TWENTY ONE
CAPE TOWN TO MELBOURNE- SEPTEMBER 1906
A week out of Cape Town and Florence noted that the weather was changing, becoming considerably colder than the journey had been so far. She stopped Mr Cookson on deck as he made his rounds of the passengers, checking the security of the ship and its contents.
'Good morning Mr Cookson,' she said smiling at him. 'Can I ask you a question please?'
'Of course Ma’am, fire away.' Florence stood thoughtfully for a moment then said, 'It’s getting colder this past few days, really cold. The temperature has dropped quite a bit. So, I want to know, are we going to see icebergs, and is this because we are following the Great Circle route?' Cookson stared at her in mild astonishment before answering.
'Well I suppose the short answer is, yes, to both questions. We could see icebergs soon, and we are following a Great Circle to get to Melbourne. At the moment we are sailing almost south east, in a few days time we should be turning north east and then north to run into Port Philip.' Florence nodded her head and asked, 'Port Philip?'
'That’s the name of the port just outside the city of Melbourne. We’ll be there for two days to unload everyone who is leaving us there, and the horses, so if you want to get ashore for a look around the city, this is your time to do it. But you mustn’t be late to get back on the ship, we don’t wait for anyone who is late.' He grinned at her, feeling that here was one passenger he would not have to chase back onboard the ship. Florence thanked him and, feeling chilled by the downturn in temperature, walked quickly back to her cabin, where she found that some form of heating system had warmed up the cabin quite nicely. Later on she lounged on her bed reading a book which she had borrowed from the ships library. It was all about Australia, and for Florence it filled in a lot of the gaps in her knowledge. She remained on her bed until the book was finished. What a place this sounds like, she thought to herself, can’t wait ‘til we get there.
The following morning Florence woke and noticed immediately the temperature had dropped even more than the previous day. Gathering the counterpane around her shoulders she leaned up in bed on one elbow and pushed aside the curtain covering the window in the wall by the side of the bed. The sky was still a clear blue, but the colour had changed to one which was noticeably cooler and deeper in colour. Pushing herself up more to look directly out of the window she was amazed to see that from the horizon back to within a few hundred yards of the ship were icebergs. They did not cover the sea but there were a sufficiently large number for her to be unable to count them. The biggest appeared to be hundreds of feet long and high, the smallest was smaller than the ship itself. She shivered and sat watching the scene for some minutes until she was aware of Martha waking in the opposite bed.
'Just have a look at this lot Martha,' she said. 'The sea is full of icebergs.' Martha slid from beneath her covers and gathered them around her to kneel alongside Florence on her bed and peered through the window with her.
'Oh my God Flo. Are we going to be alright with that lot out there?'
'I should think so, they haven’t just sprung up out of the sea, must have been there for most of the night. I’m sure Commodore Ditchburn will have had his men out looking for them and steering us away from them. Let’s go and get some breakfast and then go up on deck to see what’s going on.'
The two women went to the dining room and found it was crowded with people, all buzzing with the same topic of conversation; the icebergs and how safe the ship was in their presence. It seemed that the drop in temperature had affected the passengers appetite as everyone took advantage of the hot food on offer. After breakfast Florence and Martha went out onto the deck wrapped in their heaviest dresses and coats, pulling on clothes they thought they would not have the need of during their lives in Australia. It was an eye opener for them both. They pulled down the sleeves of their coats to protect their hands against the cold and held onto the ships rail against the swell of the waves. They stared in amazement at the variety of icebergs which they passed, the colours ranged from blue to yellow and white. Colours they never had expected.
'They’re like monsters aren’t they?' Florence said to Martha quietly. Martha nodded her head without comment, and looked from one sight to another, sometimes extending her hand to point to a new one as it came into their view. The two women watched in silence for the most part, joined from time to time by other passengers, themselves awed into silence by what they saw. Soon the cold wormed its insidious way through their clothing and they were forced shivering back into the warmth of the various public rooms to drink mugs of hot tea or coffee provided for them by the waiters.
