Stony Way

Stony Way

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Contents:

London 1846,

the young convict Mary Flynn was transported becauce of larceny to Australia and experienced in a strange environment of a prisoners camp years of hard labour but also years of unexpected luck and fortune. When she is a free woman she began to relax but the goldrush in Australia in the middle of the century, brings her down again. Alone and without money an odyssee in a foreign land started for her and her three young children - a land which she doesn´t know....

"What´s your name?"
"Mary Flynn, Mylord."
"How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"Pardon?"
"Sixteen, Mylord!" Mary cast her eyes down and was gazing confused and full of panic at the floor of the courtroom, swallowing. She felt so endless bad. Judge Thompson was rummaging nervously in a pile of paper on his desk and finally found what he was looking for. His droning voice came over Mary of a sudden.
"You are here on trial for stealing five Pounds Sterling - stolen from your Mistress. Is it righht?"
Nodding low she fumbled for a chair; her legs were heavy as lead and she began to sway.
"Answer with yes or no!"
"Yes, Mylord."
Thompson leant back satisfied, stroke over his black robes and tugged at his white powdered wig. His narrowed eyes seemed to grin as his eyes ran over the second bill of indictment - which contents made Mary to that kind of person who she already was - a convict under the law of the English Crown. Rebellion, they accused her of the knowledge and membership of a forbidden political group and of spreading propaganda. These cases Judge Thompson loved - simple, clear and quick!
These poor and damned people were more and more involved in crime offences and they never stopped to rebel against the Crown, against Queen Viktoria. Wonderful, he thought and began to sneer, he had the power that England could get rid of this scum - forever!
It did not interest him why this scum, - like this young girl in front of him - coming from the poorest district of London, stole and begged; nor did he wonder why a girl of sixteen should rebel against the Crown. They all had to be arrested - all who dared to rebel! They all had to be banned from England for not stealing or rebelling again.

"We have the evidence that you joined a forbidden underground movement. Someone has seen you insulting our gracious Queen Viktoria of England!"
"No, Sir!" It came shocked over her lips when stepping forward and shaking her head,
"No Sir, that´s not true! I´ve never said anything against the Queen!"
"You dare to oppose?? The evidences are against you. You are a thief and an enemy
of the Queen." He replied angrily because of Maryïs opposition. Judge Thompson pressed his lips together before he interrupted Marys new attempt to reply:
"Silence!"
For the best Mary would have declared vehement that she was not the person he thought to have here - but not a single word left her dried up mouth. Who was it? Who had told all the lies about her? Who would be happy to see her deported to a foreign country?
Yes, she had stolen money and yes she had often cursed the rich people, the Lords and Ladies of London, indulging in money and luxury while her own family was nearly starving - but a rebel? Her thoughts went back to David, a boy of her neighbours, who had told her one day of becoming a rebel. But was this evidence enough for the judge to condemn her?

Judge Thompson let his eyes wander over this young, poor girl again. He had to confess that she was not as dirty as the others; she wore a plain, light brown robe which edges ended at the feet, worn-out shoes and a nearly grey bonnet. Her hair was tied up at her back and fell in dark waves down to her hips - and it was clean. It was really clean....
Thompson cleared his throat, tried to get rid of these strange thoughts and fell back into a monotonous singing:
"In the name of our gracious Majesty Queen Viktoria of England I declare today: The defendant is found guilty of larceny and abusing the trust of her Mistress. Further more she is guilty in being a political rebel and so she is a threat for England. The sentence therefore is hard forced labour and deportation. Mary Flynn...." He looked up short and expected to see fright and bitterness in Maryïs eyes but her eyes were only cast down to the floor,
"...your are sentenced to be transported to Van Diemen´s Land to work there for three years for the Crown of England. Considering the low need of convicts in our Colonies the normal sentence of seven years is reduced to three. This decision is final!"
Murmuring voices were spreading through the crowded courtroom.
"Silence! Take her in custody!"
Mary was still standing in front of the high desk like rooted but felt like being miles away. Tears appeared in her eyes although she intended to be strong. Why did nobody understand her? Her own family was starving. It had only been 5 Pounds - a pittance for her Mistress!
Mary remembered the day in August 1846 when she had left her poor home and the narrow lanes of Whitechapel. Her five sisters and brothers had cried of hunger; her mother had been ill and her father? She had not seen him often. After he had lost his job once again her father was usually sitting in one of the several pubs and got tanked up - paying the bill with the money with which he had to feed his family.
Mary´s employer - a real Lord and a real Lady - didn´t live far away from Whitechapel but despite it was another town. Whitechapel and the other slums of London were grey, cold and stuffed with diseases; the small lanes, hardly 9 feet wide and made of rough cobblestones, were flanked by three- and four-storied houses which were often occupied by several families. Hardly an intact window could be found; the walls began to crumble during the wetness of the winters and when there was no money to buy a door the people used plain planks.
Within this dirt and evil smelling puddles the children of these districts were playing; children who wouldn´t have a chance to live in other circumstances until they die. Diseases and death were the permanent companions of this working-class.

