Fremantle,
Western Australia from July 1867
The
coast of western Australia was probably visited by Spanish and
Portuguese ships in the sixteenth century. In 1616, Dutch navigator,
Dirk Hartog was the first known European to set foot on Australian soil
but it was not until 1826 that a small group of British soldiers and
convicts founded the first settlement in Western Australia. Britain did
not take official possession of the land until Captain Charles Howe
Fremantle issued a proclamation on 2nd May 1829. Planned
colonisation began, mostly along the fertile, alluvial land of the upper
Swan river but ignorance of local conditions and scarcity of labour led
the colony into difficulties in the early 1830’s. The expanding
settlers also conflicted, often violently, with the native Aborigines
which marked the beginning of an uneasy relationship.
Western Australia’s Swan River settlement had already been in
existence for twenty years when it took the unusual step of electing to
become a British penal settlement in 1849 because the local settlers
needed a supply of cheap labour to help develop the region. This
decision had come at a time when the eastern states were shutting down
their penal settlements and once again, Britain had found herself
without an offshore dumping ground for her convicts just as had happened
sixty five years earlier after the American War of Independence.
Rottnest Island, to the west of Fremantle, had been used for local
colonial offenders since 1838, but 1850 marked a major change in policy
when the first seventy five convicts arrived from England on board the
Scindian. At the time that William Sykes’s ship, the Norwood docked,
over nine thousand convicts had been transported directly to the colony
and this was the forty second ship bringing prisoners to this new land,
of which half a dozen of those ships had brought military prisoners from
the ranks of the British troops serving in India.
Beyond
Fremantle was the growing city of Perth named after Perthshire,
Scotland, established in the late 1820’s and chartered as a city in
1856.
Following
inspection, the prisoners were drafted off in batches to the ablutions
shed where William was pleased to find that there was lots of hot water.
During the voyage most of the prisoners had grown quite bushy beards.
William had tried to keep his beard trimmed but was really looking
forward to a nice close shave and a haircut. All the old clothing they
had worn for the journey was stripped off and after a thorough body wash
they were issued with a dark grey fustian jacket, waistcoat and
trousers, these being stamped with a broad arrow, a pair of flannel
under pants, a flannel shirt and two cotton shirts, socks,
handkerchiefs, a leather belt, a pair of stout boots and a cap. After
having his hair cut, William dressed quickly and then they were each
detailed off to their allocated cells.
Except
for short exercise periods in the evening the prisoners were confined to
their individual cells for the first three days. During that time each
prisoner was interviewed by one the Warders who recorded their physical
descriptions and all their other personal details. The prison registers
also gave particulars of each man’ crime, sentence, date and place of
conviction, and from what prison they had come: their religion, whether
they were literate, whether they were married or single, names and ages
of their wives and families, and the address of next of kin. William
answered the questions carefully but was a little confused as to who was
his next of kin. Not being sufficiently informed by the officer asking
the questions, he assumed that it had to be someone who could carry out
his last wishes and conclude the legalities and therefore chose his
brother in law, Charles Hargreaves, a fairly well educated man who had
married his sister Elizabeth, to fulfill this role. The prison
authorities would probably assume that he was a widower with four
children. So what? Nobody really cared.
The
next three days passed slowly. It had continued to rain and it was cool.
The cell was clean, the food palatable and they were allowed to exercise
for half an hour each evening.
On
the fourth day the prisoners were assembled in the courtyard and Sykes
name was a called along with sixteen others including Teale. William
noticed that the Scotsman, Jamieson was amongst those called. Although
they had had no further trouble with this man, he had been involved in
various arguments and fights with other prisoners. William knew he would
have to watch out carefully, as Jamieson might seek revenge for ganging
up on him when he was accused of cheating at cards by Teale on the ship.
The group were chained and escorted by several prison guards made their
way back through town and down to the dock. Here they boarded a small
sailing ship, the ‘Wild Wave’ and quickly put to sea heading south.
Nobody seemed to know where they were going. It was still raining
heavily and it looked as though they would spend the rest of the day in
their wet clothes. There was only a slight breeze and progress was slow
to start. The breeze picked up as they sailed out in to the open ocean,
the rain finally stopped and the boats speed increased as the sails
filled with wind It was
dusk when they arrived at the small port of Bunbury having sailed almost
a hundred miles in fourteen hours. William was pleased that he had not
been sick, although a few of the prisoners had spent most of the journey
with their head over the side retching their empty stomachs out.
