These Few Lines Read online

  Myra, not for the first and far from the last time, broaches her bewilderment at William’s tardiness in writing. Bone’s wife had received two letters from her husband, who accompanied William on the long voyage to oblivion:

  i have been very uneasy sinse you did not rite my childen cried When we got no letter Mrs Bone has got two leters sinse i got one will you please to rite to me and send me wird how you are getting on i have bilt myself up thinking i shall get to you some time or another …

  There is news of Myra’s mother, who has not been well, and of the Judas, Woodhouse, who Myra hears

  has been for giving himself up severl times when he has been in drink i hope he will.

  He never did.

  Myra and the children are missing William sorely:

  we have wished scores of time you was comeing in to the house we should syuse [squeeze] you to deth …

  Kindly, William’s brother Joshua has invited Myra to his family home. No such invitation seems to have been extended from other members of William’s family:

  Joshua Sykes has sent word for me to go to their house but i have not had time to go

  Again, Myra beseeches William to write:

  you must not delay riteing if you can it will ease my mind if you can …

  Then,

  if it ever lays in your power to send for us when you get abroad i would freely sell all up to come to you if i possibly could …

  Finally, the children send their love to their vanished father:

  Dear farther do pleas to writ to is i Sends one 100 kiss for you thirza Sykes …

  a kiss will xxxxx

  Ann Sykes sends Dear xxxxx

  father i send a 100 kiss for you

  Alfred sens kiss kinds

  Love to you

  News of William’s impending departure to Australia must have broken about the time Myra wrote this letter. It crossed one, now lost, from William. In his letter, which was sent via Charles Hargreaves and sister Elizabeth at Park Gate, William gave vent to a rare expression of emotion, calling his children ‘the strings of my heart’.

  Myra wrote straight back to William upon receiving the news, only four days after her previous correspondence. By the spelling and general expression, this letter seems to have been written on Myra’s behalf, probably by Charles Hargreaves again, perhaps by another man’s hand. Despite this, Myra’s distress comes through clearly. She wants to travel to Portsmouth to see William but cannot afford the expensive journey:

  I do not see how I could possibly undertake the journey this week, being without money

  Myra needed all the money she had to pay the rent. But she still held out the hope that she may yet manage the trip, despite her various difficulties:

  I will come if I come alone for none of them say anything about coming them-selves, or assisting me to do so either

  Later in the letter, after sympathising with William’s incarceration while the betrayer Woodhouse walks free,6 Myra returns to the deep tensions between the families and, perhaps, to another matter that has come between her and her husband:

  I feel greatly hurt that you should send your letters to you Brothers & Sisters before me – for although we are separated there is no one I value and regard equal to you – and I should like you to still have the same feeling towards me

  Myra then repeats a constant theme of her early correspondence, a hope that would burn throughout the long, dark years of separation:

  if there is ever a chance of our being permitted to join you again even though it be in a far off land, both the children and myself will most gladly do so

  Then Myra asks if, like Bone, his co-convicted, William wishes to have pictures of the children made to take with him into exile.

  Will you let me know?

  It seems that he never did.

  Myra finishes with sentiments that would become the perpetual conclusions of her small, scribbled notes to William:

  I cannot give you up. I live in the hope of our being together again somewhere before we end our days

  At around the same time, possibly accompanying Myra’s letter, William was also honoured with a letter from Charles Hargreaves. Married to William’s sister, Elizabeth, in 1845, Hargreaves was originally a blacksmith at Wingfield St, Greasbrough, but now lived in Park Gate, a well-to-do section of Rotherham. Hargreaves, probably a Unitarian, was clearly not prepared to advance Myra the money she needed to visit William in Portsmouth Prison. But he was not stinting with moral advice. He penned a wordy and severe homily to William, reminding him of his sins and the need for redemption:

  William, my advice to you is that you obey all that are in authority over you and Let your conduct be good and try to gain that which you have lost i mean your character. Let me beg of you to pray to our heavenly father and his son Jesus Christ to give you a clean heart and right spirit within and then all your troubles and anxieties of this world will be small when compared with the Joy and happyness of that bright world above …

  With all the earnestness and sternness of a lay preacher, Hargreaves continued for another few paragraphs in like vein, with well-meaning advice regarding the proper state of William’s soul and urging him to seek

  the salvation of the Gospel, which reveals God to us which makes us acquainted with his nature, his attributes his character, his government and which especially unfolds to us that scheme of mercy in which he had most clearly manifested his glory …

  Hargreaves then chooses to remind William Sykes of a section of the Gospel that could hardly have been of comfort to a man about to be split asunder from home, country and family for the rest of his life:

  William … when they was leading Jesus to the cross and there followed a great company of people which also bewailed and lamented him but Jesus turning unto them said Daughters of Jerusalem weep not for me but for yourselves

  Seizing on a remark in William’s previous letter, which Myra had obviously shared with him, Hargreaves then seeks to generate some emotional capital from his knowledge of William’s love for his children:

  i believe you said your children was the strings of your heart now i say let Christ be the strings of your heart