Mary Flynn was born exactly here at the 9th of July 1830 as the second child of Amy and Harry Flynn. Years later somebody had taught her to read and write but for a family in Whitechapel it was more important that the daughter was able to bring money home. At an age of 13 years Mary began to work; to steal and to beg - and she always knew there was no chance of another life for her. Then, half a year ago, she had got the chance in her life - a job as a laundress in a manor house. It hadn´t mattered
her that therefore she had to lie - "No, she doesn´t come from Whitechapel, Madam; no Sir, she only lived with her old mother near the River Thames".
Lady Conway liked Mary, a shy and slight built person with - how it was at the beginning - good manners.
And then had come the day when Mary found the 5-Pound-note among the laundry. For Mary and her family a chance to survive for weeks. What should she have done? At first her hand had caressed the note before she put it away into her pocket. Her Mistress would never notice the loss. But Mary failed. At the next day two policemen had come and taken her to custody.
All this she recalled when she was led out of the courtroom to a coach of the police. It was drizzling but the mild breeze took the fright from Mary. Her glances were pointed to the ground, she didnït wish to see the people standing on the street, studying her with interest. What was her look now?
Her long, dark hair was tied up at her back with an old band while single locks were rocking at her pale face. Her blue eyes told of lack of understanding. For larceny - so she confessed - she had to pay but not for rebellion. She had nothing done which could justify this. Only a verbal slandering was enough in these years to send unpleasant persons into a jail or deportation. Nobody took much efforts to prove the evidences when the defendant was poor and came from the slums of London. It always paid off for England in the end to send convicts to the Colonies at the other side of the world - they never came back again! Her old, worn-out robe was dirty and wet; the hem was frayed and seemed to conceal her worn-out shoes, telling all the people where she had come from.

Mary felt the fine raindrops at her neck when shuffling behind the warden.
"Look, a new one!"
"Out with the scum!"
Her thin wrists were shackled in chains; heavy chains of dark iron which cut into her flesh. It seemed for her that she was a murderer. What had she done? What, which would justify such cruel treatment? The little door at the Police coach was opened and a helping hand pushed her in.
"What´s our destination?" Her own voice seemed to be miles away.
"To Clerkenwell - at first. In a couple of weeks the next ship to Van Diemen´s Land is
going to depart - directly to Port Arthur!"
Van Diemen´s Land, she had neither heard of this place before nor from a town called Port Arthur but one fact was clear. In a few weeks she was going to leave her home country and would never come back again - how long she might live.

Until today she hadn´t seen a member of her family and it would last until the day of her departure when she was allowed to do so. With her, in the coach, there were three further convicts going to Clerkenwell as well and later to Australia. Mary became sad, what would become out of her?
The little coach rumbled through the streets, passing several luxurious houses of the aristocracy and the places of poverty as well before it finally reached one of the infamous and well-known jails of deportation in London.
The Clerkenwell Jail was a high built building which three floors could be seem from near and far. Two separate prison yards for hundreds of convicts - in a prison from which nobody had escaped before.
Kept under a close watch by wardens with bloodhounds the new convicts were led into the building, still shackled in chains and tied together. They dragged their feet and followed the wardens downwards into the gloomy underground. Here, down below, there was neither a window nor any kind of fresh air, only the rotten bricks shared their miserable existence with several stinking puddles and holes. They had told the new convicts that it was strictly prohibited to talk or get in touch with other convicts - and Mary began to feel sick. She had only stolen but she was not a real criminal. Her wrists and ankles ached and she realized, when lifting slowly the hem of her robe, that there was blood running down her feet - wounds caused by the heavy iron chains around her pale skin. Sighing she kept following the wardens further into the maze of corridors and she heard the horrific rattling of the chains; her chains
and the chains of the others all around. Transportation, forced labour - for three years?
Should she be lucky that it were only three years and not seven like usual?But after nearly 60 years of transporting cheep workers to Australia, more and more prisoner´s camps closed and refused to take convicts from England. Free settlers were streaming into the country for years and demanded for the former convict work. Still new built up camps took convicts but it wouldnït last long and the transportation from convicts to Australia was history.

The small group stopped when one of the wardens opened the squeaking door of a cell and freed the convicts from the chains. Then the door was shut behind them - behind people who would never see Englandïs streets in liberty again.

*
(...)

(11 years later in Adelaide)

20.

It was in the November of 1857 when Mary was about to visit one of their best clients - Mrs. Duncan. Packed with boxes of new fabric she hastened across the street - she was late, very late. Mary rushed across the creaking boards of the pavement as she ignored the man who came around the corner, stepping into her way. Mary missed to stop and ran into him; lost the box and saw how the pieces of new
fabric were whirling over the ground.
"Damn!" She let out. Without looking up she knelt down and hoped that the fabric wasn´t too dirty.
"I´m sorry, Sir! I havenït seen you!" She murmured, stuffed the cloths back into the box and expected swear words from the man but he didn´t say anything. Surprised and astonished she looked up and got a friendly smile. She nearly fell backwards as her hand groped for a hold and her heart began to run. Mary´s eyes studied this stranger so clear that she shivered.
"I see, Ma´am, but don´t be afraid, I´m still in one piece!" The man replied with such strange drawled slang she had first heard in Bendigo and smiled low. He squatted beside her and helped to put the cloths into the box. Mary kept studying him.
"Thank you for your help, Sir!"
The man in front of her was tall and strong, made of hard labour and had dark and short hair which framed his sun-tanned face. The broad brim of his stockmanïs hat cast a very dark shadow upon his face - a friendly face which told from a hard life in the bush.
Mary realized the rolled up sleeves of his white shirt, the light brown working trousers and the dusty coarse working shoes she had never seen before. So strange he seemed for her so excellent he suited to this rough country. What kind of man was he who squatted at her side, Mary wondered? She stood up
again and felt unsure and shy.
"Thank you again, Sir!" Her legs were so weak and she swallowed as he followed her. Why, she cursed, why was she so nervously touched? The stranger pushed the hat into his neck before he kept speaking in his Australian slang:
"What about a little remuneration for me? You nearly ran me over!" A smart smile flew over his lips.
"Pardon? I don´t understand??" Mary didn´t know what she said, what she thought.
"Would you join me tonight in dining?"
"What??" Mary was confused and a little bit thrilled but something in her reason seemed to rebel.
"But....but....." She stammered helplessly, "I don´t know you. I´m.....I´m sorry, but you´ve to accept my refusal. I´m very busy!"
But the stranger didn´t give up:
"You work much? All right. Where can I found you?"
"I´m working in the shop of the McGees," She answered without knowing why. Something in this man seemed to attract her. The strange Australian man began suddenly to grin, tapped at his hat and stepped backwards:
"I think we´ll meet again, Ma´am! Don´t let me keep you. See ya´!"
Mary, irritated about his sudden acceptance, nodded, hesitated and set of to visit Mrs. Duncan. After a few yards she stopped and turned her face. Doubt about her doing took possession of her as she sensed long forgotten emotions coming back to the surface.
No, she had to ignore it, to forget it. But this stranger - whose name she didn´t know - interested her somehow. Unsure and nervously touched she lifted her shirt and rushed across the dirty street, knowing that a pair of brown eyes were following her.

