TWENTY FIVE
A NEW LIFE
The following morning they rose late, and after a giggling, nudging breakfast with Helena watching from beneath a barely concealed smiling face, they left the house to return Thomas to his ship. The pavements were washed clean from the overnight rain and now the streets were clean and pleasant to walk along. The skies were clear of the heavy thunder clouds from the night before. Florence was wearing a thin pale yellow blouse on top of a darker yellow skirt which she flounced away from her legs as she walked down the stone steps from the house. She pulled her new wide brimmed straw boater onto her head and waited for Thomas to follow her down the steps.
'Oh Tommy you do look smart in your tropical uniform,' she said. 'Come here and give us a kiss.' She lunged at him as he came down to her level on the pavement outside the house, but he easily dodged to one side. He laughed at her antics and took her by the hand.
'Are we getting a cab Tommy?' Florence asked. The night's sleep she had enjoyed had given her a lease back on her life. Thomas turned to her as they stepped out down the hill and took her into his arms, kissing her lightly on the lips.
'There.' He said. 'Stop your meithering. I thought we could walk back to the ship. That way I'll be able to show you one or two things about the area, and you'll get a better idea of where you are and how the land lies.'
'Fine. I think that will be fine,' she replied and turned to fall into step with him as they linked arms along Brougham Street. They had walked no more than a dozen paces when Florence stopped to look at a steep stone staircase leading off to the right from the street, to what was obviously another street running parallel with the one they were on, but at a much higher level. 'What's this called Tommy?' she asked.
'It’s Butler Stairs,' he replied. 'You see on the pillar at the side, it says Butler Stairs. I'm told it's got about a hundred steps on it. We can go up if you want.' He pointed up the steep set of stone steps running up the side of a building on Brougham Street, it had large stone pillars with a painted metal single arch span joining the top of the two stones. She could see the street at the top of the stairs where there appeared to be a similar pair of stone pillars.
'No thanks' she said, 'Maybe I’ll have a look at it when you’re back at sea. What's that street called?' Indicating the street which lay at the top of the stairs. Thomas thought for a moment trying to remember what the name of the street was. In the end he confessed,
'I can't remember. I think the area up there is called Kings Cross, or maybe Potts Point. Either way, there are a lot of shops and things there. There's a new railway station up there as well.' Florence nodded her head and pulled him around to carry on their walk down the hill.
'What's this area called, just in case I get lost coming back?' she asked.
'This is Woolloomooloo,' he replied grinning.
'Woollooma what?' she asked giggling at the strange sounding name and struggling over the word. Thomas grinned and repeated the word for her.
'Woolloomooloo, Woolloomooloo,' she said quietly, rolling the word around her mouth with her tongue. 'What a lovely name. It just keeps on going doesn't it? What's it mean?'
'No idea, I think it’s probably one of the Aboriginal names. Potts Point and Kings Cross were named by us when we first came here, but I don’t think there was any of the first settlers called Woolloomooloo. Maybe he was one of the convicts,' he added grinning. The couple turned one corner and then another, drawing closer and closer to the view of the ocean in the bay which Florence had seen at odd times where there had been gaps in the row of buildings. Finally they turned the corner of one street not far from the dockside, when Florence caught a sudden movement to her right about twenty yards ahead. She pulled Thomas to a stop and whispered. 'Tommy, look at that. What is it?' Thomas held her close to him and whispered,
'It's called, a bird.' He said quietly, saying each word distinctly and slowly. She pulled his arm and hissed,
'I can see it's a bird. I meant what sort is it? It looks like the one we saw in Hyde Park yesterday'
'You're right. I think that it's an Ibis. I remembered last night what it was called. They are white with a black neck and have a long curved beak. You'll see a lot more of them in the Botanical Gardens if you take yourself off there one day. You should', he added, 'It's a lovely place, full of plants and trees like you've never seen before. You'll like it.' Florence felt her head was on one of the roundabouts she had been on at the fair in Bolton, moving first one way then another to take in all the new things being revealed to her. Once again the thought struck her that, as on the Persic coming to Australia, whatever she saw now in this new country, every day, every town and every bit of country, she was seeing things her eyes had never before seen, and which her brain had never before had to understand. She suddenly felt unaccountably happy and proud. Proud and happy that she had made the decision to marry Tommy and leave England to come to Australia.
