Published: 1 Jul 2024

The boy’s arrived at the Rose Hill Jetty with plenty of time to catch the first boat down river to Sydney. Stacked to one side are a number of barrels, along with boxes of cabbage and potatoes to be transported to The Rocks market and except for the produce the boys appear to be the only passengers for town this morning.

Guarding the cargo is an old man know to Axel as Whistling Willy as he lost his front teeth fighting during a heavy drinking session, causing any word containing ‘S’ to produce a whistling sound. William Jack had been a convict sent out with the first fleet for coveting his neighbour’s wife and a cow. At his first opportunity after absconding with the wife and cow William Jack had forsaken his unyielding love for the neighbour’s woman and attempted to on-sell the stolen cow. Unknown to Jack the potential buyer for the cow happened to be the town’s magistrate and as the sale was being finalised, William Jack was cuffed and escorted to prison then soon after he confronted the full extent of the law. It was understood the value of the cow was enough to earn Jack the rope but there wasn’t any value suggested for the stolen wife.

During William Jack’s trial, as the magistrate was about to issue sentence of death by hanging, the owner of the cow rose from his courtroom seat then loudly withdrew his complaint.

It is no longer your privilege, the magistrate cheerlessly declared.

But your honour, William Jack has done me a service.

In what way would that be? The magistrate demanded.

The wife was a nag and the cow like the wife barren and dry. I have no wish for the return of either.

The magistrate deepened his tone while loudly announcing, as the case has gone this far, I have no option but to continue. Seeing our Master Jack has caused a disruption and nuisance, instead of hanging the rogue, he will be transported to New South Wales at the earliest convenience. Take him down.

The magistrates gavel struck timber and William Jack was escorted to the cells to wait for his transportation.

It was fortunate for Axel that Willy was working the docks this morning. With a little heavy lifting Willy would turn his eyes away whenever Axel needed to take a ride down river, depending of course on agreement from the boat’s master. If the captain was negative then it would be a simple wait for the next service.

“Hey Willie,” Axel calls and approaches.

“Hey Tommy.”

Willie had known him by the name of Tommy since Axel was a lad, so Axel forgave him its use, although Willie never called him No-One and that was appreciated.

“Have you got any work Willie?” Axel asks.

“Going down river young fella’?”

“We would like to.”

“Who is your mate?”

“Daniel Styles, he will be coming with me.”

“Right-o, you know the game. The boat will be along any time now. You do the loading and I’ll square it with the master.”

The boat arrived late being held up with extra cargo at Parramatta and the captain wasn’t in the best of mood but when he saw how quickly the boys loaded, he lightened his temper and allowed their passage.

Sydney Town had much changed since Axel’s last visit, growing faster than garden weeds one had neglected to remove. If someone was to stand in the same spot long enough, it was almost possible to see the town expanding, while the once timber and canvas structures were quickly being replaced in stone and brick from the Cockley Creek and Brickfield Hill brickworks.

Coming off the Bass Boat, Axel appeared to be at ends while searching for a usual point of reference. Firstly he sees Pinchgut Island, a dot on the deep water of the harbour, the bond stores along the foreshore and the women’s prison, now almost hidden from view by the many town houses, displaying imported wrought iron lacework brought into the colony at great expense and belonging to merchants and the military.

There was much more, Sydney was taking on the appearance of permanency losing its usual transient appearance, with the population increasing daily as ships arrived on the incoming tides. Most ships brought convicts, a hundred or more with each arrival, there were also free settlers by the dozen. Now against its design the Home Office in London was quickly losing control of its southern prison, with Commissioner Bigge sent in an attempt to halt the Governor’s so described excessive land grants.

What was never admitted, the Governor issued grants by the chains and perches, while London was issuing land by the hundred acres without knowledge of what was available. Often these grants were useless swampland or floodplains, even as far as issuing some selections to more than one applicant, all without consideration towards native title. Many times a newcomer would arrive with a grant in hand only to realise what he was expecting had already been issued, or squatted on by an emancipist settler. When the expecting deed holder complained to the Governor, he was simply given short-shift and told to take up his complaint with Colonial Secretary in London.

