Tamar Read online

  ‘And you can’t love me, is that it?’

  Beginning to cry now, Tamar replied, ‘I don’t know, John. I don’t know what I can or can’t do. I need you as a friend, can we please leave it at that for now?’ She sniffed inelegantly, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

  John sighed and sat back, running his hand through his receding hair then rubbing his temples wearily.

  ‘Well,’ he said eventually, ‘if that’s all you want for the moment, then yes, of course, if you can’t accept anything else right now. I will always be your friend. But how I feel about you will never change, whatever happens.’

  Embarrassed and feeling awkward, he stood and walked away, leaving Tamar to gaze sightlessly at the worn table top, a tear running slowly down her cheek.

  ‘Never mind, luv. You’ll work it out,’ said a woman’s disembodied voice from behind her, and a wrinkled but clean handkerchief was pressed gently into her hand.

  The next day it became clear John Adams had spoken too soon about several things. He apologised to Tamar and said that although he had meant every word, he had not intended to upset her. Tamar accepted his apology and reiterated, as kindly as she could, that she hoped their friendship could continue.

  She was flattered by his attentions and sincerely fond of him but, for her, the compelling attraction she so hoped for was missing. She had no doubt she could have a contented life if she became his wife, but she wanted more; she wanted passion and romance, she wanted to experience the love her mam and da had shared.

  As it turned out, any thoughts of passion were swept away when the first case of food poisoning was reported. By the time John had examined the patient, a child from steerage lying doubled up on her bunk, clutching her stomach, half a dozen others had fallen ill.

  By the end of the day, severe diarrhoea and vomiting had struck almost all the steerage passengers and John had traced the source to a cask of spoiled pork. Fortunately, cabin passengers had not been affected, as they only ate fresh meat butchered on board.

  Tamar, who had been avoiding meat, was again prevailed upon to help. To make matters worse, the outbreak of food poisoning coincided with their passage into the Roaring Forties, the vicious, prevailing westerly winds ever present between the latitudes of forty and fifty degrees south, and the task of helping the sick was made more arduous by the ship lurching and pitching. Many of those afflicted were unable to reach the privies and vomited and evacuated their bowels where they lay. Five children died, four of them under the age of two. After four days of violent vomiting and diarrhoea, one of the pregnant women went into labour prematurely, resulting in the death of her infant.

  John and Tamar also became ill. Tamar retired to her bunk where she was nursed by Myrna and John, before he was forced to admit he was too ill to work.

  Tamar spent three ghastly days curled up in her bunk, her battered body working to purge itself. She thought she was going to die, and several times prayed she would. After the first twelve hours she gave up staggering to the privy and, as she grew progressively weaker and began to lose control over her bowels, became resigned to soiling herself, weeping with pain and embarrassment.

  ‘Och, lassie,’ Myrna said matter-of-factly after one particularly messy accident. ‘Dinnae worry about it. It’s only shite and it’ll wash out.’

  John dragged himself from his own bed to monitor Tamar at regular intervals, insisting the privy and her bunk were doused repeatedly with chloride of lime and her bedclothes changed with fastidious frequency. Tamar thought it highly unlikely he would be quite so enamoured of her now he had seen her lying in a smelly puddle of her own watery diarrhoea, but she was wrong.

  On the evening of the third day she fell into a deep sleep and did not wake until late the following afternoon, feeling parched and decrepit, but no longer sick. After a cup of tea, which she was moderately confident would stay in her stomach, she rose carefully, stripped off her dirty clothes and washed herself in a bucket of sea water. Gingerly though, because her stomach muscles were aching and her nether regions raw from the diarrhoea. Myrna helped her change her bedding and she went back to sleep. When she awoke again, she felt almost human and was welcomed back to the land of the living by her roommates, most of whom had fully recovered.

  The funeral for the children who had died had been held while Tamar was ill, and Polly described how tragic it had been when the little shrouded bodies were consigned to the sea. The atmosphere onboard the Rebecca Jane was subdued, with the increasingly foul weather and rough seas doing little to improve the situation.

