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

Published: 4 Mar 2019

Snow had lain on the ground for some time and the daylight hours much shorter, suggesting the approach of winter. Hedgerows stood dark on white fields like scars against purity, soon even these brambled divides would be as white as the ground beneath and the birds that called them home, flown for better climate.

Farm animals had already been brought into quarters to share the warmth of hearth with their keepers, who for the duration would be as captured as their cattle, while crops collected and stored for the leaner months to come.

Edward Buckley had been held inside for some time with his father, mother, two brothers, sister and uncle and tired of the sameness of each long dark night, to be followed by a shorter day. When the sun was shining Edward would dress in his father’s long coat and go out into the crisp air to meet with his neighbour and life’s friend.

James Hill was a lad of equal age to Edward from a neighbouring farm and in the truth of it they were vaguely related through their grandparents. In small farming community if one could recollect back far enough, most were related in someway and the marrying of cousins somewhat common to the detriment of the gene pool. Yet none in the Buckley or Hill clans had been born with two heads or idiocy.

Edward did have a Great Aunt Clair on his mother’s side, who most considered as nutty as a Christmas fruit cake. It was told that on one midwinter’s night in the midst of a show storm she ran from her house screaming the Archangels were upon her for some undescribed wickedness. The following day poor disturbed Clair was found but a hundred yards from her door and as frozen as the water on the brook. The poor woman had to be thawed beside the fire to fold her arms and legs to fit her coffin.

The home life of James differed greatly from that of the Buckley family. Edward had a loving god fearing family, while James was plagued by a drunken violent father and an equally belligerent older brother whose cruelty was constant and considered amusement to their father.

The dark figure at distance crossing the snow covered field was well observed by Addison Hill, also noted was the likely destination, being the Hill’s farm barn and closer to the Buckley property line than was the Hill cottage, thus once through the hedge row it was a matter of a dozen steps for Edward to reach the barn.

“Hey Eugene get here!” The man shouted to his eldest son, bringing him to his side.

“What’s the problem Da?”

“Isn’t that the Buckley kid?” Addison pointed towards the travelling figure.

“Tis, should I scare the little bugger off?” Eugene readied himself to issue harm to the lad.

“No first let’s see what he’s up ta’.”

“He’s on property Da, should I give it to him?” Eugene again readied to play havoc with the lad.

“Wait, where is James?”

“Shovelling horseshit in the barn I suppose.”

Addison Hill waited for some time then with a sharp flick of the head encouraged his son to follow towards the barn, as it would suite him greatly to find the lad pilfering equipment.

The Hill and Buckley family’s had been out of favour with each other since Jack Buckley returned from the war with France and accused Addison Hill of stealing and butchering a prize Devon Black breeding boar. Then there was the incident with the fire in the hedge row between the properties caused by Addison burning rubbish too close to the property line, allowing a Buckley cow to enter and trample Addison’s vegetable garden. Now all it would take was for one further incident of the slightest magnitude to start a turf war between the two families, with a number of neighbours taking one side or the other.

Once inside the barn Edward soon found his rendezvous. The two lads had their way of signalling a meeting, being the flagging of some old hessian bag or the likes, hanging from a certain branch of an old orchard tree close by the boarder hedgerow. This had been their way; their secrete intrigue, since they were quite young, developing further even within the family feud.

This day’s meeting was to be the last before a designed departure from their families. It had been planned for some time, they would venture into the new exciting world, possibly take work on a merchant ship and travel to the Indies, or the richness of the Orient and make their fortune.

Edward had put such an enterprise to his parents but it was quickly quashed, as his able body was necessary for the running of the farm. Besides his father had been press-ganged into the army during the last war with France and what he had experienced he had no wish for any son of his to suffer. As for James, he was considered little more than free labour for the Hill farm, any thought of departing such would instantly bring on a thrashing from Eugene, or being locked away and hungry until he realised where he was best suited.

As mostly happened, any meeting between the boys commenced with planning their escape and designing destination, ending in falling into embrace to explore each other’s bodies. Such intrigue had commenced at an early age and continued without shame, developing through horseplay and experience into a devout love affair that appeared to grow stronger as they became young adults. Now in their late teenage years they understood their lot in life and what would eventuate if either family discovered the attraction held for each other, making their need to travel a necessity before either family became aware.

