TWENTY
LIVERPOOL TO CAPE TOWN AUGUST 1906
That first morning onboard the Persic something awoke Florence with a start. She opened her eyes and immediately knew where she was, but it was the strange noise which woke her which she had difficulty placing. She held her breath in case the noise repeated itself and then breathed out again when it didn't. She moved her head to one side and saw that her cabin mate, Martha, was apparently still fast asleep. Florence reached to the small cubby hole set in the wall by the side of her head and took out the wrist watch she had placed there last night. The time showed a little after eight in the morning. Smiling to herself she stretched long and luxuriantly, then turned onto her side fully, and with her head supported by her hand she started to read the ships programme which they had found slipped under the doorway last night on returning to the cabin. Breakfast would be served at eight thirty in the main dining room, followed by lunch at one o'clock and dinner at six thirty in the evening. The thought of three heavy meals a day brought a smile to her lips and she turned over onto her back and threw off the bedclothes. Martha stirred in her bed and looked towards Florence. 'Mornin'' she murmured sleepily.
'And a very good morning to you young lady,' called Florence loud and joyfully, and kicked her feet off the bed onto the floor. 'Come on lazy bones. Time to get out of your pit and off to breakfast.' Her friend moaned in mock horror.
'Don't tell me you are always this cheerful in the morning' she said.
'Always. Makes you sick doesn't it?' Florence replied grinning and started to dress herself. Martha climbed slowly out of her bed and the two of them juggled and nudged each other for several minutes as they both tried to dress at the same time in the confined space between the two beds in the room. Eventually they were dressed and made their way down to the large dining room in the deck below. At a little after a quarter to nine the room was almost full and the two young women waited patiently until a waiter found them an unoccupied table against one of the walls. He handed them each a menu and said,
'Have a look at what you want and I’ll be back in a bit, but to start with you’ll find porridge and Quaker Oats, toast and rolls on that table over there,' turning his head in the direction of a long table set further along the wall by which they were seated. Florence nodded her head as the young man left them. They looked surreptitiously around at their fellow passengers taking breakfast with them, and discovered that whilst there were some obviously married couples, some with children and infants, there were also some unaccompanied women like themselves, but the majority of the people onboard appeared to be single, unattached young men.
'Oooo,' cooed Martha, her head bent low over her menu.
'Behave yourself Martha Luck,' Florence said quietly. 'You’re a married woman.'
'I know, but I’m just looking at the menu,' she replied, and took the menu card in her hand close up to her face, a broad smile creasing her face. 'There’s a lot to choose from isn't there?' she giggled.
'Martha!' Florence admonished, hissing between her teeth. 'Stop it. Concentrate on what you’re going to eat.'
'That’s the trouble Flo. I am.' Martha looked from behind the menu, grinning back at her.
The menu was extensive. In addition to the toast and rolls, tea and coffee and porridge, which would normally have been a substantial breakfast for either of the two women, there was also bacon and fried eggs, Devilled bones, Minced Collops and mashed potatoes, Mutton chops, chipped potatoes, Sausage and rice, stewed Tripe and onions, Curry and rice, Irish stew, Liver and Bacon, Dry Hash, Sausage and Mashed potatoes. It took them both several minutes to decide on what they wished to eat. The waiter stood by their sides patiently, occasionally explaining to them what individual dishes were, the ones they had never encountered before. Finally they made their choices and sat back to wait for the waiter to return. The noise in the dining room rose as people sat back to wait for their breakfasts to be brought to them, and when the meals were brought, the noise level dropped again as people fell into eating their dishes.
After breakfast Flo and Martha took themselves around the deck to exercise some of the food off. 'I can’t see me eating this much for the rest of the trip' Martha said.
'I’ll be as fat as a pig before we get to Sydney.' Florence replied as they considered whether to sit on one of the wooden deck seats and chairs which were lined up on part of the deck area. 'Keep going Martha. We need to get some exercise,' Florence said as Martha appeared to be ready to sit on one of the chairs. Martha walked along with her, until finally, after an hour they were sufficiently tired to consider they warranted a rest. Florence lounged back in the deck chair on the outer deck, examining the other canvas seats arranged alongside them. The sun was shining brightly over the far side of the ship, casting a shadow over them as they sat on the starboard side. Though still in the shade they were soon hot. Florence lifted her head to look over the side of the ship. The sea was a deep blue and only a few waves broke the surface, the sunlight flickering on the tips of the waves as they glided smoothly through the water. 'Where do you reckon we are Flo?' Martha asked.
