Chapter I: Get Married

In the year 1874 I became John Allen's wife. What has turned out so evil seemed to me as good. I thought all well lost for love, for it is so. He arranged it all; I left it to him. We were married very quietly at St. Paul's Church in the morning. Not a soul was to know, and there would be no fuss, or anything out of the way, but just our two selves. How all comes back to me, as I think of those simple details. I thought how happy I should make him; how hard I would try to be a good wife to him, for I loved him so. In a week or so my husband went to London and I was to work till he came back, which I hoped would be only a year afterwards. But he stopped away for three years.

Long before John went to England new buildings had been put up for business purposes only, but the firm still found provisions for the assistants. I could have stopped on there, only there was no convenience for me to sleep, so I found a situation in a gentleman's house, where I could sleep at night. My mistress was Mrs. Arthur Blyth, of St. Margaret's, Childers-street, North Adelaide. She wanted a cook, and I applied. They were satisfied with my reference and I got the place. There was only Mr., Mrs., and Miss Blyth. It was a well-appointed home, and I had no washing to do or ironing. I was beginning to be a fairly good cook and they were pleased with me. I had a comfortable home.

I knew I had married into poverty and I resolved to get as much as I could before John came back. I could put up with anything, as I hoped to have my rightful place with my husband some day. Mr. Blyth was knighted and soon after that they went to England, where Sir Arthur was Agent-General. Again for me were the shifting sands.

Speedily I got another home with Mrs. Murray, whose husband was a member of the firm of D. & W. Murray's. Their house was at the corner of Wakefield and Hutt streets. I had a lot more to do there than I had at Mrs. Blyth's. I had all the washing and ironing to do. There was one other girl, a coachman, and myself. They kept a lot of company and they had only recently returned from London. Travel and voyages seemed to bring such a lot of visitors. It was a relief to be done. I used to get letters from my husband, but there was always delay after delay, and all this time I had not told anyone that I was John Allen's wife. Such was the beginning of my married life.

Does anyone love on purpose I wonder? I could not help doing so. It did not bring me happiness. It made the whole difference when I had to tell an admirer that I was a wife with no husband. Nothing could undo the past. After all, I am John Allen's wife. I had any amount of pity and blame, but cared for none of this, and I am now beyond caring.

But I must keep to that time. My brother was taken ill with rheumatism and he could not move. He had a furniture shop in Hindley-street. He had three little children, and, by the irony of fate, my sister-in-law met with an accident and was taken to the "hospital." I used to go from Hutt-street to Hindley-street, after attending a late dinner. There were no cars then in the streets and I had to walk. I would try to do something for those dear ones. And sometimes it would be nearly 11 o'clock before I could start back for Hutt-street. I may have many faults, but I am no coward. I could face what awaited me, but truly dismay would come if I saw a "group" of men or youths standing in the street on my way to Hutt-street. I would run past. Only once a man I tried to get pass stretched out his arms and caught me. He let me go as quickly. I felt I was able to take care of myself so long as I was not caught hold of. I felt lonely. I would sit and cry as if tears would do anything. I cried and cried. The firm at 38, Rundle-street had another shop in Hindley-street. Some changes were made and one of the firm went to the shop in Hindley-street. He was my employer before, and I learned that he wanted someone in the same capacity as in Rundle-street. I told Mrs. Murray my distress at having to come so far so late at night. She was very much put out. Still I think she realised my situation when I explained that I was going back to my late employer.

All things considered, I had cause to be thankful. My quarters were not at all uncomfortable, and there were some of the young people from 38 there to work and to live on the premises. Hutt-street was a more pleasing-looking place to live, but how I dreaded to walk down there in the night-time. When I see the cars now travelling to that part of the city those dark and lone way-marks all come back. I was glad when my sister-in-law got to her home again.