They walked on through the streets of Woolloomooloo, with its two and three story houses painted in shades of brown and yellow. Florence thought it very colourful and pretty in the bright morning sunshine, except the people looked to be poor and some of the houses were a bit shabby. On one corner was a larger building which she supposed was used for trade of some sort, perhaps a warehouse, it's double doors slightly open to reveal three men working inside. The people walking along the streets seemed poorly dressed, many of the children wore nothing on their feet and scurried around in the dust playing. They kicked up clouds of it at each other then darted away before being themselves showered in dust. Near to the corner of a street called Forbes Street, an old woman stood leaning against the front door of her house. She had a large dirty white pot mug in her hand, and occasionally drank from it, then moved her other hand to her mouth to draw from a small thin cigarette, the smoke rising from her mouth in a lazy curl. She was thin and small and wore a baggy blouse and skirt which were patched and had holes. Her belt was a piece of rope. The woman's face was suntanned dark brown, and was deeply lined around her eyes and mouth. Straggly long grey hair hung untidily over her forehead, being blown occasionally across her eyes by the odd breeze. She watched Thomas and Florence with suspicion as they walked past her home, following them with her eyes when they appeared in her view, and keeping them in her view until they walked on past her. Florence felt she had seen many women of her type in the mills in Bolton and felt something of a bond with her. Thank God I’m out of all that now, she thought silently as they walked past her.
Soon they came out of the jumble of small residential and industrial streets on the dockside, onto a road running along the dockside and serving the entire bay which lay in front of them. Alongside them, stretching away to the next road junction, was a large four story brown brick built building with an archway set in the middle. She glanced up at the windows and the doors in the building. The windows had iron bars on them and the doors were made from very solid looking wood. A sailor in uniform was on guard duty at the entrance to an archway.
'What's that Tommy?' she asked.
'That's what they call the Gunnery. It's where the munitions and stores are kept for the naval ships coming into Sydney for provisioning.' Florence nodded her head in acknowledgement and stopped at the next road junction, which had a large red post box set on the corner of the pavement.
'Oh, that's handy' she said pointing to the post box. 'At least I know where I can post my letters to you and Ma when I get around to writing.' Thomas nodded his head silently, looking along the road in both directions to try and gauge when it would be safe to cross over. Traffic was busy at this time of the morning with an almost steady stream of heavily laden carts, hansom cabs and bicycles travelling in both directions along the wide curve of the bay. Parked along the opposite side of the road was a line of large solid carts loaded high with bales of wool, all of them being hauled by teams of six or eight heavy horses or oxen. Florence had never seen oxen before, nor such a collection of heavy horse teams and she tugged at Thomas to stop so she could look at them.
'They're big aren't they?' she said. Thomas nodded his head and replied,
'Look at where they are taking them.' He led her by the hand to the right along the curb for a few yards and pointed across the road. Florence had been so taken up with the teams of horses and the loads of wool she had failed to notice the cargo vessels lying alongside the dockside. The carts were pulled slowly alongside the ships which lay with their holds open to received the woollen bales. As the cart came to a halt the process of unloading the carts was started, to calls and curses and clattering. Overhead, cranes lowered their beams, and hooks hanging from ropes were dug into the side of the bales, and once fixed would be hauled high off the cart and into the equally noisy confines of the ships holds. Florence watched the men at work and noticed absently that when each bale was removed from the cart, the height of the cart and its load would rise a little, and the horses would move gently in their harnesses as the load on their shoulders and necks was eased.
'It reminds me of bales of cotton being loaded into the scutchin' hole back at the mill,' she said. 'They're about the same size aren't they?' Thomas nodded his head absently as they stood for a moment watching. One or two of the ships were old fashioned sailing boats, their masts stretching high into the blue sky, their sails furled along the cross masts, rocking very gently in the swell of the sea. There were others, steel steam ships, their derricks, like the one on the Persic, reaching out to the land to be loaded with the bales from the carts. Men worked in a steady rhythm to fill the cargo holds and batten them down against the sea journey ahead of them. Florence watched the activity for a moment in fascinated silence before asking,
'Are these all going to England do you think?' Thomas glanced from one ship to the next, looking at the small pennants flying from the stern of each vessel.