'Somewhere at sea I think,' Florence replied grinning. Martha flicked her hand across from her deck chair and hit Florence on the arm.
'Smarty pants' she said.
'I think we are somewhere near France or Spain at the moment, on our way down to Africa. Should be crossing the line in a week so I think.' Martha glanced across to her.
'What do you mean, crossing the line?' she asked.
'It’s when we cross over the Equator. Sometimes they do a sort of party onboard ships when you cross from the north to the south, when you go over the Equator line.' Florence replied. 'I read about it in a book from the library in town. It’s a sort of ceremony which people going across the Equator are involved in by the crews of ships. We might get involved in it, or maybe not. I think there’s too many passengers onboard for everyone to be involved.' She paused for a moment before continuing. 'No. They’ll probably just put on a show for us using the new crew members.' She nodded her head to confirm what she had said. Martha stretched out her arms above her head,
'Oh, it’s beautiful isn’t it? I could manage this sort of life forever and ever. Couldn’t you?'
'Might get tired of it eventually, but I think it would take a long time.' Florence grinned.
The two women stayed on deck for some time, finding themselves dozing into a light sleep from time to time, the unaccustomed heavy breakfast acting well as a soporific. They were roused from their slumberous state by the sound of a bell ringing somewhere from inside the ship. Other passengers seated alongside them on the deck woke with a start and stared from one to the other wondering what this interruption was about. A sailor carrying a tray on his upturned hand walked slowly along the deck calling out,
'Lunch is served ladies and gentlemen. Lunch is served.' Florence groaned loudly and said softly.
'Bloody hell Martha, what're they trying to do, feed us up to kill us for fresh meat?' The two women eased themselves from the canvas deck chairs and walked slowly down into the dining room to undergo yet another trial by food.
At the end of the first week both women noticed that some of their clothes were beginning to become quite tight around their waists, and so they decided to cut down on what they were eating, but both found it difficult. The food was not only of a high quality, and fresh from the onboard refrigerated stores, but also came in quantities both women found difficult to refuse.
The White Star Line had gone to great lengths to change the nature of life onboard for the passengers to Australia. The ships were bigger than earlier ones on the route, and built specifically for the Australia run. The SS Persic, one of five in a new Jubilee class built for the line, was five hundred and fifty feet long, sixty three across the widest part and forty three feet from the bottom of the hull to deck. There were areas set aside on the deck for sports, and both women took part in Deck Tennis; Shuffleboard and Deck Quoits competitions were held daily. They also took advantage of the free postcards and headed notepaper and envelopes to write from time to time to their respective families, settling themselves in the comfortable chairs set at the round tables in the Reading and Writing room. Along the main deck areas there were lines of canvas chairs and deck chairs for the sole use of passengers, and during the warm weather of Florence’s voyage these were constantly in use by all the passengers. Whilst the vessel also carried cargo, the passengers were never inconvenienced by its presence. Even when the crew were engaged in loading or unloading at the ports where the ship called. Even the ten thoroughbred horses onboard appeared to be enjoying the trip, little or nothing could be detected of their presence by the other human passengers. From time to time during their post dinner evening walks around the ship, they would peep into the Smoking Room and catch glimpses of men settling back in easy chairs smoking on their pipes, cigars or cigarettes. Occasionally Florence considered causing a stir by entering the room by herself, but her nerve failed her at the last moment. In any case, she thought, I don't smoke, but it would be good to cause a bit of a commotion, just for once to go into the room.
Five days out from Liverpool Martha stood by herself on the starboard side of the upper deck looking south towards the horizon. The sun was shining brightly in a clear cloudless sky. Yet, it appeared to her that a large bank of dark cloud was covering part of the horizon, and to Florence's mind this was a sure sign of forthcoming bad weather. She searched around for Mr Cookson and caught sight of him on the lower deck beneath her. He was supervise a gang of four men who were clearing away tarpaulin coverings from one of the forward hatches, whilst another group of sailors appeared to be slackening off the lines which restrained one of the small winches set in the forward part of the deck. Mr Cookson glanced around the deck at the work the men were doing and took off his cap for a moment to wipe his brown. He saw Florence on the deck above him alongside the bridge and raised a hand in a friendly greeting to her. She waved back and called to him.
