By the Side of the Tracks

By Roslyn May

This is based on the lives of real people and actual events.

This remarkable story imagines the life of one young couple in the heady days of the 1880s railway boom, their struggles in the depression of the 1890s, and their rescue from poverty by the Kalgoorlie gold rush.

Rob and Mary were both born and raised by the tracks in railway navvy camps, but Rob wants something better for his children and his beloved Mary. In the cold mountain air of Ben Lomond, he promises her she will have a home by the sea. Mary cares more for the people in her family than for houses but follows Rob from colony to colony as he chases opportunities until the day the work runs out, and the lives of their children are in danger.

Rob and Marys quest for the great Australian dream parallels the coming together of the colonies to form the nation of Australia. At the start of the new century, it seems they have finally made it, but dreams can be easily shattered.

Told with empathy for the characters and an eye for detail for social history, By the Side of the Tracks is a tribute to the thousands of navvies and their families who built the railways, which made it possible for Australia to become one nation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Dec 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514497791

Roslyn May

Roslyn was given a gold ring with the initials MJD in 1968 when her great-aunt Emily died. She wore it for forty-five years, sometimes turning it on her finger and wondering about the woman who had once owned it. After a successful career as a child and family psychologist, she retired in 2014 and has spent the last two years researching and writing the story of her great-grandmother, Mary Jane Day. Roslyn lives with her husband, Alan, in Canberra. They have two sons and two grandchildren. This is her first book.

Book preview

Copyright © 2017 by Roslyn May.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction based on the lives of real people. Characterisations and events have been used fictitiously.

Cover images are by the author.

Rev. date: 12/22/2016

Xlibris

1-800-455-039

www.Xlibris.com.au

737234

CONTENTS

Main Characters

The Railway Hotel

Born Under Canvas

Back Along The Line

The Cheviot Tunnel

The End Of The Line

An English Grocer

A Home By The Sea

The Housewife And The Quarryman

A Summer Holiday

Slab Huts

The Digger

Underground

The Homecoming

Home Owners

Bobby

The Ring

Epilogue

Author’s Notes

In memory of

Hazel Lambe (nee Day)

Australia

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Southern Qld and Northern NSW

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Sydney and Surrounds

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MAIN CHARACTERS

NOTE: All the family characters were real people. Their personalities and some of their actions have been dramatised for this story. Fictional characters are listed in italics.

THE ELSWORTHY FAMILY

* Ben Elsworthy – born in Silverton, Devon England in 1827. Died 1886 in Stanthorpe, Queensland. Railway navvy, tin miner and publican.

* Jane Elsworthy (nee Bond) – born in Somerset, England in 1841. Married Ben in 1861 in Cornwall. Married Edward Wright in Sydney, New South Wales in 1893.

Ben and Jane had 13 children:

* Mary Ann – daughter, born in Cornwall in 1862 and died in 1863. Named for Jane’s stepmother Mary Ann Bond.

* Mary Jane – daughter, born Cornwall in 1863 and named for her mother and grandmother. Married Robert Day at Ben Lomond in 1883. (See below)

* Elizabeth (known as Bessie) – daughter, born in Surrey in 1864. Married Bill Bremner at Ben Lomond in 1884.

* Benjamin Thomas – son, born 1866 in Toowoomba, Qld. Married Elsie Jones in Stanthorpe in 1886. Ben and Elsie had 6 children.

* William (Will) – son, born 1868 in Warwick, Queensland. Married Amy Doyle in Boulder, Western Australia.

* Sarah – daughter, born 1871 in Stanthorpe, and died in 1882 at Ben Lomond.

* Susan – daughter, born 1873 in Stanthorpe, and died aged 3 months.

* Charles – son, born 1874 in Stanthorpe. Went to Western Australia with his brother Will and married Maud Doyle.

* Ann – daughter, born 1876 in Stanthorpe Queensland and died there aged 3 months.

* James – son, born 1879 in Stanthorpe, Queensland. Married Jane Mann in Thirlmere in 1900. Worked as a blacksmith.