  May 1879

  By the time the food poisoning subsided, the Rebecca Jane had sailed down into the subantarctic region of the Indian Ocean. About a month out from New Zealand, she still had four thousand miles to sail. The weather was bitterly cold, the winds shrieking through the ship’s ghostly rigging. Ice formed on the decks and on ropes and cables that had frozen solid. Sightings of huge, floating icebergs were not uncommon.

  As conditions on deck were intolerable, life was again largely confined to the belly of the ship. The confinement was made worse by the gales forcing the Rebecca Jane over on a steep cant, making walking difficult and even dangerous; nothing stayed where it was put unless tightly secured. There were several nasty accidents with hot water and food in the galley, and three cases of broken bones. After ten or so weeks of shipboard life, some passengers were beginning to doubt the wisdom of their decision to emigrate, while others regretted loudly they had not secured passage on a ship fitted with steam engines.

  The provisions for the steerage passengers were definitely past their best, and some were beginning to suffer from a lack of fresh food. John Adams increased the allocation of lime juice as generously as he could, and ordered extra food for children and nursing mothers, but little could be done to improve their health save a concerted effort to prevent another outbreak of food poisoning. John insisted all edible provisions be inspected frequently and thoroughly for spoilage, with any found suspect tipped overboard.

  He also demanded three of the remaining pigs be slaughtered, roasted thoroughly and shared amongst the steerage passengers over several days. This made John unpopular with his fellow cabin passengers, the pigs having been intended for them, so he ate below decks for a week, tired of listening to their complaints. What the steerage passengers really needed, however, were fresh fruit and vegetables, and neither would be forthcoming until the ship berthed. John was distressed by the poor standard of nutrition but doubted anyone would die from it. And if the ship continued to make good time, he hoped they would reach their destination before anyone’s health really began to deteriorate.

  The final leg was tedious in the extreme. Entertainments were limited to impromptu concerts and games of cards and dice in the gloomy and fetid family quarters. Tempers continued to unravel, and the cramped conditions caused petty dislikes and irritations to develop into overt antagonisms and, at times, violence.

  Tamar spent most of her time in the company of Polly, Myrna and her girls, and John Adams. John had not mentioned his desire for a more permanent relationship with Tamar again, but she often caught him watching her when he thought she wasn’t looking. She felt uncomfortable but he seemed cheerful enough when they spent time together and did not seem to begrudge her discussing plans for the future which did not include him.

  Tamar had formed a strong bond with her new friends. She was fascinated by Myrna’s girls, and although fully aware of what they did for a living, she was surprised to discover their friendship was unaffected. She had always assumed women who sold their bodies would lack the morals, emotions and character traits most ‘normal’ women displayed. But Myrna’s girls were cultured, elegantly groomed, well mannered and very well spoken.

  All had been working as prostitutes for several years before they decided to emigrate, and had no illusions about their work. Talking to Tamar one day, Bronwyn described how they felt about themselves and their chosen profession.

  ‘We’ve
all come from working-class backgrounds, all poor, and none of us likely to rise above it by marrying the lad down the street and having ten little ones and getting old before our time. For us, the one thing we have is our looks.’

  Tamar concurred; the girls were certainly attractive. Bronwyn was tall and willowy with luxuriant black hair, exotic dark eyes and a sensuous mouth. Letitia’s hair was a rich brown with deep red highlights, and Vivienne’s a pale rose gold. Both had lovely faces and spectacular figures. Jessica, younger-looking than her colleagues, was petite and slender, her straight blonde hair framing delicate and child-like features.

  ‘So, we decided to use them,’ continued Bronwyn. ‘I started with Myrna first and the others came later. She taught us all to speak nicely and how to dress and what a customer needs and wants. There’s more to it than just opening your legs. There were nine of us working for her in London, but some of the others wanted to go their own way and Myrna thought two of them wouldn’t be suitable for New Zealand. Myrna runs a good house. She pays well and she banks what we earn so we’ve all got tidy sums put away. More than we’d ever have if we’d stayed at home, cooking, cleaning and washing nappies. Oh, we won’t be doing this forever,’ she added. ‘We’ll be too old in another ten years to make the money we’re making now, but until then, we’ll be doing all right. And afterwards, well, I might start my own business. Or I might get married.’

