TWENTY ONE
CAPE TOWN TO MELBOURNE-
SEPTEMBER 1906
A week out of Cape Town and Florence noted
that the weather was changing, becoming considerably colder than the journey
had been so far. She stopped Mr Cookson on deck as he made his rounds of the passengers,
checking the security of the ship and its contents.
'Good morning Mr Cookson,' she said smiling
at him. 'Can I ask you a question please?'
'Of course Ma’am, fire away.' Florence
stood thoughtfully for a moment then said, 'It’s getting colder this past few
days, really cold. The temperature has dropped quite a bit. So, I want to know,
are we going to see icebergs, and is this because we are following the Great
Circle route?' Cookson stared at her in mild astonishment before answering.
'Well I suppose the short answer is, yes,
to both questions. We could see icebergs soon, and we are following a Great
Circle to get to Melbourne. At the moment we are sailing almost south east, in
a few days time we should be turning north east and then north to run into Port
Philip.' Florence nodded her head and asked, 'Port Philip?'
'That’s the name of the port just outside the
city of Melbourne. We’ll be there for two days to unload everyone who is
leaving us there, and the horses, so if you want to get ashore for a look
around the city, this is your time to do it. But you mustn’t be late to get
back on the ship, we don’t wait for anyone who is late.' He grinned at her,
feeling that here was one passenger he would not have to chase back onboard the
ship. Florence thanked him and, feeling chilled by the downturn in temperature,
walked quickly back to her cabin, where she found that some form of heating
system had warmed up the cabin quite nicely. Later on she lounged on her bed
reading a book which she had borrowed from the ships library. It was all about
Australia, and for Florence it filled in a lot of the gaps in her knowledge.
She remained on her bed until the book was finished. What a place this sounds
like, she thought to herself, can’t wait ‘til we get there.
The following morning Florence woke and noticed
immediately the temperature had dropped even more than the previous day. Gathering
the counterpane around her shoulders she leaned up in bed on one elbow and
pushed aside the curtain covering the window in the wall by the side of the
bed. The sky was still a clear blue, but the colour had changed to one which
was noticeably cooler and deeper in colour. Pushing herself up more to look
directly out of the window she was amazed to see that from the horizon back to
within a few hundred yards of the ship were icebergs. They did not cover the
sea but there were a sufficiently large number for her to be unable to count
them. The biggest appeared to be hundreds of feet long and high, the smallest
was smaller than the ship itself. She shivered and sat watching the scene for
some minutes until she was aware of Martha waking in the opposite bed.
'Just have a look at this lot Martha,' she
said. 'The sea is full of icebergs.' Martha slid from beneath her covers and
gathered them around her to kneel alongside Florence on her bed and peered
through the window with her.
'Oh my God Flo. Are we going to be alright
with that lot out there?'
'I should think so, they haven’t just
sprung up out of the sea, must have been there for most of the night. I’m sure
Commodore Ditchburn will have had his men out looking for them and steering us
away from them. Let’s go and get some breakfast and then go up on deck to see
what’s going on.'
The two women went to the dining room and
found it was crowded with people, all buzzing with the same topic of
conversation; the icebergs and how safe the ship was in their presence. It
seemed that the drop in temperature had affected the passengers appetite as
everyone took advantage of the hot food on offer. After breakfast Florence and
Martha went out onto the deck wrapped in their heaviest dresses and coats,
pulling on clothes they thought they would not have the need of during their
lives in Australia. It was an eye opener for them both. They pulled down the
sleeves of their coats to protect their hands against the cold and held onto
the ships rail against the swell of the waves. They stared in amazement at the
variety of icebergs which they passed, the colours ranged from blue to yellow
and white. Colours they never had expected.
'They’re like monsters aren’t they?'
Florence said to Martha quietly. Martha nodded her head without comment, and
looked from one sight to another, sometimes extending her hand to point to a
new one as it came into their view. The two women watched in silence for the
most part, joined from time to time by other passengers, themselves awed into
silence by what they saw. Soon the cold wormed its insidious way through their
clothing and they were forced shivering back into the warmth of the various
public rooms to drink mugs of hot tea or coffee provided for them by the
waiters.
