Southampton, September 1854
Catherine and Edward carried their bags off the horse-drawn omnibus and stepped on to the Royal Pier at Southampton at last. They made their ragglety-tagglety way through the well dressed couples enjoying their afternoon strolls by the seaside, with their lively parasols and hoity-toity ways, and hawkers selling everything from postcards to "genuine" Henry VIII daggers. The hawkers soon lost interest once they determined they were Irish emigrants - good riddance to the lot o' ya, no money to be made here. Catherine could tell by the way they were looked at that they weren't welcome . But it didn't matter - tomorrow they will step aboard the Coromandel, docked ahead of them, and being fussed over like a new bride. As new brides go, she had been around. Built in 1820, she had transported convicts to Van Diemen's Land, and cargo to New South Wales and New Zealand. Now, sailors swept decks, while haulers offloaded boxes of all shapes and sizes and the sailors hoisted them aboard.
Catherine stared at the ship with a mixture of fascination and dread. There had been many "there's no going back now" moments over the past few weeks, but tomorrow there will really be no going back - when they get off that boat it will be in Adelaide, South Australia, on the other side of the world. She cradled Ellen, two years old, in her arms, and wrapped her long woolen scarf around them both as protection from the chilly September wind.
"Mary? Where's Mary!?
Edward was holding onto young Thomas with one hand, and their carpetbag with the other. Mary was supposed to be holding onto his coat tails, but was nowhere to be seen.
"You stay here" said Catherine hurriedly as she handed over Ellen. "By the ticket kiosk."
She took off back towards the omnibus stop. Suddenly all these strangers seemed menacing, blocking her view. She looked up towards the street, but saw no sign of little Mary. She looked the other way, towards the water - no sign. Panic rose in her gut.
Then she saw her, standing on the wharf by the Coromandel, staring up at the tallest mast, at the sailors far above fixing the rigging of the three-masted barque. She called out, but it was too noisy, so there was no response. When she finally got to Mary she was furious.
"Mary - don't you ever do that again, you hear me?"
"What, Mama?"
"Leave us. You must stay with us. Don't ever walk off by yourself!"
Catherine grabbed her gruffly and made her way back to the ticket kiosk where Edward had been trying to soothe a teething and tearful Ellen, and watch over a curious Thomas. Catherine exchanged a "this is all your fault" look with Edward, who knew she meant business, even if he had seen that look many times before. They knew they would face many dangers in the months ahead, but losing a child before they had even departed wasn't one they had considered.
Lord knows the trouble they had to go through to get here. Once they had decided that they would emigrate to South Australia they had to find an emigration agent in Cork to arrange passage (Bill did that, God bless his soul). "We'll be leavin' at the end of the month - from Southampton, on 20 September" he stated casually after Mass. "Get your papers together."
"What papers?" Catherine asked.
"Here's the application. Write down your answers to the questions - you have to write it yourself, in your own hand."
While Bill kept talking to Edward, Catherine looked at the application. "State the place to which to applicant wishes to emigrate.. are you in receipt of parish relief.. present place of residence.. age last birthday.. certificate of baptism.."
"Says we must pay one pound for bedding, box and utensils. Is that five pounds altogether - where will we get that money?" Catherine wondered aloud.
"Ignatius O'Sullivan will pay for the lot," Bill replied.
Bill went on. "Then you have to declare that you will follow all the rules on board the ship, and stay on the ship until we all reach Adelaide."
"God willing", Mary piped up. The others looked at her, and she retreated to gather her clann together.
And now there was a new complication for Catherine - she was pregnant again. By the time they leave she will be three months advanced, and going through all that again while cooped up on an emigrant ship was not something she was looking forward to.
Bill went on. "Then you've got to find two respectable householders who will declare that they have known you, and what you do for work, and that they believe you are sober, industrious, and of honest good character, so you won't be a problem when you arrive. I'm going to Keel House tomorrow to talk to Mr Rae. You should come too, Edward."
"Tomorrow it is then," Edward replied.
"Then we've all got to go see the doctor in Castlemaine to get certificates that we're all fit and healthy. And the final one is to bring all the certificates back to Father Casey who will sign to say they're all genuine."
