‘The House’ progress: No one should have to do the washing on a Sunday
Thanks for following along with my writing project, The House, creating a historical novel about colonial Australia’s Sarah Wentworth, a ‘currency lass’ born as a free person to ex-convict parents. Sarah brought the first breach of promise case in Australia, and faced a life of social exclusion, even though she was married to politician William Charles Wentworth, known as ‘Australia’s greatest son’.
West view of Sydney-Cove taken from the Rocks, at the rear of the General Hospital, [1789]. Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales. By my calculations, Francis and Fanny set up their blacksmith shop at the bottom of the wide road seen in the middle of the image that heads down the hill, past the farm and the big house.
I can't imagine that back in the 1800s, Sydney residents and Fanny Morton and Francis Cox ever sat down with their daughter Sarah Cox (later Sarah Wentworth of Vaucluse House) to have a full and frank discussion of their crimes and punishments.
I'm pretty sure I know more than she did (thanks, internet!) about her convict parents and how and why they got to New South Wales.
I'm also pretty sure Sarah’s mother would never have made her do the washing on a Sunday. Not because Fanny was religious, but because she would have wanted to prove a point for the rest of her life: a day off is a day off, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Mrs Levy, her former employer, was the one to blame — at least according to Fanny's court records.
"My mistress set me to washing on Sunday between ten and eleven o'clock," she told the court. "I asked her leave to go out; and mistress and I had words, on account of washing on Sunday, and I was very sorry in my mind, her setting me to washing on Sunday; and I asked her leave to go out about three or four in the afternoon, and I never returned no more home. I have never a friend in the world."
It's probably true that Fanny didn't have a friend in the world, but she wasn't telling the truth about ‘returning home no more’. She did return home to the Levy's place in Stepney that night, and pinched more than 20 pounds worth of women's clothes as well as an alarm clock, some silver plate, teaspoons and a gold ring set. She hocked the clock, a present from Mrs Levy to her husband, was arrested, tried and found guilty.
Oh, and then was sentenced to death. Aged 17.
After the sentence was commuted to transportation for life she spent over six months with 133 other convict women on the Indispensable (two died) and arrived in Sydney in April 1796, ready for her new life.
I say new; I mean, new-ish.
Two years later Fanny was back in front of a Sydney magistrate for stealing a five pound note from her companion, Charles Peat. It was probably an easy crime to figure out: there weren't many places to exchange money for goods in the colony, and she was seen spending it at Campbell's store. She was arrested, tried and found guilty, again.
And given another death sentence. Aged 19.
This one didn't stick either. Luckily for Fanny, she was pregnant. (My instincts say it was probably to the same Charles Peat as the five pound note belonged to, but I have no proof.) She was put in the custody of a constable, and her sentence was suspended until she recovered from the birth. The baby was born, and sadly, did not live, but happily, no one ever enforced Fanny's sentence, and by the time she was back before the courts six months later (abusive language, obstructing a Mary Lewis' access to a public well) she was cautioned simply to keep the peace.
She kept the peace.
By 1800 Fanny had partnered up with Francis Cox, a convict blacksmith who had been sent to Sydney in 1791 with the Third Fleet, enduring a miserable 200-day voyage on a small ship with low rations and high death rates.
When Fanny met him, Francis had just finished his seven years of transportation to New South Wales for his crimes of burglary back in England. He could have left the colony and returned to England but he chose to stay. Perhaps he couldn't face, or afford the voyage back to his home in Staffordshire; perhaps he didn't want to face the wife and four young children he had left behind; or perhaps he simply enjoyed watching the sparkling sunshine on the blue harbour waters from his blacksmith shop at the end of Sydney's Macquarie Street.
In any case, he stayed, started a new family with Fanny, and had only one more conviction, for theft in 1809. The resulting year of hard labour in Newcastle seemed to do the trick to keep him honest – or perhaps Fanny, very loudly and persuasively let him know that she didn't appreciate having to leave the Sydney waterfront and move out to a farm in Parramatta as a sole parent with two young daughters and another in utero!
There was another challenge while Francis was away in prison in 1810. His oldest son John, now a young man in his 20s turned up, looking for the father who had been sent away to the colonies and had never returned. I’m not sure what Fanny thought about it, but Sarah, now aged 5, was old enough to understand this was her half-brother. They remained close all their lives.
Sarah Cox would not have known much of her parents stories, but she knew her parents. Their choices, the resulting upheavals and consequences and the 'convict stain' undoubtedly affected them as people. It certainly shaped Sarah's story – and would have shaped her children’s lives if she hadn’t taken significant, life-altering steps to counter it. Watch this space to learn more about those!
I’m telling a story, not writing a history
Turns out, research is amazingly interesting. Every day that I get to dig into Sarah’s story and chase down leads is a great day. I’m building out a timeline, making character notes, looking at old images and reading letters and court reports.
I love it! And also, I’m terrified!
It’s one thing to be able to put together a compilation of known facts; it’s quite another to sink so deeply into the facts that I can imagine the people, hear their words and feel their vibes — and then put all that on a page with a beautiful voice, zero cliches, real emotions and minimal cheese.
Understanding Fanny and Francis’ histories helps me get a feel for what sort of a home life Sarah had, and what sort of a person she was. I can imagine what ethics and beliefs her parents would have passed on to her, and I can look for reflections of their story in her words and actions through her life.
The story of Sarah Wentworth has the working title of ‘The House’. If you’d like to follow along with my progress, I’ll be updating my subscribers every month or so, sharing story snippets and research discoveries, and talking through the process of taking on such a project. Sign up below to follow along. And drop me your comments and questions. I’d love to know what you think of the story and the project.
Catch up with the project from the beginning. Here’s the very first post introducing ‘The House’.