The icebergs became a familiar sight to all
of the passengers, and after a couple of days the novelty wore off, so that
they simply gave them a passing glance if they were in sight on the deck or
where one came close to the ship and could be seen through the windows. Which
is not to say they were not in any potential danger. However, as Florence said
to Martha, 'Lots of other ships have made it this far without hitting one, so I
suppose we’ll be alright.' It was a comfort to know that the ship was made of
solid steel, and had an alert crew to guide and protect them. What could go
wrong?
The following afternoon Florence was
standing once again on the open deck holding the deck rail, steadying herself
against the waves which had become a little higher during the morning, and were
now causing a pronounced and definite bow wave as the ship pushed its way to
Melbourne. Mr Cookson walked along the deck towards her and stood still a few
feet away from her.
'Good afternoon Mrs Lowe' he said.
'Enjoying the view?' Florence looked sideways towards him and smiled.
'I see we are finally going north now Mr
Cookson' she said.
'Oh yes. How do you work that out then Mrs
Lowe?' He returned her smile and gripped the deck rail lightly with one gloved
hand.
'When I was a child my Pa used to tell me
that the sun would always set over the Prospect Mill in Bolton if I was
standing in our back yard of our house, so I learned which was north and south.
He told me about the points of the compass and so I looked at the sun today and
it’s over there,' she pointed out over the port side of the ship. ''Cos it's
over there at this time of day that's the west and ‘cos it’s on our left hand
side, well, that means we are going north. And the icebergs disappeared
yesterday as well.' She grinned a cheeky grin. 'Unless the captain has decided
we’re not going to Australia and he’s taking us somewhere else.' Mr Cookson
gave a strangled laugh,
'No, you’re right, almost. We’re going
north north east at the moment, I’ve just come from the bridge and that’s the
course we’re on today. But you’re right about the sun.' He pointed out over the
rail to the sun, still high in the sky, but well past its zenith. 'So, in under
a week we should be approaching Albany in Western Australia. After offloading we'll
be off to Melbourne. We have to offload the rest of the horses and most of the
passengers there then we’ll leave for Sydney'
Florence considered what he had said for a
moment then said, 'I think I'll take your advice and have a look at Melbourne,
as we’re there for two days. I suppose it’s easy enough to get into the city
from the dockside?'
'Oh yes, no trouble at all. There’s a
regular train service right from the dock offices into the centre of Melbourne,
shouldn’t take too long, it’s about four miles, that’s all. If you go to the
Sandridge station it will take you right into the centre of the city to the
Melbourne Terminus. It’s on the corner of Flinders Street, right next to the
fish market, so if you are not sure of
where you are, just follow your nose and the smell of fish.' He laughed, and
Florence joined in. 'It’s a beautiful building and you can’t fail to miss it. It’s
got four stories and is all gold and red brick. Last time I was here it was
being extended, not sure if it’s finished yet.' He paused and then continued, 'I think you’ll like Melbourne. It’s a
beautiful place. Lots of fairly new buildings, ’cos it’s the capital, and
they’re still building it. There are lots of things to see whilst you are
there. Just take care of yourself if you are going by yourself though, there
are one or two places you might not like to go to once the sun goes down. But
don’t let me put you off. It’s a fine city and I’m sure you'll like it. Maybe
you would be best to get the Circular Tram when you get there. It'll take you
round the outskirts of the city centre, give you an idea what it is like and
how big it is.'
'Thanks Mr Cookson, I’ll remember that.
I’ll probably be going with Martha, we both want to have a look at the place
and stretch our legs a bit.' Mr Cookson nodded his head in agreement with her
suggestion, then, tipping his cap politely made his farewell and walked away
down the deck.
On the ninth of September the ship pulled
into Albany on the southern tip of Western Australia where, as Mr Cookson had
said, some of the cargo was discharged to the dockside and some of the
passengers left the ship to make a start on their new lives. More importantly
to the inhabitants of the town of Albany though was the delivery of mail from
England, which the Persic carried. Because Albany was the first port of call in
Australia for the post from England, the arrival of any of the mail ships was
eagerly awaited. The mail travelled by coach from Albany to various parts of
the country. It was faster than the ships passage.