In almost naked state the lads lay back buried deep among the hay bales in quiet conversation after concluding their encounter. There wasn’t need for haste to dress and depart as Addison Hill was away from the farm and Eugene was seen heading towards the Barnett property and Sally Barnett, with whom he had made vague promise to wed, a promise that would be well denied once he had his way with the girl.

“So Friday night,” James voice heightened with projected excitement as the heat of their encounter diluted with the chill of the day and he reached for his trousers.

It was difficult to part but that they must, Eugene would not be long with Sally, she was well chaperoned by her sister and a quick departing kiss was all that would be entitle, if he wished for more there was always the village and what it had to offer.

As the lads commenced to dress a voice boomed over the hay bales bring them to terror, “Well what have we here!” It was Eugene and in full voice, “Da I’ve caught a couple of shirtlifters!” he called back to Addison who was blocking any escape through the barn door.

Eugene took hold of Edward with a vice like grip, while James was caught by his father while attempting his escape, giving the lad a clout to the head for good measure.

“You filthy pigs,” Addison shouted bringing a smile to Eugene as he well controlled Edward and roughly brought him down from their nest in the hay bales.

“If they’re pigs Da, let’s castrate them,” Eugene suggested, taking Edward by the hair and roughly dragging him to where Addison held his son.

Addison eagerly grinned and removed his trusted blade from his pocket. “Bring the little fucker here,” he demanded while securing his son to the barn’s support.

With sinister intent Eugene dragged the struggling Edward to where his father waited with blade in hand. Quickly Edward was bound together with James.

“No!” Edward screamed and struggled further.

“Let me Da, I’ll do it,” Eugene begged, his eyes wide with sadistic anticipation.

Addison returned his blade to his pocket. “No, better still you go for the constable, better the hangman’s rope then letting him live even if nutted.”

By the time the constable arrived both lads had been fully stripped and left bound together. Seeing it was to be a charge of sodomy their nakedness should further enhance the evidence. As for Addison’s opinion on his James, the lad was always considered to be useless and there was doubt if he were from his loins.

“Any whisky, I have a monster thirst.” The constable asked even before enquiring why he had been summons.

“Go get Jim that bottle on the kitchen over-mantle,” Addison demanded of Eugene while showing the constable to the barn.

“Your brew eh Addison,” the constable asked, unconsciously licking the dryness from his lips.

“Would I admit to so Jim?”

“Not without bother Addison,” the constable leered knowing well of Addison’s distilling adventure, while extracting his share of the profit.

Eugene soon returned with the whisky and passed it on. A large portion of the contents quickly disappeared down the man’s throat.

“Now that’s better, what seems to be the problem here Addison?” the constable asked.

“I’ve caught the kid at it with my James in the barn.” The three entered into the barn.

“I guess I don’t have to ask at what,” the constable cruelly laughed on seeing the naked lads. Both lads turned away from the intrusion.

“What do you want me to do with them Addison?”

“Eugene wants to castrate them.”

“Somewhat drastic Addison, you can get yourself in strife for that, best to leave it to the hangman.”

“I think that would suffice,” Addison agreed.

“What do you want me to do with your son, charge him as well?”

Addison refrained from answering as he had no wish to lose the lad’s free labour.

“Could it have been rape?” the constable enquired.

“I guess it could have at that.” Addison quickly understood the constable’s suggestion by allowing the point of law to portray the intruder’s guilt, as sodomy could end in the gallows, rape would definitely do so.

“I’ll tell you what, you handle your kid as you see fit and I’ll run the other little bugger in for rape. Do you know where he’s from?”

“Know him, he’s that flaming little sod from Buckley farm, you can run in his old man while you’re at it.”

“I thought I recognised him, come on kid get your clothes on; you’re coming with me.”

As the constable departed with Edward, Addison turned on James. “You little faggot I should let our Eugene loose on ya’ with the blade.” Swiftly coming upon the lad he gave him the back of his hand across his face making his nose bleed and splitting his lip, then turning to Eugene, “lock the filthy shirtlifter in his room, I’ll attend to him later.”