So the time went on. It certainly had a bright side, for I had more time, and could go and see my friends at favorable times and on the Sundays. The only drawback was some queer-looking old houses I had to pass at the back, as I came out and in, for I saw some vicious-looking people, which made me feel slightly nervous. I was often there all by myself on the holiday time; no one else being in the whole place. I have heard those people quarrelling at all hours of the night and making darkness horrible. There was only a small fence with a right-of-way to separate it from us. The shop was a drapery, clothing, and millinery establishment, and the proprietor of the shop was responsible for the rents of the old houses at the back. No one could have complained of the place as dull in the daytime. From early morning till closing time I was amused by some eventful excitement in what was taking place. The shop was opposite to what is now the Skating Rink, or Ice Palace. At that time there could be seen at the shop doors and on every available place the goods put out in rolls for show and they had price-tickets on. One Saturday afternoon I was looking out of the back window, when I saw a woman who lived in one of the old houses going into her house with a roll of tweed tartan over her shoulder and a ticket dangling loose to tell how much a yard it was. It being tea-time, I called some of the young men just in time to see it. They said it was taken from the front door. The police were sent for and her place was searched, and it was found she had enough stuff there to stock a shop.

All the things were brought into our place. There were rolls upon rolls of all sorts of materials, with 27 suits of boys' clothing, and so on. It turned out that there were the trade marks of many other shops on goods there as well, and each one came and got his own. The woman was taken to prison, and on the Monday morning the owners had each to go and identify his own goods. All the things were taken to the station. I had to go, too. I was summoned in the name of Macdonald. It was then that I told my employer that I was John Allen's wife. I could not give a name that I had no right to. There was no end of trouble about those goods, and the case being more than could be settled in the Police Court the matter went on to the Supreme Court, for trial. We had to go to the Supreme Court when the time came.

Day after day before John went to England, he told me of some relative of his who had married a second time in a very short interval. I only knew what he chose to tell me of this friend. I thought this friend was the cause of my husband staying away so long. I had a letter from him to say that he would like to bring this relative with him to Australia when he came back, and I was to send a telegram to say "Yes" or "No." I made enquiries about the cost of the telegram, and was told that, with the name and address, it would cost me over L6. The sending of telegrams was very new then. I would have said "No," I am quite sure. Although I would not wish to do an unkind action, behind this was my suffering. John knew my opinions on that subject, and calm reason could have told him I could not have acted differently.

Again and again would arise in my mind instances I knew of both at 38, Rundle-street, and elsewhere, of marriages like mine, which had been apparently happy, and where promises had been loyally kept, and both were blessed. The objectless course my life was taking did not make matters any better. Who was I that I could not do as others had done without sin? Then I had to accept the unpalatable advice all round that I should not have married. With one thing and another fresh difficulties for ever seemed cropping up with regard to my husband. Has this sort of thing ever been sufficient to satisfy a woman's heart I wonder? All the forces of evil were arrayed against me at that time.

Then he wrote and said that he was coming back, and I thought after what I had written to him that I had gained my point, and that he was returning to me. I had formed my own opinion of the man I had married, and I was impressed with the tone of his life when I first knew him. There was nothing foppish about John Allen. He was courteous toward women, and this contrasted well with the familiarity of some young men, whom we both knew. I wanted no unwarrantable interference between him and me. I knew I would do my best for him, but that if anything upset my confidence in him he would find my convictions were strong, and that strong they would remain, despite human affection, or soreness of heart. People do wise things and foolish things for the sake of love, which they would never think of doing at other times.

So I brightened up, and set about my work with a sense of duty. I was happy; yes, a really happy girl once more. I had allowed myself to believe that at last, after my many disappointments, my husband would really come. He did not positively give the name of the steamer by which he was coming, or when he would arrive. I felt a nameless uneasiness, for I had bought over the goodwill of a boarding-house in Pirie-street, and paid L50 for it. Several of the gentlemen already there remained on. My reason for choosing this home was that I felt so full of energy, that the thought of doing nothing, and being a helpless creature, was one that did not suit me. I hoped John would see everything in the same light. To me life in all its aspects was so real. I had no false pride. One can never foretell events, and sometimes all things seem possible. An any rate, it was my own money I used. I never troubled my husband for any support. Perhaps that could not be helped, but I do know that I had not a shilling in the world when John went away. I have no choice but to speak the truth, and I think he will forgive me for doing so after all I have gone through.