There
was only a small prison at Bunbury. It had been built, as were most of
the buildings here, by prison labour. Although some of the prisoners
from Bunbury were returning to Fremantle on the ‘Wild Wave there
remained a total of about ninety prisoners, most of whom were working in
the outback constructing roads. They worked in groups of ten, usually
accompanied by one warder armed with rifle and a convict constable, some
returned to the prison each evening for a meal and respite whereas some
of the working parties working a few miles away spent the night in huts
or sometimes even tents in the better weather. They, and the guards,
were generally quite pleased to settle down for the evening after a hard
day out on the roads. It was backbreaking work for the prisoners and
July being the rainy season they were continually soaked to the skin,
only being able to get dry on their return to the tiny prison.
Chances
of escape from prison was non-existent. There was nowhere to escape to.
Only desert and scrub inland with a few unfriendly aborigines. No chance
of stealing aboard a ship, which were well guarded, and they only went
to Fremantle. Those prisoners who had attempted to escape were quickly
captured and punished. William resigned himself to being a roadmaker for
the time being although he had heard tales from the prisoners who had
been here for a couple of years about a character called Moondyne Joe,
who had escaped a few times and lived off the land and a little horse
stealing in the outback down by Moondyne Springs, which is how he had
acquired his name. He was a legend amongst the prisoners but, in fact,
was just a nuisance to the guards. There was only one real escape from
here and that was to die.
William
also found out that Henry Bone and John Bentcliffe had been sent
to Champion Bay and Geraldton, about fifty miles north of
Fremantle. He would never see either of them again.
Both
William and John Teale were assigned to one of
working parties out on the Blackwood Road. They found it hard to
settle down to the camp life although the rainy season had passed and
the pleasant warm weather made working conditions easier as they
approached summer. William wondered at some of the sights he had seen
since arriving in this foreign land. It was supposed to be an alien
place and no doubt it was inland but here, the warm climate was
exceptionally pleasant. He had never seen such tall trees, looming like
giants and casting long shadows across the ground. When he and Teale
spotted a kangaroo for the first time, Teale laughed and said, “Blimey
Bill, look at the size of the rabbits here – we’ll need a bloody big
pot for one of those!” Ear-piercing, shrieking multi coloured parrots
were in abundance and other brightly coloured birds seemed to fly
continuously catching the dancing insects disturbed by brush cutting in
their sharp beaks in mid flight. The steady advance of the road carved
its way through the bush, its creamy white limestone surface reflecting
the hot sun. The prisoners removed their shirts so that their skins were
turned a golden brown.
As
the weeks passed William had gradually become used to this life. The
work was hard but he had worked much harder in the blackness of the pits
tramming tubs of coal. That was real punishment.
The
sun became hotter as midsummer approached. It seemed strange that it
could be so hot in the middle of December. William found it difficult to
understand when he thought of the freezing winters he had spent in
England. Now though they were plagued with clouds of flies. And at
night, as they lay on their bush beds the loud croak of the bullfrogs
made it almost impossible to sleep. William would think of home and Myra
and their growing children and try to imagine sitting around the table
on Christmas day with his family enjoying the festivities. He missed his
nights at the Black Bull, the laughter and the smell of hops and the
taste of that fine ale. What he would give for a pint of that delicious
thirst quenching ale now, sat in front of the large log burning
fireplace. Prisoners weren’t allowed to have money so there was not
much chance of that. He glanced toward Teale. He was snoring his head
off. He leaned over and shook him. Teale opened his eyes and looked
quizzically at William as he said “Let’s go to Bunbury for a
pint”. Teale closed his eyes and whispered, “Sod off, has the heat
got to your brain”. “C’mon,” whispered William and shook Teale
again. “Are you serious?” asked Teale, “What if we get caught?”
“We’re already doing life – they can’t give us any more,”
replied William. Teale sat up slowly. “I’ve got a shilling” he
said. “Won it playing cards.” “Cheating more like,” said
William. Warder Baker was fast asleep and the Convict Constable
Jackson’s head was nodding. Teale got quietly to his feet, picked up
his boots and slipped off into the darkness without making a sound.
William picked up his boots and followed Teale closely. It was only
about nine o’clock. Surely there would be lots of activity in Bunbury,
about 3 miles down the road. Pulling
on their boots they started to head towards the small town. They were
both excited by this sudden freedom – it wasn’t an escape, just a
whim to please themselves for a while. It wouldn’t be long before they
were missed and they both knew that their freedom would be short lived.
There would be some ticket of leave men in Bunbury. If they could get
one of them to get them a drink of beer it would be worth the risk.
Wearing prison uniform they wouldn’t be able to walk in to a bar or
even a shop without someone realizing who they were and where they were
from. They approached the main street cautiously, even a little afraid,
not sure of who or what they would meet.
Lights
twinkled in the houses and along the street they could hear singing.