  He concludes this earnest epistle – written on a page of cash-book paper – with some family news that once again demonstrates the divisions between Myra and William’s relations:

  Dear William your brother John would give your little boy a good school education but your Dear Wife cannot find time to send him to school

  And with that sting in the tail, Charles Hargreaves of the lower case personal pronoun blessed William:

  i conclude with the blessing of God almighty the father son and the holy ghost may remain with you both now and forever amen

  Reading between these lines it seems likely that William’s family had decided it would be best for everyone if they all made a clean break. This may explain their reluctance to visit him in Portsmouth. ‘You have to be cruel to be kind’, as at least one or two of the relations would have undoubtedly recalled. There is also a strong suggestion that William’s older brother, John, and perhaps one or more of his other siblings, had done quite well in life and were perhaps not prepared to be seen visiting relatives in goal.

  Not surprisingly, Myra did not see things this way and resented what she interpreted as their cold-heartedness, no doubt reinforced by William’s habit of sending letters to her through his family. The relationship between Myra and William’s family would be a continuing and uncomfortable subtext through their long and difficult correspondence.

  William Sykes also seems to have had at least a degree of respect for Hargreaves. Instead of putting Myra as next of kin in the Portsmouth Prison register, he named Charles Hargreaves. Whether this was an attempt to sever his ties with Myra and assert those of his family is impossible to know, but what is known is that he did make other efforts to erase documentary traces of Myra. When he arrived at Fremantle Prison after a long voyage he would claim that he had no wife at all.


  Myra’s next surviving letter to William was written on 8 April 1867. In it she fusses over the various articles of food, clothing and other necessities she has painstakingly and at considerable expense gathered together for his long journey. She also repeats her plaintive reminder:

  If you have the chance to earn any mone in Australia you must save it all up and i will do the same, that if there is a chance of our rejoining you we may be able to do so.

  Myra’s simple hope for reunion was not as forlorn as it might seem. Upon successfully petitioning the Colonial Office it was now possible for wives and children to obtain an assisted, perhaps even a free passage, from England to the Swan in order to rejoin their husbands. Whether Myra was aware of this, we cannot say. It seems unlikely that she was, judging by the tone of this and her other letters and her misinformation about tickets of leave given in her evidence at the second trial. Although the relevant Colonial Office files for the most likely period of petitioning are available and include a number of successful requests from wives of convicts to be reunited in Western Australia, there is no official record of such an approach from Myra or of anyone on her behalf.7 But the hope of being once again together with William never left her. Nor did it leave at least one of Myra and William’s children through the long years of growing up without a father.

  William and Myra Sykes were now at the beginning of a new reality in their lives. The long years of separation, tears and intermittent communication commenced with William’s farewell to England on a sea voyage that would deposit him and more than 250 other transports on the harsh shores of Western Australia’s Swan River.

  7 Aboard the Norwood

  We desire to elevate the moral sentiments, and arouse the intellectual faculties of those amongst whom we circulate.

  William Irwin, Religious Instructor, in Norwoodiana, or Sayings and Doings On Route to Western Australia, Number 1, week ending 27 April 1867

  Dr Saunders, Staff Surgeon, Royal Navy was a firm but fair man. He signed aboard as Surgeon Superintendent, victualler and general overseer of the government’s interests on a hired ship, the 13-year-old Norwood, early in March 1867. The surgeon’s duties upon the 785 ton, Sunderland-built vessel captained by Master Frank Bristow were varied. As well as the health of the crew, convicts, guards, passengers and their families, he was charged with supplying food and drink and with disciplining any infractions of the regulations, of which there were many.

  Saunders’s log1 of the voyage that transported 254 convicts – among them William Sykes, Bone, Bentcliffe and Teale – to the far ends of the earth began with a comprehensive set of rules for prisoners. Quietness and orderliness were virtues; improper language and talking to crew or guards were vices. Other directives covered responsibilities for cleanliness, fairness of mess provisioning, airing of bedding and general behaviour. This initial list of rules ended: ‘The Men are cautioned, that a faithful account of all their good and bad qualities will be rendered to the Governor of the Colony on landing, foundered [sic] entirely on their behaviour on board ship.’

  Then Saunders continued with 27 punishable offences, ranging from ‘want of cleanliness of prison or mess’ to ‘giving false alarm of fire’. In between came warnings against ‘standing up on bulwarks or going aloft without my permission’, making false accusations, spreading discontent about rations, using threatening language and smoking tobacco.

  A number of convicts and their guards were to be the object of Saunders’s displeasure, which usually meant spending time in leg irons in ‘the Box’, usually for up to a month after their release from solitary confinement, or at least as solitary as it was possible to be on a small sailing ship packed with over 300 people. Despite these severe punishments, Saunders was not above admitting any mistakes he made. In the case of one convict, ironed and confined for stealing food, the surgeon was reliably informed by a number of other convicts and guards that the man was innocent. Saunders had him released from the Box, though kept him in leg irons for the full month of the original punishment.

