We headed off to Nubeena once more, determined to take advantage of our proximity to Parson's Bay Retreat while we could. We both ordered scrambled eggs with bacon and mushrooms which was served on toasted and buttered Turkish bread. It was very nice though perhaps not as imaginative as some of the dishes from the night before. Mr Smart had another too hot coffee with his and I had my very favourite fresh-squeezed juice, carrot, apple and ginger.My juice it seems, prompted a slight row in the kitchen between Rachel and one of the chefs. Apparently she used his carrots instead of the special juicing carrots. We enjoyed our breakfast in leisurely fashion and managed to get Part 2 of Tuesday's blog finished and posted. Then we set off for the Port Arthur Historic Site.
On arrival at Port Arthur we were issued with our lanyards for the day, something they do to keep track of authorised visitors and two playing cards, four of hearts for me and ten of clubs for Mr Smart, but more on that later. We started our visit with an introductory walking tour with one of the historic guides, Mark. It was very interesting and we hung back a little after the tour so that Mr Smart could ask "So did anyone ever escape?". It seems to have been Mark's special subject as we got a fair few extra stories on convict escapes which was great fun. My favourite was the group of eight 'trusted' convicts who were responsible for picking the Commandant up from his personal dock and rowing him about the settlement and surrounding islands. One day they just rowed away without him!
After our introductory tour we headed up to Civil Officer's Row. This is the free man housing for people like the local Magistrate, Surgeon, Chaplain, Accountant and Parson. It's quite the upper crust for the time period. The lovely building below was The Parsonage. It was built around 1842 as a two story home for the Reverend Edward Durham and his family. The Reverend George Eastman took over in 1855 and ended up dieing in an upstairs room of the house in 1870.
We learned on the ghost tour last night that this is one of the more haunted houses in Port Arthur. The Reverend George Eastman himself is said to haunt it. Though the upstairs level of the house was lost to bushfire in 1895, people still claim to hear him stomping about upstairs. There is also some conjecture that the deceased infant of the mysterious 'Lady in Blue' believed to be the Accountant's wife, is buried under the hearth in sitting room. We're told she is also a frequent ghostly visitor the house.
All of Civil Officer's Row is quite high up on the hill overlooking the convict areas below, with the enormous church of course, looming over on the top of the highest hill in the settlement. It was quite imposing and I imagine the convicts must have felt dominated and oppressed by it in the day. The roof and interior of the church were lost to fire in 1884 so it now has this fabulous carpet of daisyed lawn.
You can no longer walk up to the top of the tower in the church but there was one little girl who was quite miffed at this. About four or five in a pink t-shirt, followed by a harried grandfather, she was very curious about this place. "Why is there a castle here grandad?" "It's a church sweetheart, not a castle". "No, it's a castle, the princess must live up there." Very cute. We saw them several times today and the grandad was always chasing along behind her. Ah the exuberance of little ones.
We had thought about nipping out to Parson's Bay Retreat again for lunch but it looked like time would get away from us so we each had a nut snack pack to tide us over (half a dried peach, two brazil nuts, two pecan halves, two hazelnuts and four almonds) while we headed down to the marina to catch our harbour tour.
We were almost there when we passed a very quiet place with a stone dated 28th April 1996. This might not mean anything to you immediately, but you probably remember news of the Port Arthur Massacre. We entered the memorial garden and passed some time in silence. It is a calm space with gardens, a water pool and the emptied remains of the Broad Arrow Cafe. There is a plaque with the names of the 35 people who lost their lives that die at the hands of Martin Bryant.
Mr Smart and I moved separately through the space and I wasn't sure what to say, if anything. He seems to get very contemplative in places such as this and for a little while afterwards we barely spoke. He seems to feel loss, including the loss experienced by others, very keenly and very deeply. Rightly or wrongly, I seemed to be less affected by the place. I did however feel quite moved at the words carved into the memorial pool:
May we who come to this garden cherish life for the sake of those who died.
Cherish compassion for the sake of those who gave aid.
Cherish peace for the sake of those in pain.
We got to the marina with a few minutes to spare so we sat and waited to board the Marana for our harbour tour and Isle of the Dead tour. The Isle of the Dead is a very small island which is the final resting place of about 1100 Port Arthur residents, high born and low. Most of the graves are unmarked which was the intention, to further separate the convicts from their betters.