The icebergs became a familiar sight to all of the passengers, and after a couple of days the novelty wore off, so that they simply gave them a passing glance if they were in sight on the deck or where one came close to the ship and could be seen through the windows. Which is not to say they were not in any potential danger. However, as Florence said to Martha, 'Lots of other ships have made it this far without hitting one, so I suppose we’ll be alright.' It was a comfort to know that the ship was made of solid steel, and had an alert crew to guide and protect them. What could go wrong?
The following afternoon Florence was standing once again on the open deck holding the deck rail, steadying herself against the waves which had become a little higher during the morning, and were now causing a pronounced and definite bow wave as the ship pushed its way to Melbourne. Mr Cookson walked along the deck towards her and stood still a few feet away from her.
'Good afternoon Mrs Lowe' he said. 'Enjoying the view?' Florence looked sideways towards him and smiled.
'I see we are finally going north now Mr Cookson' she said.
'Oh yes. How do you work that out then Mrs Lowe?' He returned her smile and gripped the deck rail lightly with one gloved hand.
'When I was a child my Pa used to tell me that the sun would always set over the Prospect Mill in Bolton if I was standing in our back yard of our house, so I learned which was north and south. He told me about the points of the compass and so I looked at the sun today and it’s over there,' she pointed out over the port side of the ship. ''Cos it's over there at this time of day that's the west and ‘cos it’s on our left hand side, well, that means we are going north. And the icebergs disappeared yesterday as well.' She grinned a cheeky grin. 'Unless the captain has decided we’re not going to Australia and he’s taking us somewhere else.' Mr Cookson gave a strangled laugh,
'No, you’re right, almost. We’re going north north east at the moment, I’ve just come from the bridge and that’s the course we’re on today. But you’re right about the sun.' He pointed out over the rail to the sun, still high in the sky, but well past its zenith. 'So, in under a week we should be approaching Albany in Western Australia. After offloading we'll be off to Melbourne. We have to offload the rest of the horses and most of the passengers there then we’ll leave for Sydney'
Florence considered what he had said for a moment then said, 'I think I'll take your advice and have a look at Melbourne, as we’re there for two days. I suppose it’s easy enough to get into the city from the dockside?'
'Oh yes, no trouble at all. There’s a regular train service right from the dock offices into the centre of Melbourne, shouldn’t take too long, it’s about four miles, that’s all. If you go to the Sandridge station it will take you right into the centre of the city to the Melbourne Terminus. It’s on the corner of Flinders Street, right next to the fish market, so if you are not sure of where you are, just follow your nose and the smell of fish.' He laughed, and Florence joined in. 'It’s a beautiful building and you can’t fail to miss it. It’s got four stories and is all gold and red brick. Last time I was here it was being extended, not sure if it’s finished yet.' He paused and then continued, 'I think you’ll like Melbourne. It’s a beautiful place. Lots of fairly new buildings, ’cos it’s the capital, and they’re still building it. There are lots of things to see whilst you are there. Just take care of yourself if you are going by yourself though, there are one or two places you might not like to go to once the sun goes down. But don’t let me put you off. It’s a fine city and I’m sure you'll like it. Maybe you would be best to get the Circular Tram when you get there. It'll take you round the outskirts of the city centre, give you an idea what it is like and how big it is.'
'Thanks Mr Cookson, I’ll remember that. I’ll probably be going with Martha, we both want to have a look at the place and stretch our legs a bit.' Mr Cookson nodded his head in agreement with her suggestion, then, tipping his cap politely made his farewell and walked away down the deck.
On the ninth of September the ship pulled into Albany on the southern tip of Western Australia where, as Mr Cookson had said, some of the cargo was discharged to the dockside and some of the passengers left the ship to make a start on their new lives. More importantly to the inhabitants of the town of Albany though was the delivery of mail from England, which the Persic carried. Because Albany was the first port of call in Australia for the post from England, the arrival of any of the mail ships was eagerly awaited. The mail travelled by coach from Albany to various parts of the country. It was faster than the ships passage.
