EIGHTEEN
JULY 1906
Her head spun. She seldom seemed to have enough time to do all the things she wanted to have done and dusted before she took up her berth on the SS Persic early in August for the seven week journey to Sydney. To the end of July she and her friend and neighbour, Hettie, took a tram to Dunscar Bridge one Saturday afternoon. They were to spend some last time together before she left for Australia. Florence carried with her a basket containing a small picnic to be eaten in the fields at Dunscar. As she sat on the tram the thought went through her mind that most of what she did with Hettie from now on would be the last time they did anything together. Occasionally the thought made her well up and almost cry, but the thoughts were kept at bay by the thought that she would soon be on her way to Sydney. They got off the tram at the Dunscar tram terminus and walked off into the fields by the side of the road, following a wide rutted track which ran at right angles to the main road leading from Bolton to Blackburn, a place foreign to them, and one they had no wish to visit. Blackburn was 'too far away' for them to contemplate a day trip, and in any case, being similar to Bolton in many respects, had no real attraction to the girls.
The trees by the sides of the path were full and heavy with the leaves of late summer. The grass grew long and thick along the dusty stony pathway. Hettie drew in a deep breath taking in the smell of over warm grass in the fields turning soon to hay,
'Smell that Flo,' she said, 'Doesn't it smell lovely?' Florence grinned at her friend who was walking along with her eyes closed in mock ecstatic bliss, and pushed her off the track, causing her to stumble in the ruts.
'You are losing your mind Hettie. That mill has done for you,' she said. Hettie protested.
'No Flo, you know what I mean, it smells so fresh compared with that sweaty pit we work in.' For a moment Florence thought about her words then nodded her head in agreement.
'Suppose you're right Het' she said. 'Does smell good, apart from that cow muck in the field over the fence.' Hettie pushed her friend back and they walked on along the path continuing in their good natured chatter.
Overhead, birds swooped, fluttered and sang their own individual songs. Swallows and House Martins flitted and dived from hedges into the eaves of a ruined building set in the field, an old derelict roofless shell with a single window, like a blind eye, in its short wall. Way overhead beyond their view they heard a Skylark somewhere, and though they both could hear it the bird sang so high in the blinding sunlight it was invisible to them. The two young women walked on for half an hour until both of them had raised a sweat and wanted now to look around for somewhere to sit and rest. Hettie pointed across the fence into one of the fields where a group of three large Elm trees stood tall and alone on the edge of a small hillock some forty yards from the path.
'Let's have a sit over there Flo,' she said. Florence looked in the direction she was pointing and nodded her head. They walked along the path a little further until they came to a large wooden five barred gate into the field set in a hedge of blackberry and blackthorn bushes; it had no securing chain to prevent it being opened, so Florence pushed it hard against the grass over growing it at its base, and the gate jerked open slowly. Pushing the gate closed behind them they walked through the long thick grass the short distance to the trees, and checked around in the grass for any sign of recent visits by cattle. There were none, so they sat themselves down in the shade of one of the trees and tucked into the Crumbly Lancashire cheese sandwiches and a bottle of water they had brought with them in the shopping basket. There was silence whilst they ate and gazed around at the fields and trees.
Florence brushed crumbs of cheese from her dress and glanced across at Hettie who was leant back into the grass, her hands supporting her off the grass itself. She looked up above their heads into the trees. Sunlight shone brightly creating dancing patterns through the leaves and flickering white blinding light into her eyes. She screwed her eyes shut against the light then turned to Florence. 'Big aren’t they?' she said. Florence looked sideways down at her from her position by Hettie’s side, her arms clasped around her knees drawn up against her chin.
'What are?' she asked.
'These trees' she replied. 'They're big aren’t they?' Florence followed her friends gaze upwards and she herself was blinded by the sunlight. She winced at the sudden pain.
'Suppose so,' she murmured, and paused before continuing. 'Wonder what the trees in Australia are going to be like. Wonder if they will be the same as here or something else.' Hettie looked sideways at Florence for a moment then said,
'I suppose some of them will look the same, but there must be a lot of different ones as well. Bet they grow really big, what with all the sunshine they get over there.' Hettie drew herself up off the grass and sat with her arms clasped, like Florence, around her knees. 'You still keen on going Flo? It’s a long way.' She said. Florence nodded her head silently for a moment then glancing at her friend said,
'’Course I am Het. It’s going to be such an adventure, and Tommy’s going to be waiting there anyway. I had a letter from him last week. Tells me he has been to New Zealand and they are going to Melbourne and then in to dock for a couple of weeks in Sydney, just about the time I will arrive.'
'How far is Melbourne from Sydney Flo?' Hettie asked.
'Not too sure, but I’ve had a look at the atlas in the library and it’s along the coast and down a bit from Sydney. Maybe as far from here to London, couple of hundred miles I think. Not sure really.'
'Is your ship going to stop in Melbourne do you think?'
'Well it's supposed to, though from what I read in the White Star Line brochure we are only stopping in Cape Town. That’s in South Africa, but the man in the booking office said something about picking up more passengers in Melbourne, so I suppose we are going to stop there.' Florence took the pop bottle from her side and slurped noisily from it.