“Whatya’ gunna’ do Da?” Eugene’s eyes opened wide with sadistic pleasure.

“Whatever I gunna, I’m telling ya’ it won’t be pleasant.”

By the time Constable Jim Crawley arrived at the Buckley farm it was almost tea and Edward’s mother was becoming somewhat concerned for her son’s whereabouts, as it was not like him to miss a meal. Also he had choirs to perform, leaving his older to step up to the breach.

The constable knocked loudly, while Edward remained confined and tethered to the policeman’s saddle. Jack Buckley opened the door to shock sighting his bound son.

“What seems to be the problem constable,” he nervously asked. His eyes across the man’s shoulder to Edward while the lad stood shamefully bowed away from his father’s eyes.

“I’ve just come from Addison Hill and it appears your Edward has raped his youngest son, or at best being caught in a state of sodomy with the lad but Addison assures me it was forced.” The constable appeared to be attaining pleasure from recounting the charges, being sure to include rape and buggery with zest.

“Edward, no impossible they are the best of mates and have known each other almost since birth.”

As Jack spoke his wife came to the door, her hands wringing wet from the kitchen sink and her cooking, “Edward,” she cried seeing the lad bound and commenced to run to his side but was held back by her husband.

“Go inside Helen, I’ll handle this,” Jack demanded.

“Regardless Mr. Buckley, accusations have been made and justice must be done. I will be taking your son into Exeter tonight and he will be transferred to Plymouth and the assize on the next prison cart for trial. You can visit him in Exeter tomorrow if you wish.”

“But;” It was the only word of protest Jack Buckley could utter before being cut short as the constable turned from his door.

“There can be no argument Mr. Buckley, I bid you good day.”

“Edward!” his mother cried, pushing past her husband she ran towards the constable and her son, she grabbed at the constable’s arm. He roughly threw her off.

“Mrs. Buckley, don’t make it worse for yourself and your family,” the constable warned. Quickly he mounted and rode away, forcing the bound lad to make pace beside in silence.

“This is Addison Hill’s doing!” Jack Buckley shouted after the constable, “that man is nothing but trouble!”

“What can we do?” Helen sunk to her knees as the reality of the situation gripped at her emotions.

“I don’t know – I just don’t know, I will go into Exeter tomorrow and speak with Edward.”

The charge of sodomy was serious and if proven one which often brought the death sentence, being considered a crime against god and state. Jack Buckley knew of the syndrome from his time in the army and how many men when isolated from women for extended periods succumb to such desires, yet once home they returned to the normality of their married life.

During his service Jack had been strong and manually relieved his frustrations yet he remembered once when a number of his section after drinking and relating in detail their frustration, took turn with the drummer boy. Jack had been encouraged to participate but refrained out of regard for the lad’s youthful disposition and his respect for his wife and family.

If the charge against his young son were true, could he, would he forgive the lad. He would do so, he knew the way of the flesh could be weak and Edward was a secretive boy but he also believed his son would never force himself on another, especially a lad who was almost a brother. He would travel to Exeter with the morning and plead lenience to the magistrate, possible doing so may help but he knew there was little sympathy in the country’s legal system, being guided to clear as many trouble makers in the country to the gallows or to the penal colony of New South Wales.

That night at the Hill farm young James remained locked in his room. Remaining so for all of the following day and it wasn’t until late that night Eugene arrived with bread, water and a sneer, “you little fucker, see how you get out of this one,” Eugene joyfully snarled while placing his brother’s meal on the floor.

“We weren’t doing anything. What have you done with Edward?”

“Never mind the shirtlifter; he’ll get worse than castration where he’s going.” Crossing the room Eugene came upon his brother and took his arm, pulling him close he sunk his fist into the lad’s stomach, “you’re gunna’ get it from Da, I’m telling ya’.” James slumped to the floor but refused to cry out. As Eugene departed he placed a mudded boot on the lad’s meal, “Da will deal with you tomorrow,” he departed leaving the lad in panic at to what their father had planned for his punishment.

Eugene was never the brightest blade in the drawer and leaving the room forgot to slide the bolt on James’ prison door, quickly creating realisation in James and once all was quiet he crept from his room and past his brother sleeping off a gut full of grog at the top of the stairs. His father wasn’t to be seen, nor could be heard the usual snoring from his room, raising belief Addison was away from the house.

