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The fortitude and resourcefulness of immigrants, especially the women who had hearts of lions, has always held a fascination for me. I enjoy researching their lives. I hope you have enjoyed reading about them.
While Brigid’s story is fictional, it is based on a real family who immigrated to Australia in the late 1880s, one of whom later travelled to New Zealand. Brigid is a composite of several individuals. The story line has been adapted from various adventures and incidents, some of which are unrelated. Tailoring, dressmaking and lacemaking were common occupations, and drapery stores were alive and well.
In Part One, the 1886 voyage of the SS Dorunda follows newspaper articles of the time found on the website of the National Library of Australia Trove (www.trove.nla.gov.au) and the Papers Past website of the National Library of New Zealand (www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/cgi-bin/paperspast). These amazingly detailed and lengthy reports covered the dates, route, weather, deaths and other misadventures, as well as providing the names of the captain, surgeon, matron and other officials – all of whom have been named and mentioned.
The SS Dorunda was, indeed, known as the ‘Cholera Ship’, after an outbreak in 1885. In December 1886, she was manned by twenty-six white (sic) officers and crew, and eighty-one lascars, and carried 401 passengers, with itemised lists of the numbers of males and females, married or single, and of which nationalities and occupations. It was easy to create characters with such specific information available.
Similarly, in Parts Two and Three, descriptions of life in Australia and New Zealand were found on Trove and Papers Past and other sites such as Brisbane History (www.brisbanehistory.com) and the Australian Dictionary of Biography (www.adb.anu.edu.au). The history of the settlement of Brisbane and Townsville, the buildings, schools, streets and other such specifics, are as accurate as I could make them. I spent several hours researching whether the drinks would be cold in 1887 in Townsville and was surprised to find an enterprising and active ice industry. And I didn’t know Schweppes was available that long ago either.
The January 1887 flood in Brisbane is well recorded and was one of the most devastating at that time. The Great Flood of 1893 was worse. D L Brown & Sons Drapers of Eagle Street, Brisbane survived the 1887 flood, only to be destroyed by fire in 1888. The dressmaker mentioned in the story, Mrs Janet Walker (1882–1938) was a well-known and well-respected costumier employing 120 workers.
Shipping between Australia and New Zealand was common and frequent, similar to catching a long-distance bus or train today. Auckland was in the throes of a deep economic crisis commonly known as ‘The Long Depression’, at the same time as the suffrage movement was pushing for women’s rights. We all know the suffragettes won their fight and New Zealand women were the first to be granted full rights to vote in parliamentary elections by a self-governing country. Brigid lived in interesting times.
The large department stores such as Smith & Caughey (established 1882), Grace Brothers (founded in 1885 and bought by Myer in 1983), David Jones (established 1838), and others since closed or amalgamated, like Court Brothers (1886) and, more recently, Kirkcaldie and Stains (established 1863), all began as drapery stores. ‘Miss Brigid’s’ fitted the scene.
Australia and New Zealand are nations built by immigrants. Brigid’s story is one of many and indicative of countless real characters who brought their skills, resourcefulness and resilience to our shores.
I salute them.
Vicky Adin
Dedication
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Thanks to the Irish for their stories
Latest release due late May 2019 – Pre-order now
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The Costumier’s Gift
The dual-timeline sequel continuing the family sagas of
Brigid The Girl from County Clare and Gwenna The Welsh Confectioner
Awarded a BGS Gold Standard Quality Mark
Why does a stranger hold the key to untangling Katie’s family secrets?
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1903 Jane is the talented principal costumier at Auckland’s Opera House in its Edwardian heyday. She thrives in this place where she can hide from her pain and keep her skeletons to herself – until the past comes back to haunt her. Brigid, her beloved foster mother, and her best friend Gwenna are anchors in her solitary yet rewarding life. As the decades go by, the burden of carrying secrets becomes too great, and Jane must pass on the hidden truths.
