HER parents’ reaction to the nose stud wasn’t quite the success she’d expected. Mum did freak out satisfyingly. She stared at Jaz’s face and whimpered. Jaz put on an act, behaved as though the new look was an outfit she was showing off to Gi-Gi. After she’d tilted her face at different angles and struck a pose or two, she said brightly, ‘Well, whaddaya think? Awesome, eh!’
Robyn found her voice. ‘Mike – Mike! Get out here now!’
When Dad appeared from the office he’d set up in the living room, visibly annoyed at being disturbed, Mum just gestured at Jaz.
‘What is it now?’ His voice was tired.
Jaz obligingly turned her face towards him.
‘What the hell …’ Mike took a second look. ‘For Chrissake, Jaz. A nose stud?’
‘Top marks,’ she said. But it was becoming harder to keep up the act. Dad looked more disappointed than angry.
‘Why?’ Mike asked. ‘Why self-mutilation?’ He even sounded disappointed now.
This wasn’t the reaction she’d wanted, being made to feel bad. ‘C’mon, Dad, that’s a bit over the top, isn’t it?’ She summonsed up a sneer. ‘Anyway, the term’s body modification.’
‘I don’t care what you call it,’ said Robyn. ‘Surely you know what sort of people do such things?’
This was more like it. Jaz rallied. ‘You mean not the people you know. What is it you’d call them – “losers” maybe, “gays”, and other “deviants” – those sort of people?’
Robyn flinched. ‘I didn’t say that,’ she said quietly. ‘Don’t put words in my mouth.’
‘Whatever,’ said Jaz, on a roll now. ‘You’re so out of date. Everyone who’s anyone has body mod done these days.’ That was the right tone, slightly condescending. Ange would be proud of her.
‘That’s not the point,’ said Mike patiently. He seemed to be responding to her words, not her tone. ‘I don’t have a problem with the dyed hair and bizarre get-ups, Jaz – that’s superficial. But this has lasting effects, scars. Apart from anything else, you could get all sorts of infections.’
The last thing Jaz wanted was concern. Trying to regain ground, she sighed theatrically. ‘Honestly, I’m not thick. The guy did use a steriliser.’
‘It was that Ange person who put you up to it, wasn’t it?’ Robyn changed tack. ‘I might’ve known.’
Jaz flushed. ‘Thanks very much! It was my idea! I think it’s cool!’ She wasn’t having to act any more.
‘It may be cool,’ said Mike. ‘I should insist you take it out, but on second thoughts, not.’
‘Mike!’ Robyn wasn’t happy.
‘She’s more likely to see the error of her ways when she gets bored with looking after it,’ he said. He looked at Jaz. ‘If it gets infected, you pay for it. I’m docking your allowance of course, and you’re still grounded.’
Why did he have to be so reasonable? Deflated, Jaz turned to leave the room. In a last effort, she tried a final passing shot. ‘Gi-Gi’s far more with it than you two. She’ll probably like it.’
She wished she’d had the bottle to flash her navel bar at them. Even Dad would’ve lost it completely. When she reached the safety of her room, Jaz closed the door then picked off the patch so she could admire her belly button. Although the flesh around it was discoloured and swollen, the blue jewel flashed back at her. Using her mirror, she looked at it from all angles. Forget her parents – it looked awesome.
There was one small problem. Ange would want her money back, soon as. She had checked her latest bank statement and didn’t have anywhere near enough. With the chemist’s supplies, the whole thing had come close to $100. She barely had half that, and now Dad had docked her allowance. Jaz pushed her lack of funds to the back of her mind. She’d face it when she had to.
Then Gi-Gi let her down. She didn’t actually voice disapproval, but the nose stud didn’t get her usual admiring response. Jaz knew she was expecting too much of someone over 90. But she couldn’t help sulking. She heard her voice go sullen. It was a relief to seek refuge in Maggie Mouat’s diary.
* * *
Dunedin, 5th April 1873
Two days ago, favourable Winds from the south-west set in, allowing the Ship to at last set course for the New Zealand coast and Dunedin. A chill wind was blowing as we gathered on the deck, but a great Cheer went up as the low forest-clad Coast slowly loomed into view through the early morning mist. It were the closest to Land we had been since leaving Start Point in early December, four long month ago.
Once the Sun rose and the mist cleared, we could see a great range of high Mountains behind the near hills, their Summits already gleaming with snow against a sky of palest blue. We are told the mountains are some 100 mile or more away. It is the clear Light that makes them seem so near. By late morning we were off the Heads.
Last evening we were towed inside the Harbour, where we will lie at anchor until a Steamer comes to take us to Dunedin. It is as much further on again, at the end of this Inlet that winds amongst hills like a wide river.