  Having efficiently – on paper at least – regulated the transportees, Saunders proceeded to do the same for their guards, who were to rise at 6 am (their wives half an hour later), breakfast at 7.30 and carry out their various duties and chores until 9 pm. By this time, ‘their wives and children must be in bed for the night and one light only to be kept in the barracks’. Sometimes, if not more frequently, the gaolers must have wondered if they were not as much prisoners as those they watched over. Certainly the number of charges of insolence and threatening behaviour against a number of them suggests that they were far from a happy company of men.

  Then there was the daily routine Saunders devised for the whole of the more than 370 souls at his command – 254 convicts, the guard of 30, their 30 wives and 18 children, four warders on their way to duties at Fremantle’s grim limestone gaol, two cabin passengers and the religious instructor, Mr Irwin. The three cooks were to be allowed on deck at 5.15 am. Everyone else was to be up at 5.30 or ‘as soon as daylight’. At 6 am they were to begin washing themselves. Such were the numbers involved that this had to be done in divisions, just as with everything else, from eating to exercising. After 8 o’clock breakfast Saunders inspected the sick and had the prison deck cleaned, which was inspected at 9.30; prayers followed. The children went to school in the morning, breaking at 11.30, at which time lime juice was issued all around. ‘Dinner’ was at noon, followed by an issue of wine and a return to school for the youngsters. At 3.45 the messmen were to muster on deck to receive their group’s allotment of salt meat for the following day. Supper was at 5, followed in half an hour by preparations for the night’s sleep. There were more prayers at 8, then rounds and, presumably, lights out at 9. Wednesday and Thursday were washing mornings. School was out on Saturday, though library books were exchanged. All men were expected to shave on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Saunders even supervised the effective padlocking of the few water closets, a cause of considerable friction aboard the ship as diarrhoea was a constant complaint of passengers, guards and convicts.

  This draconian regime was designed to be fair and to allow all concerned to withstand the hazardous three-month voyage to the Swan River Colony. It was already well established by 2 April 1867, when William Sykes and over 50 other convicts were shipped aboard the Norwood from Portsmouth Prison. As well as quickly being acquainted with Surgeon Saunders’s carefully devised rules and regulations, the Portsmouth group found that there were already many transports aboard. Some, including John Teale and Henry Bone, had been picked up at Chatham on 28 March. From Portsmouth the Norwood proceeded to Portland, where she picked up further human cargo of unwilling emigrants, including the fourth of the transported poachers, John Bentcliffe.

  It is likely that the conditions aboard ship were preferable to those in gaol ashore. Before Saunders would accept convicts aboard he visited their shoreside prisons to ascertain their state of health. His descriptions of Portsmouth refer to problems with diarrhoea and respiratory infections, probably the result of damp, draughts and poor diet. When the convicts were transferred aboard ship, they were at least assured of a regular medical inspection and a reasonable, if monotonous, diet. Saunders’s log faithfully, even fussily, records the allowances of wine, lime and lemon juice, port, meat and arrowroot (to aid digestion) regularly doled out to prisoners and guards. Before leaving England he was supplied with poor quality meat by the contractor. He complained and even refused to accept at least one large delivery, returning it with a sharp note of complaint.

  Just as Saunders was not willing to be put upon by government contractors, nor was he going to brook any infractions of his numerous rules. On 12 April, at 9.30 pm, past the time set down for slumber, he recorded in his log:

  Slight disturbance in Prison, singing and fife playing – Accompanied by Mr Irwin and Warders, entered the Prison and addressed a few words to them with reference to their conduct, after which all again became quiet.

  Brisk,
firm and efficient was the way Dr Saunders went about his work. His government paymasters were well served by his approach to his duties, as were those in his charge. On the evidence of his log, the doctor was a conscientious and, on the evidence of the voyage itself, an effective carer. Apart from prescribing arrowroot, though, there was little he could do about the first problem that was to plague William Sykes and his companions.

  The Norwood heaved up her anchor early on the evening of 18 April. By 5.30 she was under sail, bound for warmer but harder climes. All aboard were granted extra time above decks, ‘permitting a long last lingering look at the rugged coast of Old England’, as Mr Irwin would later record. That night, many of the convicts, the guards and their families were introduced to the delights of a nineteenth century sea voyage. Almost everyone was seasick. Saunders noted this in his professional manner. In his tersely-worded diary, William Sykes simply scrawled:

  Sailed from Portland the 18

  head wind ruff night

  It was to be the first of many such nights and days. Saunders frequently writes of the disabled condition of the non-sailors aboard due to seasickness caused by inclement weather. Occasionally, the ship seems to have been rolling so much – ‘very strong sea rowling’, as William described one such occasion – that the handwriting in Saunders’s log becomes illegible. He went through considerable quantities of arrowroot during the voyage.

  While the convicts were allowed a small number of personal items, most of them would not have had anything to help them with seasickness. William’s own kit consisted of the box of ‘Articals’ Myra had sent him, together with a few items of clothing: