Beneath the Southern Cross (8 page)

She had been about to interrupt but, at the thought of her father, Mary realised, yet again, as she had so many times in the sixteen years of her marriage, how she longed to return to the simple, clear-cut dictates of military life. The ever-changing rules of colonial society, the lack of a clear class structure, the growing power of the emancipists and their democratic beliefs, all were disruptive and threatening.

She no longer listened to her husband. And Richard, without her interruption, convinced that his arguments were making an impact, went on. And on. Whilst Mary's mind wandered.

A detachment of the 73rd Regiment had accompanied Lachlan Macquarie, the new governor, to the colony in 1809. Amongst the ranks of the officers was Robert Farrington, and with him his wife Jane and nineteen-year-old daughter Mary. The 73rd Regiment's specific orders were to quell the military riot in the colony, the New South Wales Rum Corps, so named because of its illegal import of spirits from Calcutta, having rebelled against the previous governorship of William Bligh.

Amongst the key figures in the Rum Rebellion was one Captain John Macarthur. A warrant had been issued for Macarthur's arrest, and it was a particular irony that Robert Farrington might well prove to be the arresting officer. He would do his duty, as he always did, but he hoped such duty would not prove necessary, for he and his wife Jane had befriended John and Elizabeth Macarthur many years previously. As young married couples they had shared neighbouring quarters at Chatham Barracks in England, and Macarthur and Farrington still corresponded. Indeed, judging by his friend's reports, Robert Farrington secretly agreed that Bligh was a tyrant who had deserved the treatment meted out by the Rum Corps. But then Robert had always believed in the power of the military, in his opinion too often restrained by the authority of incompetent governors.

Robert soon discovered, however, that John Macarthur had fled to England with his two young sons, so Robert was saved the embarrassment of arresting his friend. But he and Jane visited the Macarthurs' farm at Parramatta which, during her husband's absence, Elizabeth administered with great success.

Two years after their arrival in the colony, young Mary Farrington met and fell instantly in love with Richard Kendall. It was impossible not to, he was dashingly handsome. Furthermore, he possessed a mischievous wit and charm which Mary had not previously encountered. Compared to Richard Kendall, the serious young officers with whom she had been encouraged to socialise suddenly seemed sadly lacklustre.

Her parents' disappointment knew no bounds. Young Kendall was good-looking certainly; it was understandable that he could set a young girl's pulse racing. But he was the son of an emancipated convict. They tried to talk sense to their daughter, they cajoled, and finally they threatened, but to no avail.

Three years later Richard and Mary wed, and there was little the good captain and his wife could do but give their blessing. At least the young man had land and monies, they acceded, albeit land in poor condition.

Help was needed, and once again Robert Farrington visited Elizabeth Macarthur at Parramatta, this time with his daughter and new son-in-law. In the years during her husband's exile, Elizabeth's introduction of agricultural improvements had earned the respect of Governor Macquarie himself who, in recognition of her services to the colony, had granted her six hundred acres near Elizabeth Farm.

Slender-necked, fine-boned and well bred, Elizabeth Macarthur impressed young Mary Kendall. And, strangely enough, young Mary Kendall impressed Elizabeth Macarthur.

Elizabeth was a good woman. Kind, strong, intelligent and, above all, unswerving in her loyalty. Perhaps she recognised a kindred spirit in the girl. She certainly recognised strength and loyalty. And Mary would need all of that to overcome the weakness of her husband, Elizabeth thought, seeing immediately the flawed character beneath Richard Kendall's charm. She also saw that Mary loved him deeply. Elizabeth herself was married to a difficult man. A brilliant man, but one of black moods and aggression and, although there appeared no blackness in Richard, his young wife could well find herself alone when it came to doing battle. Elizabeth knew only too well what it was like to do battle on one's own.

Elizabeth Macarthur's advice on the growing of wheat, barley and oats, and her practical assistance, most important of which was the appointment of an expert overseer, were invaluable to the Kendalls. But, to Mary, during those awkward years as one of the few free settlers in rural Parramatta, most of which was farmed by emancipated convicts, it was Elizabeth's friendship and commonsense which was most valuable of all, particularly when Mary's parents returned to England.

