Going Home (3 page)

‘But my – real mother! Who was she?’

‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘There was so much confusion on the ship. There was a violent storm one day and we were put below deck. It was dark and we were packed inside ’lower decks so tight there was no air – and she was very sick, your mother, I mean. She had no milk to feed you and she asked me to hold you to try and pacify you. You sucked on my finger.’ She smiled and wiped away a tear. ‘I knew then how it felt to love somebody and I’d never felt it
afore. Then – ’ She hesitated. ‘Later we were let out and brought up on deck. I was still holding you and I couldn’t see her. There were so many women. Then there was a cry of man overboard.’

She put her hand across her mouth and closed her eyes and for a moment she couldn’t speak. When she did her voice was choked. ‘Onny, it wasn’t a man. It was her. It was your mother.’

He felt a cold shiver run through him. ‘Who else knows?’ he asked. ‘Apart from Da, I mean? Does anyone else know who she was?’

She shook her head. ‘We never knew her name – at least, Emily – your aunt Emily and I didn’t. Maybe Philip Linton did, though he never said. He always went along with ’story that you were born to me on ’ship.’

‘He was an officer on board, wasn’t he?’ Ralph blew his nose. He knew the story of his father’s sister Emily, and of how Philip Linton had cleared her name and then taken her back to England where they had married.

‘Yes, he was ’surgeon’s mate, though he should have had a higher rank. Ralph Clavell was ’ship’s surgeon. He delivered you.’

‘So might Uncle Ralph know who she was?’ Suddenly it was important to know her name. Even though she was dead he wanted to know who she was and why she was on a convict ship.

‘He might,’ she agreed. ‘Ask him.’

That afternoon he rode towards the town of Parramatta where his godfather lived. His head was aching, his body felt sluggish and his
legs felt as if they didn’t belong to him. He had consumed a vast quantity of wine the night before, after he and Jack had been turned away from every club they visited as they toured Sydney. They had been turned away, not because they were intoxicated, but because Jack’s skin was the wrong colour and he was the wrong race. And although Jack insisted that he didn’t want to join these clubs anyway, Ralph persisted in trying with unfailing regularity and always with the same result.

‘Mr Hawkins, sir,’ the doormen would patiently say. ‘You are very welcome to join us, but I’m afraid your friend is not.’ They would glance sneeringly at Jack in his expensive European suit, white shirt and cravat, and Ralph would be like a bull at a gate and have to be restrained.

‘You make it worse,’ Jack had said to him last night. ‘Don’t you realize? I must be the best dressed, best educated native in New South Wales, better than those ignorant doormen, so how do you think I feel being turned away every time? I don’t want to join your lousy clubs! Why would I?’ He’d turned and walked away and left Ralph standing there with a grinning doorman whose smile was wiped off his face as Ralph hit him.

‘Don’t come back here.’ The doorman’s voice was muffled as he put a hand over his bleeding nose and shouted after Ralph. ‘I’ll make sure you’re banned from now on.’

‘Keep your damned club,’ Ralph had bellowed belligerently and as he turned the corner he almost bumped into Captain and Mrs Boyle, who, with Phoebe, were on their way to the theatre. He’d made a bow to Mrs Boyle and Phoebe and inclined his head to Captain Boyle who did the same.

‘Where are you off to, Ralph?’ Pheobe was never formal and her father frowned at her. ‘If you’re looking for Jack you’ve just missed him.’ Her eyes sparkled. She knew of their long friendship and she knew also of her father’s dislike of the two young men. ‘Why don’t you join us for coffee after the theatre?’

‘Why yes, do, Mr Hawkins,’ Mrs Boyle agreed. ‘Edwin is joining us later. That would be so nice.’

‘You have forgotten, my dear,’ interrupted Captain Boyle in a tight pompous voice, ‘that we have arranged to meet the Simpkins. We cannot take along other – uninvited guests!’

Mrs Boyle looked confused but Ralph broke in to save her any embarrassment. ‘It’s kind of you, ma’am, but I have made other arrangements for the evening. Perhaps some other time?’

He bowed again and Phoebe smiled wickedly and said, ‘Yes, do call – and bring Jack with you. If he will come!’

He hadn’t been able to find Jack anywhere and so he’d dined and wined alone, and cursed Jack for leaving and thought about how fine a woman Phoebe Boyle was, and did she really mean for him to call on her? It wasn’t the thing
to do, but then Phoebe Boyle wasn’t the sort to follow convention. Her father would have something to say to her for inviting him and an Aborigine to call. And the more wine he drank, the more attractive the controversial Phoebe became.