'Mr Cookson, what's that big cloud? Is it a storm?' she called. She pointed out to the horizon whilst holding onto the polished wooden deck rail against the gently swelling of the sea. Mr Cookson's head turned and followed in the direction she was pointing, then turned back and called up to Florence, 'That's Madeira Miss.' Noting he was busily occupied with work with the gang of men Florence simply nodded her head and silently mouthed a thank you, before turning to walk back along the deck so as not to distract him further. For fifteen minutes she stood watching as the cloud shrouded island came closer, until her legs became tired of simply standing, and she found herself a deck chair on the lower deck where she could watch the unfolding scene in seated comfort. Florence eased herself down into the seat and watched the sea rising and falling gently in her view. The sun shone down on her, forcing her to screw up her eyes against the bright light. Soon she was asleep, and remained that way until a short kick on her right ankle woke her with a start. It was Martha. 'You were snoring like a good 'un there Flo,' she said. Florence pulled herself upright in the seat and ran her hand across a thin line of dribble from her mouth across her chin. 'I weren't were I?' she muttered, looking around her to see who was sitting close by and who might have seen her in her dishevelled state. There was no one. 'Like a good 'un Flo.' Her friend said as she pulled up a second deck chair alongside Florence.
'Anyway, what's so special for you to spend so much time up here. Found a new feller have you?' she asked. Florence hit out at her with her hand and only just missed catching her arm. 'You cheeky monkey' she said. 'Happily married woman I am, don't you know?' The two women settled down in silence to watch the bank of cloud growing closer by the minute. Their silence was interrupted by the approach of Mr Cookson from the rear of the ship. He stopped in front of them and raised a hand to his cap. 'Afternoon ladies. Enjoying the sun?'
'Thanks Mr C. ' Florence replied, 'We are indeed. Lovely isn't it? Bit like Blackpool on a good day.' The three of them laughed and Mr Cookson made to leave them, but Florence stopped him. 'Mr Cookson. Why is that cloud bank so big? It seems to be getting bigger and bigger the closer we get, and I keep thinking I can see bits of something peeping over the top of it.'
'That's the island of Madeira.' He said. 'It's about thirty five miles long and very high, made of old volcanoes, and really lovely. Very green and lots of trees and flowers and things. We are going to pull in there to take on some fresh fruit and maybe some fish. They have one like a snake which they catch by shining a light into the sea. They call it a Black Scabbard.' He stopped as the woman looked at him in disbelief.
'Go on, pull the other leg.' Florence said. 'It's got bells on and plays Annie Laurie.' Cookson frowned at her, not understanding quiet what she had meant. 'I'm serious,' he continued, 'The fish lives deep down in the sea but it comes up to near the surface at night to feed. The fishermen shine a big light down on the surface and that attracts the fish to them. When it comes up they hook it on a line and then it's next stop is the market. So, we could see some on the dinner table soon.'
Florence and Martha looked at each other not knowing just how much of what Mr Cookson had said that they could trust, and decided they could trust him. 'So when are going to see this Black Scabbard then?' Martha asked. Cookson took a silver plated pocket watch from a fob attached to his coat lapel and flipped open the case. 'Should be no more than a few hours from now.' He said. 'We'll be taking on fruit and vegetables from the island then be off again.' Florence turned her head towards the island which was now becoming clearer as the ship drew closer. She saw that the cloud was shrouded over the mountains on the island only on the north side as the Persic drew closer to the west of the island.
Within an hour the ship had drawn round the tip of the island where, for the first time, she had a good view of the land. It was so green and mountainous, she had never before seen anything like it. She could clearly make out forests of tall trees and roads cut through them, but as her eyes came down the mountain to the sea, she was unable to make out a quayside substantial enough to take the Persic. She stood by the ships rail watching as the ship drew closer and closer to a township some distance from the western tip they had rounded. Small towns and hamlets seemed to be built onto the sides of precarious mountainsides, held together by small sinewy roads which followed the rise and fall of the hills until they fell down to the sea. Slowly the ship drew close to the town where a small jetty had been built in stone to incorporate two natural stone outcrops close to the far edge of the town. The jetty itself was quite high and formed of smooth concrete. Men and boys ran along its length as the ship drew slowly to a halt in the bay before dropping its anchor, stopping stern first to the edge of the shore. That had answered Florence's unasked question.