We have been scrubbing and holystoning the deck in our Quarters until our fingers are worn red. This space that has been Home for so long has already taken on the look of somewhere Unfamiliar, our belongings stowed away ready for Disembarking. Now I am sitting here on deck to write this last Entry before we go ashore. On both sides of the Anchorage, clusters of small houses and farmsteads are dotted at the heads of the various bays that open onto the inlet. Much of the surrounding hills has been cleared of Forest, and although the result is raw looking, I am reminded of our crofts at Home. Small boats ply across the sheltered water of the bays. It is quiet but for the call of seabirds. Every time I take breath, I smell Earth and smoke and mudflat, rich smells after so long at sea.
* * *
Within three days of stepping ashore, most of the single women who had been on the ship with me had gained positions and left with their new employers. Their places were taken by new arrivals as more immigrant ships came into harbour. By the end of that week I was alone amongst strangers, for like on board ship, we are segregated into married couples, single men, and single women.
Jessie O’Dea took work on a farm somewhere in the country behind Dunedin. ‘I’m to cook and clean house, and help the mistress with the three children,’ she said.
‘I’m glad for you,’ I said, and so I was, though my heart were breaking to see her go. She had opened my eyes to a different and easier way of seeing things.
‘The master says it’s good land and young men aplenty are taking up farms,’ said Jessie, her eyes sparkling. ‘He says he doubts they’ll keep me long.’
‘Why would he say that?’ I was confused.
Jessie tossed her black hair and danced a few steps. ‘A beauty like me will soon find a suitor, the master says. He says he is foolish to engage me, but he couldn’t resist!’
‘Oh, Jessie!’ I could not help but laugh, yet part of me was full of envy for the life she saw before her. ‘What about Eamon?’
She had the grace to blush. ‘Eamon will have to take his chances.’
It were clear she would not let him cramp her style. But even her high spirit were dampened when we said our farewell. We clung together briefly and I struggled to hold back my tears. Long after the wagon carrying her had trundled out of sight, I stood forlorn on the street. I knew that Jessie O’Dea would be no further part of what the future held for me, whatever that might be. I do not even have the excitement of preparing for our own departure to Stewart’s Island. We have no idea when that will happen.
We are stranded here in Dunedin. For days now, our menfolk have made their way each morning to the Provincial Government Offices to push our case. They return late in the afternoon, increasingly frustrated.
‘We are passed from one official to another,’ Father told Annie and me. ‘We stand there cap in hand, telling our story again to yet another person who has no interest in us.’
‘I dinna understand,’ said Annie. ‘Why don’t they just find passage for us? I’ve heard steamers sail quite regular for Bluff and Stewart’s Island.’
Henry Shewan added some enlightenment. ‘Tis paying for that passage that engages them,’ he said gloomily. ‘The Colonial Government expected us tae be landed at Port William.’
‘They also quarrel about who should take control o’ the boat, tools, and provisions,’ added Willie Burgher, husband to Annie’s cousin Janet. ‘They dispute how long we can stay in the barracks at Port William and who should pay for surveying the land granted us.’ He sounded downcast, unusual for good-humoured Willie, who took most things in his stride.
‘In the meantime, each day that goes by, our small amount of money dwindles,’ said Father.
‘We would have done better tae stay at home,’ said Henry. ‘I’m thinking we are as much in thrall to officials here as we were in Shetland.’
I glanced warily at his dark surly face. Henry Shewan shows small patience with the rest of us, and even less since the death of his little son. I sometimes think he is unaware of my existence for he has spoken not one word to me since we left Shetland.
Annie and I, with the other womenfolk, listened to their reports in growing dismay. It were hard watching the men being thwarted at every turn, hard watching the spirit leak slowly from them.
‘Nowt we can do but wait,’ said Janet Burgher finally. ‘No point fretting over things we canna change.’ As always, Annie’s cousin were full of sound sense.
The weeks passed by and I settled reluctantly to the routine of life in the barracks. It is not so different from life on board ship. For us women, the daily chores of cleaning and cooking occupy some of the time, and we are then free to explore this city. Some of us have found piece work, sewing tents for new settlers or going out as washerwomen for folk in the town, but we are not allowed to take on full-time work. The restrictions grow irksome. I find it hard to be mostly idle when all around us the townsfolk bustle about their business, full of the energy of establishing lives in their new and growing city. They care nowt for our plight.
Sundays we go to Kirk, obedient to Elspet Shewan’s wish, though I for one do not think any of us, much less her with a bairn so recently lost, has much to thank the Lord for just now. I suppose there is some comfort in the familiar hymns, though the service is not like those of home, where the Minister has known us from cradle to grave and the Session rulings provide structure to our lives.
I see more of Annie than I did on the ship, but something of our old closeness has gone, I know not what has caused this for I am as fond of her as ever, and the bairns. Perhaps my eagerness to be tackling what waits ahead has made me impatient with all around me.
Winter is fast approaching and the days grow short. Father says it is already too late in the year for starting gardens and that. Some are muttering about other prospects.
‘I’ve a mind tae stay on here,’ Magnus Sutherland said on his return from a day’s farm work outside Dunedin, digging tatties. ‘There’s plenty o’ work.’
‘Work as a labourer on someone else’s land,’ Da pointed out. ‘That’s not what we crossed the world for.’