A woman like her would make a fine wife, he’d deliberated over his glass. She’s beautiful and fashionable. She’d never be boring. She would always have something to say and she would be very happy to have my friends around, no matter what race or colour. I don’t know how I would put up with her father, though, or her brother. His dislike of Edwin Boyle had diminished slightly. They were civil to each other but could never have been friends and he often thought that Edwin avoided his company.

He had drunk a bottle of wine, a glass of ale and two brandies before being politely asked to leave the restaurant, and had walked all the way home. Too intoxicated to mount, his horse had led the way as he’d held him by the reins.

As he rode now towards Parramatta he kept turning his head. He thought he could hear a rustle behind him, there was always the possibility of bushrangers even on this well-trodden track, but he could see no-one. He had almost reached the crossing which dropped down towards the main Sydney-Parramatta road, when a figure jumped out in front of his horse and caught hold of the snaffle. His hair was
dark and curly and he had a scarf covering the bottom half of his face.

‘You idiot, Jack! You scared the living daylights out of me. You might have had me off too,’ Ralph said huffily. ‘You know how temperamental Star is.’

‘Rubbish,’ Jack grinned, pulling off the scarf. ‘He knew I was there all the time. Unlike you who didn’t! I’ve been running alongside you ever since you left home.’

Ralph grunted. He was still mad at Jack for going off and leaving him to drink alone the previous evening. ‘I was concentrating,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve a lot on my mind just now.’

‘So why are you going to Parramatta? Especially at this time of day. Too hot for you white man,’ he parodied in pidgin English.

Ralph dismounted and led the horse to a grassy sheltered area. If he could talk to anyone, he could talk to Jack. ‘Because . . .’ He swallowed. ‘I’ve just had some news. Because I’ve been told that Ma and Da are not my real parents.’ He sat down on the grass and took off his hat and fanned his face. ‘I’m staggered, Jack. I just can’t believe it.’

‘That’s incredible!’ Jack sat down beside him and put his chin in his hands. ‘It’s a shock I suppose, but does it make any difference?’

‘Well of course it makes a difference! I don’t know who I am! I’m not Ralph Hawkins, I’m somebody else!’

‘You look exactly the same to me,’ Jack said
laconically. ‘You look the same as you did when I left you last night, except for having drunk too well. You sound just the same!’

‘But I’m not!’ he replied angrily. ‘I’ve just found out that I’m not who I thought I was. My parents are not my parents. Peggy isn’t my sister. And my real mother was drowned when she fell overboard from the convict ship! I don’t know what to do,’ he said, with desperation in his voice.

‘But you don’t have to do anything,’ Jack said patiently. ‘If your real mother is dead, there is nothing to be done, she has gone to her ancestors. If she’d been alive then you could have gone and looked for her. But as she isn’t – !’

Ralph stared at his friend. ‘I need to know who she was and why she was on a convict ship! I need to know what crime she committed to be sent to Australia.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’m going to Parramatta to see Ralph Clavell. He might know. He might have some answers for me.’

‘Do you want me to come?’ Jack squinted up at him.

Ralph shook his head. ‘No. I want to go alone.’

Jack nodded. ‘I’ll wait here then,’ and as Ralph turned away and remounted, he called after him, ‘I hope I recognize you when you come back!’

I should have known better than to tell him, Ralph pondered as he rode towards Clavell’s
house. It won’t seem important to him. The Aborigines swap wives and sisters and they look after each other’s children, or at least they used to before the missionaries converted them, and they seem to be no worse for it. Jack’s extended family lived around Benne’s land. They drifted in and built their bark
mia-mias
or shelters where they stayed for a while before moving off to explore the dubious joys of Sydney.

Times were changing fast for the native Australians. They no longer hunted for their food as their ancestors did, but were encouraged to give up their nomadic existence and work as labourers in exchange for food, shelter and clothing. They were being influenced by a civilization which covered their innocent nakedness, provided them with Christian beliefs and gave them alcohol which dulled their senses. They were being wiped out by despair at the loss of their land and the diseases which the conquering authority had brought with them.

‘You’ve ridden in this heat? You’re out of your senses, young man.’ Clavell had just woken from an afternoon sleep. ‘Have you fallen out with your father again?’