She walked along to the stern of the ship and watched as small boats with two or three men on board rowed out from the rocky shore to the ships' side. Leaning over the rail she watched a conversation carried out between the men in the bobbing boats and one of the ship's crew who was standing on the lower level of a metal ladder stretching from the side of the ship almost to the waters' edge. It seemed that between the men one of them spoke Portuguese or English, she was not close enough to make out precisely what was being said, but guessed from their activities that some sort of transaction was being negotiated. Over the next half hour the small boats left the safety of the Persic and returned to the rocks on the shore where large loaded sacks, piled high on the shore line, were lifted by teams of men into the rowing boats and then ferried out to the ship. Once there the derrick was swung over the side and the sacks brought onboard where men of the ship's crew carried them between them into the holds of the ship. The refurbishment of fresh fruit and vegetables had taken no more than an hour and a half, and then the anchor was raised and once more the ship sailed out from the island, south towards Africa.
Two days later there was a small riot onboard, or so it would have seemed to a casual observer. The passengers crushed to the rear of the ship to watch the proceedings. The disturbance was the Crossing the Line ceremony which the ship’s crew put on for the entertainment of the passengers. On the stern deck the crew arranged a canvas swimming pool which they filled with water from the ocean, and around it they built a series of long planks for the passengers to sit on whilst the entertainment progressed. The various members of Neptune’s assistants were displayed in all their costumed glory to the amusement of the passengers, as the crew went through the ritual of Crossing the Line. The ‘Pollywogs,’ one of the names given to crew who had never before made the trip, were inducted into the ritual. This involved them being smothered in various sticky foodstuffs, until it was impossible for the passengers to recognise who was who. Eventually they became trusted ‘ Shellbacks.’ This was followed by a ducking in the canvas swimming pool, the newly inducted members of Neptune’s men became lifelong members of his crew, or Sons of Neptune. Lasting for over two hours the passengers were happy when it all came to an end, and they were able to stretch their legs and resume a leisurely walk on the promenade decks. A memorable day for everyone, particularly the inducted crew!
During the course of the journey Florence came to be aware of the variety of the social makeup of the passengers. Most appeared to her to be single men. Obviously attracted by the tales from the gold fields of Victoria, she thought. Though now it had been some fifty years ago, the gold fields were still attracting would be prospectors. There were several farmers with their wives and families on the ship, attracted by the subsidised passage and the promise of free or cheap land for cultivation in the new country. Australia had become a Federation of States only five years earlier, rather than a colony of the Empire. After much politicking and delays and votes, Australia had become a Federation of the various states, and this coming of age of the country had produced a steady outburst of new ideas and incentives to try to encourage immigration into the country. Suddenly the nation, and its people, found that they could try almost anything they wished without interference from England. New ideas were tried out without having to look over their shoulders at 'the Old Country'. It had been a successful process, so successful that the White Star Line, along with other shipping lines, had become convinced enough of the burgeoning passenger trade to build ships specifically for the transport of immigrants to the country. In view of the lengthy nature of the trip to the new country, as opposed to some of the other major immigrant destinations, mainly Canada and America, the ships were constructed to carry more passengers in more comfort. This decision had the effect of removing some of the stigma attached to the label ‘immigrant’ from the ship, and the subsequent connotation of ‘steerage’ class. The single class ships built by the line had proved successful. All of the ships were of almost twelve thousand tons, and capable of carrying up to three hundred passengers in addition to a substantial volume of cargo; this was an important factor in providing revenue for the vessel on its return journey from Australia to the England. For Florence, Martha and many of the other working class people making the voyage alongside them, the standard of life on the ships provided a level of comfort to which they had never before been exposed. The quantity and quality of food they enjoyed onboard was far higher than the majority of them had had in their homes in England. The provision of entertainment on the ships, the rooms set aside for quite reflection, the provision of books in a small library in the Reading and Writing Room, and the organised music and sports which took place on a regular basis, on an almost daily basis, gave them a taste of a life they had perhaps only read about before stepping on the ship at Liverpool.