Keeping to the shadows they crept along eventually coming to what
appeared to be a bar. There was no one on the street. William peeped
through the curtained window into the dimly lit smoked filled room. He
could see quite a few sailors, laughing, smoking and drinking foaming
pints of ale. They were probably off the American whalers anchored in
the bay. His mouth began to water. A couple of sailors came staggering
along the street towards the bar. One of them spotted the two convicts
and came up close to them, “ Hey, what have we got here. Won’t they
let you in boys?” His buddy laughed and said, “I’m not surprised
with them arrows on your suits.” The two drunks pushed against the
door, almost falling, and disappeared inside towards the bar. William
tugged at Teale’s sleeve. “C’mon, let’s go back..”
As he said it the bar door swung open
and out came one of the drunks with a pint of ale in each hand.
“Here you are, lads” he drawled, “Enjoy that,” holding out the
foaming pints to them both. “Plenty more where that came from..”
Bill couldn’t believe it. He lifted the glass to his lips and began to
taste the bitter sweet amber liquid as it filled his mouth. He had been
parched after the long hot walk from the camp to town and in three gulps
the pint of ale had gone. Swallowed. Finished. The door swung open and
out came the other drunk, another pint in each hand and thrust them
towards Bill and John Teale. Bill took his fresh filled glass and
emptied it down his throat in one big gulp. “Bloody hell, I can’t
believe it.” The sailors were as good as their word and after another
four pints of ale each, the two drunks staggered out of the bar wished
them both good luck, and disappeared into the darkness.
Bills
head was spinning. It was the first alcohol for nearly two years and it
had had the desired effect. He felt quite drunk. He looked at Teale who
had sat down with a broad smile on his face. “Now we’ll go back”
he said. He leaned on Bill’s shoulder and said, “I can’t walk
Bill, you’ll just have to carry me.”
They
staggered up the road and
when clear of the town they both needed to relieve themselves and stood
in the middle of the road urinating into the dust.
As
they walked back towards camp they could see a figure in the distance
running towards them. “Shit, he’s got a gun,” said Teale. It was
Warder Baker. He wasn’t pleased. “You bastards, you’ve been
drinking” he shouted, “and you’re in trouble.”
The
next day Bill woke early with a thick head. Teale was already up and
dressed. Baker had sent the Convict Constable to town to report the
escape and recapture of the two prisoners. A horse mounted police
constable was sent out by the Governor of the prison to collect Sykes
and Teale and bring them back to mete out their punishment. They were
severely reprimanded for their actions and their records were marked
‘Mutinous and insubordinate conduct leaving camp and returning to
Bunbury’. They each received two months gang labour and their tobacco
ration was stopped for six months. They both agreed later that it had
been worth it.
After
they had served their period of hard labour William was sent back to
Warden Baker’s working party but Teale was sent on to another. William
heard later that Teale had got himself into trouble again for cruelly
beating a horse with which he had been working on a road party. He had
received a seven day bread and water sentence in Bunbury gaol after
which he was sent to join a survey party way out in the bush. He also
heard later that Teale had some sort of accident. He had fallen off a
high rock and had damaged his spine preventing him from walking. It
seemed that one of the working party close to him just before he fell
was a Scotsman named Jamieson. He had finally got his revenge. He felt
lonely now that his all his friends had gone in different directions. He
had been here a year now and so he decided it was about time he wrote to
his wife Myra.
It
would be almost six months before he received a reply from her.
Masbrough,
Christmas 1867
It
was two years now since that dreadful night at Silverwood and the
consequent trial in Leeds which had resulted in sending her man so far
away. Although Myra had survived so far, she was about to face another
major hurdle in her life. Daughter Ann was still in service at Clough
House, young Alfred had started work in the ironworks, Thirza now aged
eight years was at school and two year old William was growing quickly.
Myra had taken in lodgers as a means of increasing her income and had
started taking in laundry to make a few more coppers to help feed her
growing family. Her problems started when young thirteen year old Ann
was sent home from Clough House suffering sickness. This happened
several times and Myra decided that a visit from the local doctor, Dr.
James would perhaps diagnose Ann’s illness.
It
was a sunny autumn morning when the doctor called. Ann had been sick
several times that morning and
so Myra had confined her to bed. There had been several cases of cholera
in the town recently which had caused deaths and Myra was worried for
the health her eldest daughter.
Dr.
James climbed the stairs slowly followed closely by Myra who began to
explain the symptoms of Ann’s illness. After checking Ann’s
temperature and pulse rate he pulled out of his bag a trumpet shaped
instrument which he warmed in his hands, placed on her chest and then
began to listen to her breathing and heart rate. He then placed the
trumpet end on her stomach and listened carefully with his eyes closed.
He whispered some thing to Ann which Myra couldn’t quite hear. Ann
simply whispered something back to him. Dr. James looked at Myra
sympathetically and said quietly, “ Your daughter is not ill, Mrs.