Had Mary though that she could forget this meeting so she was mistaken. Even hours later she couldn´t delete the man from her thoughts. What made her feeling so unsure? Why, to this question she came after a long hour, why she hadn´t accepted the invitation for dinner? It was only an appointment for a dinner....only a simple dinner.
"Mary!" Veronika called.
"Yes, what´s the matter?"
"I´m gonna close the shop early today. Tonight a couple of business partners come.....and I wanna ask you, if......!"
"No, you know that this isn´t my world!" Mary refused. She hated these evenings when Veronika tried to marry her off to somebody. But her employer began to laugh:
"Sorry, Mary, but you´re wrong tonight. I´ve no strange thoughts. I´ve given in, you´re right. I promise you not to make an attempt to marry you to somebody of our business partners. I´m only looking for a guest!"
"Oh," Mary swallowed surprised and shrugged her shoulders, "All right, Iïm coming!"
"All right," Veronika giggled, " You´ll see there´re only three uninteresting men - two of them are already married and the third one is a stubborn squatter who lived somewhere in the outback. He has no wife and won´t take one in the next hundred years!" She pushed Mary into the room at the rear.
"So, now go upstairs. At seven o'clock!"

The bright moon was already hanging at the sky, lightening the roofs of the district where Veronika and Larry McGee were living. Mary walked through the little garden towards the two-storied house with a large verandah in front. It seemed so strange that Mary lingered to enter. Somewhere in the darkness she recognized the outlines of a chair. How nice it would be to sit here at dawn, listening to the nature while the mild breeze from the near hills floated down.
From inside the house she heard a low murmuring, telling her that the other guests were already there. Mary was late but this had been Eileen´s fault who couldn´t found a sleep. After a hesitatingly knocking at the door Veronika opened and smiled. Compared with the dark red robe and wide crinoline of her employer Mary´s clothes were poor and simple. It seemed as if she was at the wrong place. Nobody would pay any attention to her.
"Come in, you´re late but you´re not the last one. Mr. Mitchell hasn´t come yet!"
Mary smiled low as she followed Veronika through the little entrance hall into the living-room.
"Larry, I´ve to interfered but one of our last missing guests has arrived. Mr. McGuinness," Veronika murmured and pointed to Mary. "May I introduce you to my seamstress and friend, Mrs. Mary O´Connor. I can´t say what I´d do without her. Have you ever seen her?"
"No, I would remember!" Bill McGuinness, in his fifties with a beard and starting to become fat, was a trader who supplied McGeeïs robes to the villages around. Close beside him stood the second man, also a friend and business partner of the McGees.
"That´s Mr. Haenel, he´s the owner of a spinning-mill near Adelaide!"
"G´Day, Iïm happy to meet you!"
But Mary only replied short and kept listening to Veronika.
"You must know, Mrs. O´Connor came....." A short explanation followed where and how they had met before the topic returned to the trade of sheep wool and clothes, to the grazing gold of the Australian Outback.
Bored and tired Mary looked around and sank deep into her thoughts. She had worked hard and long during the last weeks; had learnt with Joe and played with Thomas and Eileen. All this seemed to be a test of endurance. Larry kept talking to Mr. McGuinness while Veronika - as it seemed for Mary - had forgotten her seamstress and asked Mr. Haenel about the use of new fabrics.
Mary took the glass in both hands and nearly tiptoed to the large french-door which led to the back-yard. The beautiful garden of the McGees vanished at the rear in the darkness - a garden with shady palm trees and a little pond near to the door. Mary took a deep breath of this cool nightly air and pondered about the decision to accept this invitation. She knew she wished to forget the day, the friendly face of this stranger she had met at afternoon. But it seemed as if her feelings ran into the opposite direction.
The more she was staring into the darkness the more she felt taken back to the stranger. Maybe she should leave this dinner although she didn´t want to disappoint the McGees. Maybe later, after the meal....

Totally lost in her thoughts Mary didn´t realize the arrival of the last guest who talked with the hosts. His broad brimmed stockmanïs hat already in his hand he let his sun-tanned hand run over his sweaty face and laughed. Mary for herself couldnït see him and didn´t know that his eyes had already caught her presence.