London’s law makers had another quandary being England’s, Scotland’s Ireland’s poor had come to realisation there was land to be had in the colony and as many acres as a person could clear. Therefore crime in Britain had lifted to greater heights as the population committed crimes that would give them transportation and not the rope, so the value of stolen goods that represented capital punishment was lowered. Be that as it may, the grants remained popular and the population of Botany Bay expanded at a dizzy pace becoming unstoppable.

“What now?” Daniel asks, bringing Axel away from estimating the town’s development.

“I need to buy shot and powder.”

“Don’t you get our supply from Rosie?”

“I do but it will be cheaper here in town.”

“What else?”

“I wish to visit Circular Quay.”

From the moment Axel suggested their trip to town, Daniel felt his friend had some bother and needed to visit ships, being something to do with missing his painter, therefore Daniel though it sapient to give him space and allow privacy.

“If you are going to spend the day counting ships, I have someone I would like to visit.”

“That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“I only thought of the visit while on the boat.”

Axel backs away, “sorry I shouldn’t pry into your business.”

“No worries it isn’t anything private; Stan is an old friend. Do you recall me saying I knew someone who had crossed over the mountains to try his chances along the Murrumbidgee?”

“I do.”

“I wish to ask Stan if he has heard anything from our mate Robert.”

“If we are going different ways we should set a time and place to meet,” Axel suggests.

“True, what of our return home?”

“As it will be too late for the last boat, so it will be shank’s pony and with a full moon tonight, the way should be well illuminated. We could walk until tired then find somewhere to kip down then continue on in the morning,” Axel suggests.

“That would be fine but where should we meet up?”

“There is an ale house in Macquarie Street, I can’t remember the name; it is half way along the west side.”

“I’ll find it – at what time?”

“Mid afternoon;” Axel passes a small package, “you take this.”

“What’s this?”

“It is your lunch.”

On his way to Circular Quay, Axel chances to pass the house once occupied by Sergeant Miller. It had been almost six years since leaving Miller’s influence, although memories began to flood back like breaking waves of unwanted emotions. He could smell Miller’s foul breath on his person, feel him forcing entry into his body while grunting like some wild animal as he climaxed, then as guilt gripped the sergeant, Axel would feel Miller’s fists to the back of his head as he called Tommy a filthy corrupting bastard.

A deep breath as Axel moves away.

‘That has all gone,’ he thinks.

‘The now is all that counts and you are free from all that.’

Axel allows a final glance as he moves away from Miller’s house. The lean-to that was Tommy No-One’s bed and shelter was no more, ‘so has the past,’ he thinks as he advances towards the Quay.

Axel had not been at the dock when his painter departed but he remembered the ship’s name and where it would have been moored. There were three ships in docks on this day. Two were convict transporters being well past usefulness, believing it would be surprising if they could manage a return to collect more for the southern prison. The third is a man-of-war fresh from an encounter the French at Mauritius off East Africa, while carrying the damage of a fierce fight. A team of carpenters is busy at work replacing a mast and much of the Spar Deck.

Once on the dock Axel found a comfortable resting spot on a pile of rope, then set about attempting to understand the sea and the mystery of his birth, his mother’s demise and the departure of his painter.

An hour had passed and Axel remained contemplating.

‘Nothing,’ he mentally admits.

‘The sea means nothing to me.’

‘Joshua where are you?’

‘Have you survived your crossing or have you returned to England?’

‘Nothing.’

Axel’s thoughts are interrupted by a gentle touch to his shoulder. He turns towards the intruder, “hello lad, are you seeking work?” a stranger asks; “as there isn’t any to be had.”

“No sir, I am simply interested in the ships.”

“Have you been to sea?” the stranger has a limp and is favouring his right leg. He gently rubs at it as pain brings him to rest.

