let him crawl around in the ripples.  The other families with crawling babies also let them go naked in the water and it wasn’t long before the fathers organised a baby race down the beach – oh, it was so funny watching the dads coaxing their babies on, as though they were young fillies and colts.  

 

Bondi Beach circa 1900, public domain - author unknown. Sydney Powerhouse Museum collection

I admit to feelings of jealousy that the boys and babies were allowed to go into the water and cool off, as we girls weren’t.  Mamma said that “respectable young ladies do not undress in front of other people, let alone go paddling in their underclothes!”  Despite Annie’s and my protestations that we weren’t young ladies, and Harriet’s constant attempts to remove her frock, mamma was firm and we had to remain in our dresses, pinafores  and hats.  Mamma is as keen to improve our family’s social standing, as dad is to have us educated, and so she is always mindful of propriety and respectful behaviour.  But the day was so warm that Annie and I pretended to faint from the heat and at last mamma allowed us to remove our shoes and stockings so we could go paddling.  Once in the water, it didn’t take long before we started splashing each other and soon our clothes were drenched with sea water and sand..  We three girls had such a great laugh that I reckon it was well worth the hiding we got from mamma when she saw the state of our frocks.

She sent us girls to the wash house, as soon as we got home, to clean the sand and seawater out of our clothes.  That was hard work what with the fire going to boil the water, and rubbing the clothes up and down many times on the scrubbing board; Annie got the job of lifting them all out of the copper with the copper stick, on account of she was the only one tall enough to reach.  Annie grumbled that she was doing most of the work and it wasn’t fair – but both Harriet and I were too small, so we couldn’t have helped even if we tried.  Once Annie had the clothes out of the boiler and put through the wringer, she stalked off and left us with the job of spreading of the clothes over the bushes to dry.  I really don’t know what’s gotten into her these days, she hardly ever wants to do things with Harriet and me any more and she’s always seems to be moody and takes it out on me and calls me “Shorty” and “Nuisance”.  I don’t understand!  What have I done to upset her like this?

1870s studio portrait of a laundry maid showing wringer. Flickr from Manchester Art Gallery

 Washing clothes recipe : http://michelleslittlepieceofheaven.blogspot.ca/2013/05/warshing-clothes-recipe.html

 

Skeleton in the cupboard

Sunday, 2^nd of January, 1870

We all went to church this morning.  We go to St Matthias, Church of England, up the hill from the Barracks. All of us children have been christened there. 

I have a secret ....which I can’t tell anyone, except you Dear Dairy; it is our “skeleton in the closet”.....  Mamma is really an Irish Catholic, at least she was christened a Catholic because, she says, her Ma and Da were Catholic.  And she’s Irish, because her Da is Irish; but mamma says she decided to become Church of England when she married dad - which was after she’d buried her Ma at the new St Mary’s Cathedral many years ago. 

The Steels don’t go to our church.  Mr Steel is Scottish and they are Presbyterian and they go to a different church.  Mamma says we must never tell any of the Steels that she was born a Catholic, or that her Da is Irish, because the Steels don’t like Catholics, or the Irish, and Mr and Mrs Steel would not allow us to play with their children any more if they knew, and we would lose our friends. 

Dad says Mr Steel is strongly anti-Fenian and anti-Irish; ever since O’Farrell tried to assassinate Prince Alfred at Clontarf two years ago. So, we must never mention our Irish Catholic connections, because there are many people in Sydney who feel the same way as Mr Steel, and we don’t want to endanger our family’s reputation.  I asked dad “What are Fenians?”  and he explained that they are Irish rebels who object to England’s and the Queen’s rule over Ireland.

And I said, “But why?  Isn’t Ireland part of the British Islands and therefore part of Great Britain and the United Kingdom, just as New South Wales is part of the British Empire?  Why should the Irish object to the Queen’s rule?  Does mamma’s Da object to the Queen’s rule?”

Dad said it was all very complicated and involved politics, but basically, Ireland had been a separate country a couple of hundred years ago, the same way Wales and Scotland had been separate countries, nevertheless there were many Irish who still thought they should be a separate country and wanted the English landowners to leave.  Dad said many of the convicts he used to guard were Irish; some of them were disloyal rebels and criminals, who deserved what they got, but others were victims of circumstances and really decent people.  Dad told me mamma’s Da was not a rebel, if he was, he would never have joined the 50th Regiment of Foot.

