Tamar (7 page)

Bronwyn laughed, displaying even, white teeth. ‘Will any decent man have me after all this whoring, you mean? I can’t see why not. Not every man wants to marry a virgin, and we’re not ordinary streetwalkers. I’ve already had offers. But we’ll see, it’s a way off yet. I would like a child though,’ she added wistfully.

‘So would I,’ Tamar replied. ‘Lots, in fact. But don’t you feel … used, sleeping with so many different men?’

‘No, I give them what they want and they go away happy. They give me money and I’m happy. It’s better than doing it for nothing for the rest of my life. And I get to wear fine clothes, I eat well, Myrna looks after us and I meet interesting people. Gentlemen too, not great lumbering stupid oafs covered in dirt, although some of them can be a little difficult to handle. But that’s part of the job. Myrna has strict rules about what is and isn’t allowed.’

‘And you never get tired of it?’

‘Not really. Well, sometimes it can be a bit boring. Some of the customers aren’t what they think they are between the sheets, and sometimes they moan on and on about their awful wives. But when that happens I just think about my bank account, because where else am I going to make this sort of money? Sometimes it is exhausting, when we’ve been busy all afternoon and half the night, but that’s the same with all jobs. Didn’t you get sick of sewing gowns sometimes?’

‘Yes,’ Tamar replied. ‘And it was hard work!’

‘Well, there you are then. Like any other job it has its ups and downs.’ Bronwyn giggled at her own joke. ‘I expect when I’ve had enough and it’s time to get out, I’ll know, but that hasn’t happened yet.’

Polly had also taken a great interest in Myrna’s girls. One day she asked Tamar outright what it was they did, not believing their elegant grooming and cultured manners were destined for domestic service. Tamar evaded the question but Polly persisted until Tamar suggested she ask Myrna. Surprisingly, Myrna had told her, but requested that she keep it to herself as she didn’t want the entire ship knowing the nature of her and her girls’ business. Not that she was ashamed, she explained, but because she felt it would cause all sorts of trouble.

After that, Polly spent a significant amount of her time talking with Letitia, Vivienne, Bronwyn and Jessica. Unable to keep the
information to herself, she told Sally and Jane, who were rather uncomfortable with the news; they continued to be friendly with Myrna’s girls, but kept themselves a little aloof. But the secret went no further, and the rest of the women remained ignorant of the girls’ true profession.

About a week out from New Zealand the temperature increased and the weather improved as the
Rebecca Jane
sailed into the calmer and slightly warmer waters below Tasmania. Land-based sea birds became a common sight and now and then vegetation bobbed past the hull. The mood on board also began to lighten as the emigrants neared their destination. All were heartily sick of the voyage, weary of the ever-worsening food, the constant lack of privacy, of each other’s company, the episodes of ill health, and the extremes of temperature they had endured over the past months.

Tamar longed for a decent soak in hot, clean water and yearned to put on freshly washed clothes not stiff with dried salt. She had run out of soap for her hair, which had been lank and greasy for weeks, the head and body lice infesting the ship were driving her mad, and her body craved fresh fruit and vegetables. She was deeply frustrated to learn they could be at sea for another two weeks. Yesterday, the Captain had advised the
Rebecca Jane
was about to begin her run north into the Tasman Sea and up the west coast of New Zealand, but land would probably not be sighted until they passed Cape Maria van Diemen at the northernmost tip. After that, it would be several days further before they finally arrived in Auckland.

In anticipation, and amidst an almost party-like atmosphere, the hold was opened and the emigrants began to prepare their belongings for disembarkation. To their horror, a number of trunks and boxes had been rotted by sea water leaking from above and were
in various stages of mouldy disintegration. Rats had eaten everything they could find and made themselves cosy little homes. Even worse, some of the cabin passengers’ luggage had been broken into and valuable items removed. There was an uproar and the Captain ordered a ship-wide search for the stolen belongings, although nothing was recovered and he was never able to establish whether it was his crew or light-fingered passengers who had committed the thefts.

With the weather now much improved, the passengers spent more of their time on deck, many positioning themselves along the bulwarks in the hope of being the first to see land. The children had reached a level of excitement nearing hysteria and were almost uncontrollable but now the end of the voyage was near, their behaviour was tolerated. Dances were held on deck in the evenings and there was a new feeling of optimism, goodwill and hope.

