Close call

Saturday 15^th of January

Sorry dear diary, it has been too hot this week to write and it’s also been an uneventful week - until today.  Today my little brother Arthur and I were almost killed.
 

 Dad hired a trap and took our family out to South Head.  Mamma was very excited as she used to live there when she was a young girl.  She said those were happy days before the demon drink really took hold of her Da.  When we asked if he was the lighthouse keeper, she replied that no, he was a signaller at the signal station adjacent to the lighthouse.

Whilst mamma and dad relaxed on the grass with our picnic lunch - and with Anne and Alfie - the other five of us played hide and go seek around the Macquarie Light.  It was so nice to have a cool breeze blowing to cool us all down, as the week had been so hot and we were enjoying running around freely.  Anyway,  it was Freddie’s turn to seek and I had little Arthur with me, because he’s still too young to hide on his own, and I thought that hiding around the base of the lighthouse would be good, as we could work our way around it and stay out of sight of Freddie.  That plan was working and we were both giggling as Freddie looked under bushes and caught Harriet.  Suddenly there was a funny noise - a bit like when the soldiers struck their matches on the walls of the barracks - and we all looked around to see what it was.  


Next thing I knew, Freddie was running fast across the lawn, scooped up Arthur and barrelled into me - like in a football match.  I was about to yell abuse at him from where he had knocked me to the ground, when suddenly a big block of sandstone fell off the Lighthouse and landed where Arthur and I had been standing not five seconds before!  Dad and mamma came running in panic and mamma took little Arthur from Freddie and held him tightly, covering his golden curls with kisses - although all he wanted was to get down to look at the big stone.  I was flabbergasted and found it hard to believe that I owed my life to Freddie.  Dad had both Freddie and I in his arms, asking if we were alright and praising Freddie for his quick thinking, heroics and for a brilliant  rugby tackle.
 

Needless to say, that was the end of the game of Hide and Go Seek and we picked up our picnic things and moved further away from the Lighthouse.  Dad said something about having to report this and that the bands were not holding the structure together anymore.  I don’t know what bands he meant as I didn’t see any musicians anywhere near the lighthouse.

The original Macquarie Lighthouse with the structural steel bands on the left; the new and current Macquarie Lighthouse, South Head on right. From the collection of the State Library of NSW.

King of Misrule

Thursday 6^th January, 1870  - night

What a nuisance Freddie is.  Truly, he has caused me to smudge ink on my book and ruin it!  It’s not fair, he ruins everything!  I hate him! 

Freddie came prancing into our room this evening as I was writing my earlier entry and announced that he was King of Misrule and then started jumping around the room, flinging his arms around and shouting “Misrule! Misrule! Misrule!”  He grabbed the cloth Mamma had placed on the table for dinner, knocked over the little vase of flowers Mamma had put there only five minutes earlier, and then tried to pull me from my chair just as I lifted my pen from the inkwell, causing me to smudge the  entry. 

  

Dad quickly came in from his office when he heard the commotion and promptly led Freddie back there by his ear. We heard dad give Freddie five whacks with the cane, “To teach him to have more respect and discipline”.  I don’t think Fred will ever learn that lesson; he’s more interested in games and pranks.

Anyway, now Dad has sought permission for me to write in the Barracks Library, where my brothers and sisters cannot interfere.  Annie is quite jealous; she says Dad has never favoured her with such a privilege and as the eldest, she should also be granted a similar privilege.  Can you believe it?  Annie is only marginally better than Fred, in that all she ever reads are stories about love and romance.  She never reads the newspaper, except for the serial, nor books about natural history, nor Shakespeare, nor Dickens.

Anyway, I am only allowed to use the Library if there is a responsible person present to supervise me.  Tonight Colonel Fittock is in here.  Dad explained to Colonel Fittock that I am keeping a diary and that Fred was making it difficult for me to concentrate on my writing. He asked if it would be  permissible for me to use the table in the library.  Colonel Fittock looked me in the eye as though he were staring into my soul, whilst he considered the request  and then replied "that it would be alright - under supervision".  As he was present (relaxing in a big leather chair) reading a report of the Crimean War, he would supervise me tonight.    

A British Colonel circa 1860s. Col Fittock is a fictional character.

Colonel Fittock has a gruff voice and scares me when he speaks. He asked me what I wrote about and I told him that I mainly wrote about things that happened that day.  For instance I was writing about how boring today was with no Twelfth Night celebrations, but now I have written about Freddie misbehaving and my being allowed to use the Library. Colonel Fittock asked if he could have a look at my penmanship.  I was too scared to tell him no, so I had to let him look.  I was terrified!  My hand was shaking as I passed my diary to him. I thought he would criticise my writing, which would not be fair – I have written this for myself, not for him to peruse as though it were a writing lesson with Miss Drury! 

But I was so wrong.  He complemented me on my “neat hand”.  He said that I obviously “took after my father”.  He asked me if I enjoyed school; I told him that I enjoyed reading and geography lessons, but I was not very good at needlework.  Colonel Fittock nodded his head and told me “To keep on with the good work.”  He then suggested that I should include some description of where I lived and some more detail about my family.  I was too scared to ask him why?  I mean, the diary is supposed to be for me, my secret thoughts.  Why would I need to describe where I live, when I know that?  It makes no sense to me.  He probably thinks I’m writing about those things now, but I’m not.