The Persic stayed overnight in the port,
leaving on the tenth in the early hours of the morning. At dinner that night
Florence and Martha were seated as usual by themselves, at a table close to one
which contained six single men, who were obviously enjoying a story being told
by one of them to the others. After several outbursts of raucous laughter
Florence’s curiosity could stand it no longer and enquired from the young man
closest to them what they were laughing at. He was a young ruddy faced individual
wearing a coarse jacket and trousers which did not match in any way, the jacket
being a green tweed whilst the trousers were a light brown. He leaned back in
his seat and related his story quietly to Florence whilst the others at his
table fell silent. Florence and Martha listened in silence whilst Mr Cochran,
the storyteller, related the tale. It appeared that during the early hours of
that morning whilst the ship was still tied up alongside the hook shaped pier
standing out from the dockside into King George Sound, an incident had occurred.
About two o’clock that morning one of the
passengers, a retired English Army, Major Ernest Elliot, had somehow or other
fallen from the gangway from the pier to the ship into the harbour. No doubt,
Mr Cochran speculated, the good Major was under the influence of an excess of
alcohol. Luckily for the Major though, one of the other passengers who had
probably accompanied him, managed to fish him out of the water, with no apparent
injury to either of them. The hilarity of the situation was being spread around
with many of the other passengers, all of them adding and embellishing the story
as it was told and re-told. Florence felt the men were being a little too cruel
in the re-telling of the story and sat with a stony face as Cochran completed
the telling.
'I don’t think that’s funny. He could have
drowned. How would you feel about that then?' She said eventually, and turned
back to her table where she and Martha completed their meal in silence. It
appeared that the dampening of Major Elliot had no detrimental effect on him or
the ship, as it sailed from the port of Albany on time at six thirty in the
morning of Sunday, the tenth of September.
On the fourteenth of September Mr Cookson’s
words were still familiar in Florence's mind when two and a half weeks after
leaving Cape Town the SS Persic pulled alongside the dock at Sandridge, a few
miles south of the city of Melbourne. The final part of the journey into the
port was a scene of frantic activity onboard. Those leaving the ship were busy
packing their luggage, and the crew made final preparations for the cargo and
horses to be offloaded onto the dock.
The ship slid slowly through the entrance
to the wide bay which had been one of the first places in Australia to be
discovered. Slowly, the ship was manoeuvred across the bay, which opened up in
front of them into an almost circular shape. Though relatively shallow it
provided good anchorage to the early ships, and today it was a large natural
harbour, capable of taking ships of any size into its safe anchorage. As the SS
Persic slowly pulled alongside the dock, built like a pier from the edge of the
harbour out into the bay, Florence and Martha walked from their cabin after
breakfast and stood on the deck to gain the best vantage point to watch all
that was happening, both onboard and on the dock itself. Florence took hold of the
deck rail alongside Martha. 'Here Martha, this rail’s wet.' She said.
'Didn’t you hear the rain last night? It was
hammering it down for ages,' her friend replied. Florence looked at the rain
which was still clearly visible in globules on the deck and the deck rail.
'I never heard a thing,' she said. 'Must have been
dead to the world.'
The two women pointed alternately to things which caught
their eye either on the dock or on the shore. A narrow gauge railway ran down
the centre of the length of the dock, horses pulling carts of cargo from the
shore to the ships laid up alongside both sides of the docks. Porters and
dockworkers pulling on small hand held carts laden with luggage for the
passenger ships, and others with larger carts laden with cargo for the holds. They
watched with excited anticipation as their ship became ready for the discharge
of its passengers and cargo; in particular they were interested in the horses
which had accompanied them from England.
