Sydney – Port Jackson – Picture from Australia’s Heritage Magazine 1969

Published: 17 Jun 2019

Old Joe’s weather forecast had not come to fruition by the end of autumn and the unusual warm weather held. Edward was feeling satisfied he wasn’t blamed for the death of the blacksmith, even if there was a hint by the chief constable he may have been somewhat involved and although innocent on all accounts he felt a measure of responsibility towards the man’s demise.

The following morning after the incident Sam and Hamish buried the blacksmith outside the property boundary away from an area Edward warned was a native sacred site, not wishing to create insult to the natives after Bahloo had saved his life.

Edward didn’t attend the burial but some time later without relating his intention, he did visit the blacksmith’s grave and respectfully sat for a short while contemplating what could fill a man’s heart with so much hate and disregard.

What of the child, the blacksmith was once a child; had he bad intent then, or was he wicked by his own devices, or the product of violence, as there was enough violence in English society to turn any child’s head to depravity. Edward came away without enlightenment, with relief it was not he who went into the cold damp soil of the gully swamp, while his respect for his black friend Bahloo increased dramatically.

Edward felt he must travel to the native camp at the first opportunity and thank the lad for saving his life. It was Sam who placed a damper on the exercise with the notion he should give time not to throw suspicion of complicity onto the man’s killing. True the incident had been considered at an end but Chief Constable O’Brien did have reservations on who actually used the spear. Eventually Edward reluctantly agreed with Sam.

It was market day on the morrow and the cart was already loaded with produce but it would be the last until the new crop came on.

“Early night for an early start,” Sam suggested with a long yawn.

“Every night’s an early night,” Hamish commented as he scraped the fire into coals.

“Why the long face Hamish?” Edward asked.

“Nothing why?”

“Yes Hamish you are usually happy for your bed.” Sam hypothesized.

“It’s getting hot in here.” Hamish stood from the fire.

“Are you getting toey Hamish?” Edward asked.

“It was only an observation Edward, an observation nothing more.”

“You can’t observe a statement; you make a statement and hear it.”

“So it was a statement and not in search of an answer.”

“Hey settle down, you two are becoming like two tomcats strutting for best advantage,” Sam growled.

Edward commenced to laugh; “like a tomcat looking for some shecat.”

Hamish saw the humour and joined the merrymaking.

“Hey Hamish you took a long time delivering those new chickens to the Watson’s yesterday,” Sam suggested.

“Yea he’s been sniffing around Henry’s daughter Elsie.”

“Ah so you are a tomcat looking for a bit of shecat?” Sam continued with the jest.

“She’s a fine young lady Sam, Elsie is not like that,” Hamish remained serious.

“When’s the wedding?” Edward asked.

“It is a thought Edward but first things first, what about your selection?”

“Soon I guess; are you still interested?”

“More so,” Hamish looked towards Sam, “what of you Sam have you had a mind change.”

“I’m more than satisfied with my lot,”

“Do you hear that?” Sam hushed the conversation, his ear tuned to the night and the sound of patter on the bark roofing.

“It’s raining, old Joe was right.”

Edward opened the door, “I should think if you wait long enough he would have to be correct, besides its only spitting, he said there was real rain on the way.” Moments later it stopped and all three went out to stand under the awning, their eyes cast towards the sky.

“Black as ink,” Sam commented while gazing towards the east.

“Over to the east, can you hear it?” Hamish commented.

“Rain alright and coming this way sounds like some roaring wind,” Sam suggested.

“I remember a flood back home when the River Exe was so swollen they were using rowing boats down the Exeter High Street.” Edward related a rare memory from home.

“You actually saw that,” Hamish asked.

“No I was only a kid my uncle told me, he said some of the villages close to the coast were totally washed away and many were drowned.”

“There was a big flood through the Hawkesbury in 0’six and that did a lot of damage, almost destroyed the colony,” Sam added, “I was in service with Governor King at the time and toured the effected districts with him. That was the year he departed from office and Mr. Bligh became governor. Mr. King died two years later, some say it was caused by stress trying to break the Rum Corpse.”

“I’ve heard of Bligh, my father spoke of him being in some mutiny at sea,” Edward recollected from stories told by his father while having their winter’s meal before the open fire.

“Same man, they also mutinied against him here, was the Rum Corpse again, they arrested Bligh, saying they found him hiding under his bed but I knew the man and he would never shrink from a challenge,” Sam related as the rain arrived and with it a strong wind that commenced to howl through the high branches, bending them to almost breaking, while at ground level it found every crack in the hut wall and loudly whistled its presence.