'Judging from the pennants I would say most of them are bound for England, though some of them are off to America and Japan.' He pointed to one of the American ships he had noted. A small Stars and Stripes hung limply off the stern, hardly moving in the light breeze coming off the water.
For a few minutes Florence and Thomas stood silently and watched the men at work, and in particular the work of the man overseeing their labour. He wore a dark three piece suit and a bowler hat. In his hand he carried a sheaf of papers which he made notes on with a pencil each time a bale was lifted from cart to warehouse. He took on himself an air of bloated self importance, which even the distance between him and Florence had failed to disguise.
'Look at him' she said nodding in the direction of the overseer, 'He’s full of himself isn't he?.' Thomas grinned and made no reply other than to gently guide her further along the dockside. 'It’s getting hot Tommy' she said, 'Have we got far to walk yet?' Thomas pointed with his free arm out towards the far end of the bay where they were walking.
'Not far love, that’s the Powerful over there.' The ship he was indicating lay off to the front and left of them as they walked from the loading dock. She could clearly see the four funnels on the ship’s top deck with taller radio masts before and behind the funnels. Smoke was flowing lazily from the first and last funnels, catching in a gentle breeze coming onshore from the bay. Florence stopped and gasped,
'It’s enormous Tommy' she said. Thomas smiled to himself. '’Tis a bit isn’t it?' he answered, adding proudly, 'And I look after the torpedoes and all the electrics onboard her.'
'What, all by yourself?' She asked grinning impishly. 'No, not all by myself' he said, 'I got a bit of help now and again, but only if Captain Halsey needs it.' Thomas replied squeezing her hand tightly in his. Florence squealed at the slight pain and grinned up at him. They walked on in silence watching the massive light grey painted ship draw closer and closer. Finally they came to a metal fence blocking off their further progress along this part of the bay. The fence had a gate set into it which was open, wide enough to take at least two horses and carts through at the same time, but guarded from intruders by a small group of seamen in white uniforms. Each of them carried a rifle. They stood milling around in the road and in the pathway which led through the wicket gate set to one side of the main gate, talking amongst themselves, and trying to keep out of the sun by walking to and fro into the shade cast by the small wooden grey painted guard hut at the side of the gate. Thomas held her back by the arm whilst they were still fifty or more yards from the gate.
'Better if you leave me here now love. Don’t want that load of idlers getting any ideas,' he said. Florence glanced from the gate and back to Thomas then silently nodded her head in agreement.
'Alright love. If you say so.' She said. She paused and turned to face him, sliding her hands down to take both of his hands in hers. She looked up at him and felt tears coming to her eyes, but was determined not to cry.
'Well' she said eventually, 'You’d better get a hurry on then, or they’ll be leaving without you.' She smiled broadly at him and added, 'I’ll miss you love.' Thomas nodded his head in agreement,
'I’ll miss you too love. It’s been really good to see you again. Glad you got here safely. I’ll be back in ten days, so don’t you go worrying.' He let go of one of her hands and reached into an inside pocket of his uniform jacket and pulled out a wad of white bank notes and handed them over to her.
'This is to help you out if you need to pay a deposit for the house or anything,' he said. Florence looked down at the notes in his hand and gasped at the thickness of the bundle, quickly stuffing the notes into the small handbag she had carried with her.
'Tommy, you shouldn’t have done that here.' Her head turned in the direction of the guard house and the men who were casually watching them whilst pretending not to. 'They might get the wrong idea.' For a moment he was confused, and then blushing he realised what she had meant.
'Oh bloody hell love, I’m sorry. Should have thought.' He glanced over her shoulder to look at the men on guard duty. None of them had apparently seen the exchange, but he moved around her to block her view from any of the men at the gates. Florence stepped closer to him and stretched up to kiss him on the lips.
'There' she said, 'That will have to keep you going ‘til you get back.' Then she let her hand drop from his. Thomas bent and returned the kiss.
'See you in no time at all love. Make sure you look after yourself.' Florence nodded and stepped back again.
'Bye love.' She murmured softly.
'Bye love. I’ll see you soon.' He replied and stepped around her and walked off towards the wicket gate.
Florence turned and stood watching him for a minute as he talked to the sailors on guard duty at the gate before, he carried on walking smartly along the quayside towards the grey battleship lying at the end of the quay. Florence looked closely at the fence surrounding that part of the bay and saw a sign which announced that this was Green Island Naval Base. Tonight, she thought, I’ll sleep by myself, but in a couple of weeks he’ll be back. When he was a small figure in the distance she turned and walked back along the dock road towards the loading ships, her shoulders making small shuddering movements when the tears welled up into her eyes.
