Lost in Tasmania

I have had a need to visit Tasmania after reading a book called "The Tin Ticket" by Deborah J.Swiss.

It tells the story of some young girls being brought out to Australia after having been caught committing a crime in their native homeland.
The stories are disturbing and horrifying.
I wanted to see where "Cascades" Female Factory was and to feel what it was like to be on the site where part of this book has been set.

The outer shell of part of the Female Factory remains with outlines of where buildings once stood.

The power and emotion of the place can be easily hidden and misunderstood or underestimated if you are not guided around the site. It looks pretty bare and uninteresting.

I managed to get a photo of what the original factory site looked like in 1900 which gave me a better idea of what it all looked like.

But I would totally recommend a guided tour or take in a very special experience by either booking the "Her Story" Tour of the one I went on "Louisa's Walk".
Here is where it all changed as I became part of "Louisa's" journey.

The actors took us on a walk through the connecting park and created the scene for entering the Female Factory site. We were introduced to the yards, the buildings (no longer there) the work, the hardships and the true story of Louisa.

At one moment our actress knelt down in what used to be the Chapel and started to sing - the rain was pouring down on her in one of those cold showers that we experienced during our two days in Tassie as we heard her Irish voice signing out to her God to help her endure her pain.

There was not a dry eye in the yard amongst those watching.

We were shown the wall where names have been engraved of all of the female convicts that had spent time at the factory and then we were taken back through the Park and told a "semi sweet" happy ending so that we would not walk away too mournful.

As painful as it was to hear the story of the women of the Factory it was also a most powerful and absorbing experience and I am so glad that I spent time to travel to Tasmania to connect with these ladies.

I have now completed a few "factory" sites with Newcastle ( Girls Reformatory and Industrial School - Watt Street, Parramatta Female Factory and now Cascades Female Factory in Tasmania.

Feisty Caroline Chisholm

A great female heroine of our early pioneering history is Caroline Chisholm who first arrived in NSW in 1838. She worked to establish better conditions, suitable employment and accommodation for young migrant women. Yet she died with her achievements unacknowledged and in poverty.

Born in Northhamptonshire England in 1808 Caroline went on to marry Captain Archibald Chisholm of the East India Company at the age of 22 and against her will.

In 1832 she moved with her husband to India where he was stationed and established the Female School of Industry for the daughters of European soldiers.

In September 1838 the Chisholm’s moved to Australia settling in Windsor, NSW. 

Most women arriving in Sydney at that time came from the orphanages and workhouses of England and Ireland and were quickly corrupted and degraded during their horrendous journey out to the colony. Once arriving in Australia nobody really cared what happened to these women. Many were forced to huddle in doorways and dark corners or under trees in the park. Pimps and scoundrels took advantage of these poor women making them work long hours in terrible conditions in return for a meal or basic shelter. Many women hung around Sydney for months before getting any work at all and then found that their new employers wanted more than just work from them, they also demanded that they act as their mistresses.

Caroline began her quest to save these young women who were arriving in the colonies alone. She found shelter for them even by lodging them in her own home. She petitioned the Governor of NSW with requests of assistance and money.

It was finally agreed that as long as Caroline did not spend a cent of the Government’s money she was allowed to use a dilapidated storeroom in Bent Street, Sydney (near where the Royal Botanical Gardens are now situated) and she moved into the building November 1841 knowing that if she did not accept this offer she would not get another chance.

 The story goes that after a strong cup of tea she put a candle on the floor of the new premises and heard such a scuffling noise and she thought that dogs had entered the room. Adjusting to the darkness and light from the candle she found herself surrounded by rats. She lit another candle and sat in the middle of her bed until three rats came down from the roof and landed on her shoulder. How terrifying!

She decided that she would not be moved out by these creatures and with steely resolve laid out some bread and water and watched the rats feed while she read until morning light.

The next night she once again waited in the dark for the rats to return and again laid out the bread and water but this time she had laced the bread with arsenic. After a few nights she was relatively rat free and went about creating a space where the poor women could be taken off the streets and provided with shelter while Caroline tried to find them all jobs.

She went on in educating them with the common skills of cooking and cleaning, mathematics and elocution so as to make them suitable for employment as domestic servants in outback farming communities.                                                                                                                                                       Caroline Chisholm even came into our own backyard and founded one of her Female Emigrants' Homes at East Maitland in 1842. (pictured below in the 1960’s)

In 1857 she contracted kidney disease. She had spent the family’s money on her charitable ventures and was almost penniless. She could not even afford medical attention and finally left the country she had grown to love beyond any other for England. By 1871 she was living in a dingy room in Highgate where she stayed for five years slowly deteriorating and died at the age of 67 in 1877. Her husband died a few months later and they are both buried in Billing Road Cemetery, Northamptonshire, England.