“Are you still feeling hot Hamish?” Edward asked as the air temperature halved in minutes.

“Only around the pizzle,” Hamish grinned.

“Have to stick it in a bucket of water; that should do the trick.” Edward suggested.

“Stick it in your ear – I don’t like the sound of this?” Hamish said of the oncoming storm from advantage at the door and quickly moved inside as the rain came strong into his face. “Do you think the chooks will be alright?”

“I would think so they have plenty of cover and roosting,” Sam assured.

Hamish placed more wood on the fire and took place beside, his thoughts far from the storm his eyes on the devils of flame as they danced along the white-ant infected timber. He smiled as the last of the termites escaped from their holes and quickly sizzled.

“You were complaining of heat a few minutes ago,” Edward expressed.

“Was then, wet and cold now from the rain at the door.”

“Come now a few spots being about the most of it,” Edward remained in jovial mood.

“I thought you were going for an early night Hamish?” Sam asked.

“I’m wide awake now the excitement of rain has refreshed me.”

“Anyone for a beer?” Sam suggested. All agreed and for no other reason than a new supply could soon be had from the morrow’s market.

After some period of drinking Sam commented, “Hamish you look a little drunk and your face is flushed red.”

“Na ‘tis the fire.”

“If this rain keep up there won’t be market tomorrow,” Sam commented, his ear to a dripping sound from the corner of the hut as the downpour intensified. “There’s that leak again.” Edward observed placing a bucket under the offending drip.

“Never mind it only drips when it rains,” Hamish mused and opened another beer, “want one?” he offered to Edward.

“Na enough is enough.”

“There will be another beside the window in a while,” Sam countered.

“There’s one in the bunk hut as well,” Hamish joined into the leakage dialogue.

“We’ll do something about them all tomorrow,”

“You said that last downpour Sam, besides it’s no worry, it’s in a corner and runs out under the wall.”

“You should move into the hut Hamish, I’m sure I could find you a corner to curl into,” Sam offered.

“She’s Jake Sam, I like my solitude.”

“Jake? Where did you pick that up from?”

“Some young bloke at the market, I thought I could use it.”

“What like some farming instrument?”

“No Edward as a building block to vocabulary, have you heard of such a thing.”

“You are getting fancy, by the sound of this storm there won’t be a tomorrow.”

Edward moved closer to the fire as an autumn chill came with the rain and the leak near the window arrived as predicted. Another bucket was placed and with the two leaks there was a rhythm of dripping.

“I was thinking Sam, if I take up this grant,” Edward was cut short by Hamish.

“You say if Edward, not when.”

“No it is when Hamish, I’ll start again. Before I take up this grant, Hamish and I should help build you a proper house, not as grand as the Watson house but something more comfortable than this leaky hut, something for you dotage.”

“Dotage Edward?”

“We all have to get old eventually, beside you deserve a little comfort.”

“The way you’re telling it, this dotage will be along in a couple of weeks.”

“I was playing light with you.”

“A fine house without leaks,” Hamish laughed.

“Yes most definitely without leaks,” Edward concurred.

“That would be a kind gesture, I think between the three of us that could be done,” Sam agreed as a muffled knocking came to the door.

“Who could that be?” Sam’s question came automatically as his head turned sharply towards the intrusion.

“Possibly Hamish’s little filly,” Edward said as Sam went to the door.

“Who is it?” Sam placed his ear to the door.

“Ben Coleman from across the branch Mr. Wilcox,” Sam opened the door to find a well soaked neighbour standing in the downpour.

“Come in Ben, get by the fire and dry yourself.”

“No chance of that, I’m wet to the bone but could I intrude on your generosity and bunk down here for the night, I’ve been in town and the creeks up and I can’t cross.”

“You walked home in this weather?”

“It was fine until I reached the elbow,” Coleman was not a young man but by his design durable, being as fit as any man who worked the land could be and like many found nothing of walking the morning to Parramatta, returning the same day after attending to some business, then put his back to the plough come the cool of the afternoon.

“Your property sits a little low to the creek Ben,” Sam showed a measure of concern.

“That is fact and if this keeps up I’m not sure what I will return to.”

Sam threw a glance to Edward who without saying understood, “Mr. Coleman you can have my cot for the night, I’ll bunk in with Hamish.”

“I’d rather it was Elsie but I guess I can put up with your smelly feet for a night.” Hamish answered and with a nod invited Edward to leave Sam to conversation with their neighbour.

