SUZANNAH'S GOLD
Suzannah Casey was just twelve years old when she was transported to the Australian colony from Ireland . When given the opportunity to begin a new life on the Goulburn Plains with ex-convict George Oakes, she could never have imagined the trauma and loss that was ahead of her.   As she faces the harsh Australian land and the weaknesses of people around her, Suzannah must find within herself the strength and faith to not only survive but also rise above cruelty, disappointment, abandonment, illness, religious bigotry and finally her own yearnings in order to discover what is more precious than gold.   Suzannah Casey and the other central characters in this story were real people. Many of the details of their lives and the experiences they lived through have been taken from historical records.   The value of Suzannah’s life lives on in her descendants, all of whom have carried and will carry on the legacy of hope and faith which life taught her.	In Store Price: $AU32.95  Online Price:   $AU31.95 ISBN:  978-1-921240-52-2 Format: A5 Paperback Number of pages: 367 Genre:  Fiction
Author: Carol Preston Publisher: Zeus Publications Date Published: 2007 Language: English

ABOUT THE AUTHOR  

Born Carol Stone in Lithgow NSW in 1948, the author moved to the Illawarra at the age of five and left school to become a ladies’ hairdresser. In 1967 she married Neil Preston in Wollongong , where their two children, Tammy and Adam were born.  

Carol returned to study in 1976 and completed a PhD at Wollongong University in 1986, publishing numerous academic articles in psychological journals during that time. She is now in private counselling practice. Carol enjoys gardening, spending time with their four grandchildren, bushwalking and researching and writing about her Australian ancestors.  

This is Carol’s first novel.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank my husband, Neil, my children, Tammy and Adam and their partners David and Robyn, as well as my Mum and Dad for their encouragement and interest over the years as I traipsed through old graveyards, buried myself in archival records and glued myself to the computer.

I’m grateful to my friend Judith who persevered through my first draft, setting me on the path of editing. For those at the NSW Writers’ Centre, who have given advice and shared their stories of writing and publishing. I’m especially thankful to Rae Luckie, one of the Writers’ Centre recommended mentors, with whom I spent an invaluable year editing and learning about the writing process.

Without knowing it, my many counselling clients have helped me tremendously over the years, as they have shared bravely and honestly about their troubled lives and given me many insights into the timeless human struggle to survive and overcome.

Last but not least I need to thank my ancestors, who, willingly or by force, participated in the pioneering of this wonderful country. They have inspired me with their perseverance and faith and given me a deep appreciation of the human spirit.

Prologue  

            Sydney , 1838

Toby heard muffled screaming in the alleyway. He had just left the pub on Market Street and was heading out for his meal break. He stepped quickly into the narrow opening between buildings and saw one of his customers with young Molly pushed up against the wall.

‘Get your stinkin’ ’ands off the girl and get yourself ’ome to your wife, Nobbs.’

The two men threw punches at each other ’til Toby was satisfied the other was no longer in the mood for tampering with young Molly. As he led her shaking and whimpering out of the alley, they almost collided with a woman who appeared to be concentrating on missing the many potholes and muddy pools that made the street hazardous for a lady in an elegant dress and kid boots. Toby could see by her expression that he’d have her umbrella around his ears if he didn’t quickly explain the situation.

‘I see,’ the woman responded, her clenched fist relaxing. ‘Very well, follow me.’ She turned and began to walk briskly away. ‘And don’t you be upsetting that girl any more than she already is, young man.’ This directive was issued without as much as a glance behind her.

Toby obeyed with no thought of arguing, such was the force of the woman’s demeanour. From the back she was rounder, softer somehow, though her stride was as urgent as a soldier off to war. Toby was puffing and young Molly was still shaking, not knowing whether to be more fearful of this woman than she had been of her assailant. They arrived at a house four blocks away having heard no more from the woman in front of them than the sound of her boots marching down the street. Spinning on her heels at the door she introduced herself as Mrs Caroline Chisholm. Without further explanation she led Molly into her parlour, where she pointed to a large sofa and indicated that the two of them should sit, which they did instantly, their legs turning to cotton wool under them. Mrs Chisholm pulled a cord on the wall and magically a neat maid appeared in the doorway, her eyes widening at the sight of the two urchins. Until her mistress spoke the maid looked as if she might scream for help.

‘Tea please, Katie, for three, and some water to clean these two young people up.’ 

The maid dipped at the knee and scampered away, appearing again quickly with a tray holding a water bowl and some cloths. She backed out of the parlour with the same astounded look on her face only to return minutes later with a second tray carrying a silver teapot, which she put on a table in front of Toby, who was still sitting, open mouthed. When he stole a glance at Molly she seemed equally dazed by what was happening. Her pretty face was almost obscured by smudges of dirt and wisps of fair hair that had escaped her cap and floated around her cheeks.