“I have a question. Have you heard the progress of a ship called the Lady Louise?”

“I have heard the name. I believe she sailed to New Zealand quite some time back.”

“Did she reach New Zealand?”

“The stranger laughs; “news at sea travels slowly lad, sometimes not at all. Why do you ask?”

“A friend travelled on the Louise and I’ve heard nothing since.”

“That isn’t uncommon; I once asked a question from home and the answer took more than a year to return, by then it wasn’t of value.”

“I believe New Zealand isn’t too distant.”

“It is distant enough. Well lad I have work that needs doing before the harbour master spots my leisure.”

Eventually it was time for Axel to give up on his experiment. Sitting and watching the ships proved nothing, while the conversation with the old dock worker gave him little in the way of assurance towards the safety of his painter.

‘Time to go,’ he quietly mutters as he departs the docks.

‘And possibly time to let go of Joshua.’ He reflects with a thought towards Daniel.

On his way to Macquarie Street, Axel recalls a shop owned by one of the women from the prison. He remembers Elsie, although during his incarcerated with the women he had little to do with her. In Axel’s recollection since her emancipation Elsie had opened a stall in the Rocks Emporium selling material to the wealthy, her goods mostly imported from England’s midlands developing woollen mills, even Spitalfields silk as fine as could be had anywhere in the Empire. The Emporium was situated behind the markets at The Rocks. It would be a short walk, although in the opposite direction to his meeting with Daniel in Macquarie Street.

Having time Axel made the detour.

The stall was easily found and immediately Elsie’s loud abrasive voice is obvious before the woman is in sight. Axel approaches finding Elsie debating price with the wife of a military officer.

“Mrs. Macarthur,” Elsie booms for all to hear, “with your husband holding most of the Cow Pasture and extensive land at Parramatta, the price of a bolt of material should be a pittance for you.”

“Pish,” Elizabeth Macarthur tiffs as she moves on.

Allowing Elizabeth time to depart, Axel approaches Elsie, then standing silent before her he is grinning.

“What can I do for you young man?” Elsie demands, half expecting Axel to grab and run.

“Don’t you remember me Elsie?”

The woman frowns, thinks for a moment then installs a broad smile, “why it is little Johnnie and all growd’ up. How could I not remember that mop of red hair?”

“Yes it is me but now I am named Axel South.”

Elsie becomes animated and calls; Sheila, Molly come see what the cat dragged in.” The women momentarily break from work as Elsie ignores Axel’s protest against his name, “it is little Tommy and he’s all growd’ up.”

The women appeared too busy with their stalls to be bothered with Tommy No-One; they wave acknowledgement and continued with their business.

“What are you doing these days Tommy?”

Axel forgives her expression, “I have a hut in the forest and sell skins. I am now a hunter and to a lesser extent a farmer.”

“You have sure growd’ up.”

“It has been a while.”

“I remember you as a baby in the woman’s prison. You were a hungry little bugger and there was hardly enough full tits to satisfy you.”

“I must admit it was a strange education for a kid,” Axel admits.

“Did you know I was acquainted with your mother before being transported and we were on the same ship?”

“No I didn’t know. In truth I never even knew mother’s name.”

“Your mother was Meg – Margaret Smith.”

“As simple as that,” Axel is most impressed as for the first time in his life he had identity, “I now call myself Axel from a man who once showed me a few kind words and South from Southwark where I was told my mother came from.” Axel sinks his hand into his pocket and fondles the coin the mariner had given him those years earlier.

“Your mother wasn’t from Southwark; she was copped by the wallopers in Southwark for stealing a coat but Meg came from a village in Surry, her parents were farmers but lost their holding during the Tenancy Acts.”

“What about my father?”

“Any fool can name their mother but it is a smart fella’ who can name his father.”

“What is your meaning?”

“Your mother had a husband who suffered an accident and died not long after the birth of your older brother and that is why your mother went to the city looking for work. As for your father, unfortunately he would have been any one of the gaolers on board the prison hulk.”