“Again I extend my gratitude young Edward,”

Inside the bunk house the atmosphere was damp, there was the ubiquitous leak in one corner but as Hamish had suggested wasn’t of any great concern but the water did make a gurgling sound as it escaped under the wall.

“Right this is gonna’ be a tight squeeze.” Hamish surmised as the candle stub sent flickers of dancing light around the small room.

“Head to toe?” Edward suggested.

“I’m not ‘aving your smelly feet in my face.”

“Hamish they aren’t that bad.”

“Bad? Trouble is you live with them and can’t smell them.”

“Well?”

“Back to back will have to do,” Hamish quickly undressed and as the last of the candle burnt out Edward followed.

“Comfortable?” Hamish asked and rolled front to Edward’s back.

“No, what are you doing?”

“I sleep on this side.”

“What’s that I can feel?”

“I’m thinking of Elsie,” Hamish laughed.

“I’m not Elsie,”

“No you’re not, go to sleep it will lose its urge in a minute.”

“I don’t like where it’s prodding.” Edward complained but truthfully he was becoming as excited as his friend.

“I would never do that, I’m no blacksmith.” Hamish’s voice carried a measure of hurt.

“I know Hamish and I would never accuse you of being so. Are you becoming serious about Elsie?”

“I am but her old man isn’t keen, said he didn’t want some haggis in the family.”

“Didn’t you tell him you’re English North?”

“Did but he said the accent was enough. He’ll come around, he’s a good sorta’ bloke,” Hamish gave a chuckle, “you realise you’re not helping with this talk of Elsie.”

“That I can tell,” Edward rolled to his back, “I’ll tug it for you if you want.” The words slipped pass Edward’s guard before he could sensor them. His memory was back in James’ barn and for that instance it was James he was conversing with and was more than surprised with the reply.

“Righto if you will.” Hamish answered with the simplicity of an everyday occurrence as he rolled to his back, “but I warn you it will be Elsie I’m thinking of and not your hand.”

Edward commenced to work on Hamish as he lay to his back, hands behind his head and eyes closed against the darkness. Moments later Hamish reached across and took control of Edward, “I’ve a free hand so why should I have all the fun, who will you be thinking of?”

Edward didn’t answer, “I guess it isn’t necessary to ask that question.”

Early morning, no sun and the rain remained heavy, like a thousand hobnail boots upon a gravelled surface and remained so until close to midday, when it lessened to more an irritation.

As the weather eased Sam was first to meet the day and with Ben Coleman wandered down to the branch creek, finding they didn’t have far to travel to its bank. Firstly Sam checked his rain gauge he had developed, using the Wren-Hooker calibration, discovering the storm had given more than fourteen inches and even if his calibrations were not accurate he believed that to be a bloody lot of rain in such a short time.

The water had risen so high it was but thirty paces from the hut and half the vegetable garden had been washed away, leaving the pigs standing in murky river water. Quickly they let the animals into the top field hoping they wouldn’t wander past the fencing, being more to keep out kangaroos than to hold livestock.

Now the creek was wide and running fast becoming a brown surging silent muddle, carrying with it branches and debris from upstream farms and dressed timber obviously from the logging camp.

“Where’s the cart?” Hamish asked coming up from behind, bringing Edward to realise it wasn’t where he parked it. The cart was soon discovered wedged between two trees some hundred yards towards the road and partly submerged in the water, its load of produce washed away but otherwise appearing sound.

“There goes market day,” Edward observed while feeling some relief the cart hadn’t gone down river with the flood.

“I don’t like the look of it all Ben.”

“Nor I Sam and by the rise on the far bank I’d say my place is well and truly under.”

“Where are the pigs?” Hamish asked, joining the conversation at the sty.

“We let them go into the top field but the water is still rising.”

“If it rises anymore it will flood the fowl house,” Edward surmised.

“Best we start building a levy around the base.”

By early afternoon the light rain ceased but remained overcast yet inch by inch the torrent that was the branch creek crept ever closer, until it reached the small levy that had been built to prevent flooding of the fowl house.

While standing watching their handiwork hold they noticed more debris in the creek, firstly a child’s cot passed by, fortunately without the child, also kitchen utensils and bedding. Then as they discussed who could be the owner of such property a body passed at speed. It was that of a man, rather stout while face down in the grey brown sludge, most of his clothing torn away by the churning water. Moments later he was gone from sight.