Mrs Chisholm handed Toby a soft cloth and pointed to the bowl of soapy water. She took a second cloth and began to wipe Molly’s face gently.

‘This will just not do…young things like this, exposed to such...depravity. I should imagine if it wasn’t for you young man, this girl would have been...well, it doesn’t bear thinking about. The authorities are boasting that it’s fifty years since civilization came to this place.’ She shook her head as she continued. ‘Declaring public holidays...and I hear they had race meetings and pigeon shoots and cricket matches to celebrate. Even a regatta on the harbour, all gathering together in their finery and stuffing themselves with watermelon and peaches, as if everybody lived in high society...and here’s the reality of it, here on the streets...no, this will just not do.’

Toby had never heard anybody talk like this. He sat dumbfounded. When she was satisfied that Molly’s face and arms were free of dirt, Mrs Chisholm began to pour tea into three white china cups, the likes of which the two had never seen. The thought of picking one up and trying to drink from it almost caused Molly to faint.

‘Now, there must be something we can do about this, surely.’ It seemed Mrs Chisholm was talking to herself, so neither Molly nor Toby thought it appropriate to reply, until she looked directly at Toby and raised her eyebrow into a question mark.

‘I’m sure I don’ know, Mam,’ he heard himself say in a soft squeaky voice he didn’t recognise. ‘There’s so many girls who have no one to look out for ’em. They ’ave to work in the pubs and factories an’ there’s no protection for ’em...well, it’s just ’ow it is, yer see.’

Toby knew he was rambling. He’d never needed to explain to a lady the predicament of young girls in a colony of ex-convicts and soldiers. He had never really thought about it much. He’d just reacted to Molly’s distress as he would to any poor mite in trouble. 

‘Lord Almighty,’ he suddenly exclaimed, jumping to his feet. ‘I should be back at the pub by now. I’m gonna be in real strife. Mr Rodent don’t stand for lateness, nor anythin’ else might lose ’im a penny. In fact, when he finds out what I done to that customer, I’ll be for it.’ Toby dropped onto the sofa again, hands running though the shock of unruly curls flopping around his head. ‘He’s a mean man, Mam, and not likely to care about what ’appened to Molly like you did.’ He jumped to his feet again. ‘I gotta go. And you Molly, what you gonna do? You’ll be for it too, yer know. We shoulda stayed and got back to work.’

Molly was sobbing quietly on the sofa, looking longingly at the china cup. Caroline Chisholm was taking no notice of their distress this time. While Toby was bleating out his fear, she was forming a plan in her mind.

‘How old are you, young man…what was your name?’

‘Toby, Mam,’ he answered, ignoring the first question.

‘Toby what?’

‘Er, just Toby, Mam. I don’ know what else. It’s all I’ve ever known…I gotta go now.’  Toby was backing out of the room.

‘Please sit down Toby and have this cup of tea. It’s important we talk. I have an idea I want you to think about. Now, how old are you?’

‘O…Old? Uh, nineteen, I think. Well, that’s about as close as we can reckon.’

‘And what can you do?’ 

‘Do? You mean work, like? Um, I can do most anythin’ Mam, like sweepin’ an’ cleanin’ up an’ I fix things, like the chairs in the pub when they get busted…’

‘Can you drive a buggy?’

‘Well, sure,’ Toby was sure if he ever had the opportunity to drive a buggy he would be able to do it.

‘Good,’ replied Mrs Chisholm quickly. ‘Then how would you like to work for me?’

Toby paled. He couldn’t imagine what an elegant woman like Mrs Chisholm could possibly have for him to do. 

‘I need someone to drive me around in my buggy, Toby. My husband refuses to let me drive it myself, though I’m sure I could. And getting around this town is just too difficult…and dangerous on foot. Especially with the work I think we are going to take up.’

‘Work? We? I’m sorry, Mam, I don’ understand.’ Toby was now sure he’d been knocked down in the fight and was dreaming the most outrageous dream. But it continued.

‘We are going to rescue some of these young girls, like Molly here.’  She smiled kindly at Molly, who was now holding her cup of tea with two hands and sipping it as if she’d been born to be a lady. She slurped in a manner that gave away her true background, but smiled back winningly.

‘I could drive the buggy too,’ she whispered.

‘Nonsense, Molly,’ Mrs Chisholm retorted. ‘You, my girl, will be right here in the house. I could use another kitchen hand, and you, I imagine could do with learning some skills that will take you beyond that dreadful establishment where you’ve been working…How old are you? About fifteen, I’d guess.’

Molly nodded, thinking that must be about right, although like Toby, she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t remember being anything but old enough to scrub floors and scour pavements. She would happily be whatever age this woman wanted if she could remain in this wonderful house.

Seeing Molly’s mouth hanging open, her head nodding mechanically, and fearing that her cup and its contents were about to land on the table, Caroline Chisholm reached out and took Molly’s hands, cup and all, in her own.