* George – son, born in Walcha, NSW, in 1881

* Emily – daughter, born 1883 at Ben Lomond, NSW

* John – son, born in Stanthorpe, Queensland in 1885.

Edward Wright – born 1843 at Carlisle, England. Married Jane Elsworthy (nee Bond) in Sydney in 1893. Grocer and Farmer.

THE DAY FAMILY

Matthew Day – born 1832 in London, England and died 1879 in Stanthorpe, Queensland. Blacksmith and tin miner.

Eliza Day (nee Lee) – born in London, England in 1836 and died in Stanthorpe in 1910.

Matthew and Eliza had eight children. The three oldest sons were: -

* Andrew – born in London, England in 1856. Married Catherine Caton in 1881. Andrew and Catherine had five children.

* Mark John – son, born in Campbelltown, NSW in 1858. Married Catharina Sauer in Roma, Queensland in 1884. Mark and Catharina had nine children.

* Robert – son, born 1861 in Maitland, NSW. Robert married Mary Jane Elsworthy at Ben Lomond in 1883.

ROBERT and MARY JANE DAY’s FAMILY

* Unnamed baby - stillborn 1884 at Cowan Bank Tunnel, NSW

* Matthew – son, born 1885 at Cowan Bank Tunnel, NSW

* Annie – daughter, born 1887 at Coombahbah Tunnel, Southport, Queensland.

* Emily Jane – daughter, born 1888, Yea, Victoria

* Eliza (Lizzie) – daughter born 1890, Cheviot Tunnel, near Yea, Victoria

* Henry – son, born 1892 at Yamba, mouth of the Clarence River, NSW

* Charles – son, born 1894 at Rileys Hill, on the Richmond River, NSW

* Robert William (Bobby) – son, born 1900 at Campbelltown, NSW

OTHER CHARACTERS

Arnie Baxter – born approximately 1858 in Sydney, NSW. Butcher.

Bill Bremner – born 1862 in Scotland. Married Bessie Elsworthy in 1884 at Ben Lomond, NSW, Railway worker.

Tommy Long – born approximately 1863 in Dalby, Qld. Navvy.

William McInnes – born 1832 in Kent. Railway works supervisor.

Bridie Turner – born 1864 at Koroit, Victoria of Irish family. Married Jimmy Turner in 1881. They had one son, Peter born in 1884.

Walter Bowden (aka John Summerhill, aka John Winter) born 1843 in London. Entrepreneur

THE RAILWAY HOTEL

Ben Lomond, New South Wales, 1883

Arnie Baxter washes the blood from his hands in the water bucket, runs his wet hands through his black curls in an effort to smooth them down and considers taking off his blood stained apron, but decides it defines who he is and should stay.

Hoisting the large cane basket onto his shoulder, he shouts to Andy and Sid to mind the shop and heads out, pausing for just a minute on the front verandah to admire the morning’s handiwork. Six carcasses hang from the outside rafter, their shining skins a testament to his slaughtering and butchering skills and the freshness of his meat. That should bring in the customers. Not that he really needs more customers, he can barely keep up with demand as it is, but it’s always good to advertise.

With his basket held high on his substantial shoulder he strides down the middle of the road, enjoying the feeling of taking the next step in his destiny. It might not be settled today but his intentions will be clear and then, after a short but probably necessary period of courtship, he will have a wife. There are not too many young women to choose from in this railway town, but he has picked with care and is convinced she will meet his needs. He can see her now in a white apron serving behind his counter and bringing that touch of feminine nicety to displaying trays of meat and offal. Then she can pick one of the finest cuts to take to the kitchen to cook for their dinner. He has tasted her cooking and knows she is accomplished with even the cheapest cuts, so she is sure to be delighted with an inch thick piece of sirloin, a slice of tender veal, or perhaps a rack of lamb. He swallows the saliva created by just thinking of such meals. His mind takes the next leap into the bedroom and, well best not think about that, or he might not be in a fit state to talk to her.