'Pig' said Hettie. 'Gosh Flo, wonder if you’ll see any natives there, like we had to fight in the Boer War. What about the wild animals out there. They have Kangaroos and Wobblies I’ve heard, and big spiders that bite your bum when you’re on the privy'. She laughed then paused, and added quietly, 'I think you’re really brave Flo, going there by yourself.' Florence smiled at her friend.
'Don’t know whether it’s bravery or stupidity Het, that’s what Pa says, but I’m not frightened really. More excited. Everything brand new. All the new places and people and things. They’re not Wobblies anyway, they’re Wallabies, they look like small Kangaroos, well the pictures I’ve seen of them look that way. I wonder how different it will be to Bolton, to Lancashire, or even Devonport. I bet it’s nothing like London though. That’s a really big place. Nothing can be as big as London.' Her friend looked at her in envy.
'Wish I had your guts Flo. I think you are really brave. You will write to me won’t you? I want to know everything you see and do. It’s going to be so exciting just waiting for a letter to come from you.' Florence brushed her skirt down clearing the remainder of the cheese and knocking two ants from it onto the grass.
'’Course I’ll write Het. Come on, I think we should be getting home. I’ve still got a lot to do.'
The two young women gathered together the remains of their picnic and placed them into Hettie’s basket, then, brushing the grass seeds from their skirts, they made their way back to the gate and the pathway back to Dunscar Bridge. The tram was almost empty as it arrived at the terminus roundabout. Just the odd person onboard alighted as Florence and Hettie got on, climbing the steps to the top deck. They eagerly made a dash to the front seats so they could see everything there was to see from their vantage point as the tram chugged slowly up the hill to the top at Eagley Bank, then down the slight hill along Blackburn Road until they reached Waterloo Street and home.
The remainder of the two weeks passed in a confusion of visits; to Thomas’s parents house, to her uncles’ and aunt’s places, the library in town to read the latest newspapers in case they mentioned anything about Australia, and the shops in town to purchase last minute items for her packing. At Thomas’s parents house she was given a small oblong box. His mother gave it to Florence with a request that she make sure, ‘our Tommy gets it'. Florence promised she would but could not contain her curiosity and asked her what the box contained.
'It’s a box of nibs for his pen,' she grinned. 'It’s a not too gentle hint to put pen to paper and write to us from time to time.' She paused for a moment then grinning even wider said, 'Though I suppose once you get there he won’t have all that much time to write home will he?' Florence blushed and concealed her feelings by tucking the box down into the bottom of her shopping bag.
The packing took her two days to complete. Not that she had a large store of clothes and belongings to take with her, simply the excitement of packing for the trip engaged a lot of her spare time, until eventually Ma told her to stop messing with it and leave it alone. Florence mentally checked off the contents of her case rather than re-open it once again and run the risk of her mother’s impatience. She had a pair of shoes, two dresses for warm weather and one for cooler weather, though she did not envisage ever being cold again. She had only a sketchy knowledge of the climate she was moving to. Her toothbrush and a small round tin of tooth powder together with a bar of soap were all stuffed into a small drawstring canvas bag which her mother had made for her, finishing it with Florence’s name embroidered on it. She folded two pairs of stockings, three pairs of drawers and two nightdresses into the case, together with a pair of gloves, something she had worn only before to keep her fingers warm, but these were very much more fashionable than practical, and something she looked forward to wearing in Australia. The clothes she had were few. Her thoughts were more about taking with her mementoes of life in Lancashire than the practicalities of her impending new life thousands of miles away. Each time she handled the case or the contents her heart fluttered and she would have to stop and take a deep breath. The last item to be included into the case were the letters written by Thomas during the previous year telling her where he had been and what he had done. They had all been read many times, and one or two of them were now a little dog eared. It seemed that all was going well in his new job, and that the progression he was making onboard was serving him well. The allotment he had made to her each month had gone a long way to creating the cash reserve she had built up, enabling her to purchase her ticket far sooner than she had thought possible. Life was exciting for her, life was good. Nothing was going to prevent her from building her new life for her and her Tommy. Already thoughts had gone through her mind about the family they would produce in Australia, how many children would they have? One boy one girl, or more? One thing was certain in her mind though, she would not produce one child a year as was common in almost every family she knew, including her own. Time would tell, but Florence had made up her own mind. Her plans had formed during the lonely nights by herself in Devonport following the departure of Thomas for the Pacific. The new suitcase her Pa had bought her now stood alone and packed in the corner of the bedroom waiting for the day to arrive.
Florence had insisted that the final day when she left Bolton would be hers alone. The day, Thursday the second of August, would be one to remember for her and the whole of her family. She had insisted that the goodbyes from her parents would take place in Bolton; she did not want them to travel to Liverpool with her. She knew that the day would be tearful and emotional and wanted the departure over and done with before she arrived at the Pier Head in Liverpool. The more she thought about it the more she decided that from leaving them at the station on Trinity Street, she would be by herself. Life would begin again for her at the railway station. And that is the way it happened, her strength of will in time convinced her Ma and Pa, and her brothers, that she would be able to cope well enough by herself, and that for them to tag along would be a disservice to their daughter, and unnecessarily upsetting for all of them. Flo left Bolton by herself, to travel to the far side of a strange world. Aged nineteen.
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