The Persic stayed overnight in the port, leaving on the tenth in the early hours of the morning. At dinner that night Florence and Martha were seated as usual by themselves, at a table close to one which contained six single men, who were obviously enjoying a story being told by one of them to the others. After several outbursts of raucous laughter Florence’s curiosity could stand it no longer and enquired from the young man closest to them what they were laughing at. He was a young ruddy faced individual wearing a coarse jacket and trousers which did not match in any way, the jacket being a green tweed whilst the trousers were a light brown. He leaned back in his seat and related his story quietly to Florence whilst the others at his table fell silent. Florence and Martha listened in silence whilst Mr Cochran, the storyteller, related the tale. It appeared that during the early hours of that morning whilst the ship was still tied up alongside the hook shaped pier standing out from the dockside into King George Sound, an incident had occurred.
About two o’clock that morning one of the passengers, a retired English Army, Major Ernest Elliot, had somehow or other fallen from the gangway from the pier to the ship into the harbour. No doubt, Mr Cochran speculated, the good Major was under the influence of an excess of alcohol. Luckily for the Major though, one of the other passengers who had probably accompanied him, managed to fish him out of the water, with no apparent injury to either of them. The hilarity of the situation was being spread around with many of the other passengers, all of them adding and embellishing the story as it was told and re-told. Florence felt the men were being a little too cruel in the re-telling of the story and sat with a stony face as Cochran completed the telling.
'I don’t think that’s funny. He could have drowned. How would you feel about that then?' She said eventually, and turned back to her table where she and Martha completed their meal in silence. It appeared that the dampening of Major Elliot had no detrimental effect on him or the ship, as it sailed from the port of Albany on time at six thirty in the morning of Sunday, the tenth of September.
On the fourteenth of September Mr Cookson’s words were still familiar in Florence's mind when two and a half weeks after leaving Cape Town the SS Persic pulled alongside the dock at Sandridge, a few miles south of the city of Melbourne. The final part of the journey into the port was a scene of frantic activity onboard. Those leaving the ship were busy packing their luggage, and the crew made final preparations for the cargo and horses to be offloaded onto the dock.
The ship slid slowly through the entrance to the wide bay which had been one of the first places in Australia to be discovered. Slowly, the ship was manoeuvred across the bay, which opened up in front of them into an almost circular shape. Though relatively shallow it provided good anchorage to the early ships, and today it was a large natural harbour, capable of taking ships of any size into its safe anchorage. As the SS Persic slowly pulled alongside the dock, built like a pier from the edge of the harbour out into the bay, Florence and Martha walked from their cabin after breakfast and stood on the deck to gain the best vantage point to watch all that was happening, both onboard and on the dock itself. Florence took hold of the deck rail alongside Martha. 'Here Martha, this rail’s wet.' She said.
'Didn’t you hear the rain last night? It was hammering it down for ages,' her friend replied. Florence looked at the rain which was still clearly visible in globules on the deck and the deck rail.
'I never heard a thing,' she said. 'Must have been dead to the world.'
The two women pointed alternately to things which caught their eye either on the dock or on the shore. A narrow gauge railway ran down the centre of the length of the dock, horses pulling carts of cargo from the shore to the ships laid up alongside both sides of the docks. Porters and dockworkers pulling on small hand held carts laden with luggage for the passenger ships, and others with larger carts laden with cargo for the holds. They watched with excited anticipation as their ship became ready for the discharge of its passengers and cargo; in particular they were interested in the horses which had accompanied them from England.