The Inscription on her Head Stone reads, "Caroline Chisholm the Emigrant's Friend".
With her determination and courage she provided dignity and hope to the women and families daring to survive in the new colonies. It is known she aided over 11,000 emigrants.

Caroline is a true legend – may her story not be forgotten.

Above is a recent picture of the building once used as her Emigrant's Home in East Maitland (2012)

Information Sources include “Petticoat Pioneers” Denton Prout & Fred Feely

http://adb.anu.edu.au/biography/chisholm-caroline-1894

The Feisty Women of the Female Factory at Parramatta

One of the many things that really interest me is learning about and sharing the stories of early Australian settlers, especially women. A few months ago I read a book called the “Tin Ticket” by Deborah J. Swiss which is about the journey of female convicts to Tasmania. The book was an insight into their incarceration and travel from England to the female factory in Hobart called “Cascades”. So intrigued was I in their story that I wanted to know more and have booked a short trip to Hobart in October to see the site which I read about.

But we have a site of our own just as infamous as “Cascades” not far down the road at Parramatta, so last weekend I took a bunch of people and met our guide, Judith Dunn, for a two hour tour. The Female Factory at Parramatta was the first purpose built establishment designed to provide accommodation and employment for convict women. It also functioned as a penitentiary and a maternity hospital.                                                  

I really felt like I had stepped into the shoes of those women as we entered through the blue coloured gateway to where the third class facility, which was for the poorest and the worst behaved, was. Once inside the gates the stories came thick and fast and I wondered whether any of us, so used to our soft and comfortable lives, could ever have survived what these women had to endure.

The Dead House

The small building that you see to the left of the doorway was known as the “death house” or mortuary where bodies were kept before being taken away for burial. This was a quite a sombre reminder of what the realities of this place were.

As I walked the grounds I listened to the stories of the ladies and how, in spite of their tragic circumstances, they gave as good as they got. In the words of our tour guide “they were feisty, they answered back “. We were asked not to feel sorry for them. We were asked instead to honour their spirits and their determination to survive at all costs.

 Until 1826 the women were housed in what was   either the Merit Class or the Crime Class but this was later refined to a three class system with First class women the best behaved and eligible for assignment or getting out of the Factory, a Second 'probationary' class and a Third class either on secondary punishment or serving time for offences committed while having been assigned to work on farms or houses of free settlers.

First and Second class women were employed in a range of boring tasks such as wool picking, cloth scouring, weaving, laundry, oakum picking, needlework, cleaning duties and straw plaiting for which they received a small payment. Third class women were restricted to menial tasks and hard labour such as stone breaking and oakum picking.

Those huge standstone walls

Yes, you heard right – stone breaking! The factory was surrounded by beautifully crafted sandstone blocks. It was the job of the women to break down damaged blocks into rubble with mallets.
To add even greater insult to these women’s lives the administration decided to remove children from these women in an effort to keep them working at their optimum levels. An orphanage was built right next door. Children were allowed to remain with their mothers at the Factory until they reached the age of four years at which time they were sent to the Orphan School.  

The Orphanage

                               
This was later changed to two years of age just after “weaning”. The women lost all contact with their children until their release and often times longer depending on their circumstances. How heartbreaking would it be to be locked away so close to your children yet unable to touch, hold comfort or touch them.
It is estimated that about two thirds of the 12,600 or so convict women sent to the colony at Sydney spent time behind the Factory walls. In 1847 the Female Factory was re-assigned as a convict Invalid and Lunatic Asylum and in December 1849 a portion of the buildings was opened as a public Asylum. The stories of murders and strange goings on continued and it seemed to us like every corner held the ghosts of those poor individuals that were forced to spend time before those walls.

Buildings in Second Class

As darkness fell and the cold breath of the Parramatta river crept under our clothes sending a chill up our spines I am sure that not only I could hear the far off voices of the women crying softly asking us to remember them and to keep this site as a reminder of what they went through.

Some information has been sourced from:http://www.parragirls.org.au/female-factory.php
Renata Daniel – Newcastle Ghost Tours                                                             
 www.newcastleghosttours.com.au

CITY ARCADE

I recently went for a walk through the old City Arcade - a place that was quite magical for me when I was just a child.
It was a little corridor that weaved around from Hunter street and out to Newcomen Street in the Mall in Newcastle CBD.

I remember walking past on the way to our favorite and just about only coffee shop up that end of the street back in the 1980's with my mother - I was already a cappuccino freak in my early teens!
I remember the tobacconist who also sold a myriad of souvenirs and assorted wallets, and swiss army knives.

There were a few other shops that ran down the small arcade and it was always rather quiet and spooky. The Christian Reading Room has been there forever and there was also a florist for many years.
Everyone has their memories of the Arcade- it was one of those spots that made the Mall a special place. We no longer have Arcades in Newcastle although they are so very popular in Melbourne being a feature of the CBD. What have we lost? 