Ten thoroughbred horses, destined for a
variety of breeders in the state of Victoria, Tasmania and New South Wales, who
hoped to improve the strains of racehorse flesh in the country, had made the
journey with them, and now their excited noises and stamping sounded loud
beneath decks in the front cargo hold when the smell of dry land hit their
nostrils. The two young women watched as cargo handlers assisted the grooms,
who had accompanied the horses on their trip from England. The grooms tied
broad blue canvas harnesses under the belly of each horse and attached the
harness to the derricks on the foredeck. Some of the horses went peacefully and
swung over the side of the ship to the dockside, seemingly grateful to be going
back on dry land, whilst others were visibly distressed by the airborne
experience, their legs thrashing or just simply twitching against the movement
and harness. Five of the horses were offloaded at Melbourne, whilst the other
five remained onboard for the trip to Sydney, where they too would be
offloaded. The grooms safely escorted the horses to the dock where their
instinct was to try and immediately escape the harness. The grooms held them
secure against a head collar and lead rein, and stood talking quietly to them,
and stroking them to calm them down. Eventually, as each horse calmed down, the
groom led it away. Some of them were taken away directly to a dockside stable
where they would remain for a few days waiting for their new owners to collect
them, whilst others were loaded into the backs of wooden horse boxes drawn up
in a short line on the dock. Each box could accommodate two horses, if needed,
which were loaded into the boxes by a ramp lowered down from the back of the
vehicle to the dockside. Once loaded and comfortably tied by their lead rein
the ramp was raised, and the groom took his place alongside the driver, who
controlled the two dray horses which then slowly pulled the box along the dock
to its final destination on the outskirts of the city. The whole process took
over two hours to complete, preventing other cargo being offloaded at the same
time, only then did the cargo, human and non-human, start to leave the ship.
When the first of the passengers for
Melbourne started to leave the ship, Florence and Martha joined them in the
walk down the gangway onto the dockside, and enjoyed their first experience of
dry land since their departure from Liverpool. At Cape Town they had decided
not to venture into the city from fear induced by other passengers who told
tales of experiences which were then exaggerated by others who had made the
trip. Flourishing umbrellas against the constant thin rain which had started,
the two women walked carefully along the line of the narrow railway to the edge
of the docks, and finally through the ornate dock gates into the suburb of
Sandridge. They followed the directions given to them by Mr Cookson and found
the railway station and then the train to the centre of the city. The journey
took no more than twenty minutes, and both of them were pleasantly surprised
when they came out of the station to find themselves in the centre of a busy
bustling wide road, close to a wide bridge over the river Yarra. The two of
them stood for a few minutes looking around them, taking in the new sights. They
stared in some amazement at the railway station. It was four stories high and
still being built upon further. The brick used in its construction was faced in
red and yellow, and as clean as anything either had ever seen; not at all like
a dirty English railway station. At one side of the main entrance to the
station was a temporary extension building, being used as a ticket office. Opposite
the station were other similar sized buildings, all apparently quite recently
constructed. They caught a brown single deck tram outside the station and took
their seats on the street side, watching out through the windows as the tram
chugged its noisy way along the streets of Melbourne.
The tram took them around the outer edges
of the city centre and gave them tantalising views of magnificent buildings
either fully finished, or in the course of construction, alongside others which
looked to have been built some years before. When the tram passed the ends of
the streets they were given views down hills to the centre of the city. 'Feels
like we are riding around a tea cup doesn't it Flo?' Martha quipped. Florence
simply nodded her head, trying to take in all the buildings, the signs on them,
the roofs and the glimpses of streets falling away from them on the outskirts
of the centre. There were imposing churches, hotels, office buildings, shops
and theatres; all built one next to the other, and seemingly inhabited by an
army of people who scurried like large upright ants into and out of them. At
one point on their trip they came to a crossroads where the street they were on
fell gently away from them. They saw three churches set on three sides of a
wide crossroads. Reading the name on a large notice board set in the grounds
outside one of the churches Florence discovered it was a cathedral, the other
two being smaller and less grand in design, but no less imposing. By the time
they had completed half a circuit of the city centre the thin but steady rain
had stopped, and the heavy cloud which had hung over the city from early
morning now blew off courtesy of a wind which came across the city from off the
sea. From leaving the ship the rain had been light but fairly persistent and
the two women soon became wet, but now that it had cleared up they decided to
walk for a while and dry off their clothes.
'Thought this was supposed to be a nice warm dry
country' Flo said a little morosely. Martha laughed.
'Can’t have it hot and sunny all the time
or nowt would grow. Anyway, looks like the weather’s picking up, skies’re
clearing, clouds’re clearing. A bit of a walk will do us good after being
cooped up on the ship all this time. Come on misery, cheer up.' She punched
Florence lightly on the arm. 'Let’s get off here.'
