Maids and Bushrangers

Louisa dashed away angry tears lest they smudge her makeup. Escaping the Royal Albert Hall, she couldn’t move fast enough. Lizzy, tottering on gaudy high heels, was struggling to keep up with her. “Louisa! Slow down” she hissed. Louisa stopped, her anger moving down to her toes, which tapped a staccato rhythm on the cobbles as she waited for Lizzy. “Did you hear her?” she exploded. “Don’t you dare, she said, don’t you dare . Ugly woman in her ugly guides uniform. How dare she not let me share some sweets with my daughter.” “You know, I’ve been giving those people money since Nellie was a baby, and she’s babies of her own now. Always had a coin box in the house. I won’t give ‘em a farthing more, Louisa. See if I won’t.” Louisa shivered as she smoothed her hair and adjusted her clothes. She must calm down, she told herself, and try to work out how she could get Maisie back. --- The day had started well enough. It was just over an hour by train from Burnt Oak to K...

When I finally found my grandmother’s birth record, the address at which she was born was stated as 129 St Johns Road, Islington, in the County of London. This public record was at odds with her Australian marriage record, which said she was from Isle of Ely, Cambridgeshire. A search on the Islington address surprisingly showed that it was a workhouse. Birth certificates were routinely filled out with a non-descript address, so as not to draw attention to the status of the mother. A relic of Victorian times, the workhouse was not only the destination for the destitute; it was the destination for unmarried mothers. Before 6 September 1913, my grandmother’s birthdate, there was no record of a marriage for Louisa Gutteridge. However, there were other birth certificates. Louisa had two older children, both boys. The younger boy, Arthur, had also been born in a workhouse. So, when Louisa found herself once again in the family way, she knew what to expect. And she knew what was exp...

Irene was nearly knocked off her feet by a flurry of skirts and aprons. She steadied herself against the door of the cottage she had just entered. The flurry resolved itself into Peggy who was now talking a mile-a-minute and madly hugging her friend. “You won’t believe it! You just won’t believe what’s happened! Mother said yes. She said yes ! After what happened at the Albert Hall, and then she said no, and then I sent her a letter begging to go, and then her new husband wrote and said no again…” Peggy finally paused for breath and spoke very distinctly. “She said yes. I. Am. Going. To. Australia!” The noise started again as the two young women squealed and hugged each other, bouncing up and down like the kangaroos they hoped to be seeing soon.   “When did you find out?” “Just now. The Governor showed me the letter herself.” Peggy pursed her lips impersonating Louisa’s nasal tones. “’I am writing to say at last we give consent to M. M. Gutteridge going abroad.’ She...

It was hard to determine who was putting out the most steam; Peggy or the train. Peggy had fumed all the way from Ipswich to London. She kept on fuming from London to the new Barkingside station. After meeting Mrs Creagh, she had been packaged up, complete with large label, and shipped to Dr Barnardo’s Girls Village Home. Under her severe bowl cut hair, her normally gentle blue eyes glared out at the uniformed staff member striding across the platform towards her. “Marguerite Gutteridge, is it?” checking the label tied to her coat. Peggy nodded. “Come along then.” The gravel crunched as Peggy was led through the imposing wrought iron entrance gates.   Inside the thick walls the village was strangely quiet for a place housing hundreds of girls. “Where is everyone?” The lady seemed surprised to be addressed without notice. “At school or working. There is no laziness at Dr Barnardo’s Village.” Peggy shrunk down into her coat, wishing she was back in Auntie Maud’s worn...

“Hurry up, Marguerite.” exclaimed Auntie Maud, turning back to her dawdling niece. “But why are we going to the big house, Auntie?” whined Peggy, and she wished she would stop calling her Marguerite. She never did that at home. They all called her Maisie. “You av to meet Mrs Creagh.” “Why?” Auntie Maud suddenly looked a little sad. “Well, Mrs Creagh has taken notice of you, Marguerite. She thinks you might do well at a new school.” “But I like Haughley School. Teacher says my hand-writing is the best in the class.” Auntie Maud pressed her lips together and didn’t answer. Her daughters had never been as strong-willed as Maisie. They never cared that much about school either. “Are you sending me away?” Peggy stopped dead. Not again. Her mother disappeared. Then her daddy brought her to Auntie Maud. She’d heard talk of sending her to her grandparents at Three Holes, but they were old, and already looked after her eldest brother, Cyril. “Well its not as if you...

The girls were up early. Already the bread was in the oven and the large kettle was on to boil. The men would gather here soon, to resume the search. The kitchen was warm, steamy from the kettle coming to the boil, and the smell of the baking bread was a comfort. The lamps glowed, pushing out the pre-dawn darkness. “Do you think they will find her, Peggy?” asked Irene. “Oh, don’t ask me, Irene,” replied Peggy shakily, “I can’t bear to think of that jolly little girl out there in the dark amongst the trees. She was just here the other week, toddling around this very kitchen.” Peggy sniffed as they resumed their work in silence. Ernie Bryant’s two year old girl, Joyce, had gone missing yesterday. Ernie, who had worked at Balgownie for over a decade, had been fetched home urgently by his teenage son. Mr Walcott had offered the station as a meeting place for the search parties. The land surrounding Balgownie station was pleasant enough on a warm spring day. There were roll...

The echoes of the children’s cheers rippled across Fremantle Harbour. “We’re almost there, Peggy,” whispered Irene, holding tight to the ship’s rail. Peggy’s face was lit by the sunset glow as she turned and smiled at her friend. Peggy would be glad to get off the Ballarat after six long weeks at sea. She smoothed the skirt of her brown woollen Girl Guides uniform. Miss Wedlock said they all had to look their best as a photographer from the newspaper would be taking a photo of the Dr Barnardo’s party on the dock. Peggy’s smile faded as she remembered that most of the smaller children would be leaving the group here to go to a farm school. Miss Amos and Lieutenant Fitchett were handing out white floppy hats to the farm school children. She and Irene and the other teenage girls would go on to Sydney. Peggy had helped look after some of the younger ones. She’d mothered those little children like she wished she had been mothered. She read to them. She helped them. She was there...