Ten thoroughbred horses, destined for a variety of breeders in the state of Victoria, Tasmania and New South Wales, who hoped to improve the strains of racehorse flesh in the country, had made the journey with them, and now their excited noises and stamping sounded loud beneath decks in the front cargo hold when the smell of dry land hit their nostrils. The two young women watched as cargo handlers assisted the grooms, who had accompanied the horses on their trip from England. The grooms tied broad blue canvas harnesses under the belly of each horse and attached the harness to the derricks on the foredeck. Some of the horses went peacefully and swung over the side of the ship to the dockside, seemingly grateful to be going back on dry land, whilst others were visibly distressed by the airborne experience, their legs thrashing or just simply twitching against the movement and harness. Five of the horses were offloaded at Melbourne, whilst the other five remained onboard for the trip to Sydney, where they too would be offloaded. The grooms safely escorted the horses to the dock where their instinct was to try and immediately escape the harness. The grooms held them secure against a head collar and lead rein, and stood talking quietly to them, and stroking them to calm them down. Eventually, as each horse calmed down, the groom led it away. Some of them were taken away directly to a dockside stable where they would remain for a few days waiting for their new owners to collect them, whilst others were loaded into the backs of wooden horse boxes drawn up in a short line on the dock. Each box could accommodate two horses, if needed, which were loaded into the boxes by a ramp lowered down from the back of the vehicle to the dockside. Once loaded and comfortably tied by their lead rein the ramp was raised, and the groom took his place alongside the driver, who controlled the two dray horses which then slowly pulled the box along the dock to its final destination on the outskirts of the city. The whole process took over two hours to complete, preventing other cargo being offloaded at the same time, only then did the cargo, human and non-human, start to leave the ship.
When the first of the passengers for Melbourne started to leave the ship, Florence and Martha joined them in the walk down the gangway onto the dockside, and enjoyed their first experience of dry land since their departure from Liverpool. At Cape Town they had decided not to venture into the city from fear induced by other passengers who told tales of experiences which were then exaggerated by others who had made the trip. Flourishing umbrellas against the constant thin rain which had started, the two women walked carefully along the line of the narrow railway to the edge of the docks, and finally through the ornate dock gates into the suburb of Sandridge. They followed the directions given to them by Mr Cookson and found the railway station and then the train to the centre of the city. The journey took no more than twenty minutes, and both of them were pleasantly surprised when they came out of the station to find themselves in the centre of a busy bustling wide road, close to a wide bridge over the river Yarra. The two of them stood for a few minutes looking around them, taking in the new sights. They stared in some amazement at the railway station. It was four stories high and still being built upon further. The brick used in its construction was faced in red and yellow, and as clean as anything either had ever seen; not at all like a dirty English railway station. At one side of the main entrance to the station was a temporary extension building, being used as a ticket office. Opposite the station were other similar sized buildings, all apparently quite recently constructed. They caught a brown single deck tram outside the station and took their seats on the street side, watching out through the windows as the tram chugged its noisy way along the streets of Melbourne.
The tram took them around the outer edges of the city centre and gave them tantalising views of magnificent buildings either fully finished, or in the course of construction, alongside others which looked to have been built some years before. When the tram passed the ends of the streets they were given views down hills to the centre of the city. 'Feels like we are riding around a tea cup doesn't it Flo?' Martha quipped. Florence simply nodded her head, trying to take in all the buildings, the signs on them, the roofs and the glimpses of streets falling away from them on the outskirts of the centre. There were imposing churches, hotels, office buildings, shops and theatres; all built one next to the other, and seemingly inhabited by an army of people who scurried like large upright ants into and out of them. At one point on their trip they came to a crossroads where the street they were on fell gently away from them. They saw three churches set on three sides of a wide crossroads. Reading the name on a large notice board set in the grounds outside one of the churches Florence discovered it was a cathedral, the other two being smaller and less grand in design, but no less imposing. By the time they had completed half a circuit of the city centre the thin but steady rain had stopped, and the heavy cloud which had hung over the city from early morning now blew off courtesy of a wind which came across the city from off the sea. From leaving the ship the rain had been light but fairly persistent and the two women soon became wet, but now that it had cleared up they decided to walk for a while and dry off their clothes.
'Thought this was supposed to be a nice warm dry country' Flo said a little morosely. Martha laughed.
'Can’t have it hot and sunny all the time or nowt would grow. Anyway, looks like the weather’s picking up, skies’re clearing, clouds’re clearing. A bit of a walk will do us good after being cooped up on the ship all this time. Come on misery, cheer up.' She punched Florence lightly on the arm. 'Let’s get off here.'