So I asked, “Why can’t we tell the Steels that mamma’s Da was a loyal Irish Catholic?”  Dad  replied, “Because ever since O’Farrell tried to shoot Prince Alfred, most  people don’t believe there are any loyal Irishmen.  The words loyal and Irish Catholic are an oxymoron.”  Dad likes to use big words, and he encourages us to use them also, to “extend our vocabulary”.  An oxymoron is when words with opposite meanings are used together, and therefore seemingly contradict each other.

http://www.dictionaryofsydney.org/entry/assassination_attempt_on_prince_alfred_1868

New Year, New Diary

Saturday, 1st  of January, 1870

‘Ey up mi duck?’   That means ‘hello, how are you?’ where my dad comes from.  He often says “ey up mi duck?” to us when he comes in.  Dad says it is a common greeting in Nottingham and Derby, where he grew up.  So I thought this might be a good way to start my diary  - and a New Year – by saying, “Hello”.  Now that I have greeted you my diary, I no longer have a hostile, blank page facing me. 

I am not sure what I should write in this diary; I’ve never had a diary before.  Last year I was reading a book by Ellis Bell, called “Wuthering Heights”, where a young girl named Catherine, kept a sort of a diary.  I wasn’t sure what this was, so I asked Dad.  He told me it was a daily journal where you wrote about things that happened in your life, on that day.  I said, “What? Every day?” and Dad said, “Well, maybe not every day, but as often as you care.”

So, what do I receive for Christmas from dad and mamma?  This diary; and dad has kept asking me, “When do you intend to start writing in it?”  I told him I cared to start with the New Year.  So, today is New Year’s Day and I can put it off no longer.  But, a blank page is somewhat threatening and I am unsure of what more I should write.

Dad’s advice is to write about events. Mamma said that if she could write, she would write all her secret thoughts in a diary, especially one like mine that has a lock and key; which is good, as it will keep out my nosey brothers.  Anyway, I think I’ve made a good start now. 

New Year’s Night;

Dad said I should write about events, so I am going to write about our New Year’s festivities..

Well to start the New Year we all slept in because last night we were up late enjoying the end of year festivities.  Not that there were so many of us here in the barracks this year, but those of us here gathered around the canteen and shared our evening meals.  The Barrack Master, Major Sir John Booth, sent a few carcasses of sheep and pigs for the soldiers to cook for the festivities.  Mamma helped the other wives to prepare these and then with the help of some of the soldiers, they were placed on spits over an open fire, outside the cook houses, yesterday afternoon and slowly cooked for til dinner time.  Several of the older boys took turns helping the soldiers turn the spit handle – even Fred was allowed to help, which set up such a wailing from Billy when he was told he was too young.  The smell of roasting meat wafted around the barracks all afternoon and it was so hard not to drool over the dishes of vegetables and puddings that we girls helped our mothers prepare.

Indeed, we all felt famished by the time Corporal White announced that the meat was ready (over the course of the afternoon he had became sort of a self-appointed chief meat cook).  So, everyone quickly gathered around with plates, spoons, knives and bread eager to get the best cuts of meat.  Towards the end of the meal, my Dad raised his glass and proposed the loyal toast to our dear Queen Victoria, and then similarly honoured the Barrack Master for, “providing such a munificent repast.”

After the clean-up, we children were allowed to take the pots and pans and wooden spoons and we paraded all around the Barracks,  Stephen Bull replaced his elder brother, who was now “too old for childish stuff” as our leader and led us out into Old South Head Road, banging on the pots like they were drums and clanging the lids together as though they were cymbals.   We joined with children who lived opposite the Barracks, Susanna, Janet and John Steel, Peter Charters and the two elder Hogan boys and marched up Old South Head Road banging away on our make-shift instruments, to Juniper Hall at the top of the hill and then back. 

Oh we had so much fun, especially as we paraded past the Paddington Inn and the men there threw us some coins and wished us a Happy New Year. 

Mr Steel, who came with us, tried to stop us from picking up the coins – “tainted money” he said.  Mr Steel is like mamma and does not approve of ‘the demon drink’.  Mamma often goes to the Temperance Hall with Mr and Mrs Steel.  Anyway, despite all his efforts to the contrary, he couldn’t stop the boys from picking up those coins!   Fred and Billy were in such a good mood that they even gave Annie and me a coin each.

After all this we were so tired today and it was fairly hot, so that we didn’t do much but laze around the Barracks  - and I started this diary.

THIS BLOG IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF 

 Emily Mary White (nee Holmes) born Victoria Barracks, Sydney, New South Wales on 25th July 1858.  Died Chatswood, Sydney on 18 June 1932.