He sucks in the cool mountain air instead and both his lungs and his skin appreciate the chance to breathe. In Sydney he was constantly in a sweat and short of breath in air that seemed so thick you had to swim through it. The early morning fog has lifted now to a bright and crisp winter afternoon showing the little town off to its best advantage. The weatherboard and galvanised iron shops and hotels strung out along the main street might not look as grand as the brick and stone of the city but one of them is his and that would have taken another twenty years of sweat down there.

He congratulates himself on his foresight in picking a town just on the cusp of the boom being brought by the railway. The town still looks raw with some of the houses and a couple of the hotels little more than bark shacks, and others still showing the red wood of newly sawed timber. Galvanised iron roofs shimmer like new pennies. One of those belongs to his shop. He got in early enough to pick a site just opposite where the railway station is to be built and between the bakery and the general store so everyone thinking of food will have to walk right past and see his display of meats and coils of his special pork sausages. Business was slow for the first few months but then the navvies arrived with their almost insatiable appetite for meat. They eat steak for breakfast, corned beef for lunch and mutton stew for dinner and pies and sausages whenever they can get them. Even before the first train arrives the hard work, good pay and appetites of the navvies are making him a rich man. A man who is now wealthy enough to take a wife and think about having sons to follow him into the butchering trade.

The town doesn’t yet have a church but it does have eight hotels, which is the other well-known way to get money out of the navvies. In a sure sign that victuals are more popular than vespers, the Reverend Campbell makes use of the large room at the Railway Hotel to conduct his services each fortnight as he travels around the Glen Innes diocese. The Railway Hotel stands on the ridge at the eastern end of town in the section known as Upper Camp. It’s a large galvanised iron building painted in cream with blue trim around the six windows facing the road and two blue doorways, above which you can read that Ben Elsworthy is the licensee. It looks settled and substantial but in fact it can easily be dismantled and put on a train to move to the next site when construction here is finished.

In the side yard of the hotel Bessie is pegging out the shirts and pinafores and cursing the cold wind that keeps flapping them in her face. She sees Arnie striding up the road and dashes around to the kitchen lean-to to warn Mary Jane.

Your handsome suitor is on his way Mary. Get ready to be charmed with his sausages and delighted with his bacon, she says with her cheekiest grin. No need to take your apron off though. He’s still got his on.

That’s enough from you young lady, her mother, Jane Elsworthy, admonishes as she stands behind the rough-hewn table chopping a large grey pumpkin. Arnie Baxter would be a good catch for either of you two girls. He’s only a young man and he already runs his own business, and owns the building too. A much better proposition than a navvy who owns only a shovel.

Mary looks stricken but can see no escape past her mother so she turns her attention to browning the meat in a large pot suspended over the open fireplace. Bessie skips back out the door just as Arnie arrives. She gives her grey skirt a flick and puts an extra wiggle in her hips as she turns past him. She might consider him unattractive but she loves the power that being a young woman gives her over men and uses it without thinking.

Arnie gives her an appraising look and has a quick fantasy of putting his hands over that pert little backside that she seems to be offering him. She’s pretty, and saucy too, with her curls and her cheeky smile, but it’s the other one he’s decided on. Mary is taller and plainer and wears her blouse buttoned up. She won’t be anywhere near as much trouble, he thinks. Even in this rough kitchen, in this railway workers’ pub, she seems somehow ladylike and sensible.

Good afternoon Mrs Elsworthy, and good afternoon Mary. I’ve brought your order myself today. I’ve added in a couple of pounds of my special pork sausages, at no cost to you, so you can try them. I’d like to know what you think of them, he says staring straight at Mary, who is doing her best to make stirring the meat seem like a job that requires one hundred per cent of her attention. Perhaps Mary could cook a few for us to eat tonight. I can come back in the evening and we can try them together.

Mary makes no response, so her mother jumps into the pause and says, Well thank you Arnie, we’ll be happy to try them.

I won’t have any thank you, says Mary, now turning all her attention to him. I don’t like pork at all. It’s too fatty and the smell makes me feel ill. Mum will be happy to cook them for you though, she adds as she turns back to her pot.