It was James’ chance to be gone and quickly he stepped over Eugene, almost tripping on his coat tails while managing the first step, bringing his brother to stir. James held his breath and footing, once again his brother returned to sleep.

Descending the stairs each step broadcasted his escape, while even with careful placement from centre to step’s ends didn’t quieten his descent; fortunately although Eugene stirred he was much too intoxicated to awaken. Reaching the final step James quickened his exodus through the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen James soon found the tobacco tin containing his father’s pittance. Once the money was pocketed, with a change of clothing and some supplies from the larder, he quietly and quickly stole from the house and by morning was far enough away not to be discovered by the local constable.

To be taking at a time prescribed by his majesties pleasure, to be hanged by the neck until dead, god rest your soul.

Those words rang like a dirge in Edward’s head as he waited on board a prison hulk in Plymouth harbour. His father had visited him in Exeter before being transported to Plymouth, the assizes and sentencing but because of farm commitments and the extreme distance, could no longer visit his son, therefore he returned home with his family to grieve what was believed to be inevitable.

While in Exeter and awaiting transport for Plymouth, James managed to visit but was only permitted minutes. He had bribed the gaoler with his body and quietly mused at using the currency of sex to visit one to be hanged for the same crime. During that visit Edward offered his farewell but James would have none of it and where there was life, surely there was hope.

After a matter of weeks Edward was transferred from the prison hulk in Plymouth Sound back to the Assize in that city, under the belief his day of execution was near and he would soon be taken before a magistrate to learn that date. Edward begged his gaolers to contact his father but the request was ignored, being told he was already dead to his family so why stress them further.

The following day Edward was brought before a magistrate and sternly advised his execution date was to be that coming Friday and he would be immediately transferred to the so called execution cell, being sited close by the room with its gallows. The magistrate asked if Edward had anything to add to the judgement. Gently shaking his downward bowed head Edward quietly repeated that which he had protested since the beginning, “no sir nothing ‘cept my innocence.”

The magistrate’s expression soured, “sodomy is abhorrent enough but to rape one’s own gender is beyond description,” those gathered in the court released a gasp, “with such evidence submitted against you Edward Buckley, confession of innocence is but pour defence. Reflect upon Friday and pray the lord will accept your sinful ways.”

The black cloth upon white wig as that final judgement was rendered was the only scant of humour the lad had found since that dismal day in the barn, seeming as a comical fast in some street-side opera to amuse the great unwashed. Shocking were the magistrate’s words and Edward shuddered with the thought of being execution for love, while the inward image of James kept him for fainting to the floor. He must hold that image. James must and would be his final image, as darkness took it away leaving him in what was an unknown existence.

Friday came but no minister of church, no executioner to establish his weight for selection of the rope and for a moment he had hope but was soon advised there had been some administrative problems and his execution had been delayed to the following Monday.

Again Edward requested to see his father but once more his request was denied, besides there wasn’t enough time to get a message to the Buckley farm and for his father to travel to Plymouth by the following Monday. Best you make you peace with god lad and hope he has time for shirtlifters in the hereafter, became his gaoler’s only suggestion.

Late on the Sunday a priest of the Papist faith came to Edward’s cell and asked if he wished to take confession. Edward emphatically let the man know he was Church of England and knew naught of the Papist belief. The priest soon advised the lad there wasn’t a minister of his denomination available and both churches had the same god, therefore he felt positive god would hear his words no matter who the mediator may be.

Edward agreed but heard nothing the priest spoke, his thoughts were swinging at the end of a rope, with wonder if it was the end of all and there wasn’t any hereafter. At that moment Edward even concerned if god existed and if so why he would he wish someone so young to die for the sake of love.

As the priest finished his business, leaving Edward less confident in his religious belief than before the visit, there came another in the person of the hangman. Speaking quietly to the departing priest he officiously approached Edward.

“What do you weigh son?” he asked somewhat matter-of-fact.

“I couldn’t say,” Edward answered being somewhat amused why such a question would be of interest.

“It is necessary to know so as to give you a quick and swift departure, I should say close to eight stone, around one hundred and twelve to twenty pounds.”

