Women of Colonial Australia: Volume 2: Slan, Agus Beannacht de leath (Goodbye and God bless)

Women of Colonial Australia is a collection of short stories focussing on women from the nation's colonial past, with each author breathing life into a tale of one of their ancestors. Through this, each narrative, woven with meticulous research and imagination, brings to life the diversity of experiences that these wome

• Language: English
• Publisher: Society of Australian Genealogists
• Release date: Dec 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9780949531063

Book preview

Note on Volume 2

Poverty, famine, destruction, and desolation. That is what the Irish women in this Volume were fleeing when they made their way to Australia in the nineteenth century. With such a history, it is no wonder they triumphed over the harsh landscapes, rough conditions, and discrimination they encountered on their arrivals, and went on to form an indelible and impervious green seam in the fabric of the emerging nation. Their stories humble and inspire us. Each story concludes with an Ancestor Biography, representing the few known facts each descendant had to work with to imagine and craft their story. The stories in this Volume appear in the order of arrival in Australia, where known.

1

Mary Marshall (nee Palmer) (1804-1892)

by Helen J White

Image: Mary Marshall imagined and drawn by her g-g-granddaughter, Anne Burleigh

Introduction

I recently completed a long-term project of writing a biography of my ancestor George Marshall (my 3 x great-grandfather). This biography incorporated a few paragraphs introducing his wife, Mary Palmer, who disappeared from official records after her marriage and until her death. Which is usual for our female ancestors.

It was because I knew the background of Mary’s life, the grief of losing a child, the sadness of the death of parents and sibling, and of her adult children moving away, the trauma of being a victim in the lawless society that was Pittwater at the time, that I was drawn to writing her perspective of events. I have tried to instil in the reader an understanding of life in early Van Diemen’s Land, and hence Australia; using the point of view of a middle-class, educated, free settler who happened to be a woman. Also, I feel I know her, and I know the Pittwater district well, having lived in the area for almost 30 years.

Helen J White (DipFamHist), 2023

As she reclined on the chaise in the sun, Mary Marshall looked out over Hobart from the verandah of her house in Edward Street. On her lap lay a diary, she thought she would spend this sunny afternoon reminiscing. Her daughters, Letitia and Elizabeth, were out for the afternoon and wouldn’t be home until teatime. Settling back, Mary opened the book. The front salutation read To Mary Palmer, on the occasion of her 20th birthday, 4 October 1824, from her loving parents. She turned to an early entry and began to read. Even now, after all these years, the memories returned.

8 January 1825 –

Ye Hole in Ye Wall Inn, Liverpool

I have been woken each morning by the clatter of horse-drawn vehicles coming and going; the chatter of the ostlers, busying themselves with the horses stabled on the premises; the occasional colourful language as an absent-minded horse placed its hoof on someone’s foot. Then there is the smell. The sea permeating the air coming in the partly opened window and, along with the odour of stale beer, the appetising smell of cooking bacon curling its way up the stairs towards us. The room I’m sharing with Eliza lies on the top floor of the inn, overlooking the port of Liverpool.

Mr and Mrs Minnett have almost finished purchasing and loading all that is needed for our new life in Van Diemen’s Land. It has taken over a sennight to purchase the necessities and load our belongings onto the ship.

Mary flicked forward a page or two and read on.

12 January 1825 –

Liverpool Harbour aboard the ship Elizabeth

We are finally on our way. Onboard the ship I am sharing a cabin with the three eldest Minnett girls. Once we had chosen our respective berths, we ventured back on deck to watch the hustle and bustle of the sailors. Some of the seamen were loading the passengers’ personal items for use on the trip, with the rest of the crew busy preparing the vessel for sea. When the gangplank was pulled aboard, the ship was towed away from its berth by a rowboat powered by eight strong rowers and assisted by the outgoing tide. Once the Elizabeth was clear of the wharf the sails were dropped, and we began to really move. There was a stiff breeze blowing, the sails filled, and the ship’s speed increased as we headed south, back into the Irish Sea, and onto the Atlantic Ocean. Our odyssey has begun.

Mary skipped the record of the voyage. The three months at sea had on the whole been boring and uninteresting. She found she was a good sailor and, unlike some of her fellow passengers, had enjoyed the movement of the ship beneath her feet. They had made no visits to ports along the way, the captain determined to make the voyage as short as possible.

22 April 1825 –

Derwent Estuary, Van Diemen’s Land

As the Elizabeth sailed up the broad expanse of the Derwent Estuary, my heart was almost jumping out of my chest. It was pounding hard with excitement, fear, and a tinge of sorrow at bridges burnt. The end of our 90-day voyage, a relatively fast one we are told, was a grey sort of day and very windy. The ship was rolling in the strong swell, and that, combined with the wind, carried us quickly towards our destination of Hobart Town in Van Diemen’s Land. The settlement, hardly a town even after 20 years since the arrival of the first English settlers, has a raw appearance. There are not many buildings, from what I could see most of the dwelling houses are constructed of rough-hewn timber, and there are only a small number of substantial sandstone structures. I presume they are government buildings built by convict labour. It is a busy port, I counted at least 13 vessels of all shapes and sizes. There were a myriad of smaller boats plying between the various ships and the town jetty, ferrying passengers, and goods to the little settlement.