On the morrow Bill and Edward dutifully trudged down the lane past the ruins of the old Kilgarrylander church and graveyard to Keel House. Bill thought of his parents Thomas and Mary, both buried in the old ruins, and what they might think of him emigrating to Australia. "Australia!" he imagined his father replying. "That's where they send them convicts!"
"Hrmph!" the old man Edward Rae snorted when the two cottiers knocked on his door and told him of their intentions to emigrate to Australia. Edward Rae had been resident in Keel House for many years, and was an active and generally respected landlord, unlike many. "So you're off then. Well, there's no stoppin' ya, I guess. So you'll need a reference then. I'll get it ready by Tuesday." With one in two Irish emigrating, either to America, Liverpool, or Australia, Edward Rae knew his responsibilities in the parish.
"Thank you," Edward replied, "and thank you for being a good landlord, sir" he added, a little too obsequiously for Bill's taste.
"You're a good man, Edward Griffin, and you too, Bill Murphy. I trust God will take care a ya, and Catherine and Mary too, and ya clann." There was an awkward pause. "I'll leave the references with Father Casey. God speed." With that he closed the door, and Edward and Bill's lives as Irish cottiers came to an end.
In the following weeks Edward and Catherine sold up their cow, pigs and chickens at the market in Castlemaine. The money allowed Catherine to buy new clothes for them all, bags to pack them in, and to pay for their journey to Cork.
Then it was time to leave.
Catherine and Mary hadn't told the children anything about the journey to come as yet - but now was the time. It had little effect. Plenty of their friends had told them stories of going to America, or Liverpool, and then disappeared from their lives. They were each other's best friends anyway - as long as they were still together nothing except the background noise would change, so they were OK with it. Then Father Casey gave them his blessing outside the Boolteens Catholic Church after Mass. The Sheehans, Moriartys, Briens were all there, along with the rest of the Murphys, including his brother James. The mood was supportive, resigned, understanding.
"We'll join ya soon enough, God willin'," said Timothy Brien unconvincingly. Father Casey said a few words and gave the blessing:
May you see God's light on the path ahead
When the road you walk is dark.
May you always hear
Even in your hour of sorrow
The gentle singing of the lark.
When times are hard may hardness
Not turn your hearts to stone
And may you always remember
you do not walk alone.
The carriage which would take them to Castlemaine for the first night of their journey had arrived. Timothy Sheehan loaded up their bags for them. Last goodbyes were said. Edward shepherded the clann aboard, then helped Mary and Catherine climb the sideboards to squeeze in where they could amongst the bags. This was it then. There were no tears. It happened too frequently - there were too many farewells. Just a numbness. The carriage groaned and started rolling slowly down the muddy path. The refugees from their own land felt the empty stomachs of the condemned, the sudden realisation that the idea had become reality, and that whatever would happen to them was out of their hands. Catherine felt a sudden need to grab her children close to her. They looked at her, surprised. It started to rain and they huddled together under the canvas sheeting.
The following day, after overnighting in Castlemaine, they made their way in the same carriage towards Killarney. To the right the mountainous crags of MacGillycuddy's Reeks peered down at them. It was a sunny day, and the depression of the previous day had lifted to reveal the giddy adventurers full of happiness and mirth. The lakes of Lough Leane drifted by on their right hand side, Ross Castle squatting proudly on its own island. They never saw anything prettier, or were more proud to be Kerrymen and women. Edward sang the Rose of Tralee in a voice he didn't know he had.
"Oh God, what are we doing?" he thought to himself when he finished. "Why didn't we stay, and fight the English - kick them out, and have an Ireland to be proud of? Instead we're slinking off like cowards."
He put these thoughts aside - no point. Besides, he was looking forward to a few ales with Bill in the Killarney pub when they had settled in.
Lodging had been arranged for them by the Killarney parish. Many had forged this path already, and the landlady knew the routine. "Breakfast at five, an' you'll be on ya way then. God be wid ya."
It had been a long day, so getting the clann to bed was straightforward. High Street in Killarney led directly to the Catholic Church, where, as luck would have it, the brewery was across the road. Soon enough, the two men sat in the pub, quietly staring down the barrel of a red ale.