One day a business gentleman came to see if I could find room for a young clerk, who was coming to his warehouse in Rundle-street. He asked if I could have the room ready for that night, as the steamboat was hourly expected. When evening came I waited and watched for this young man. My anxiety made life a continual waiting for my husband. Day after day, and night after night, I thought of him. I can scarcely bear to think of that time. I felt that when he arrived he would go to some of his friends, who would tell him my address in Pirie-street. On that eventful night that the young man was to arrive I had gone to bed when a knock came to the door. I opened the door, thinking it was the man for whom the room had been made ready. In came my husband. He was but little changed. I thought him better looking.

I will say nothing about this mad love of mine. John went always straight to his point, whatever it was, and before he was in my room five minutes he told me that his relative had come. It was the one we had quarrelled about in our letters. I never quite knew what I said, but whatever the words were he understood them. I lost all control of myself. All my hopes were quenched in a moment, and the future seemed most terrible to me. I saw everything, and it was not as I hoped it would be. It never dawned on me that his feelings for me could be any different from my own for him.

A PARTING OF WAYS.

The next day I realised how great was the gulf which lay between us. I hated concealment. After a few very unhappy weeks there came the parting of our ways. John said it was all my fault. Truly opinions differ. He told me his love was only boy's love. I don't dispute that, but still it was love, and how was I to know that it would die right away. In vain I tried to keep on as if nothing was the matter. Any hope of being able to bear my burden in silence, in such a place as a boarding-house, was not to be thought of. The rumor spread. I was ill for a time, and suffered a good deal. I knew all joy in life was over for me. I was subject to all kinds of comments as to the real reason why my husband left home. When I got better I knew I would have to face life's duty again. I could not bear my trouble on the spot; I thought to escape from the scene where I had failed so. As my brother had supplied some of the furniture for a consideration, I got him and his wife to come into the house. I thought I would find pain more easily borne if I passed swiftly from place to place, and I advertised for a housekeeper's position. Beyond that, I had no plan just then, but I had a fixed purpose to leave Adelaide. Bitter as had been my experience, now that my husband had left me, perhaps for ever, I nerved myself to the struggle. I resented the blight, which was on me while I was in Adelaide and breathing the same air as they; I had a wish to be free. Something prevented me from giving up altogether, or I might have been led into the depths, and have clouded my life for ever; I loathed the very sight of evil.

I got a reply to my advertisement. It was a request to take charge as housekeeper at the Clarence Hotel in King William-street. I did not have far to go. I had commonsense enough to think that the excitement of hotel life would be a possible relief for my troubles. Still, I used to wend my way to the shipping company in the hope of getting a passage anywhere. I knew I could travel well by sea, and as stewardess--if such a post had been open--I would have gone without delay. The Clarence Hotel was a busy place then. Underground there were large dining-rooms, known as "The Shades," where hundreds came every day. There were very few places for that purpose in the city then. What is now the Tivoli Theatre, was then only "White's" Rooms. The proprietor of the hotel had charge of those "shades," or dining-rooms, which were for the public. I did not have any work to do there, but had only to see that it was carefully managed. I had to deal with the tradespeople and to give out the stores. I was employed there because the landlady was ill. There was no family, except a little adopted girl. There was, however, plenty to do, and existence had to be struggled for. It did seem a rush to get all that was wanted for so many. There were both men and women cooks, and men and women waitresses, with other employes about. Apart from the "Shades" downstairs, we had both public and private dining-rooms upstairs. I saw to the letting of the rooms, and also attended the people who hired the apartments there. For the most part they were either musical or theatrical people.

I can well remember Nellie Stewart's father engaging rooms for himself and his two daughters. After all those bygone years I saw Nellie Stewart the other day looking so young. Maggie Moore was staying there, too. She was Mrs. Williamson then. There was plenty of delight and excitement everywhere, and no restrictions were placed on my movements. I came in contact with and was on speaking terms with many congenial people, and was removed from the miserable sufferings which had made up my life just previously. But all the amusements, to which I had a free "entree," could not make up for the human fellowship which was snatched from me.