  ‘You’re all quite different, aren’t you?’ Tamar asked. ‘Looking, I mean.’

  ‘Yes, we are, and that’s quite deliberate. I’m tall and dark for the men who want something a little foreign-looking, although I’m English born and bred, and Vivienne and Letitia both have the round hips and beautiful, big breasts. Jessie looks like she’s only fourteen, but she’s nearly twenty. She’s for customers with a liking for young ones.’

  Tamar pulled a face.

  Bronwyn responded bluntly. ‘Some men are like that. And Jessie’s as tough as they come, in spite of how she looks.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought Myrna would have that sort of thing in her house.’

  ‘As far as she’s concerned it’s better to provide the service than have some poor little girl having it forced on her. And Myrna’s running a business. She has to cater for demand and no doubt men in New Zealand will be the same as men everywhere else.’

  The two women were silent for a minute. Then Tamar asked hesitantly, ‘But do you think you will get married?’

  Bronwyn laughed, displaying even, white teeth. ‘Will any decent man have me after all this whoring, you mean? I can’t see why not. Not every man wants to marry a virgin, and we’re not ordinary streetwalkers. I’ve already had offers. But we’ll see, it’s a way off yet. I would like a child though,’ she added wistfully.

  ‘So would I,’ Tamar replied. ‘Lots, in fact. But don’t you feel … used, sleeping with so many different men?’

  ‘No, I give them what they want and they go away happy. They give me money and I’m happy. It’s better than doing it for nothing for the rest of my life. And I get to wear fine clothes, I eat well, Myrna looks after us and I meet interesting people. Gentlemen too, not great lumbering stupid oafs covered in dirt, although some of them can be a little difficult to handle. But that’s part of the job. Myrna has strict rules about what is and isn’t allowed.’

  ‘And you never get tired of it?’

  ‘Not really. Well, sometimes it can be a bit boring. Some of the customers aren’t what they think they are between the sheets, and sometimes they moan on and on about their awful wives. But when that happens I just think about my bank account, because where else am I going to make this sort of money? Sometimes it is exhausting, when we’ve been busy all afternoon and half the night, but that’s the same with all jobs. Didn’t you get sick of sewing gowns sometimes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tamar replied. ‘And it was hard work!’

  ‘Well, there you are then. Like any other job it has its ups and downs.’ Bronwyn giggled at her own joke. ‘I expect when I’ve had enough and it’s time to get out, I’ll know, but that hasn’t happened yet.’

  Polly had also taken a great interest in Myrna’s girls. One day she asked Tamar outright what it was they did, not believing their elegant grooming and cultured manners were destined for domestic service. Tamar evaded the question but Polly persisted until Tamar suggested she ask Myrna. Surprisingly, Myrna had told her, but requested that she keep it to herself as she didn’t want the entire ship knowing the nature of her and her girls’ business. Not that she was ashamed, she explained, but because she felt it would cause all sorts of trouble.

  After that, Polly spent a significant amount of her time talking with Letitia, Vivienne, Bronwyn and Jessica. Unable to keep the information to herself, she told Sally and Jane, who were rather uncomfortable with the news; they continued to be friendly with Myrna’s girls, but kept themselves a little aloof. But the secret went no further, and the rest of the women remained ignorant of the girls’ true profession.

  About a week out from New Zealand the temperature increased and the weather improved as the Rebecca Jane sailed into the calmer and slightly warmer waters below Tasmania. Land-based sea birds became a common sight and now and then vegetation bobbed past the hull. The mood on board also began to lighten as the emigrants neared their destination. All were heartily sick of the voyage, weary of the ever-worsening food, the constant lack of privacy, of each other’s company, the episodes of ill health, and the extremes of temperature they had endured over the past months.

