Jane Sumner - The Great Adventure: Memoirs of a Pioneer

This story was told to my Great Aunt Annie Barton by her mother Jane Sumner (Born 1849). I am reproducing it incase someone is searching their family tree and recognises this name.

My name is Jane Sumner. I was born in Liverpool. My earliest recollections are of visiting my uncle’s house in Renchous Street. My parents resided in Mersey View Street. Nearby was the Mersey River and the dockyards were shipbuilding was carried on. On Sunday evenings, my father and mother would take my little sister and myself to have tea at my uncle’s house. Coming home I would ride on my father’s shoulders while my mother carried my little sister. Vividly I remember the stars shining above us on those homeward walks. Never since that time have I seen stars that shone so brilliantly. Perhaps my childish imagination enhanced their brightness, but I have never thought that the stars in Australian skies had the same glittering brilliance as those in England.

In 1854, when I was five years old, my father became smitten with the emigration fever. Tales of wonderful fortunes that were to be made on the newly opened Victorian gold-fields inspired him and many of his friends with the desire to try their fortune in those distant lands. Sorrowfully my mother made ready for the great adventure. Our little home had to be broken up. Her father and mother lived at Nether Kellett, about 30 miles from Liverpool. Not far from there, is an old church called Bolton-on-Sands, and it was in this church that my father and mother were married, My grandmother owned a donkey cart and one of my earliest delights was to travel out to their little farm perched on the seat between my mother and grandmother.

With what heart-breaking sadness then did my parents say goodbye to these Dear Ones, knowing as they did, they parted, never to meet again on this earth?

My father had arranged that we should travel on the emigration ship ‘Gambier’. A large cedar chest, made especially for the purpose, contained our clothing and whatever else of our earthly belongings we were able to bring. The ship was a sailing vessel as were the majority of ships at that time.

The day of sailing arrived. A crowd of uncles and aunties and cousins assembled at the ship’s side to see us embark and say their last farewells. It was Christmas time and each of them had brought some present, typical of that festive season. Plum puddings, dressed poultry, minced pies, apple tarts, toys for us children – they brought in abundance. Unfortunately for us, a good deal of the eatables, fell into the hands of the sailors and were eaten by them.

On the voyage, which lasted three months, I do not remember much. I know the vessel was filled with emigrants. These were all herded together. There was only one class. The food was the plainest. Ships’ biscuits and salt beef were the chief food of the grown-ups. There was some kind of porridge, which my mother made for us children. The sanitary arrangements were of the crudest. My daily delight was to climb up on one of the seats, which were placed around the deck, and from there watch the waves, which billowed and foamed around the ship, and the sails above, which bellied and flapped in the wind.

At last the long voyage was over. We disembarked.

My next remembrance is of living in a tent, which was one of many, which the friendly government that had brought us out to this little village they called Melbourne, had provided for the use of the emigrants.

These were on the ground were the University of Melbourne now stands and was aptly named Canvas Town. There were very few buildings in Melbourne at this time. Here we stayed until my father had time to make other arrangements for us. It was not long before he was able to establish us in a little house in Raglan Street, North Melbourne. Here, about twelve months before, had come some people who had been our near neighbours in Liverpool for many years, before they had emigrated to Melbourne. They were my parents close friends and our Godparents. They had no children of their own. It was partly their influence that had caused us also to emigrate. It was natural then that my father would contrive that we should live near them.

At this time, the gold-rush fever was at its height. It was not long before my father joined the other men who were flocking to Bendigo and Ballarat and other goldfields. Before long Melbourne was practically man-less. Women and children were left to fend for themselves as best as they could. Who provided us with food and other provisions I cannot remember. Probably, as the Government was anxious that the men should go and work those gold mines, it was they who cared for us in their absence.

It was not long before my father and Godfather returned. Like many others they had not succeeded in making their fortune or in picking up even a small nugget of gold in those wondrous goldfields. They decided to turn their minds to less romantic occupations. By his time Melbourne was beginning to grow in leaps and bounds.

Many large buildings had been started. Most of these places were being built of bluestone, which was procurable from hills not far distant.