On the morning of 4 June the cry of ‘
Land
!’ came from a sailor perched high in the rigging. The word spread quickly and within minutes the upper deck was swarming with people eager for their first glimpse of New Zealand. Some were disappointed, as all that was visible was a long, low line of white cloud on the eastern horizon, but for most the sight was heartening. Several days later, as the
Rebecca Jane
rounded the top of the North Island, the view was more rewarding; dark, forest-clad hills were clearly visible, with white-capped waves breaking on rugged shores. The emigrants were disappointed again as the ship’s passage between the Three Kings Islands and Cape Reinga was shrouded in low cloud and winter fog, obscuring any view of the coast, but by afternoon the weather had lifted and the empty, white beaches of North Cape came into view.

The
Rebecca Jane
turned south and began the last three days of her voyage down the eastern coast of the North Island, sailing past the Bay of Islands and Whangarei Harbour on her right and
Great Barrier Island on her left, and finally into the Hauraki Gulf. By the time she slipped past the region’s youngest volcano, the scrubby island of Rangitoto with its curious symmetrical crater, and on into the mouth of the Waitemata Harbour, the light had faded and the Captain gave the order to lower the anchor in the Rangitoto Channel. Grumbling, his passengers prepared to spend their last night at sea.

In the morning most were up, packed and on deck before the sun rose. It had begun to rain during the night, the weather was cold and windy and the harbour choppy, but the emigrants waited expectantly for the sun to rise. As it did, the shoreline of Mechanics Bay, so named for the first immigrant tradesmen known as ‘mechanics’ put ashore there, slowly revealed itself. Rain glistened on the dismal, grey buildings lining the waterfront and the churned-up mud road. A railway embankment rose above a sprawling brickyard and a blackened foundry and untidy stacks of timber lay everywhere. To the right on a small, partially excavated point sat the derelict remains of the demolished Britomart Barracks, once home to the 58th Regiment. On board the
Rebecca Jane
the emigrants, immigrants now they had finally arrived, were silent.

‘Bloody ’ell,’ said a man behind Tamar. ‘Is this it? It’s worse than ’ome!’

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

June 1879

H
ad the sun been shining, the immigrants might have felt more enthusiastic about their new home. From their vantage point in the Waitemata Harbour, they would have been able to see the wooded, rural slopes of Parnell Rise overlooking Hobson and Judges Bays and the gentle hills of Remuera. To the southwest was Orakei Basin and, almost behind them, Mission Bay and St Heliers. Across the harbour was the Devonport peninsula, dominated by Mt Victoria and North Head.

As the sun rose higher, the Captain ordered the anchor lifted and the
Rebecca Jane
was towed to Queen’s Wharf, where the immigrants were to disembark. The process was frustratingly slow and several hours passed before they were on solid ground, waiting impatiently for transport to Auckland’s immigration barracks. While they waited, sheltering from the cold drizzle, they amused themselves by staggering about, their sea legs not yet adapted to the sudden lack of rolling motion. Most of the cabin passengers had already departed in hired coaches or had been collected by friends or family. As Tamar and Myrna stood under the inadequate shelter of a sunshade, Tamar spied John Adams striding purposefully towards her, hat in hand.

‘Tamar,’ he said, coming to a muddy stop and handing her a folded piece of paper. ‘This is where I’ll be staying,’ he said, pointing at his note. ‘Dr Basil Stokes is a friend of mine, and he’s putting me up. As soon as you are settled, send me a note and I’ll come and see you. Then when I’ve set myself up, you can come and visit me. I’ll have my own rooms by then, and a house. Tamar?’ he added, a pleading note creeping into his voice. He reached out and took her hand. ‘Will you visit me?’

Myrna quickly turned away and busied herself lighting a cigarette.

Tamar nodded. ‘As soon as I am settled somewhere permanent, John. I promise. Whatever happens, we’ll always be friends.’

John gazed at her solemnly, suspecting he was on the verge of losing her. Tamar saw the sadness in his eyes and her heart ached for him. ‘I promise there will always be a place for you in my life.’

Myrna raised her eyebrows and thought, what
are
you playing at, lassie? Tamar was passing up an offer most women would kill for. John Adams may not be the most handsome man in the world, but he was possibly the kindest and certainly the most loyal.

John leaned forward and kissed Tamar very gently on her cheek. ‘I’m going now,’ he said. ‘Please keep in touch.’

‘I will,’ she replied as he walked away, ramming his hat aggressively on his damp head.