Three weeks after leaving Liverpool Florence was standing on the deck one morning after breakfast. She saw what appeared to be a low cloud covering part of the eastern horizon, a cloud which seemed neither to move nor grow bigger in any way. She stood alone watching the cloud for a few moments when she heard the footsteps of someone approaching her. It was Mr Cookson, the Chief Mate. He was walking along the deck towards her. She moved back from the rail into his path and smiled at him when he stopped and raised his right hand to the neb of his cap in a casual salute.
'Good morning Ma’am. Can I help you?' he asked. Florence smiled broadly at him. She liked this man, had done from the first day he had shown her onboard. She felt he was a warm individual who always appeared to try to make life onboard happy and enjoyable for all the passengers.
'Yes please Mr Cookson, you can.' She turned back to the ships rail and pointed out across the ocean to where she had seen the cloud. 'Is that a cloud out there Mr Cookson, or is it land?' The First Mate stood by her side at the rail and followed with his eyes where her hand was pointed. For a moment he screwed up his eyes under his cap against the sun before turning to her.
'That, Mrs Lowe, is Africa. To be more precise, that is Table Mountain which you can see, the mountain which lies just behind Cape Town, our next port of call.' He turned and smiled at her. 'Well done Mrs Lowe. I think that you are the first person onboard to spot land since leaving Madeira.' Florence beamed widely and turned back to look at the cloud which lay over Table Mountain.
'Well I never' she said softly. 'Africa. How exciting.'
'We are due in port there some time tomorrow to take on a few more passengers and to deliver some of the cargo we have onboard. We should be in port for twelve or eighteen hours before we set off again for Melbourne.' He paused then asked, 'This is your first time here isn’t it?' Florence nodded her head.
'Yes, first time I’ve ever been out of England. It’s all strange and very exciting for me, and for Martha as well.'
'Not frightened about it?' Cookson asked.
'Not really, more excited than anything else. I’m really looking forward to seeing my husband again in Sydney. That’s another four weeks though isn’t it?'
'That’s right, four weeks after we leave Cape Town we’ll be pulling in to Sydney, couple of days before that we’ll stop off in Melbourne for a day, then off again to Sydney.'
Florence was thoughtful for a few seconds, considering what he had said. She looked up at him and then said softly,
'A lot of people’s lives will change thanks to you, this ship, and Commodore Ditchburn, won’t they Mr Cookson?' Cookson looked down at the young woman by his side. He was a little taken aback by her question, it displayed a level of intelligence and thoughtfulness he had never anticipated in a working class woman from the north of England.
'I suppose you’re right Ma’am' he said, 'Never really thought of it very much to tell the truth, but, yes, you are right. A lot of people will be starting a new life in Australia won’t they? I don’t think much about it as I tend to think of what I will be doing when I get back home after whatever trip I’ve been on, but, yes, you are probably right' He mulled over their short conversation for a moment, then, touching his hat once more excused himself and carried on walking slowly along the deck. Florence stared out across the sea at the low patch of cloud lying on the horizon to the east and south of their position.
Florence stood by the ships rail for a few minutes more until she realised that the cloud she could see was not becoming any larger, so went downstairs to the Reading and Writing Room. The staircase which curled down between the two decks was grand and beautifully finished in wood panelling, picked out with white, cream and ivory coloured paintwork. On the wall were framed prints of old sailing ships, some of them having belonged in the past to the White Star Line, and others of fishing boats close in to the shore. In the Writing Room itself were framed maps of the oceans of the world. On them Florence used to frequently and excitedly trace the path the ship was taking to Australia. She opened the door and walked through into the room. One of the tables was occupied by four young men, all reading out of date English newspapers. She nodded an acknowledgement to them and walked over to one of the larger maps on the wall. It showed the earth laid out in a way she had never seen before. All the countries were flat and the seas also. She ran a finger from England to France then on to Spain and Africa, stopping at Cape Town on the southern tip of the continent. Then her eye went to the right, across the map, until she came to the western edge of Australia and traced her finger round the bottom to come to Melbourne, and then up a little to the right until finally her finger stopped at Sydney. For a few minutes she studied the map in detail, her eye going from one country to the next and across the sea, trying to understand out why it took three weeks for the long journey from England to Cape Town, yet took four weeks from Cape Town to Melbourne, which did not seem to be further in distance on the map. It did not appear to make any sense.