They got off the tram near to the Parliament buildings and dodged the puddles lying on the flagged pavements as they crossed over the street. Opposite the imposing Parliament building, with its lines of columns was an equally imposing hotel, The Windsor Hotel, which seemed to them to be as large and imposing as the Parliament building. They read and remembered the street names on the side of the buildings, so that they would be able more easily to find their way back to the trams and trains for their return journey to the ship.
After walking a short way along Spring Street near to the Parliament building, they looked over to one side of the street, and discovered it overlooked some railway lines and sidings. They decided that the area seemed to be winding away from the city centre. After a brief conversation they turned around and re-traced their steps towards the stop they had arrived at. Standing for a moment at the top of Bourke Street with the Parliament buildings behind them they looked down the hill towards the city centre, taking in the broad roadways and pavements studded with trees which were casting shade over the pedestrians now that the sun had come out again.
'Isn’t it grand Flo?' Martha said quietly.
'Beautiful. I bet this is as big a city as Manchester or London.'
'You think so? Not sure, never been to London. Tell you what though, it's a heck of a lot cleaner.'
They walked down Bourke Street for a short while and then turned right along an arbitrarily chosen narrow lane, until they came to Little Bourke Street, then across a main road where they finally turned left onto yet another street going downhill. The thought came to them that they were almost lost.
'I hope you're keeping an eye on where we are going Martha' Florence said.
'It’s easy Flo. This place is built on a grid system.' Florence looked at her friend questioningly. 'I mean that the streets go straight in both directions. When one of them crosses another street, well that one is straight as well. Have you not noticed? It means that as long as you keep taking left turns or right turns, well, eventually you’ll come back onto the street you started at. Keep your eyes on the streets we go down.' Florence nodded her head and looked around her at the street they were on at that moment. They were close to a magnificent building made from soft light fawn coloured stone, and separated from the roadway by wide green lawns and surrounded by a black metal fence. It did not appear to welcome unannounced visitors. The entrance to the building, a wide pillared doorway was accessed by a stately range of steps leading from the street across the lawns to the doors at the front. The two women stood looking in awe at the building and read on a notice that it was the State Library of Victoria.
'Let’s have a bit of a rest shall we Flo?' Martha said. She pointed to the small wall which held the fence. Florence grinned and walked to the wall where they both sat down, Martha slumped beside her and bent to massage her feet.
'Needed this Flo,' she said. 'My feet are killing me.' Florence looked around her for the name of the street and found it on a building at the corner.
'La Trobe Street' she said. Martha followed her glance.
'Swanston Street,' Martha said. 'What?'
'It’s on Swanston Street, La Trobe Street is that one over there.' She indicated the street on the corner.
'Must have been a Scouser' Florence said.
'What?' Martha asked.
'You know, Liverpudlians, Scousers. Scousers always say, ‘Alright La?’ when they are asking you how you are. So this Trobe feller must have been a Scouser, La must have been his first name.' Martha burst out laughing, both women bent low over their aching feet on the pavement, causing two women walking past them to look in their direction.
'You’re mad you are Flo.' said Martha. The two young women sat on the wall for a few minutes, easing their feet and wiping sweat from their foreheads with the backs of their hands. Florence looked at her wristwatch.
'Time we were getting back to the ship Martha?' she asked.
'I think so. By the time we get there it should be time for dinner, or getting on that way.' Martha replied.
Martha was right. They stopped off to have a cup of tea at a small cafe on Bourke Street, then caught the tram back to the station on Flinders Street and then a tram to the docks. By the time they arrived back onboard it was almost time for dinner to be served. The ship was quiet as they approached. Cargo had been discharged and reloaded, passengers had left, and it appeared that the passengers who had left had not been replaced. The ship was quieter than when they had left. It now held just over a hundred passengers for the final leg of their journey to Sydney, though it seemed to hold the same number of crew members, judging from the number of waiters who busied around them in the dining room that evening.
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