Today Katie seeks refuge from her crumbling personal life with her grandmother, who lives in past with the people in her cherished photographs. All too soon, Katie learns she must identify the people behind the gentle smiles – including the Edwardian woman to whom she bears a remarkable resemblance – and reveal generations of secrets before she can claim her inheritance. She meets the intriguing Jared, who stirs her interest, but she’s not ready for any sort of romance, so is shocked when she learns that he holds the key to discovering her past.
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The Costumier’s Gift
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KATIE – Present day Auckland, New Zealand
Living in the past
April
Katie only had herself to blame and now it was too late: too late for Granna; too late for her, just plain too late. Saddened, Katie shrugged the thought away.
Her mother’s death fifteen months ago had shaken her. No, more than that, shattered would be a better term, but she doubted the old woman sitting before her, endlessly chattering about the past, knew her daughter had gone.
“Janey, Janey. You’re here,” said Granna, looking past her to someone else. “Say hello to our Katie here. She’s your... oh dear, I can’t remember now, your great-granty-something or other she is, but you know her, don’t you? Our Janey’s ever so clever.”
“Who’s that, Granna?” asked Katie, knowing she wouldn’t be able to make sense of the answer, if one came. Part of her wanted to find out about the people Granna talked about, but none of it mattered. No one else cared about Granna or the past, and since Katie had no plans to marry or have children there’d be no one to care in the future either.
“My Janey is so special,” said Granna continuing her conversation with no one in particular. “Those designs are superb. Oh my... is this for me?”
After Katie’s grandfather died roughly twenty years ago, her grandmother continued to live in their substantial and beautiful villa for over a decade, before it became obvious she could no longer live alone and moved into Katie’s family home. But her mother’s overworked heart couldn’t cope with the stress of trying to hold her own family together and looking after Granna for the best part of the next decade as her mind slipped further away from reality.
Oh, why had nobody noticed, Katie lamented.
But Katie noticed things these days. She noticed the delicate bones in Granna’s fingers, and the soft, papery skin riddled with dark lines under the loose flesh. Those once strong fingers had been so creative and so gentle. Now they looked as if they would break if you touched them, except Granna was nowhere near to breaking – at least, not physically.
A bird tweeted out in the garden and Granna turned her head towards the sound. Her dark velvet eyes glanced across Katie’s face as she turned and momentarily held her gaze. Eyes that shone with love and purpose. In days past, you could get lost in those eyes, drawn in under their protective warmth, now, the depth that lived within them belonged to another era.
Putting Granna into the rest home had been the most difficult decision Katie had ever made. Her father had wanted ‘nothing to do with the batty old woman’ he’d said, and washed his hands of the whole affair. Katie had no such choice. Left with sole responsibility when her mother died, she could see no other option. Granna’s safety was paramount.
Every available surface in Granna’s room was covered with her grandmother’s cherished photographs. When she’d first moved in, the managers tried to persuade Granna to keep them on one shelf and limit the number, promising to change them regularly, but Granna was having none of it. She didn’t say anything, but simply took them from the drawer and put them back in view. At one time, they tried taking them out of the room, but Granna had thrown such a hissy fit, they gave in.
One photo in particular always drew Katie’s attention. The sepia tones had faded but the clothes and hairstyles worn by the two women were unmistakably early Edwardian. One of the faces looking back at her was her own. The resemblance was uncanny, but there was no name on the back to tell her who she was. Granna called the older woman something that sounded like ‘Moh-ree’ but Katie had never heard Granna call the other woman by name.
She made a mental note to look through her mother’s collection and see if she could find anything with names on it. She’d put off going through the house and sorting her mother’s possessions but the time had come. Her father had a new love now and the woman didn’t want the old stuff around.