Florence walked slowly along the dockside stepping aside occasionally as men and boys on bicycles bumped on and off the pavement. Too dangerous for them on the roads, she thought to herself, what with the carts and cabs and things. The heat and the feeling of melancholy which had overtaken her since leaving Thomas at the gates sapped the energy from her. The heat of the sun did not help her. She glanced upwards to the sky and was temporarily blinded by the fierce sunlight. When she looked down there was a cast iron bench in front of her which she had not seen before. She made to go around it then changing her mind, sat down on it to rest and try to regain her spirits. From behind her as she sat looking out across the bay at the ships, came the noise of men talking loudly. She half turned on the bench and looked over her shoulder. There was a public house on the corner of the street opposite, The Punches, so the name on the front declared. Men were spilling out from the doorway on the corner of the building but seemed to be good humoured. As she watched she saw a small thin shoeless boy dressed in short trousers and a large loose shirt with the sleeves hanging low down over his hands. He ran nimbly between the men grouped by the door carrying a white pot jug in his hand. He pushed his way through, elbowing one of the men who was slow in moving in the groin as he did so. The man doubled over in pain and tried to reach out to catch the lad as he dodged into the pub. She watched the other men first of all commiserate then poke fun at the man who had been injured. The boy suddenly came out from the door clutching the jug in both hands, now evidently full of beer. He sidestepped the man he had hurt and half ran and half quick-walked back up the side street from the pub. Florence smiled at his antics and turned back to the view of the bay.
The calm blue water lapped quietly and gently against the various boats and ships which were moored in the bay, some loading wool whilst others simply sat rocking to the movement of the waves. Small rowing boats, and occasionally ones with a single sail or a small steam engine, moved slowly amongst the larger vessels. The whole place, she thought, was a real bustling of activity; perhaps she could find work around the port. But what skills did she have to bring to the port businesses? The sun by this time had reached its highest point and shone down directly upon her head burning through the straw boater she wore. She reached into her small handbag and taking out her handkerchief, wiped the perspiration from her brow and nose. The water in the bay glistened in the light, looking like diamonds scattered casually amongst the waves. Whole areas of the bay were invisible to her, as the sunlight transformed the gentle water of the bay into a vast pulsing blinding mirror of light. Further out across the bay her eyes strayed slowly as she focussed on one wooded headland then another, wondering what lay on that particular part of the port, or on that one. Everything was so new to her. She sat and dreamed, trying to picture the lives of people living by the edge of the water in the various inlets and bays. How many houses were there, and how many people lived there? She would get to know some of them and the businesses they ran, she thought. Maybe I will give myself a few days holiday to look around the city, as Tommy had suggested. When I know more about getting around, it will be easier for me to find somewhere to live, she thought. Maybe I could find us a house close to the water. I'd like that.
The sudden thought of Thomas reminded her that he had pressed some money into her hand before saying his goodbye. Opening the handbag she felt surreptitiously inside for the notes, and having located them, turned to look around to see if anyone was watching her. Satisfied she was alone and not being observed, she withdrew the wad of notes to examine them. They were white five pound notes, all of them, and she quickly counted twenty of them before hurriedly stuffing them back into the bag. One hundred pounds! Her heart raced and she whispered a silent ‘thank you’ to Thomas for his kindness and generosity. A hundred pounds, together with the money remaining from the savings she had brought from England, meant that she had almost two hundred pounds, a sum of money she had never before known. It would keep her going for some time whilst she settled down to her life in Sydney. She sat quietly for several minutes telling her heart to slow down, and trying to decide what she should do for the rest of the day. Although the walk from the house in Woolloomooloo had tired her feet, she felt the rest by the dockside had given her a new lease of life, so she determinedly rose to her feet and strode off along the road in the direction Thomas had said lay the Botanical Gardens and an area he had called The Domain. It took her no more than five minutes to reach the path which would take her from the dockside road up the steep hill to the top of the Domain. It then took her less than twenty seconds to realise that she was too tired and hot to walk there today. Florence turned back the way she had come and slowly retraced her steps back to the house on Brougham Street. The Domain could wait.
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