‘Oh, dear, I hope I haven’t upset him.’

‘We’ll see, lassie, we’ll see,’ Myrna muttered as she gazed after John.

The transport, a convoy of carts drawn by bedraggled-looking horses, finally arrived and the immigrants loaded their belongings and climbed in, chattering excitedly and pointing out interesting sights as they drove through the muddy streets. When they arrived at the immigration barracks many were relieved to see the building was better maintained than the barracks at Plymouth. They were
asked to show their medical certificates to immigration officials as they filed in through the main entrance, given a perfunctory tour of their temporary accommodation and advised a lecture about their new country would be held in an hour’s time in the dining hall.

Tamar had little sleep that night, excitement was high and most did not turn in until after midnight. Speculation was rife about employment opportunities and the next morning many of the men rose early, eager to explore the town and begin job hunting. By the end of the day none of those who returned had found work, but most remained positive.

The new immigrants were only permitted to stay at the barracks for a few days so finding other accommodation was a priority. Tamar, Polly, Jane and Sally decided they would relocate together to a boarding house and one of the immigration officials recommended a respectable establishment on Ponsonby Road. ‘It’s not cheap,’ he warned. ‘Best you find yourselves good jobs before you settle in too comfortably.’

‘Oh, we will, Mister, don’t yer worry yer ’ead about us!’ Polly replied optimistically. ‘This ’ere’s the land of opportunity.’

Myrna and her girls had already left the previous day, Myrna having rented a house in Mt Eden while she went about the task of setting up her business. The farewell had been emotional but the women parted on an optimistic note, Myrna taking Tamar to one side to tell her she could help them if things did not go as well as they hoped.

As the girls climbed down from the carriage outside the boarding establishment on Ponsonby Road and waited for their luggage to be unloaded, they stared up at the house that would be their home for as long as they could afford it. It was a slightly shabby but still handsome two-storeyed wooden residence with verandahs along the front and a modest portico over the front door. Tamar and her friends looked at each other, eyebrows raised; none of them had
ever been in such a big house before, let alone lived in one, but while they had a little money they intended to make the most of it.

‘Well,’ said Polly, her hands on her hips, a wide smile on her face and her fluffy blonde hair escaping from under her hat. ‘This is a bit of all right, isn’t it? I wish everyone back ’ome could see me now. Wouldn’t they be
green
?’

She walked boldly up to the front door and banged the brass knocker. The girls heard footsteps hurrying up the hall inside, then the door opened halfway and a bespectacled, middle-aged face peered out.

‘Yes?’ asked the woman, her foot wedged firmly behind the half-opened door. ‘Can I be of assistance?’

‘We understand you’ve rooms fer lease ter single women,’ said Polly brightly. ‘We’re new immigrants an’ we’ve just arrived.’

The woman held her hand out through the gap in the door. ‘Papers please.’

The girls handed over their documents and waited while the woman read them slowly and thoroughly.

‘Well, then, good morning to you,’ she said when she’d finished, evidently satisfied. ‘Seamstresses and domestics, I see. I am Mrs Barriball. I apologise for my hesitation but one cannot be too careful,’ she said, opening the door wide. She was dressed in a severe black grosgrain gown with a small collar and a white lace cap with black ribbons. ‘Come in, please. Put your things in the hall and take a seat in the parlour,’ she said, indicating a room off the wide hallway to the right. ‘I will be with you shortly.’ She hurried off, her skirts swishing, towards the back of the house.

Tamar dragged her trunk over the doorstep then led the way into the gloomy front room.

The parlour was dominated by a large fireplace inlaid with pressed tin and an intricate pattern of blue, green and white enamel tiles surrounded by an ornate wooden mantelpiece. On
either side sat two over-stuffed wing chairs piled with cushions, flanked by occasional tables with lace doilies and a collection of china figurines. Vases filled with silk flowers and ostrich feathers were intermingled with framed photographs along the top of the mantelpiece, and on the polished wooden shelves above the fire. On the floor was a worn floral carpet with strategically placed rugs, and the walls were decorated with faded floral wallpaper. Everywhere the girls looked there were ornaments and potted plants. Arranged in front of the fire and facing it were two slightly aged-looking sofas draped with embroidered antimacassars, and behind them several more heavily laden side tables. On the walls hung two ornate mirrors and six or seven framed portraits of unsmiling, dreary-looking people. The curtains were heavy and draped so little sunlight could penetrate the room.