Sykes, she’s pregnant.” Myra was absolutely stunned. “But she’s
only thirteen, she’s still a child” she gasped. A million thoughts
suddenly flashed through her mind but she didn’t know which question
to ask first she was so shocked. She collected her thoughts and asked,
“How far is she gone?” “Two months, it may be three,” he
replied. Myra held her hand over her mouth. She still couldn’t believe
what the Doctor had just revealed to her. She realised that another
mouth to feed and the loss of Ann’s wages would really make their
continued, already meagre existence even more difficult. Ann was sobbing
loudly into her soft pillow so Myra went to her, sat on the bed and put
her arms around her. She wanted to scream at her, even to hit her, but
she just pulled her close and whispered, “Don’t worry, my baby,
I’ll look after you and everything will be alright.”
She
followed the doctor downstairs and let him out. He turned and said, “
I’m sorry, Mrs. Sykes. You know where I am if you need me.” Myra
closed the door. She fell to her knees sobbing, “What have I done to
deserve all this? Why am I being punished so?”
In
the next two days Myra asked her daughter many searching questions. She
established that the father of her child was young sixteen year old
stable hand up at the Clough and that she had been a willing participant
in the sexy games played with the lads in the stables. She was annoyed
with herself that she had not discussed freely with her daughter the
dangers of such promiscuous activity. Now she was pregnant, too young to
be legally married, and some difficult decisions would have to be made.
Myra knew only too well that the news would spread rapidly amongst the
neighbours but she knew she could deal with that.
The
following March, having lost Ann’s wage now that she was some six
months pregnant and an ever increasing rent resulted in the family
moving into lodgings a little further up the street. Living in one room
lodgings at 39, Midland Road with the rest of the children was not
really acceptable with a new baby on the way, so Myra decided that she
would move back to Greasbrough just after the child was born and bring
it up as her own. This was a hard decision because she was well known
and it didn’t take much reckoning to realise that this child could not
possibly belong to her husband, William Sykes, whom she had not seen for
a year and a half. But it would be worth it to protect her loving
daughter and give Ann a chance to restart her life without having the
responsibility of having to raise a child. She also resolved not to tell
William anything about this child. It would be a family secret.
Birth
Certificate
Myra’s
grandson, Frederick Sykes was born to Ann Sykes in July 1868. A month
later, Myra went to Rotherham and registered Frederick as her own child.
The name of the father was left a blank space. She thought that no one
would ever know. She would write to William again.
From
Masbrough, it was dated 20th September 1868.
(Note
no actual copy of this letter available to author)
Myra
wrote, Dear Husband, I take this opportunity of writing you these few
lines to let you know that I received your letter dated 5th
July 1868. Dear husband, I was glad to hear that you were well and in
good health. Mrs. Bone had a letter and asked whether I had got one from
you or not and that put me about for I thought something had happened to
you because there were no letters for me and I was much further put out
when I received your letter when it was a week amongst them before I got
it. Dear husband, when you write again send me word what sort of passage
you had when you were going out and send word whether you got that box
that I sent you when you were leaving the country for you never said in
your letter whether you got it or not. They all send their kind love to
you. Your daughter Ann is in place now and doing well and Alfred is
working in the mill and gets ten pence per day. Ann, Thirza, Alf and
William send their kind love to you. William had got long white curly
hair and he was not called William for nothing. He is a right little
rip. Your brothers and sisters send their kind love to you. There was a
fight over poaching with young Beardshaw last month, another keeper shot
on Lord Wharncliffe’s estate. Beardshaw’s father took it so much to
heart that he went and threw himself on the rails and the trains passed
over him and killed him Dear Husband, when you write again direct your
letter to Mrs. Sykes, No. 39 Midland Road Masbrough
One
month later the family had moved to a tiny cottage in the village of
Greasbrough. Myra had quickly taken in two young lodgers who worked at
the local coal mine. Alfred had started work at the coal mine and as
soon as young Ann was over the confinement, she found a job at the
Yellow Lion public house as a serving maid. Myra had started taking in
laundry again and baby Frederick was totally oblivious to all their
problems as he began to grow. Myra loved him as she would have her own
child. The malicious gossip had ceased and they were allowed to get on
with their lives. With one exception. Williams sister, Elizabeth had
written to William and in the letter had happened to mention that Myra
was now caring for another baby named Frederick.
He
was pleased to receive a letter from his sister, but this news about
Myra having another baby sent his senses reeling. He could not believe
that his beloved Myra had been unfaithful and yet what other explanation
could there be. If it was another man’s child he could understand Myra
not saying anything in her letters about this boy named Frederick.
William felt sick as he read the letter over and over again. The tears
swelled in his eyes as he remembered the times that he and Myra made
love. Now she had found another man to take his place – and yet her
letters had never so much as suggested anything of the kind.