Undaunted, Arnie goes straight to the next step in his plan. Well, if your father is here I thought I would ask his permission for us to take a walk together on Sunday afternoon.

Before Mary can think of how to refuse politely, her mother tells him there will be no objection from either Ben Elsworthy or her to that idea. Arnie grins and says a cheery, Well until Sunday then, to Mary’s back and takes his leave.

As soon as he is out of earshot Jane rounds on her daughter. Mary how can you be so rude to the man, and what’s this nonsense about not eating pork? You need to think about your future. A butcher is always going to be in demand. He could offer you a good life, settled in a house and with plenty of food and enough money to buy whatever you want. It’s the best you could hope for.

I’m sorry Mum but he repulses me with those great big meaty hands and little piggy eyes. I would rather starve than have him touch me. I don’t know what excuse I will make for Sunday but I am not going out with him. There would be no point encouraging him.

Yes you will. I have already accepted and I’m not going to have my word broken. At least go once and give him a chance. You might even get to like him.

Mary sighs her acceptance of her mother’s will that brooks no defiance. Alright I’ll go, but I’m going to take Bessie and the boys with me. I don’t want to be alone with him.

Arnie makes his way back down the street a bit puzzled by her strange reaction to pork. Then he thinks that it is probably because not much pork would have found its way to the navvy camps and she hasn’t had a chance to get used to the richer taste. She will get used to it, he thinks. She will have to because he likes pork and bacon and his wife will need to cook it.

He looks up to see the stagecoach from Glen Innes arriving. Three young men jump out, each clutching a flour bag holding his belongings. They collect their shovels from the back and then cast their eyes around.

Proudfoot’s office is just over there, he says pointing to one of the timber buildings. You can register for work there and then you could try the Railway Hotel. You’ll get a good feed there, he says to them. It’s just up that way and it’s closest to the railway workings.

*     *     *

In the early evening the three young men come into the front bar having registered with Mr Greig the manager of the railway works, been issued with a tent that they will pay off and found themselves a spot to erect it in the crowded camping grounds.

When you first look at them it seems that Bill Bremner is their leader. He is tall and broad with one of those open faces that invite everyone in with the promise of his warmth. He laughs loudly and often with a way of opening his shoulders and throwing back his head that makes the whole room a happier place. Then you would probably notice Tommy Long’s red hair: a full head of glorious, shining waves of russet red that would sit well on a prince. Unfortunately it sits above a face so badly pockmarked with craters and scars that most people avoid looking at him from the front and admire his locks from behind. If you watch for a few minutes more it becomes clear that it is Rob Day who is the leader of the group. He is a compact young man whose brown eyes seem always on the move assessing the world. He is the one who, with a nod of his head, selected the part of the room they would occupy and whose few words are enough to set Bill going. Tommy’s role seems to be to smile benignly whenever Bill says anything and nod in agreement to every word Rob utters.

They are dressed alike in the clothes of a workingman of 1883: tan coloured moleskin trousers, buttoned through collarless shirts and dark woollen coats to keep out some of the chill of the winter night. But Rob seems better dressed, his shirt more firmly tucked in, his trousers not so travel stained and around his neck a strip of blue cloth that gives the hint of a dandy.

Bessie is soon in the kitchen whispering to Mary and prodding her to come out to the front to see the three new possibilities. The big one is so handsome, and he’s full of laughter and smiles. The small one looks like a gentleman and then there is the red head. I would love to have that hair, but not the face, poor man. Mary gives a quick shake of her head to warn Bessie not to let their mother hear her talking about men like this. Ben and Jane know that having their daughters serve adds to the attraction of the Railway Hotel but they also want to preserve the girls’ reputations.

Within the hour the hotel is full of men back from the worksite, filthy with the brown mud of the track stuck to their boots and trousers and the rock dust in their hair and every pore. There is a rhythm to the evening – it starts out low with relief that the day is done and exhaustion from a ten-hour day of breaking rock and shovelling dirt. Arms that feel they couldn’t lift another thing raise cups and bottles to quench a thirst and warm the innards. Not a lot to say for the first half hour, just the nods and murmurs of greeting to your fellows who have shared the same experience and now deserve this relief.