"Did you think about Edward Rae's offer?" said Bill finally.
"To go to Crimea to fight the Russkies? Not bloody likely. The English can fight their own bloody wars. I mean, the money was OK, but leavin' Catherine and the clann for years - no way. He can get stuffed. Anyways, lots of others took it up - good luck to 'em."
"I remember me Da tellin me how many of his mates went off to fight Napoleon, and never come back," Edward continued. "Said he'd never fight for the bloody English, no matter what they offered. An' if I ever thought about it, he'd thrash me." Both men stared into their ales. Eventually Edward broke the silence.
"God it was beautiful today, comin' past the lakes..."
It was noisy and smoky inside the Killarney pub, but the air was heavy with thought.
"You changin' ya mind?" said Bill.
Edward didn't answer, because he didn't know what his mind was. It was too late anyway, but he started to feel angry - angry he had lost his home and patch of potatoes and corn, angry the wealthy got off scot free while he had to seek refuge from his own land in another. Why couldn't the Irish live in Ireland? Why didn't we fight for it? For God's sake, surely we've got enough in common to fight a common enemy? Maybe we don't - maybe we're just a bunch of scrabblin' tribes and families, scratching a useless existence out of the bogs, just like the Romans and Danes and English said all those years ago. Maybe it's just the way it is, and we have to put up with it.
"No", he said finally. "No."
"What's done is done." Bill's words hung in the air for a while.
"Anyways, better times a-comin. Mary says we're gonna work like the devil when we gets to Adelaide and within a few years we'll have worked off our passage and we'll find our own land somewhere."
"I'm going to be a businessman," said Edward.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! A businessman. An' what's gonna be ya callin', Mr Griffin, businessman, of Adelaide, South Australia?" Bill could sense Edward needed a bit of cheering up.
"Transport."
"Transport? An' what'll ya be transportin' then - gold?" News of the goldfields of Victoria had been all over the papers in Kerry for a few years now.
"Whatever needs transportin' - I'll find out when I get there."
The heavy mood lifted as the ales reappeared. By the time they returned to their lodgings they had to concentrate really hard to say a sober goodnight to the landlady as they passed, who harrumphed in return. Both wives were similarly unimpressed when their very cheery and beery husbands poured themselves into bed, fluthered.
"Come on, move along all a ya. Lose an hour in da mornin' an' you'll be lookin' for it all day." Catherine's urgency was barely enough to rouse Edward at 4 am, but finally... finally... they were all aboard the carriage, and mostly back to sleep again under the canvas. The clip-clop from the horses and the rattle and hum from the carriage kept them company until the dawn peeked in under their covers.
Soon enough the emigrants were on their way again to Cork. Bill and Edward fell asleep immediately the carriage wheels started rolling and didn't notice they were in a different, larger carriage now, and other emigrants had joined them, swelling the total numbers to nearly twenty. Idle chatter descended into uncomfortable silence, but then surfaced again as the troupe talked about "what God has in store for us".
The route had them following the valley of the River Flesk to Clonkeen, and then to the climb up and over the Derrynasaggart Mountains. As usual, the sunshine gave way to low heavy clouds. The air grew chilly, and light rain fell. The group huddled intimately under the canvas sheeting. No one spoke - the plod of the horses' hooves ticked the minutes away. From time to time the carriage lurched precariously on the slippery road. Then the rain stopped and the group emerged from under their coverings into the clear cold sunlight atop the ranges. Ahead they could see the Sullane River winding its way westwards from Ballvourney all the way to Macroom, where they stopped for lunch in the square, and changed horses. The little group sat by the river, in front of the church, to eat their bread and cheese in the sunshine. Mary and Thomas chased the ducks into the water. Life was good.
It was a long afternoon, punctuated by chatter which grew increasingly relaxed. Seamus and Ellen were going to Liverpool with their two children, and Thomas and Bridie to America - no kids. Catherine pondered whether this would be their lot from now on - meet someone for a couple of hours and within a short time they are literally on the other side of the world, never to be seen again. When they said they were off to South Australia the reaction was instant. "Australia! Bejesus! That's where the convicts go. Or are ya chasin' the gold then?"