When, in 1817, John Macarthur was finally permitted to return to the colony after an exile of eight years, Mary discovered a hero. Like her father, Macarthur strongly disapproved of Governor Macquarie's emancipist programme and the offers of government assistance to convicts who had served their sentences. The convicts
should be kept landless, Macarthur maintained. They should be assigned to the settlers who would feed and clothe them in exchange for free labour. Thus the government would be saved the expense of maintaining and providing for the criminal classes. Macarthur's vision of New South Wales as a colonial aristocracy fitted perfectly with Mary's own.

Macarthur himself, a vain, handsome man of vast egocentric proportions, found it only fitting that his wife's young friend should see in him a figure of heroic proportions. Charmed by her obvious admiration, he even presented Mary with two olive plants and several vine cuttings from amongst the supply he had brought back from Europe. Years later, the greatest pride on Mary Kendle's property was the olive grove in the eastern corner, ‘Macarthur's Grove', she called it.

It was John Macarthur who suggested Mary change her family name to ‘Kendle'. ‘No offence to your father-in-law, my dear,' he said, although the disdain in his voice and the curl of his lip spoke otherwise. ‘It is simply far wiser from a business standpoint.' Mary was in thorough agreement.

Sadly, these days Mary Kendle saw little of John Macarthur. Over the past years the man had become unbalanced, given to violent displays of rage in public, and to boastings of megalomaniacal proportions. He had even been quoted as saying that he had the means of sending home every governor of the colony, having indeed been the instigating force behind the removal of Lachlan Macquarie.

Mary convinced herself that such bouts of madness were proof of Macarthur's genius—all great men were touched with insanity—but she no longer visited him for fear of finding him in one of his demented moods.

Now, as Mary listened to her husband's ineffectual arguments as to why they needed Thomas Kendall, she found herself becoming irritated.

‘No Richard, we have no need of your father,' she finally interrupted. ‘Our achievements have been our own doing, and they shall continue to be ours.' Ours? she thought. Mine. But she did not say it. Mary would never knowingly humiliate her husband. For all of his weaknesses, perhaps because of them, Mary still loved Richard Kendle.

‘But what of his threat to disinherit us?' Richard countered. ‘Both us and the children. You surely cannot ignore that.'

‘He would not dare, he cares too much for James and Phoebe.' Mary was a little uncertain, however. Would he dare? Thomas Kendall was tough. In fact, if he were not so pig-headed in his erroneous beliefs, she could admire his strength. Well, if Thomas was tough, so was she, Mary decided.

When Wolawara and his extended family, twenty in all, took over the adjoining land and built their huts down by the riverbanks, Mary watched them from her front balcony convinced that the old man was waiting for her outrage, for her to rant and rave like a fish wife and threaten him with the denial of his grandchildren. Well, she would not. She would do and say nothing. She would not give Thomas the satisfaction.

But, as the weeks passed, it became more and more difficult for Mary to remain silent. At night she watched the Aborigines gather around the campfire and listened to the men's corroborees; by day she watched the women, half naked, feeding their babies; and all the while she seethed at the fact that, through no fault of her own, she found herself, and her home and her family, neighbours to a tribe of natives. It was intolerable. But still she would not give in.

 

‘Gran'sun James!' Turumbah yelled up to James one sunny Saturday morning.

James was standing on the balcony, looking longingly at the Aboriginal camp. He and Phoebe had been ordered to keep well away from the camp, to have no contact with the natives and to invite no exchange from the children amongst the clan. The rule presented no hardship to Phoebe who was instinctively intimidated by the strangeness of the black people, but to James, normally an obedient boy, the sight of Turumbah was a constant temptation.

‘Gran'sun James! Come!' Turumbah stood directly below the big balcony of the grand house, ignoring his grandfather's orders not to intrude upon the Kendle property. He waved the hat as a symbol of his bond with James and held aloft a length of fishing twine. ‘Come! Catch him eel towsan this place!'

James's heart lurched painfully. The hat! Grimy, bedraggled, but still recognisable. If his mother were to see it now, she would know the truth of that day James had spent with his grandfather.