In the finish, it were only lack of money and the land we are promised that stopped Magnus and Catherine Sutherland leaving us, despite her being Elspet Shewan’s sister. Both the single men, Gibbie Johnston and Robert Leslie, came close to leaving, and it were only Father’s words that kept them with us.
It were not until the evening of May 10th, more than five weeks after our arrival here, that we were at last taken on board the steamer for our passage south. After the month ashore, we were soon overcome by seasickness, the motion of a steamer proving more uncomfortable than that of a ship under sail.
A day later, the steamer at last made its way below the bleak headland that gives Bluff Harbour its name. It were dark when we tied up at the wharf, and the Captain insisted we go ashore where accommodation of sorts had been arranged for us. We spent a miserable night huddled for warmth in a building not much better than a tin shed, close to the wharf. Next morning, stiff and hungry, we had to wait for the steamer to unload part of its cargo before we could board again for Port William. Campbelltown provided little to occupy us, being nowt more than the wharf and a few wooden huts scattered along a sandy track. A bitter wind was blowing off the sea and we were lashed by squalls of rain. By the time we were allowed back on board for bread and mugs of hot tea in the saloon, we were all soaked to the skin.
Great waves battered us as we left the shelter of the harbour. For three hours or more, the steamer bucked its way through a heavy sea towards Port William, the wind being hard against us. Rain and spray streaked the portholes so that I could see nowt however hard I peered through the thick glass.
The light had grown dim in the saloon long before a seaman clattered down the stairway to rouse us.
‘We’re in sight of Port William,’ he said. ‘Better come up on deck and look at your new home.’
Without enthusiasm, we straggled after him. Clutching the rail as the steamer continued to butt its way through the stiff chop, I gazed shoreward. Looming through the driving squalls of rain, hills covered in dark forest fell steeply to a rocky coast. Every now and then, the swirling banks of storm cloud parted briefly to reveal higher summits beyond. Immediately in front of us, three low forested humps rose above threatening fringes of rock.
‘Port William’s in behind there,’ said the seaman, nodding at them. ‘Good harbour it is, well protected on a day like this.’
He were right about that at least. As we approached closer, the seas eased considerably. Low hills closed in around us as the steamer lost way, its engine stilled. The roar of the anchor chain broke the sudden silence. We had arrived.
I could do nowt but stare in disbelief. Where were the farmland promised us? Trees crowded right to the water’s edge. Trees covered every fold and ridge like an animal’s pelt. A solitary open boat lay at anchor beside a rocky knoll that separated two strips of grey sand. Behind this beach, a huge ramshackle wooden building perched like some great stranded ship. The barracks built for us. As my eye travelled slowly beyond, I could make out a few scattered huts, barely visible amongst the thick growth of trees. There were no other sign of life.
I heard Annie gulp back a sob beside me. No-one said a thing. Faces set, the men began transporting our baggage and provisions ashore in the whaleboat provided us. It soon became clear that the encroaching dark and an incoming tide were working against them. The Immigration Officer accompanying us paid some men from one of the little houses to help move the goods from the rapidly submerging beach.
Once we were landed, I followed our womenfolk up the steep bank behind the beach. We squelched across a narrow strip of boggy cleared land to the barracks where the Caretaker and his wife stood waiting in the shelter of the entrance. They looked curiously at us before leading the way inside. A bedraggled sorry lot we must have seemed, worn-out bairns dragging on our arms, our clothes stained with the wretchedness of our journey from Dunedin.
The large room we entered echoed with emptiness. We put down our bundles and took a first look at our new home. Yawning space disappeared high above us in the shadows of a steep-pitched roof. Curtained-off rooms lined both sides of the central space where we stood. In the dim light that filtered through the windows occupying each gable end, I could see a staircase rising to another floor, or part of one. Its central space was open to us, railed off like a gallery. More rooms opened off this gallery.
Water dripped steadily. Dankness assailed my nose, along with another smell – a sharp mildewed stench that I grew to recognise as green timber too long in the drying. The whole building creaked in the wind. The only furniture was a long rough-hewn table and stools, much as we had used on board ship. There were no fireplace. We stood there, all of us, the bairns clutched close, in dispirited silence.
‘You’ll need a cuppa,’ said the Caretaker’s wife at last. ‘Come through to the kitchen, it’s warmer there.’
The kettles and soup pot steaming on the open fire were a welcome sight indeed, but the clay floor oozed wetness under our feet. The damp cold crept up my legs as we crowded around the hearth, nursing our mugs of tea. The last of the daylight had almost gone.
Long after dark, the men still laboured to fetch all our chattels from the beach up to the shelter of the barracks. We paused in the work of making up the stretcher beds in our quarters to watch the lights of the steamer as it left, the Immigration Officer, the Caretaker, and his wife on board. I felt as though we had been abandoned. As the ship passed beyond the rocky islets guarding the harbour, she sounded her hooter. It were the loneliest sound I had ever heard.