  Tamar longed for a decent soak in hot, clean water and yearned to put on freshly washed clothes not stiff with dried salt. She had run out of soap for her hair, which had been lank and greasy for weeks, the head and body lice infesting the ship were driving her mad, and her body craved fresh fruit and vegetables. She was deeply frustrated to learn they could be at sea for another two weeks. Yesterday, the Captain had advised the Rebecca Jane was about to begin her run north into the Tasman Sea and up the west coast of New Zealand, but land would probably not be sighted until they passed Cape Maria van Diemen at the northernmost tip. After that, it would be several days further before they finally arrived in Auckland.

  In anticipation, and amidst an almost party-like atmosphere, the hold was opened and the emigrants began to prepare their belongings for disembarkation. To their horror, a number of trunks and boxes had been rotted by sea water leaking from above and were in various stages of mouldy disintegration. Rats had eaten everything they could find and made themselves cosy little homes. Even worse, some of the cabin passengers’ luggage had been broken into and valuable items removed. There was an uproar and the Captain ordered a ship-wide search for the stolen belongings, although nothing was recovered and he was never able to establish whether it was his crew or light-fingered passengers who had committed the thefts.

  With the weather now much improved, the passengers spent more of their time on deck, many positioning themselves along the bulwarks in the hope of being the first to see land. The children had reached a level of excitement nearing hysteria and were almost uncontrollable but now the end of the voyage was near, their behaviour was tolerated. Dances were held on deck in the evenings and there was a new feeling of optimism, goodwill and hope.

  On the morning of 4 June the cry of ‘Land!’ came from a sailor perched high in the rigging. The word spread quickly and within minutes the upper deck was swarming with people eager for their first glimpse of New Zealand. Some were disappointed, as all that was visible was a long, low line of white cloud on the eastern horizon, but for most the sight was heartening. Several days later, as the Rebecca Jane rounded the top of the North Island, the view was more rewarding; dark, forest-clad hills were clearly visible, with white-capped waves breaking on rugged shores. The emigrants were disappointed again as the ship’s passage between the Three Kings Islands and Cape Reinga was shrouded in low cloud and winter fog, obscuring any view of the coast, but by afternoon the weather had lifted and the empty, white be
aches of North Cape came into view.

  The Rebecca Jane turned south and began the last three days of her voyage down the eastern coast of the North Island, sailing past the Bay of Islands and Whangarei Harbour on her right and Great Barrier Island on her left, and finally into the Hauraki Gulf. By the time she slipped past the region’s youngest volcano, the scrubby island of Rangitoto with its curious symmetrical crater, and on into the mouth of the Waitemata Harbour, the light had faded and the Captain gave the order to lower the anchor in the Rangitoto Channel. Grumbling, his passengers prepared to spend their last night at sea.

  In the morning most were up, packed and on deck before the sun rose. It had begun to rain during the night, the weather was cold and windy and the harbour choppy, but the emigrants waited expectantly for the sun to rise. As it did, the shoreline of Mechanics Bay, so named for the first immigrant tradesmen known as ‘mechanics’ put ashore there, slowly revealed itself. Rain glistened on the dismal, grey buildings lining the waterfront and the churned-up mud road. A railway embankment rose above a sprawling brickyard and a blackened foundry and untidy stacks of timber lay everywhere. To the right on a small, partially excavated point sat the derelict remains of the demolished Britomart Barracks, once home to the 58th Regiment. On board the Rebecca Jane the emigrants, immigrants now they had finally arrived, were silent.

  ‘Bloody ’ell,’ said a man behind Tamar. ‘Is this it? It’s worse than ’ome!’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  June 1879

  Had the sun been shining, the immigrants might have felt more enthusiastic about their new home. From their vantage point in the Waitemata Harbour, they would have been able to see the wooded, rural slopes of Parnell Rise overlooking Hobson and Judges Bays and the gentle hills of Remuera. To the southwest was Orakei Basin and, almost behind them, Mission Bay and St Heliers. Across the harbour was the Devonport peninsula, dominated by Mt Victoria and North Head.