The death of Isabella McPhee

It was 2 o’clock in the morning on Sunday 9 February 1879 when Isabella McPhee called for Henry to help her. She had felt unwell for days but didn’t want any fuss or anyone to call the doctor. Henry came to the room quickly to see how he could help. Isabella asked him to bring a light. As he entered the room with the candlelight, he saw how faint she looked; pale, unwell. She asked him to help make her a bit more comfortable, and in her weakened state she ran out of energy and fell asleep again. Henry sat with her through the night, and in the morning he brought her some tea, lifting her head to help her drink.

Henry had only been lodging with her for a short time. He lived in the back room while Isabella shared the front room with her 11-year-old daughter, Edith. Isabella had provided Henry with accommodation as a means of income. Her husband, a mariner, had left her to raise their daughter alone. The house was a small sandstone cottage that faced directly onto Brown Street, a dirt road tucked into the corner of West Hobart. No front garden, no front gate. It was just off Warwick Street, where few carriages passed down the quiet road. The Jewish burial ground nearby could be