“That could be Jack Bowman; he’s been caretaking at the logging camp since the blacks attacked.” Coleman suggested as a second body that of a young girl passed close behind the body of the man and a cart with its drowned horse still attached, both cart and horse tangled amongst rope and what appeared to be a great amount of chain.

“I think it was more likely the new chum who has a plot past the old black’s camp, he has a daughter about that age,” Sam remorsefully corrected.

“Whoever it was there is not stopping their drift until they reach the main river, even then probably all the way to Sydney itself.” Hamish added with a measure of sympathy towards the deceased, realising there wasn’t anything that could be done.

“I feel somewhat callous standing watching this procession,” Edward sighed as a number of bloated sheep past by; legs pointing to the heavens as their heavy woollen fleece became waterlogged dragging them just below the surface.

“I believe it necessary Edward how else will folk discover what happened to those missing,” Sam explained and as usual his sensibility won out.

“Well at least the rain has stopped,” Edward praised.

“Yet the river still rises.” Hamish spoke somewhat bewildered as the churning waters begin to react against their levy.

“And there is your reason Hamish, look to the blackness over the mountains, that’s what is causing the flooding. Best we also start a levy around the bunk house as the water is almost to the corner.” Sam collected a shovel and commenced work. The others quickly followed.

“I wonder how the Watson’s fair,” Hamish was thinking of Elsie.

“I’m afraid they are on lower land Hamish,” Sam apologetically answered as a tree as large as their hut caught the bank turned and once again headed out into the main current, followed by what appeared to be the entire roofing of a cottage and someone’s milking cow.

“It’s surreal, the sun has come out and we are standing here in harmony, while only a matter of yards before us the world is in chaos.” Edward released a deep set sigh, “and there isn’t a thing any of us can do.”

“Nothing but wait, this is a land of flood, drought and fire, we need to learn its mood and like the grass in the breeze bend to its temper.” Sam collected his shovel and mended a small break in his side of the levy bank they were building around the bunk house.

“Sam the oracle as usual;” Edward weakly smiled while helping Sam with the break. The levy held while all stood around leaning on shovels gazing blankly into the torrent and the destruction it carried.

“More a realist, I’ve been out here a little longer than you two but in time you will bend with the breeze, think of your black friends they have been here since the dawn of time and they survived.” No one answered.

The following afternoon and the water commenced to recede, firstly to the lower edge of the vegetable garden, leaving the ground a blank canvas. The neat rows were flattened and the top soil washed away with the current as if a giant shovel had gouged it down to almost bedrock, while many of the shrubs and smaller trees along the creek bank had been undermined leaving them prostrate to the water.

“In future we should move the vegie patch to higher ground.” Edward suggested.

“It will be further to cart water.”

“What would you rather Hamish, extra work or no produce to take to market.”

“I’m going to look in on the Watson’s,” Hamish suggested as for that day there was nothing more that could be done until the strengthening sun dried out the land, “you coming Edward?”

The branch track had been washed away, so it was necessary to take to the higher ground and through a forest of Turpentine and Wattle. It was slow going as each bush and vine stretched out to grab at their clothing or trip them to the ground. Eventually they came out of the Turpentine at the fence line of the Watson property.

The boys stood agape at what they found. The Watson’s pride, their newly built house, their sheds and all their stock had gone. Hamish took a gasp but need not as on a rise beyond where the house once stood there was the Watsons, with their buggy, a number of horses and much of their personal belongings. They had survived.

“Mr. Watson,” Hamish called as they made way across the mud and debris.

“Hamish, how did Mr. Wilcox fair?”

“We lost the vegetable garden but otherwise quite sound.” Hamish heard his words and felt guilt for coming through the flood while others were destitute.

Standing with the Watson family the boys looked upon the quagmire that was only yesterday a working farm, a home and pride to the man but even so Henry Watson appeared resolve. They had all survived and had capital to start again but had learned a lesson, next time he would build higher.

“What are your intentions Mr. Watson?” Hamish asked, being more interested in Elsie and was most relieved when the man’s purpose was to join with his brother in Parramatta until he could rebuild.

“Can we help in any way?” Hamish offered.

“For the moment Hamish no, I’m about to take the back track to town and hope the bridge at the junction has held. There is something I would ask of you, could you take charge of the horses until I can do something about erecting new yards?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Hamish agreed, his eyes on Elsie making her blush and turn away. Wilson noted the exchange but now he saw some good in Hamish and possibly would allow him to court Elsie but the lad’s true metal was yet to be tested.