My courage would sink when I saw my husband and his friend coming along from the Post-Office in King William-street. They would be laughing and looking so gay. Then my mind would go back to the time, unspoiled by pain, which he and I had together. Surely when I married John S. O. Allen it never occurred to me that it would be a union with one who would in no way help me onward. He devoted himself to his relative, but this did not lessen the pain that such a factor should have come to another person's houses and sow discord. If I had found out in time I would not have been in South Australia when they came. I was deprived of all now, when I wanted companionship most; and from his point of view everything I did was simply detestable. I could do nothing to please him. He would tell me so with a sneer. My future was all a blank. I learned from a conversation between my master and mistress that they would like to sell over the goodwill of the Clarence Hotel. There was again the inevitable. I did not mind much, because I was brought up in the midst of real privations, such as affected myself only. But I could not ignore the scandal or forget that the world might imagine that I had been very busy weaving nets, and that I had caught myself in them, as was sometimes told me. It was no easy matter to go out and in, and to hear and see so much humiliation. I remained at the Clarence till my employer sold the business.

I was sorry, for it was peopled with kindly human beings, whom I knew well and could mix with, even to the maids. When I went there first, as they told me afterwards, they had made up their minds not to like me. As I was the first housekeeper to take charge over them they looked on my coming with annoyance, but, anyhow, I felt confident that I would do what was right for all, and I had, in various ways, seen to their comfort, both in regard to their meals and their bedrooms. I was grateful to those waiting men and maids when I saw how pleased they were to help me in any emergency. The lady, when well, was very fond of going out. I could not object to that, although I had no time for much outing, but I had to go. I went everywhere with her. They had a private house at Norwood. A man and wife lived there as caretakers, and all the hotel washing was done there. I was always glad to go there, the garden being a consideration. We drove about, too, wherever the lady wished. I never before had such times. What with the theatre, and one thing and another no one would think that I was a discarded wife. I had tried hard not to be crushed, and faced my loss, only there was the discontent left, and, so far, all effort to forget was of no use at all.

At last the valuation of the hotel was set about and the people who came in did not require a housekeeper. My employers went to their house at Norwood. I knew it would take all my courage to endure what was before me, with no scrap of human kindness to help me. My only desire was to find some hiding-place, where I would not hear the ceaseless "Poor Mrs. Allen" spoken, as I heard it that day. Forlorn in spirit, I went to Port Adelaide. A lady and gentleman whom I knew had taken the management of a new club there. I thought if I could get a place till I could find a ship that would take me away, I would be glad to do anything till then. Life seemed no worse than at other times. I did not sit down and pity myself. It was others with their pity that I did not want. My early experience gave me the possibility of bearing real pressure, and I knew what it was to be homeless. I am telling my story in my own way.

I went with the people I mentioned. They were kindness itself. They were only newly married and did not understand housekeeping. I worked henceforward with but one object in view, though it was long before I realised it. At last the opportunity came to go as stewardess on a sailing vessel. I would have liked better if I could have had the chance to go on a steamboat. The ship I went in was the South Australian and she was under the command of Captain Bruce.

I remembered who I was, and what I was, and why I was on board that ship. It was a conundrum. I was not on pleasure bent and did not know where I was going. The ship looked as if bound on an excursion, Captain Bruce being a favorite with those who went sea voyages. He had on board his wife and baby daughter, and a maid. The doctor was also a married man and was accompanied by his wife, a little baby, and a maid also. Such a number of people whom I knew were on board. All on one side of the "saloon" was occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Goode and their family. Amongst the other pleasing people on board were the Rev. Charles Clark. He went as far as South Africa. Mr. R. S. Smythe was a traveller, too. It was January 8 when they started and a fine morning, but when a strong wind and a rough sea caught the sails I had plenty to do.