“I have never had need to know my weight,” Edward answered, as the image of rope about his neck returned and the image of a trap beneath his feet opening and falling into the abyss became evident.

“Then I will devise for one twenty pounds.” The man released a pleasing smile. It was for him but a day’s work, Edward was nothing more that part of his obligation. Once the establishment’s clergy had announced death, his final work was to place the corpse in a rough wooden box and leave the final arrangement to others.

“Right so one hundred and twenty pounds; do you have other names other than Edward?”The lad refrained from answering. So Edward Buckley executed for sodomy and rape will be registered and your father will be advised accordingly.”

The man thus left Edward to contemplate the coming Monday.

Ten forty-five and Monday, Edward’s heart commenced to race as he heard footsteps outside his cell door. He felt sick and lost the little food he had managed to keep down that morning and as the cell door opened he collapsed to the floor. Two burly gaolers soon had him to his feet, guiding him from the cell and towards the end of the corridor, his legs scarcely touching the cold flagstone flooring.

On approaching the door to the execution room Edward, in pure terror, started to pass water and couldn’t turn off the flow until the last of his urination soaked his clothing and stone flooring. With embarrassment he apologised, only to be crudely and without sympathy told, most shit themselves as they approached the rope and possibly that would come next.

At the door to the execution room the guards continued along the passage until they departed the building into a grey Devon winter’s morning towards a prison cart waiting close by.

“What’s going on?” Edward confusingly asked.

“You’re one lucky kid.” One of the guards answered as they manhandled Edward into the cart and shackled him to 0-rings on the cart’s base, “you can thank your mad king for that.”

“Why?” Edward stammered but his guards remained silent as the prison cart pulled away and left the prison en-route to the docks and once again the prison hulks.

What Edward didn’t know was Sir Joseph Banks, a personal friend of King George the third of that name, was also most interested in the new penal colony in New South Wales where he had visited many years earlier, during the voyage of Lieutenant James Cook and had canvassed the king for more farmers for the colony. With the request came decision to transport all convicted felons with farming experience, even those awaiting execution, except those guilty of murder, to be transported to that colony for the period of seven years.

Once again Edward was brought before the magistrate and his situation explained, along with the fact there was a ship leaving for the colonies from Plymouth that very week and he would immediately be transferred to the said vessel being The Duchess of Devonshire.

During the Magistrate’s ruling it was also instigated he would be bound over in the colony for a period of seven years and then released to that colony a free man but never to return to England, otherwise the sentence first delivered would be carried out.

Once his new sentence had been explained it was back to the prison hulk to wait for transportation. In the darkness below deck Edward had time to reflect on that delay in execution and the fortune of some clerical error. What if shuddered through his moral fibre as he lay in his dark cramp space, hardly large enough to roll during sleep without intruding on another and hearing the groaning of his fellow prisoners, the insane shouting of those with phobia towards inclosed spaces and the death throws of those whose depleted bodies could no longer take a true breath of air. Then there was the stench of unwashed bodies, sick and bodily waste without realising in time all would become common place without registering with the senses. On the second day he with a number of others was transferred to the Duchess of Devonshire and a place not unlike what he had been brought from.

If being stowed like cargo below deck of a stinking, rat infested hold could be considered reprieve, then that it was and almost joyfully Edward had accepted his fate but to never see James again was one punishment almost as fearful as the rope. Maybe, just possibly once in this so called New South Wales, situated somewhere out there beyond the last port of civilization, beyond the known world and full of imaginary fears, animals and wild savages, he may somehow get a letter back to England and James but how could he find his friend now that James was estranged from his family and gone into the country to fend for himself, besides James like Edward had never learned his letters.

After the third day on the transport and stowed in chains below deck, Edward felt the ship jolt as it took wind and commence its journey. On the following day he, with a dozen others, was permitted to come up on deck to take fresh air. Once out of the hold they were hosed down with seawater and allowed, under strict and constant guard, to wander the decking and view the coast and as the ship came upon Cornwall and approaching Land’s End it was goodbye to England forever. If for no other reason except being alive, Edward took a deep breath of fresh salted air as his heart jumped like that of a freed man.

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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