Our trip out to the island was uneventful and filled with historical commentary that while interesting, seemed rather a bore for the girl delivering it. Why they don't just tape her doing it I can't tell as she clearly had to deliver exactly the same commentary each time the boat set out. We alighted at the island with our Isle of the Dead tour guide Caitlin.
You couldn't have asked for a better tour guide for what can potentially be a little bit of a squeamish topic. She was bright, obviously interested in her subject matter, and took great pleasure at bringing these souls back to life. I won't try to tell you every story she told us but one or two did stand out.
The first was the matter of a convict who unusually came from a very wealthy background. He was transported for life for stealing his father's pocket watch. His father turned him into the authorities knowing full well what the penalty was going to be. Even remembering that we are talking about a very different day and age, it boggles my mind that a parent could be so callous as to condemn their child to hell for the sake of a trinket. Surely even if he was a disciplinary nightmare there are better ways to deal with such a thing? Hire some thugs to beat him up instead perhaps?
The second story I remember better as it was my favourite for the tour. The headstone begins, To Memory of Ann. Wife of Michael Gibbons. 21.st Royal. N.B. Fusiliers. They know that she died in childbirth and as a mere soldier's wife, was a woman of a lowly station. In those days the usual practice was to let the infant die along with the mother, it was considered 'kinder' as no other in her class would be able to take on an extra mouth.
Here into the story enters the indomitable Charlotte Lempriere, wife of the Commissariat. The women of Port Arthur, relatively few and surrounded by big violent men, could not afford to hold to the social classifications of England. They could not afford to keep themselves separated by class as they more than anyone else needed solidarity for sanity and safety. It would not have been proper by any English standard for Charlotte to nurse the infant of a soldier but that's exactly what she did.
She marched into the room where Ann Gibbons had died and shooed all the menfolk out, outraged that they would consider leaving the baby to die. Having recently had a child of her own she still had milk so she took the infant and with the help of two other wet nurses, suckled the baby herself. The descendants of that infant have visited the Isle of the Dead themselves and have been able to hear that story thanks to her spirit and generosity.
Our forty minutes on the island seemed to pass in an instant and soon we were back on the boat and headed back into Port Arthur.
Once we were back at the main historic site we headed over to the
Commandants house and the various buildings occupied by the law and
order of the time. We found our way to the top of the hill behind the
military officer's quarters and discovered the old semaphore signals.On our introductory walking tour, Mark had mentioned these. By signalling numbers related to specific messages using a series of these towers on hilltops a message could be sent to the land bridge at Eaglehawk Neck within 5 minutes warning of an escaped convict or myriad other things. Within 15 minutes they could get a message to Hobart and back! Not bad considering we were getting no mobile reception.
We went from here across to the cottage of William Smith O'Brien, an Irish Separatist, then down a hill and across a little bridge toward the Separate Prison. We paused on the bridge when a heron flew out of the creek and onto a nearby rock. We suspect we disturbed him trying to find an adequate spot to indulge in the school of tiny fish we spotted just by the bridge.
After that brief interlude of nature it was back into history and on to the Separate Prison. If there was ever a horrific place, this was it. What do you do if people misbehave in a prison colony? You put them in an even worse place. Each man was designated a number and made to wear a mask and live in silence. The guards too lived in silence and wore masks to add to the isolation of the experience, but of course they got to go home at some point. The corridors were covered in reeded mats and the guards wore felt over their shoes to dampen their footfalls.
The most horrific aspect of the Separate Prison I think, comes in the form of 'The Punishment Cell'. This is what you do with prisoners who misbehave even after being isolated from the main convict population and stripped of all identity. It's a tiny cell, maybe five foot square, behind three foot thick walls, a corner and four doors to shut out any light.
Mr Smart and I entered the cell and shut only the last door. It was already pitch black and silent. They could be locked up like that, devoid of all sensory input for up to thirty days and nights. Can you imagine?
Our final site for the day was the Port Arthur prison itself. The normal housing for run-of-the-mill convicts. It is now a ruin, bush fire affected like so many of the historic buildings but it was interesting nevertheless. And now, with most buildings thoroughly investigated, feet tired and tummies grumbling, we headed back to the visitor information centre to investigate our playing cards.