Mr Parker, my Godfather, went to work at the Melbourne Gaol, which had been begun a short time before. He was a stonemason and it was his job to chisel the stones into shape. My father went to work on the railway lines, which at that time were beginning to be laid from Melbourne to Footscray.

About this time my mother decided that it was time I began to receive an education. Schools were few and far between. Not far from were we lived there was a little school kept by an old woman. It was situated in Curnow Street, North Melbourne. To this little school, my mother decided to send me, and thither I went. About a dozen children attended there daily. 

Unfortunately our schoolmistress was rather too fond on indulgence in strong drink. One day, when I failed to arrive home at the usual time, my mother became alarmed. She found the school door locked and we children shut up inside. The schoolmistress was nowhere to be seen. She, poor thing, had been overcome with thirst. The desire to quench it being stronger than her sense of duty to the children, she locked us in so we could not escape till she returned. She had then gone off to where the precious stuff could be procured and had promptly forgotten all about us. My mother smashed a window and was thereby able to release us. This little incident ended my career at that school.

About this time, a denominational school had been opened in connection with St James Cathedral in William Street. My next foray into the world of education was there. The way to the school was across our empty paddock and what is now known as the Flagstaff Gardens. A little girl named Elizabeth Dick (the child of a neighbour) and I wended our way each day across this open space, to the church hall were the school was held. Both boys and girls attended. The boys sat at one side of the room and were taught by a male teacher and a lady teacher taught the girls. My most outstanding memory of these school days was of the spelling bees, which were held at frequent intervals. Boys and girls would stand together in a long line. The teacher conducting the competition would ask the scholar standing at the top of the line to spell a word. If he or she spelt it correctly, the teacher would give another word to the next scholar. If incorrectly pelt, the same word was passed on and the successful speller would move up to the top place, and so on down the line.

Now Spelling was a subject that I was particularly brilliant at, and very often with a word that floored all of the others, I was able to spell correctly. I would be moved perhaps from the bottom to the top of the line. (I was about the smallest scholar attending the school.) This triumphal progress was not, however, an unmixed joy for me. Naturally the bigger boys would be peeved and jealous that a girl so much younger and smaller than themselves was able to beat them. As I moved up the line, I received many a sly and vengeful pinch on my arms and body, which hurt intensely.

In the centre of the garden through which I passed each day, stood a high flagpole. Usually the Union Jack floated from the top. Sometimes, however, the flag was pulled down and a huge black ball ascended in its place. This was a sign that one of the ships belonging to the Black Ball Line (HMSS) was into the bay.

We had only been living in North Melbourne for a year, or perhaps two, when my father decided we should move to Footscray. He had procured work there in one of the big quarries where bluestone was being obtained. He was overseer over a gang of men. Naturally he wished to live near his work, and that his family should be with him. He had bought a block of land near the Geelong Road (then merely a bush track) and had built some sort of house on it for our accommodation. So once again my poor dear Mother, with her children (there were now three of us – a little brother having recently arrived), was called upon to leave her home and adjust to new conditions. Our new home was about a mile from the little town of Footscray and thither I walked every day to school. A Mr Russell taught us.

Occassionally we went into Melbourne on a little steam boat, which took us down the Salt Water River (now the Maribynong River), and up the Yarra into the City. These little jaunts were a source of great delight to us. We landed somewhere near Elizabeth Street. From there to North Melbourne we rode in a cab, seated back to back. There were no bridges in those days. Punts were used to take people across the river.

An outing which I vividly remember was to Flemington to see the Melbourne Cup. I think it was the first race meeting that was held there. My mother and a neighbour and my sister and I walked across the paddocks to the race course. It was about a mile from where we lived. The now famous event was a very small affair in those days. I think that only three horses started in the Cup race. I do not remember which horse won the race. This was in 1857.

In 1858 my dear Mother died. What her malady was I do not know. I always felt that the chief cause of her death was the grief she endured from leaving England and the hardships she suffered after coming to this country. The crude conditions of living and the unappetising food must have undermined a constitution never very strong. I remember the butter we ate. It came from Cork in Ireland, salted down in large barrels. One could see the salt oozing out all around the top of the barrel before it was opened.