“You should see those costumes our Janey used to make,” said Granna. “Mam said the fabrics were glorious, but she wasn’t allowed to go to the theatre to see them on the stage until she was much older. Moh-ree was strict about that...” and off she’d go again telling a story half in the present and half in the past about people Katie didn’t know and whose relationships didn’t make sense. She was sure half the time Granna confused the generations and Katie hadn’t been able to work out which name belonged with which era. She couldn’t even put a name to Granna’s ‘Mam’.
For some inexplicable reason, her grandmother knew who Katie was although she didn’t recognise anyone else. Born on the same day as her grandmother sixty years later and named after her, they’d had a special relationship until Katie had gone off to university. Now Katie wished she’d paid more attention to her mother and grandmother, but she couldn’t undo the past.
The nurse came in. “Hello dear, how are you today?” she asked Granna.
Granna turned her head to look at the newcomer and a polite smile creased her face.
“Hello. Now, who are you? Have you come to see me? I do so like visitors, they are such interesting people.”
“I’ve come to make you more comfortable, Mrs Bridges.”
Katie watched the nurse pat her grandmother’s arm to reassure her.
Granna wriggled in the lazy-boy chair and plucked ineffectually at the mohair rug she was sitting on.
“I do like the colour of this rug, don’t you?” she asked no one in particular. “It reminds me of roses.”
Katie’s eyes rested on the rose-pink rug she had given her grandmother. She loved that colour too. Granna Katy had kept a wonderful garden once. The two of them often wandered around it together while Granna named all the flowers.
“How is she doing overall?” Katie asked the nurse. “Her memory of long ago events seems faultless to me.” But then, she admitted, she couldn’t sense whether Granna was right or not.
“Very well, actually, for her age.” Despite her memory loss, Granna was still a relatively fit and healthy ninety-year-old. “She keeps active and goes to all the exercise classes, especially when there’s music playing.”
Katie smiled, she’d watched her grandmother more than once at these classes, dancing in her own world rather than following the instructor.
“And she still plays the piano,” continued the nurse.
“I’m glad,” said Katie. “She’s a better pianist than I ever will be even if she does make mistakes. The music seems to come alive under her fingertips.”
Katie remembered the piano lessons with her grandmother at her house when she was young, and the comings and goings of the other students.
“It’s good she still enjoys her music,” said the nurse, “even if she’s forgotten she’s played almost as soon as she stands up from the keyboard.”
Granna’s voice interrupted their conversation. “I remember Moh-ree. She is a wonder and such a great cook. She always makes my favourites. I can still taste those little biscuits that went with my tea. She’ll be here soon.”
Everyone knew Granna couldn’t hold a conversation the way most people did but with a little bit of persistence she could tell you what she wanted.
“That’s nice, there’s be a cup of tea coming shortly,” said the nurse.
Prone to wander, Granna had taken it into her head she was living in the house where her Granma Gwenna had once lived – whoever she was – and nothing anyone said could change her mind.
‘I know where I’m going Katie dear,’ she’d say, but she didn’t. Wherever the house in her mind had once been, the rest home was a new facility in a foreign-to-Granna area.
Surprisingly sprightly, Granna unexpectedly got up from her chair. “We should go to Granma Gwenna’s Sweet Treats for tea. It’s been an age since I visited her. She will be cross with me if I don’t call. Now, where did I leave my gloves?”
While Granna opened several drawers to look for her gloves, the nurse rearranged the rug on the chair, re-tidied the already tidy bed, wrote something down on the chart by the door and pulled the window closed.
“It’s a wee bit windy at the moment. Do you think you should wait until it’s died down before you go? How about doing some lacework instead? You can show it to her later.”
Granna accepted the crochet hook and fine cotton thread and sat down again. Katie never ceased to be amazed her gran could move the hook so swiftly in and out, and over and under and around in a constant motion. She created such intricate lace still even if the results were not perfect and she had dozens of lace motifs and long edgings that would never get joined together, but Granna appeared satisfied with what she could see. “No, Janey didn’t make lace, she was the famous costumier.”
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