Ralph grinned sheepishly. ‘Not exactly, though he thinks I don’t do enough work around the farm.’

‘Well, you probably don’t. Not many young men do, especially not rich young men like you. If you’d been poor you’d have had to work a lot harder.’

‘Yes, sir,’ he replied, anticipating yet another lecture. ‘So my father says.’

‘Ah!’ Clavell rang a bell and asked a maid to bring some iced lemonade. ‘So you have had a few words?’

‘Yes, but that’s not why I’m here, sir.’ He sat down in a cane chair and stretched his long legs. ‘I’ve come to ask you a question.’

‘Yes?’

‘About my mother.’

‘Can’t you ask her?’ Clavell’s eyes narrowed and his thick grey eyebrows beetled together.

‘About my real mother.’

‘Ah,’ he said again. ‘Has someone been saying something?’

Ralph nodded. ‘Ma told me. She told me this morning that she wasn’t my real mother.’ He felt his eyes prickle. Damn! I hope I’m not going to make a fool of myself again.

‘She
is
your real mother!’ Clavell barked at him. ‘You wouldn’t find a better mother than Meg. What you mean is that she isn’t your
natural
mother. The one who gave birth to you!’

‘Yes, sir,’ he agreed meekly. ‘That’s what I meant.’

‘All over the world there are women bringing up children that they didn’t give birth to,’ Clavell continued in the same harsh tone. ‘It doesn’t mean they’re not making a good job of it. It’s the easiest thing on earth to conceive a child, far harder to bring one up!’

Ralph remained silent. Better to let him rant
on for a while, then he could ask him the question.

‘So I suppose you want to ask me if I knew who she was?’ Clavell said at length. ‘I delivered you, you know. That’s why you were given my name.’

Ralph nodded. ‘Yes, Ma said – that you’d delivered me on board ship, and that, that my – natural mother had drowned.’ He hesitated, then said in a low voice, ‘I would like to know who she was and why she was on board a convict ship.’

Clavell stared him in the face. ‘And then I suppose you’ll want to be off on a wild goose chase to England to find your other family?’

Ralph stared back at him. ‘My other family?’ That hadn’t crossed his mind. But yes! There must be people in England who were related to him. Blood relations. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s exactly what I would like to do!’

‘
HER NAME WAS
Scott.’ Clavell poured two glasses of lemonade and handed one to Ralph. ‘Rose Elizabeth Scott. I checked the lists after we had landed and I particularly remembered her name because Scott was also my grandmother’s name.’ He took a deep drink, and then added, ‘She came from York. At least, she was sent from York County Gaol.’

Ralph licked his lips. ‘And – did it say on the list why she had been transported?’

Clavell nodded. ‘It did.’ He took another drink. ‘Are you sure you want to know all of this? It’s finished, you know. It was another lifetime.’

‘I have to know,’ Ralph replied. ‘I can’t just leave it now that I’ve started.’

‘I suppose not.’ Clavell looked at him. ‘But be careful how you handle this. Don’t hurt Meg. She’s loved you as a mother loves a son, and Joe has brought you up as his own.’

‘I won’t, sir. It won’t affect my feelings for them. But I would like to know.’

‘It said on her file – attempted murder. She was sentenced to ten years’ transportation. Of course what that really meant was a lifetime’s banishment. Women never went back. Well, hardly ever,’ Clavell gave a small smile, ‘except in exceptional circumstances, such as your aunt Emily’s.’

Ralph sat stunned. This was worse than he had anticipated. He thought it would have been a crime of stealing, but nothing more than that. Of all the young people he knew who were the sons and daughters of convicts – ‘currency lads and lasses’ they were called if they had been born in Australia – none of their parents had committed worse than theft. And all, they protested, had been innocent of the charges brought against them.

But attempted murder! That was a real crime, especially for a woman! Far worse than becoming a street woman in order to eat. The lemonade fizzed inside him and he felt sick. Had she been wicked, then, to commit such a crime?

‘She seemed a pleasant young woman,’ Clavell was saying. ‘Gentle, quietly spoken. Not high born, you know, but from good stock I would imagine.’ He paused momentarily. ‘She obviously couldn’t cope with what was in front of her. The voyage was bad enough, especially for a pregnant woman, but she would have needed to be strong to withstand the rigours of Parramatta Female Gaol, which is where she would have gone if she couldn’t find a place as housekeeper;
and she would have had to give up her child.’