‘Would you like to work here, Molly?’

Molly continued nodding, her mouth refusing to work. For Caroline Chisholm it was all settled. She’d found the cause, which would replace the work she’d carried out in India over the past six years. She’d been bored there, too. It was fine for her husband, having been posted to Madras , and busy with his soldiering. But expecting her to amuse herself with the other English wives, chatting about God knows what nonsense, sitting around fanning themselves and being waited on, was beyond her comprehension. She was missing the work she’d established there, and here she could see another group of young girls who needed her help.

That’s how Toby’s life with Caroline Chisholm started. It was the only life he wanted to remember. He had no recollection of his parents, nor of a home except for corners in the back alleys of Sydney . He’d worked, running errands for whoever would give him a halfpenny for as long as he could remember. When he got a job cleaning up at Rodent’s pub he thought he was made. He’d eaten whatever scraps he could scrounge from the tables, claimed a permanent corner near the back door which was sheltered from the wind and rain, and made a bed out of cardboard and old rags. Because he was well able to take care of himself in a fight, eventually everyone had left him to it. 

Then when he turned eighteen, according to everyone’s estimation, he’d been promoted to bartender. He found lodgings in a local guesthouse and began to save a few pennies. Toby had a dream. He didn’t know where it had come from, but it was all he had. He was going to get out of this rotten town and find a place with fresh air. He could hardly imagine what was beyond the half dozen streets of Sydney which were his world, but he’d heard men talking of farming, with cows, horses and chickens, fresh food, and raising children. He knew one day he would go there. For now though, he was in this posh house, with china cups and soft sofas, and this amazing woman who had plucked him from the streets and made him very important in her plans.

Toby liked to think of himself as Caroline Chisholm’s right hand man, though he wouldn’t have had the audacity to say such a thing to her. He had quickly learned to drive the buggy, finding the horse took to his kindness and easy manner straight away. He felt like a fine gentleman sitting on the bench, driving Mrs Caroline Chisholm all about Sydney Town. They started meeting the ships coming in from England , finding young girls staggering from the ramps, in various states of ill health, holding small bundles over their sunken shoulders. They were often stunned, afraid, suspicious, or downright testy when approached by this well-dressed woman. But once they had watched in awe as she argued with the guards, who were ready to haul everyone who spilled from the ships into the hands of prison guards and factory owners, the young girls usually followed Caroline Chisholm without resistance.

When they weren’t meeting the ships they drove through the streets watching for girls who looked like they were waiting for a man to come along and use them for a few coins. Mrs Chisholm would get down from the buggy and talk with them quietly, and though most looked at her at first as if she was mad, many came tearfully back to the buggy and sat unmoving, disbelieving, until Toby pulled up at the large semi-detached house. Of course, it soon became very crowded, and Mrs Chisholm had begun to make all kinds of arrangements for the girls, in what she considered decent employment and residential establishments. Toby waited one day outside the residence of the Governor. He had a wry smile on his face. He knew Sir George Gipps would be no match for Caroline Chisholm.

In the expensively-decorated office the Governor was doing his best to contain his annoyance.

‘My dear woman, isn’t this work that should be left to those who have been given the role of overseeing the criminal element in this colony?’

‘I am not your dear woman, Governor, and I’m here to talk about the degradation being perpetuated by those who are overseeing this colony. Most of these poor mites can hardly be considered criminals. Many have simply been snatched from the streets of England and Ireland for doing nothing more than being out after curfew, looking for a place to sleep.’

‘Mrs Chisholm, really, I hardly think this is your area of expertise.’ The Governor stood, his portly stomach pushing at his desk. He aimed to finish this conversation as quickly as possible.

‘And what of these young children born on the streets here?’ Caroline raised her voice. ‘Not born out of any decent desire to raise a family...conceived in back alleys and hovels by poor wretches trying to find relief from the pain of life in this colony. Look what’s happening to those children…’

‘Now this is just not fitting talk for a lady, Mrs Chisholm.’ Gipps’ face was turning red. 

‘Abandoned on the streets, that’s what happens to them.’ Caroline continued, ignoring the interruption. ‘Just abandoned because their parents can hardly survive day to day themselves.’

‘Mrs Chisholm, do you have any idea of the reputation you are gaining among other military wives with this ‘mission’ you’ve taken on.’  If he couldn’t talk her out of her preposterous idea, Gipps was prepared to shame her out of it.

‘I don’t care what they think, Governor. I’ve no time for their objections and less for their wasteful lifestyle. I’ve no intention of spending the rest of my life going to theatres and concerts…pretending that English society has followed us across the sea. That nonsense is not for me.’

Governor Gipps dropped back into his seat, appalled but beaten. Caroline Chisholm would have her Female Emigrants’ Home. 

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