Mount Wellington towers over the town, sitting like a big fat blob of dark brown dough. It is not threatening though; its rounded silhouette softened what could have been an ominous feeling, wrapping itself protectively around the settlement. A petticoat of cloud helped to soften the landscape as it settled around the hills below the summit but above the town.

23 April 1825 –

Hobart Town, Van Diemen’s Land

We’ve finally left the ship. As the rowboat drew us closer to shore, we were able to get a better look at the town. Once ashore, navigating the unpaved streets which were ankle-deep in mud in places, was made more difficult by our unsteady legs. Months at sea on a rolling ship meant adjusting to walking without the ground moving under our feet. Open sewers had us all grabbing for heavily scented handkerchiefs to hold over our noses.

Mr Minnett had disembarked earlier in the day and had been fortunate to find warehousing for all our belongings until transport can be arranged to wherever we are going. Unfortunately, accommodation for the family was not so easily found, so Mr Minnett sent us all back on board. At least we have beds for the few days it will take to find somewhere to rent onshore.

30 April 1825 –

Hobart Town, Van Diemen’s Land

Mr Minnett has found a farm to rent at a place called Pittwater. There is already a house built and some outbuildings and, he says, there may be an opportunity to purchase it in the future. He is quite excited as the nearest village has been proclaimed a town so must be reasonably substantial and have a thriving community.

25 June 1825 –

‘Valleyfield’, Pittwater, Van Diemen’s Land

Mary was startled out of her revelry. Just reading the date of the entry brought back the fear, a sudden surge of adrenaline sending her heart thumping. As her racing pulse slowed, the memories returned, strong and detailed, and she was back at Valleyfield.

She remembered the abject terror, mind-numbing fear and horror that was later replaced by rage. Those appalling men, with darkened cheeks above the black kerchiefs tied across their faces. The smell of them. No, the stink of them. She would never forget the rancid smell. How dare they invade the house and lay their grimy hands on their belongings. Eight stinking, violent men with loud demanding voices.

They had felt powerless, helpless, and vulnerable, but there was nothing they could do; those beasts, for that was what they were, those poor excuses for men living like animals in the bush, only to emerge to terrorise and rob innocent settlers. How dare they! She had looked at the other occupants of the house and remembered their blank, shocked faces. They had all felt violated, everything portable had gone, household goods, their clothes and bedding.

However, with each breath had come the realisation they had also been lucky. They could have all been killed to leave no one to identify the perpetrators, but instead, they had been blindfolded. Mary remembered how the authorities had later captured Charles Routley and he had confessed to the burglary. He had been a vicious killer and had died for his crimes. Her heart still fluttering slightly in her chest, she returned to the pages and read the entry she had made in her diary at the time.

25 June 1825 –

‘Valleyfield’, Pittwater, Van Diemen’s Land

We’ve been robbed, with Mr Minnett away from home. I have never been more terrified, and I doubt if I will ever forget that fear. Had the villains been watching the house? Watching us? It was a well-planned raid with a wagon hidden close by. I feel Mr Minnett should not have refused to help those men, the lawless groups of escaped convicts and bushrangers who roamed the countryside, Valleyfield is just far enough from Pittwater settlement to be vulnerable to attack. Was this awful robbery a revenge? It would explain why other settlers were left alone, maybe they had sheltered and fed the lawless when food and warmth were demanded from them?

Oh, why have I come here, to this God-forsaken place? Where it rains hard and is dour and drab. Where lawlessness seems to be almost acceptable. Why did I not stay in Ireland where everything appeared soft green and the rain was gentle like a heavy drizzle? Oh, Mother, how I miss you. What would you and Father make of this place? Would you have let me come if you had known?

Mary sighed, sitting with her eyes closed for a moment or two before returning to the book. She slowly turned the pages and found another significant date. She read,

11 January 1827 –

‘Flimby Park’, Pittwater, Van Diemen’s Land

My wedding day, the wedding day of Mary Palmer to George Marshall. I want to remember every detail. Woken by the noisy chatter of birds outside my window, I rose this morning full of anticipation for a summer wedding but had to laugh when instead I saw a dreary cold day outside. Not even the grey, overcast sky could reduce my happiness.

How nice it would have been if Father and Mother had been able to attend. My mind still cannot really comprehend Mother’s passing, and I doubt Father will ever leave Ireland. Still, he had happily given his consent to our union. When George had written to ask his permission, his reply had come with a gift of a wine carafe and news of the family.

How amazing that my brother Joseph has almost completed his studies and will soon be able to call himself Doctor. I’m relieved my sister Hannah has taken on the role of ‘mother’, managing the household with Letitia’s assistance, although I do feel for her. At least Edward, Thomas,