Paterson Cemetery

Last Friday, on the spur of the moment, I decided to take a drive to Paterson near Maitland.
The perfect warm winter's day made for a very pleasant journey and the valley is looking green and lush. Paterson is about an hour trip out of Newcastle and I wanted to visit the cemetery at St Paul's which sits close to the township's main corner.
A story in the local paper told of the need for a working bee to clean up and help save the deteriorating cemetery at the back.It was planned for the next day and I could not get there because of previous engagements.
When I arrived I firstly took a quick look inside the church and then headed out the back to walk through the site.
Gosh, were would you begin!
Not overly big but needing lots of work to clean this place  - I just hoped that there were some bodies who would turn up to lend a helping hand.
I am planning to head out again shortly to see what has been done.
It would be a shame for this last place of rest for our pioneer settlers to become just a memory.

Teralba Cemetery - Memories hidden under the earth

The original Teralba grave yard (now in Booragul) is located on Billy Goat hill on the southern (bush side) of the railway station. After you trek up the dirt track you will know whay they call it "Billy Goat Hill".

The picture above is what can be achieved in a very short period of time with a few hands clearing overgrown grass and bushes.

Notable locals such as James Cherry, accidentally killed at Teralba Colliery. (Cherry's Bridge at Barnsley is named after this family). 

One burial site bears a row of bits of the headstone lined up along one side of the graves site. Only small chunks remain - you can see the year of death - 1913.
Members of the Sager family are also buried in this cemetery. Very little remains of the cemetery today.

 This site does not have much of a future unless we do something now.
Families of those buried here still reside in local suburbs. Vandalism has stripped this resting place of its dignity.
Its such a shame.

Memories...

Last night I had the strangest dream..

I woke last night at about 4am and found it hard to go back to sleep (due mostly to someone snoring noisily beside me!!) but when I did I had the strangest dream.
I was walking down a very dark street and I knew I had to get to the end of it to get to my destination.
I started, filled with a sense of fear... and as I walked I found myself unable to do so quickly...one of those dreams where your feet feel like they are in two cement blocks and you are dragging every step in slow motion.
As I made my way down the street, the fences on either side were very high and behind them big dogs popped up and looked at me - they did not bark nor scare me..they just watched my progress.
As I moved further down the street I walked past groups of people who did not threaten me..if anything they were not even aware I was passing.They just continued to talk amongst themselves. I walked amongst them as if I were a ghost.
Then I got to the end of the street and I could see a well lit shop on the other side for which I made a bee line.
My legs were still like lead..I thought that I would get run over trying to cross the street so slowly.
But I made it.
The shop was filled with people and they were trying to push me around so that I could not get past.
All I felt I could do was elbow my way past them all shoving as I went.
I did not talk to anyone during this whole journey other than expressing my impatience at the rudeness of this last bunch of people who were making it so hard for me..
this was when I woke up.
The dream had ended at about 4.20am.

Lost memories at the Family Hotel

Memories live on everywhere. They may be left behind by those who visited a place long ago and they may be kept alive by those who remain. This week I had the opportunity to rediscover old corners and lost memories at the Family Hotel - Maitland when I ventured up into a manhole that led to a forgotten part of the Hotel closed off because of safety reasons.

The Family Hotel was built in 1860 on a main thoroughfare heading out to the Hunter Valley. New settlers, miners, freemen, convicts, prisoners, fashionable ladies and gentlemen all passed by its front doors.

 

We were invited to explore the forgotten and sealed top floor of the Hotel - closed for safety reasons after the original staircase was removed. Why this floor was originally closed remains a mystery. This is where travelers would spend the night, up high under the roof.
Rooms had huge windows that would look out onto the Maitland plains.

The place is now just a ghost of what it used to be. Rooms remain dusty and broken. Only some old brass bed frames remain propped up against walls reminding me of all of those long dead pioneers who slept there overnight.

We know that a murder occurred in one of these rooms in the early 1900's. A man was caught going through another man's belongings and a fight ensued. The thief died.

What a shame that this floor is now a secret part of the fabric of this hotel. I am sure each room has stories to tell.

Bullock teams would arrive at the Hotel and be pastured out the back while weary men had a cold drink at the bar on their way to farms still many a days walk away.

It was a very exciting time to fit through the man hole to see a place that time has left behind and that only a hand full of people have entered in the past 50 years. Memories are alive and well at the Family Hotel - High street Maitland. If you are passing stop by and have a drink at the Bar - and if you are there at approximately 2.35pm in the afternoon you can watch the lights mysteriously flicker.

Lost stories of Christ Church cemetery

Welcome to my page of lost memories..

I anticipate a great adventure..an opportunity to peak and sneak into places that have been long forgotten yet are full of lost memories. I hope to explore and uncover stories that may hold a special place in the lives of some. Lets see what we dig up...one memory at a time.

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
William Shakespeare