"...and now I wanna introduce you my seamstress Mary. Mary? May I introduce you to our last guest!"
Why, she asked soundless, still watching the darkness outside. Why couldn´t Veronika let her alone? She didn´t want to see anybody, she want to go home. With a false smile on her lips she turned and nearly let her glass drop as she looked into the face of "her" stranger and unknown Australian. With an open mouth she stared at him, perplexed and shocked, and couldn´t say a single word.
"That´s Mr. Scott Mitchell, he´s the owner of a sheep station, a squatter who supplies us with the beautiful Merino wool - Scott this is my assistance Mrs. Mary O´Connor!"
Only for a short moment the squatter seemed to be irritated as he heard Veronika´s words before he began to smile again:
"I think we know each other, don´t we?" He shook hands with Mary and waited for her answer.
"Good....evening, Mr. Mitchell!"
Veronika was perplexed:
"Scott, you see me surprised. When and where have you met her?"
"Today. She ran into me on the street!"
Still paralyzed Mary felt how her heart began to beat in her breast in a wild rage and her legs wanted to give way. A squatter - that were those kind of humans who liived in the Outback; who worked from dawn till dusk to breed sheep; who lived through droughts and floods in loneliness and seclusion of the hinterland. When Mary had heard first of those squatters by Viktoria she had expected to see rough, taciturn and reserved men who only thought about their sheep. But this Scott Mitchell was different. He was nearly in the same age of Mary and was fascinating her.Veronika, blind for the tension between her guests, pushed them back into the living-room to the prepared dining-table.
"Let´s eat now, it´s late enough." And she blinked at Scott with a smile. Mary didn´t listen to Veronika because to the chaos which had taken possession of her brain. Had the destiny given her a second chance? Hours ago she had denied to meet Scott but now she would accept if he would ask again.
What had Veronika said? A squatter through and through? A man who would never taken a wife in hundred years?
Mary nearly burst out laughing in bitterness, fighting with her tears. Why she began to like this kind of man whose whole life consisted of sheep?

After the rich dinner Mary had started a conversation with the other business partner. Both knew the gold-fields by hearsay only but would never try their luck on a claim. Larry appeared of a sudden and dragged them into a discussion about the wool prices. Scott approached Mary and pulled her aside. The fresh, cool air welcomed them as they both entered the garden.
"Have I saved you from a boring discussion?" Scott asked and took a seat on the low wall which formed the boundary of the terrace.
"Oh, yes, thanks. I can´t understand how you can talk one topic for hours. Isn´t it
boring?"
"It is. I don´t like it as well. I´m only supplying the raw material - all other should be made by other! I´m not very interested in this town as well. Normally my foreman Randy travels to Adelaide with the wool. I love to stay at home!" Scott Mitchell, with the same strange slang in his words and the same outfit she saw at afternoon, turned the glass of beer in his hand and seemed to be undecided.
"But at the few times when I´m here I haven´t seen you before. Are you working for the McGees for long?"
"For three years. Maybe a little bit more but I´ve often refused to meet their business
artners. I´m only an employee!"
"Only? It sounds that you think you´re not worth to be here?"
Mary looked down and shrugged her shoulders:
"Maybe. I don´t know the people, I spend my time in different ways."
"Hm. What do you think of me? Do you think that this is also my life-style?"
"Oh, Mr. Mitchell." Mary trembeld a little bit, "T´was not my intention to annoy
you.....!"
Scott laughed and took her hand:
"Don´t be so stiff."
Silence appeared - a silence which drove Mary crazy. She heard her own heart-beat and realized his nosy glances. Only to do something she pulled her hand out of his one, smoothed her skirt which floated over the crinoline and smiled low. Scott nodded:
"Now you know me a little bit. Would you give me a second chance to invite you for a dinner?"
"I know.... it was a bad answer. I´d like to accept your invitation, Mr. Mitchell." And a shy simile rushed over her lips. "This afternoon I was too surprised to think over your words."
"Tomorrow?" His eyes still watched her in strange interest.
"Oh, yes, it would be fine. I´ve to work until 6 o'clock....but I don´t want that you have to postpone possible important meetings because of me."
"Nonsense. There aren´t any more important meetings than to dine with you." His glances wandered to the huge clock at the wall. "I think I´m afraid I´ve to leave now. See you tomorrow."
"Good-bye." She replied and followed him with her eyes.

The night was fresh and clear when Mary went home one hour later. What did she expect from a dinner with the squatter Scott Mitchell? Did she love him? She only knew him for hours - hours where they hadn´t really been alone. For the first time since years she sensed this warm feeling which let her become somehow nervous - a feeling of confusing. Was this love she sensed?

*

(...)

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