Then slowly the tempo rises as the voices of storytellers are oiled. Didja see old Harry today? I was workin’ behind him on the westside clearing from yesterday’s blast and course he is picking through trying to find all the little stuff, like he always does….

Gee’s you think this is hard yakka. You should’a been on the Toowoomba line. That was straight up the bloody mountain..

Hey, you young blokes heard of Ted McInnes? You ain’t never done a day’s work ‘til you’ve had him standing over you.

And then the complainers’ mutters start to get louder and longer. Don’t know why they always have to make us work half an hour too long so’s we have to come back in the dark. You could break your bloody leg comin in…

That snivelling little timekeeper docked me an hour. An hour! I was only gone five bloody minutes.

Hey Ben, another round of six here, before we all die of thirst. Thanks mate.

Ben has his place behind the bar serving the drinks and Bessie is busy bringing out plates of stew and huge hunks of bread. An open fireplace at one end of the room, half a dozen kerosene lanterns and the breath of fifty men bounce off the corrugated iron walls and give the place a warm glow.

Another hour later everyone’s been fed and the sensible ones have gone back to camp to get enough sleep to see them through another day. Bill has managed to get Bessie’s name and a smile or two and in the lull she has time for a chat. Where are you boys from? she clearly directs the question to Bill.

We’re from up in Queensland, been working on the Emu Vale line, but we heard the girls were better looking in Ben Lomond, Bill answers, looking straight at her. Bessie blushes prettily, picks up some plates and disappears out the back.

Mary please come out and talk to them with me. I’m too embarrassed to be there on my own. Mary looks at her impatiently. Oh Bessie look at me will you – I’ve got my hands in this greasy water, my hair’s all fallen out and I’m covered in ash from the fire and you want me there so you can impress these boys. You will do better without me. But Bessie is insistent and takes her hand and leads her out.

Like Bessie, her eyes are drawn first to Bill’s tall frame and Tommy’s rufous crown. But as they join the group Rob is the one who’s talking and she recognises him immediately. He is telling the others what he knows of the engineering of the Ben Lomond cutting. We’re now about 4,770 feet above sea level, so this will be the highest point of the railway in NSW. It’s a pretty steep run down to Glencoe, that’s why they need this long cutting. About 200,000 cubic yards of basalt and granite will have to be moved, and most of that by hand. He looks to the others with the smile of a man who knows he sounds impressive, but catches sight of Mary on the way up. The smile gets caught in the adjustment somewhere between cocky and tentative and finishes weakly with a chew of the lower lip.

Perhaps it is that moment of vulnerability counterbalancing the confident tone that forms the first link in their chain for Mary. Unlike Bessie she is not a romantic, but she has spent many years caring for her younger brothers and understands how boyish posturing covers an underlying insecurity. So her response is the warm smile of fondness and a little nod of encouragement.

Rob’s first impression is of a slightly built young woman, about the same height as him, with brown wavy hair escaping its pins and falling around her face. She is smiling at him, not at big Bill Bremner, but at him. The smile, inclusive of her little mouth, lifts up handsome cheekbones and crinkles around eyes that are more green than brown. She is taller than her sister and doesn’t have such a pretty face or pert little bosom but still a bloke could do worse.

Hello Rob. Hello Tommy. she says.

Hello Miss Mary Jane, Tommy replies, Sorry I lost your possum hat.

Oh Tommy, fancy you remembering that. Don’t worry I got another one, and then rescuing Rob again from his look of confused puzzlement, she explains, I’m Mary Elsworthy. We were in Stanthorpe in the 70’s. My father had a tin lease not far from your father’s on Quart Pot Creek. I used to see you and your brothers there when I brought Dad down his dinner. One night I gave Tommy my old possum cap to keep his hair from blowing in his face.

Yeah I remember that hat. He wore it for years. Rob replies, vaguely connecting this young woman to a skinny girl he could recall from the days sluicing on the creek. "You’ve grown up since then. You both