It was some days before Ben Coleman could cross the creek to inspect his property, leaving the boys to share Hamish’s bunk without repeat to the hand relief of the first night, or recollection of its occurrence. Hamish spoke only of Elsie and his concern if he would see her again, while Edward spoke of how they would build a house for Sam and further up the rise from the hut. The deluge may have been considered the one in a hundred year flood but in this country the next could occur as quickly as tomorrow.

Once the creek had returned to its banks the boys went with Ben Coleman and as expected he had lost everything but unlike the Watsons had not the capital or inclination to start over.

“What will you do Mr. Coleman?” Hamish asked as the three stood before the devastation the man once called home.

“I believe they need shepherds in the Illawarra district,” Coleman suggested as he walked to the spot where his hut once stood but searched no further. It was pointless to do so as there wasn’t even a pair of trousers, a shirt a cooking pot – nothing. “I would never have made a farmer,” he sighed softly while turning his back on what was his land.

The following day Sam being roughly Coleman’s size supplied him with a change of clothing, a few shillings and food for his journey and wished him well as he left for Parramatta. Yet there was a spring in the man’s step as he set out on a new adventure.

“I’ll be in my own bed tonight,” Edward made comment, returning from seeing Ben Coleman away at the gate.

“Oh the fella’ doesn’t like my company,” Hamish gave Edward a gentle push to the shoulder followed by a tickle on his arse.

“Watch it fella’,” Edward warned.

“Come on you love it,”

“The company was fine but you snore.”

“And your feet still stink.”

“With your snoring no woman would have you.” Edward evoked.

“Then I will need to find one who snores even louder, won’t I?”

“I guess that will be the best way,”

“That still leaves your feet,” Hamish concluded.

Sam coming close behind and listning to their conversation cut in, “I hope you jokers behaved yourself sleeping in the same bed.”

“Hamish snores,” Edward again protested.

“Edward’s feet stink,” Hamish resounded.

“Snoring and smelly feet maybe you both should stay in the bunk house permanently. Seriously ‘tho, it must be cold and damp out there especially after rain, why don’t you bring your cot into the hut, we’ll find room.”

“I’m used to my own company Sam, besides I’ve been there so long it’s like home.”

“You will have to get use to company if you marry Elsie.” Edward suggested.

“That would be different but I don’t think her old man will agree to marriage, he has given his consent for me to court her but otherwise he’s a little guarded.

“What makes you say that?”

“Only a feeling but I’ll keep at him. Eventually he’ll realise what a great bloke I am.”

Sam paused outside the hut, his gaze was into the clear morning and further up the rise. “What has your interest?” Hamish asked.

“Your suggestion to build a new hut,”

“No hut Sam a house, with proper flooring and rooms and a shady verandah to sit through the hot summer nights.”

“That flat spot beside the top fence would be perfect,” Sam suggested.

During that week Henry Watson returned with his son to survey the full extent of the flood and with the help of the Edward and Hamish, soon had fenced a yard to hold the horses but it would be quite some time before he once again put his mind to rebuilding.

Watson’s brother had a small holding edging onto the settlement of Parramatta and was in need of trustworthy help. Henry soon rose to the occasion, placing aside any immediate plan to rebuild if at all but did give Hamish hope by allowing him to call on Elsie and with the flood now yesterday’s crisis, Edward and Hamish went about creating design for Sam’s new house.

Coming into the hut as the last of the daylight diminished Sam found the boys squabbling and nothing prepared for their meal.

“What’s the argument?” Sam asked.

“I was drawing up plans for your new house,”

“Is that what you call it, Sam you have a look at what he has designed.”

Sam collected Edward’s design and held it to the light, “four rooms, I do like that.”

“No not the number of rooms Sam; take a look at his north facing side measurements,” Hamish suggested.

“Umm I see what you mean, one side of the house is half as long as the other and by your design Edward it is supposed to be a square.”

“That’s only a pencil error, I can quickly fix it.” Edward snatched back his drawing.

“What’s that?” Sam asked pointing to a pencil marking against an outer wall.”

“One of those new kitchen ranges for cooking I saw advertised in the Sydney Gazette,” Edward appeared most pleased with the thought.

“Where’s the chimney?” Hamish sarcastically asked.

“Oh I see what you mean; it’s on the other wall.”

“I think we should leave the designing to those who know how.” Sam suggested

Edward laughed and fed his design to the fire. “You win, my turn to prepare dinner.”

From an English prison colony to one of the Great Nations of today. This how it started. Let Gary know you are reading: Gary dot Conder at CastleRoland dot Net.

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