They got off the tram near to the Parliament
buildings and dodged the puddles lying on the flagged pavements as they crossed
over the street. Opposite the imposing Parliament building, with its lines of
columns was an equally imposing hotel, The Windsor Hotel, which seemed to them
to be as large and imposing as the Parliament building. They read and
remembered the street names on the side of the buildings, so that they would be
able more easily to find their way back to the trams and trains for their
return journey to the ship.
After walking a short way along Spring Street near
to the Parliament building, they looked over to one side of the street, and
discovered it overlooked some railway lines and sidings. They decided that the
area seemed to be winding away from the city centre. After a brief conversation
they turned around and re-traced their steps towards the stop they had arrived
at. Standing for a moment at the top of Bourke Street with the Parliament
buildings behind them they looked down the hill towards the city centre, taking
in the broad roadways and pavements studded with trees which were casting shade
over the pedestrians now that the sun had come out again.
'Isn’t it grand Flo?' Martha said quietly.
'Beautiful. I bet this is as big a city as
Manchester or London.'
'You think so? Not sure, never been to
London. Tell you what though, it's a heck of a lot cleaner.'
They walked down Bourke Street for a short
while and then turned right along an arbitrarily chosen narrow lane, until they
came to Little Bourke Street, then across a main road where they finally turned
left onto yet another street going downhill. The thought came to them that they
were almost lost.
'I hope you're keeping an eye on where we are going
Martha' Florence said.
'It’s easy Flo. This place is built on a
grid system.' Florence looked at her friend questioningly. 'I mean that the
streets go straight in both directions. When one of them crosses another
street, well that one is straight as well. Have you not noticed? It means that
as long as you keep taking left turns or right turns, well, eventually you’ll
come back onto the street you started at. Keep your eyes on the streets we go
down.' Florence nodded her head and looked around her at the street they were
on at that moment. They were close to a magnificent building made from soft
light fawn coloured stone, and separated from the roadway by wide green lawns
and surrounded by a black metal fence. It did not appear to welcome unannounced
visitors. The entrance to the building, a wide pillared doorway was accessed by
a stately range of steps leading from the street across the lawns to the doors
at the front. The two women stood looking in awe at the building and read on a
notice that it was the State Library of Victoria.
'Let’s have a bit of a rest shall we Flo?'
Martha said. She pointed to the small wall which held the fence. Florence
grinned and walked to the wall where they both sat down, Martha slumped beside
her and bent to massage her feet.
'Needed this Flo,' she said. 'My feet are
killing me.' Florence looked around her for the name of the street and found it
on a building at the corner.
'La Trobe Street' she said. Martha followed
her glance.
'Swanston Street,' Martha said. 'What?'
'It’s on Swanston Street, La Trobe Street
is that one over there.' She indicated the street on the corner.
'Must have been a Scouser' Florence said.
'What?' Martha asked.
'You know, Liverpudlians, Scousers. Scousers
always say, ‘Alright La?’ when they are asking you how you are. So this Trobe
feller must have been a Scouser, La must have been his first name.' Martha
burst out laughing, both women bent low over their aching feet on the pavement,
causing two women walking past them to look in their direction.
'You’re mad you are Flo.' said Martha. The
two young women sat on the wall for a few minutes, easing their feet and wiping
sweat from their foreheads with the backs of their hands. Florence looked at
her wristwatch.
'Time we were getting back to the ship
Martha?' she asked.
'I think so. By the time we get there it
should be time for dinner, or getting on that way.' Martha replied.
Martha was right. They stopped off to have
a cup of tea at a small cafe on Bourke Street, then caught the tram back to the
station on Flinders Street and then a tram to the docks. By the time they
arrived back onboard it was almost time for dinner to be served. The ship was
quiet as they approached. Cargo had been discharged and reloaded, passengers
had left, and it appeared that the passengers who had left had not been
replaced. The ship was quieter than when they had left. It now held just over a
hundred passengers for the final leg of their journey to Sydney, though it
seemed to hold the same number of crew members, judging from the number of
waiters who busied around them in the dining room that evening.
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