Whatever the cause, my Mother seemed to Pine away and when my little brother was about 18 months old, she passed away to that better land where parting and hardship are unknown. Not long before she died, she called me to her and, as in my childish grief I sobbed and cried, she put her arms around me saying, “Do not cry, my child! It is all for the best and God will take care of you when I am gone.” Shortly afterwards we were told that our dear Mother had left us.

We were too young at the time to realise all it would mean to us, but we were soon t know how great was our loss. Our Father did what I suppose was the only thing that could be done in the circumstances – he distributed us among such of his friends who were willing to have us. I went to live with my Godparents, who had no children; my litlle sister was taken by another family, who were glad to have the money my father paid them for her keep; my baby brother went to some people living in Werribee. These people wished to adopt him and bring him up as their own son. When he was about nine year old he fell into a river and drowned, so they reported. I have sometimes thought that it may not have been true, and that in their desire to have him as their own son, they gave out a false report of his death. My little sister had a rough life until, at last, she was able to go out and earn her own living. I was better off. 

My Godparents had a comfortable home. The little bluestone cottage in Raglan Street, which was not then the dirty unkempt little street it later became. They had furnished it well and Mrs Parker kept it scrupulously clean – too scrupulously for the comfort of those who lived there.

She was a little shrewish woman, quick tempered and sharp tongued. She had no love for children. I think at times she almost disliked me. She was my Godmother, therefore she thought it her duty to give me a home when my Mother died, but I was sure I was a continual source of annoyance to her. Perhaps I was spoiled. My own Mother had been so kind, so gentle and patient with us, that now, under such changed conditions, I have no doubt I was sometimes sullen and disobedient. I was afraid of her. Her hand was often raised to strike me, so that whenever she came near, I instinctively shrank away expecting a blow, and then she would slap me for doing that.

She fed me and dressed me and sent me to school: at first to St Mary’s Church School and afterwards to Errol Street School, which was then a private school kept by Albert Mattingly and his mother. Afterwards, Mr Mattingly married the first state school teacher who taught in a Melbourne school, and the Errol Street School became, and is now, one of the best school controlled by the Government.

If my homelife had been as happy as my school life, I would have been fortunate indeed. But I was not allowed to have any play. As soon as I returned from school, if there was no other work to do, I was given sewing or crotcheting to do. In those days antimacassars were very fashionable. These were hung over the backs of the chairs and sofas to protect them from the greasy heads of those using them. How many of these antimacassars I crotcheted in my early days I do not know, but they seemed to be endless.

On Sundays I went to church and Sunday School at St Mary’s Church of England. Sunday School came first and when that was over, we children were marched into church for the church service. We sat in the back seats and were able to fill in the time till church began by watching the grown-ups come into church, dressed in their Sunday best. In those days, frock coats and bell toppers were worn, even by the working-men. It was a splendid sight to see them enter in their grandeur. The women wore silks and velvets and, with their crinolines and frills, were beautiful indeed.

The Rector of St Mary’s was the Reverend Potter. His wife was tall and stately and I was a joy to see her come in and walk up the aisle to her pew, leading by the hands, her two little boys, who were also beautifully dressed in black velvet suits and white lace collars.

Our Sunday dinners were cooked in a baker’s oven. In those days everyone went to church at eleven o’clock. A hot Sunday dinner was also demanded. So the housewives solved the problem by cooking it in a very sensible way. The baker’s brick oven was now in use at that time, so the meat and vegetables from each house were prepared and placed in a baking dish and taken to the bake house. The baker placed it in his oven and then, when church was over, the dinners were cooked and collected by the parents and children. I usually was sent to collect ours. We all sat down to a very good and well cooked dinner of meat and vegetables and a pudding.

These memoirs , written by me as I sat with her in the latter days of her life. Her memory was very clear and she loved to talk to me of all that had ahpened in England and after she had come to Victoria with her father and mother. It was all so interesting to me, that I wrote it down with the idea that it would interest her grandchildren and their children’s children in the days to come, when much of those early pioneering days are likely to be forgotten.

Anne L. Barton

“Drumquin”, Anderson Street, Euroa, Victoria

Anne L. Barton (1944)