‘Turumbah,' he hissed, ‘ssshh.' He pressed a finger to his lips and gestured for the boy to hide in the bushes.

Assuming it was some kind of game, Turumbah did as he was told and crouched amongst the mangroves near the riverbanks, watching whilst James ran from the balcony to join him.

Downstairs, James checked that his mother was still out in the backyard with Peg and Timothy O'Shaugnessy, the Irish ticket-of-leave couple who served as housekeeper, gardener and general dogsbodies for free board and very little remuneration. Mary worked them mercilessly.

Phoebe, who was at her mother's side, sorting out the kerchiefs and undergarments destined for Peg's laundry tub, looked up and saw James at the back door. She was about to say something, but James shook his head. Phoebe watched silently as he crept towards the front door.

Once outside James sprinted down to the riverbank where, amongst the mangroves, Turumbah was waving the battered hat about in wild enthusiastic greeting.

‘Aah,' he said as James took it from him, ‘Turumbah hat go way.' He patted his head, crestfallen at his loss, but apparently accepting the fact that James was demanding a return of the precious gift.

‘No, it's yours, Turumbah.' James thrust the hat back into the boy's hands. ‘I gave it to you, it is a gift.' As Turumbah jumped about, once again waving the hat, James shushed him, finger to lips, and mimed hiding the offensive hat behind his back or stuffing it down the front of his baggy shorts. ‘But it is a secret. You must hide the hat, no-one must see it.'

It was an impossible instruction, and quite beyond the Aboriginal boy's comprehension. The hat was his badge of honour, a proof of great friendship, no other child in his clan owned such a hat. What was the point of hiding it?

James gave up. So long as he met his friend at the border of the two properties, down by the river amongst the mangroves, there was no reason to fear his parents might see the hat. Before long, a bond grew between the two and, delighting in the Aboriginal boy's uninhibited manner and infectious laughter, James soon found his barriers crumbling.

The day he stripped naked and swam amongst the mangroves
was a day of such joy and freedom that young James did not believe his actions could possibly be sinful. His toes trailed in the softness of the mud, and he felt the gentle suction of the tide as he eased himself along beside the riverbanks, the silken water caressing every inch of his body. Beneath the silent canopy of mangroves which protected him from prying eyes, he was at one with the river. The gnarled mangrove trunks formed a maze of mysterious tunnels waiting to be explored. Alone in a secret magic land, nakedness could surely not be sinful, in a secret magic land, surely normal rules did not apply.

As the weeks grew into months, emboldened by the strength of their friendship, Turumbah appeared to forget the boundaries which separated him from James. He had taught Gran'sun James how to catch the mud crabs which lived amongst the mangroves. His mother, Murrumuru, had shown him how they cooked the eels. Turumbah had even taught him how to paddle a canoe, laughing when James repeatedly capsized the light vessel. Turumbah was eleven years of age now; in less than one year he would be a young man, and young men were free to choose their friends. His grandfather, most respected of the elders, had himself welcomed Gran'sun James to the cooking fire. Why then should Turumbah hide such a friendship as if it were something that brought him shame?

It happened late one Sunday afternoon, when the family returned from a visit to their cousins on the Surry Hills.

Upon agreeing to the expedition, Mary had made it quite clear that Thomas was not to be present.

‘I have Matthew's assurances on that, Mary,' Richard had assured her for the third time, ‘although he honestly cannot fathom why you and Father—'

‘Then you must tell him to stop trying,' Mary had interrupted. ‘Neither he nor Emily will ever fathom the differences between your father and me.' She hadn't meant to snap, and with an apologetic smile, she explained as patiently as she could. ‘Both your brother and his wife have far too much of the wild streak in them to begin to comprehend what is proper, Richard.' Her husband had been about to defend his brother, but Mary had been in no mood for debate. ‘No matter, no matter, my dear. I agree that such differences should not in any way threaten the children's
relationship with their aunt and uncle and cousins. Inform Matthew that we shall be pleased to stay overnight. I shall look forward to shopping with Emily and Hannah, and James can help young William on the farm. I must say,' she had added with some pride, ‘William will be surprised at how fit and strong his cousin has become lately, James has grown sturdy over these past few months, quite the young man.'