Each playing card issued, identified with a particular convict and their story. I had the four of hearts and Mr Smart, the ten of clubs.
I was Thomas Fleet, age 33, a groomsman from Cheshire. I was transported for life in August 1827 for horse stealing and I was sent to Port Arthur for stealing a watch and other articles from a house. I suffered a rather ignominious end, hanged in October 1832 for attacking my overseer with an axe.Mr Smart was John Thomas, age 39, a labourer and sailor from Liverpool (which got him rather excited because he was wearing his Liverpool FC top today). He was transported for seven years in October 1829 for stealing a tablecloth and spoons and he was sent to Port Arthur for escaping and attempting to stow away on a boat bound back for England. After escaping again, he was sent to Norfolk Island for life but his eventual fate is unknown.
It was about 5pm by the time we set off from Port Arthur and not having had any lunch we were famished. We hot-footed it back to Nubeena for one last meal at Parson's Bay Retreat. Across the country road, liberally sprinkled with gravel by Tassies finest 'road quality technicians'. An interesting technique they apply, tar the patch of road, sprinkle loose gravel on it then just leave it there to be pressed in by vehicles who simultaneously have the pleasure of a thousand tiny paint chips. There's no accounting for sense sometimes.
We were all set to have Wallaburgers again but wouldn't you know it, the devils had put up new specials to tempt us! We started with a shared entree, a salad of pan-fried squid, Cannellini beans, chorizo, red onion, lettuce and capsicum with an olive oil and lemon dressing. The squid was tender and went well with all the other flavours.
For mains we ordered a slow-roasted pork belly with potato rosti, cabbage and peaches. The pork belly top was crispy and the meat tender and juicy. The cabbage was just cooked and still green and flavourful. The rosti was a little soggy in the juice but was enjoyable all the same and the peaches were beautiful and sweet with the pork. The other main was off their normal menu and was a creamy potato-topped fish pie which included a few prawns as well. Not as creative perhaps, but substantial and yummy. We shared both mains half and half.
Once more, I couldn't go past dessert. They hooked me. Who would ever think of putting cucumber in a dessert!? It was a meringue with slivered almonds baked into it's top, topped with vanilla cream and fresh Tasmanian grown strawberries surrounded by a salsa of mint-infused sugar syrup, mint leaves and finely diced cucumber. Seemingly simple but utterly delicious. I also had a refreshing Schweppes Lime, Lemon & Bitters during the meal.
All too soon, with the sun just beginning to set, it was time to bid a final farewell to Rachel and her fabulous food. We thanked her somewhat profusely and set off for Hobart. As it was beginning to move into dusk, Mr Smart was on full wildlife watch alert though I believe his attention wandered somewhat as we passed over Eaglehawk Neck. A stunned "wow" escaped his lips as we passed the sun setting on the bay, low tide exposing much of the sandy beach on each side of the land bridge.
Despite Hobart's highway system doing it's best to confuse the hell out of us, we managed to catch the right exit and arrived at Orana House in Lindisfarne at about 8pm. Despite our late arrival, a friendly young blonde girl introduced herself as Lada and showed us around. Where our room was and what was in it, what the wifi password was and where the lounge and breakfast rooms were. It was a lovely welcome and made quite a difference compared to the indifference of our host the night before.
Mr Smart had quite a lot of trouble getting adequate signal for his internet. I didn't have any big problems, it was a little slow but nothing I couldn't out wait, but then I wasn't trying to stream a football match. Mr Smart of course, was trying to get the Liverpool v Spurs match. While he was wrestling with internet speeds I went to have a cold shower.
For the last two days I've been getting increasingly bad prickly heat on my arms. I suspect my pores got blocked by the damned sunscreen I was using. It was the Cancer Council 'Active' Sunscreen Plus Mineral Silica. It itches like bloody crazy and if it's not better soon I may have to see the doctor when I get back. A minor inconvenience but I'm coping ok and trying to keep myself sun-protected by other methods for the time being.
After the shower, Mr Smart was still frustratedly working on the internet so I set about writing Wednesday's blog. It's difficult processing so many photos on my teensy netbook but I struggle along. You'll just have to forgive the lateness of the holiday blogs as I catch up. I'd rather enjoy my holiday than worry about imaginary blog deadlines.
Jess
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