Existence is a strange thing

Manifest: Woodbridge, 1843

London, England : On the 3rd January 1843, my great great grandmother Sarah Harris “went into Swan and Edgar in Regent's Street, and purchased some black satin and a pair of kid gloves. During an hour-long charade, she also managed to secrete about her person 300 yards of lace…”

I found this fragment on Ancestry.com. The court records, excavated by my cousin Eric, said she was convicted of stealing ‘a bolt of fabric’, which sounds even more audacious. And that she did so to feed her children.

Eric also found a letter from the local Parish pleading for clemency, because her drunken husband didn’t and wouldn’t care for her children, one of whom was crippled, and she didn’t know what would become of them if she was transported across the world to Australia and they were left behind.

But she was transported anyway.

In Lutruwita (Van Dieman’s Land/Tasmania) Sarah met fellow convict Arthur Blackmore, and had another baby. A month after Arthur II was born, she and the first Arthur (presumably the father), were married.

Arthur had recently been given his Ticket of Leave, having been transported for stealing a handkerchief.

It was his second conviction for the same crime. Apparently hankies were popular targets because easy to sell for cash.

I wrote a letter to my friend and on the way I dropped it…

The ship’s manifest describes him as having multiple tattoos, and his trade as ‘wheelwright’.

It’s a strange thing to think that if it had been a kinder system, these two would not have had to steal, would not have had such a severe punishment and ended up across the world in a contested land, would not have met, or had children, and I wouldn’t exist.

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This poem was published in the latest issue of Cordite - with the theme ‘Remember’ - along with a host of amazing writers, and edited by Anne-Marie Te Whiu and Micaela Sahhar. You can read their moving and very topical editorial here, and browse the whole issue here. (Scroll down to see the grid with the links to the poems.)

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I thought from the records that Sarah had been transported without her children, and imagined they must have ended in the Poor House, perhaps even died. But a quick google tonight while writing this post reveals a few more bits recently added to the record.

It seems her children, aged 3, 5 and 7, were admitted to the ‘Queens Orphan School’ in Tasmania after she arrived. And a four month old baby died on the voyage out.

(History is an ever-moving thing.)

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Up until Eric delved into the online records during the covid pandemic, I’d always believed we had Scottish roots on both sides. And then I started to wonder if my very stitched-up Grandma Beattie, so proud of her Scottish heritage, knew how her paternal grandparents came to be in Tasmania. Eric thought not, and that she would have been horrified.

But I think of course she knew. And of course she would have known they were Cockney not Scottish by their accents if nothing else. But she chose which bits of her history to keep and which to pretend never happened.

Looking back, I realise now that she never ever mentioned her father, only her beloved mother, ‘Little Grandma’.

And from some of the records Eric dug up about her father, Arthur II, I can understand why. (But that’s another story.)

Shame is a deep thing, and can have long shadowy effects in a family, and in a country.

Little Grandma and Arthur Blackmore the 2nd.

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What will our descendants think looking back at this moment in history? What questions will they ask about what we knew, and didn’t know, and didn’t want to know?

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cartoon by Fiona Katauskas

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Here’s a really good website about the BDS - Boycott Divest Sanction - which is one thing we can all do to support Palestine and those working to create change. Sanctions were hugely important in the ending of Apartheid in South Africa, and are one of many necessary steps now. This group has worked out which companies are most complicit and hence the most strategic to target. So please do check it out, and share it around.

And here’s a fantastic fundraiser organised by Authors and Artists for Palestine — heaps of writers, agents, and artists have donated goods and mentoring sessions for an auction to raise money to go to Medecins Sans Frontieres, UNRWA, Olive Kids and Palestine Children’s Relief Fund. You can bid on items until Wednesday 14th May 5pm AEST (Australia Sydney-Melb time) - so check it out and get bidding.

I’ve got a couple of items up, and if you want a copy of any of my books, let me know before the auction ends which book and how much you’d like to pay for a signed copy, and and I’ll donate the proceeds. Or you can bid on the one that’s there.

And I’m also offering an ask me anything mentoring session by zoom. We can discuss writing goals and what might be holding you back. Or any aspect of writing, publishing, performing and submitting work, or using social media and substack with more ease.

But there are heaps of fantastic writer offerings here - so do check it out. Or you can just donate. (And the 1 d 17h 33 m is when I took the screen shot at 11pm Monday, so remember it ends 5pm Wednesday AEST.)

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Thank you, as always, for reading, sharing, commenting, writing, caring, connecting, and being you. So many strange and amazing forces and choices by so many people, and here: a human life. A community. A moment in time.
May you have everything you need to make the most of it.
May we never forget those whose lives were considered to be of so little worth.
xxxxbeth

Thanks to everyone who shares or recommends
this Substack to others - hugely appreciated.