"Maybe," said Bill. Mary looked at him, surprised. "We're gonna be rich. Me mate Edward here's gonna be a transport tycoon, so he says." Everyone looked at Edward, who knew what sort of response he would get from Catherine.
"Well, we're all gonna be better off than if we'd stayed here," said Catherine. The group looked out at the beautiful River Lee valley they were passing though at the time Catherine spoke. While they knew she spoke the truth, what they were losing never seemed so obvious. Onward they went through Killinardrish, Coachford and Dripsey. Cork approached - eventually Blarney Lane, full of neat cottages with flower pots in front of every window, took them directly to Shandon Street in the centre of Cork which then became Clarence Street. They could smell the tanneries - the heavy odour of blood and bone penetrated every breath. It had been a very long day for the weary travelers, and as they turned into the laneway which led to their lodgings the relief was evident.
It was already late. The weary travelers were due to meet Father McGuire the following day before meeting their emigration agent at last. Then they would know what the future - the immediate future, at least - had in store for them.
From the first, Catherine didn't like him. He was a tall man in a long black coat, was Mr Besnard, the emigration agent. But then again, he didn't care much for them either. Kerrymen cottiers - who could make money out of them? Mr Besnard swept into view from his office indoors to join the messy throng of humanity crowding the street. He had long wavy hair, swept back from a slightly receding brow, and deepset eyes which surveyed the scene like a wolf watching the sheep below. His mouth was pursed, and his expression was that of someone who was always smelling something unpleasant.
In front of him would-be emigrants milled about, waiting to be called. Many sat on boxes - their only belongings inside. They dare not move away - if they missed their call, well that could be repaired, but if the local thieves hoofed it with their belongings, that didn't bear thinking about. Bill and Edward took turns with Catherine and Mary guarding their boxes and their real treasures, the children they could not afford to take their eyes off.
"Griffin!" Mr Besnard shouted imperiously. "Edward Griffin!"
Edward leapt up. "Here Sir" he replied.
"How many?"
"Five, Sir. Meself, my wife Catherine..."
"Hold on man, I've got to write this down." He proceeded to record the entries into the emigration log.
"Age?"
"Thirty six, Sir," Edward replied.
"Work? Are you a labourer?"
"I'm a cottier, Sir."
"You're a labourer now, Mr Griffin. They won't know what a cottier is in South Australia."
Edward couldn't be bothered arguing about his sudden class demotion - it wasn't important any more.
Once Mr Besnard had finished writing all the details into the log he gave them the information they had been waiting for.
"Right. On Thursday.." He stopped, distracted by an argument which had broken out between an agent and some emigrants at the next table. A crowd had quickly gathered to hear it out. A policeman appeared out of nowhere to remind the travellers that the agent was correct. Paid by the agents, no doubt, Catherine guessed as she watched on. The would-be travellers went quiet, although it was clear they were not happy. Mr Besnard resumed. "On Thursday - that's two days from now - you will board the Queen Victoria steamship from Queenstown docks at 2pm. Here are your tickets." He placed them in Edward's hand. "This will take you directly overnight to Southampton, where you will wait five days before boarding the Coromandel, which will sail directly to Adelaide, South Australia, once the tide and weather conditions allow. Do you have any questions?"
"What about the money?"
"Your costs have all been covered by a Mr..." - he shuffled some papers - "Patrick Cash, acting on behalf of your sponsors in South Australia. I wish you God speed on your journey."
"Murphy!" Mr Besnard shouted again. Bill went through the same routine as Edward with the ever-efficient Mr Besnard, Emigration Agent. The crowd had gradually thinned out as the details of their journeys were disbursed, but for Catherine and Mary the events had caught up with them. As they sat on the boxes in the street - all they owned - and cradled the tickets, it seemed the world had come crashing down upon them. The tears flowed, and they hugged each other as fellow travelers to God knows where. All they knew now was the certainty of leaving everything they ever knew for the uncertainty of God knows what.
Eventually this little knot of tangled emotions unwound enough to make its way back down Shandon Street, past the pubs and terrace houses and into their lodgings.