She had been standing there for several minutes when she became aware that one of the men had risen from his seat to walk over to her. She turned and smiled as he stood to one side of her. He was older than her and wore a brown flecked worsted three piece suit over a white collar and dark brown tie. His hair was dark brown and thick on his head over a long angular tanned face. He smiled and nodded towards her.
'Can I be of assistance to you?' he asked. Florence nodded her head and pointed to the tip of Africa and then across the map to Australia.
'I’ve been trying to work out why it takes so long to go from here to here, and yet it only takes three weeks from England to here,' she said, indicating Cape Town. 'I can’t work it out.' He grinned at her then said,
'It’s all because of the way the map is laid out and what they call Great Circles.' Florence’s expression showed complete puzzlement. 'Well,' he said, 'To start with, the earth is round, not flat like this map. And it’s not exactly round like a ball either, it’s more like an orange, flat at the top and bottom.' Florence pulled a mental picture to her mind of the large fresh orange she had eaten the previous night during her dinner. She nodded her understanding and the young man continued. 'Imagine that Cape Town is near the bottom of the orange and directly below England, and near to where it starts to go flat.' He paused for the image to sink in then carried on. 'Well, from Cape Town here on the map you have two ways to go to Australia. One is to go right round on the same level as Cape Town, the same latitude it’s called, or, you can go further south and then when you are level with Melbourne, come north. Does that make sense?' Florence looked at where he had been pointing on the map and tried to relate it to the orange in her head.
'I think so.' She finally answered. 'So if you just went on the same latitude, then it would be a longer voyage, on the map, than if you went here and then north to Melbourne?' She traced the route on the map as she spoke, going deep down to the south of the map and then north to Australia.
'You’ve got it.' The young man said. 'In the old days, before steam ships, well, ships had to follow the trade winds, and the trade winds blew along the lines of latitude, so ships took a lot longer because they had to sail before the winds a lot longer. But now because we don't rely on wind and sails we can ignore the winds and just go where the compass takes us. And that doesn’t take as long. But, it’s still a long way from Africa to Australia, whether you are following the trade winds or going under steam.' Florence looked at him.
'Thank you. You’ve made it almost clear enough for me to understand, except for the thing you said about Great Circles.' He shook his head ruefully,
'Sorry. The Great Circle routes are the shortest routes on the earth’s surface. That’s perhaps the best way to describe them. Is that any better?'
'Yes it is. Thanks, you’ve been very helpful.' Florence nodded to him and turned back to leave the room by the door she had entered, her mind turning over shortest distances and Great Circles and lines of latitude. I think I understand what he meant, she said to herself, and closed the door behind her, walking out into a light breeze blowing across the deck. She walked along the deck for a while until she came to where the deckchairs had been placed whilst the passengers had been at breakfast. They were sheltered from the breeze by wooden panelling which ran from the top of the deck rail down to the deck itself. Martha was slumped in one of the seats along with several other passengers. There was an empty chair beside her.
'Hello Martha?' she said and sat down beside her. Martha shielded her eyes against the sun which by now had climbed quite high in the sky.
'Oh hello Flo,' she replied. 'Thought you’d got lost.'
'No, not at all. Been learning all about Great Circles and why it takes so long to get to Australia.'
'And?' her friend replied.
'Too hard for you to understand, what with your limited education and all' Florence quipped.
'Cheeky monkey,' Martha said grinning. 'What’s for lunch?'
'Oh my God and little fishes Martha, nothing’ll fit you by the time we get to Sydney.'
The two women sat and relaxed in the sun, moving only for meals and when their conscience forced them to move. It was a lazy time for them both, and judging from the other passengers onboard, a lazy time for them as well. In fact, the only real excitement amongst the passengers and crew came the following evening when the ship came to slide gracefully into port at Cape Town.
For some twenty four hours the ship was a hive of activity as some of the passengers left the ship whilst others took their place. Cargo was moved from one hold to another, or replaced by other cargo going from Africa to Australia. Then the ship sailed once again and life sank back into its gentle, slightly hedonistic, routine.
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