Axel is confused, “you say I am the son of a prison guard?”

“They were hard times lad, so don’t you go blaming you mother.”

“I have a brother?”

“Possibly had as he was sickly child and that is why your mother was stealing.”

“Do you know his name?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Did my mother give me a name?”

“No lad, she passed on soon after your birth.” Elsie gives a chuckle, “It wasn’t nice of us but we called you Weed as you were so tiny.”

“Then everybody called me Tommy.”

“They did, although it wouldn’t be right to call you any of those names now you are a man.”

“Was mother a prostitute?” Axel cautiously asks.

Elsie laughs, “Most of the women in the prison were once prostitutes. How else could a single woman stay alive in a city such as London? It was either that or stealing and both brought you out here.” Elsie notices disappointment in Axel’s expression, “don’t judge your mother lad, she did the best she could and died giving you life, she was poorly even before leaving England and held on long enough to give you birth, so be thankful for what little she had to offer you.”

A customer approaches showing interest in some cheap Irish linen.

“I’ve a living to make lad. You know how to find me, next time you are in town we could have a nice long natter.”

Axel comes away from meeting Elsie with mixed emotions. At last he knew some of his past; even so he would keep the name of Axel but did ponder over changing South to Smith. ‘Axel Smith,’ he considers, ‘maybe – maybe not.’

In Axel’s past fantasy of family, his father would have been a hardworking honest country man, his mother almost a saint, now he had to substitute saint with sinner. Deep down he had always realised the reason for his mother’s downfall, the women of the prison were well apt in conversing their sins and trade, doing so with sordid pride and axel knew more words for sex and its trade, even before he could name the birds in the sky.

‘Margaret Smith,’ Axel recalls as he comes away from the market.

‘Meg Smith.’

‘My father?

Axel leaves the question unstated.

‘Myself?’

‘Axel Smith?’

‘No Axel South, that time has well gone and I cannot be part of it.’

Axel spies Daniel waiting outside the Duke of York Inn. He approaches, “have you been waiting very long?”

“Not long.”

“Did you learn anything about your mate down on the Murrumbidgee?”

“I did, he has taken up a small selection at some place called Yarrh and said to be running sheep, although enduring problems with the blacks and the continuing drought along the rivers.”

“I met up with a woman I once knew when I was a boy and she told me much about my past.”

“There I told you everybody has a past,” Daniel says remembering Axel’s deeming all things to do with him commenced with his birth at sea.

“My mother was called Margaret and I am a Smith.”

Daniel is humoured, “half the English population is named Smith.”

“The other half is Jones, Elsie didn’t know of my father, only they were from the counties and had a farm and he wasn’t my dad.”

“How can you dad not be your dad?”

“Mum was married, he died and she went to London where she was caught stealing. I am the son of a prison guard and I have an older half brother.” In one long sentence Axel had shared the full extent of his past world and without the slightest essence of shame.

“It’s all a little confusing. Axel Smith,” Daniel sounds out the name, “you don’t look like someone who would be called Smith.”

“What does a Smith look like?”

“Sorta’ tall and thickset, or the Smith’s I have known were. I once knew a Jones who had ginger hair.”

“I think I will remain Axel South, I’ve had enough bother changing from Tommy No-One, changing again would seem daft.”

“Or people will think you have something to hide. You said you have a brother?”

“Half brother I suppose but Elsie didn’t know anything about him.

“So your dad was a prison guard?”

“That is what Elsie said.”

“Does that worry you?”

“Na, I think I always believed there would be strife in my past.”

“Your past is expanding, even if a little confusing.”

“Oh well, as you say it is the past, I suppose it should be left as such” Axel sighs.

Daniel is about to question further but feels his friend is closing down, as the provenance of birth may become embarrassing. Instead he diverts, “what now, should we head for home, or do you want to take a room for the night?”

“I don’t have the coin for a room.”

“Then we walk.”

“Yes, it should be a clear moonlit night.”

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Conder 333 at Hotmail dot Com

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