Ready To Set Sail!

In Social Studies we have been learning about migration, push and pull factors and more. After learning about the push factors of London in the 19th Century and the pull factors of New Zealand, we were tasked to create a story in the point of view of a New Zealand bound emigrant. This is mine. (It kind of ties in with Chyna's story, as we used the same characters BUT her's is in the POV (point of view) of the husband)

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To say London was a hell on Earth after the industrial revolution would be an understatement. Citizens who were once living with a breeze are now half dead and barely able to afford rent, if at all. God, to think that this city used to have clean air… I wouldn’t know, would I? Born into it all, I got the short end of the stick. Orphaned at an early age, I was surprised I made it this far working in child factories, teaching myself how to read and write. Then, at age twenty-five, the poor living conditions were slowly driving me insane.

I lived in a cramped neighbourhood where all the houses could almost touch, with my husband, Finn. He worked as an agricultural labourer for a living, barely making enough to keep us fed and off of the streets. It’s not like I, Faye Miller, a woman in the 1800s, could do much about it anyway. So I stayed at home most of the time, trying my best to keep the minuscule space clean when I wasn’t working in domestic services. That wasn’t even the worst of it.

Our bathrooms were shared with our neighbours. The entire house was made out of cheap materials, being the direct cause of damp walls and ceilings, so don’t me started on mould. We had no running water and the water that we did have was connected to the sewage pipes. Which just opens the door for so many different diseases.

~~~

January 30, 1854

Salutations.

I’m not entirely sure whom I’m writing this to. Myself or someone else. But to whoever is reading this, good day. I’m Faye Miller. A twenty-five-year-old, miserable Londoner who has slowly been driving herself insane.

Safe to say, I hate my house. I hate my city. I hate my life. I’m tired all the time. I’m surrounded by sickness and disease. My wage barely exists. I’m more of a burden to Finn than I am a luxury. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. As if you couldn’t already tell, I tend to complain a lot. I can’t help it, this life is a dump.

With that said, in a few weeks, Finn and I are embarking on a trip, New Zealand bound. Earlier today, Finn stumbled home from work, eyes wide with desire. He told me of the posters scattered around the city, screaming of a new home. A new hope.

Wish me luck.

~~~

Like so many others, we decided enough was enough. For months we had been seeing poster after poster about this newly discovered paradise. An escape basically fell at our feet. With a promise of better living conditions, jobs for both Finn and I, and altogether a better life, how could we turn an opportunity like this down? I can remember the day we left so vividly

My heart pounded with anticipation and fear as my fingers intertwined with Finn’s. The boat sat looming in front of us as we stood sheepishly on the docks of London. I had no idea what was in store for us. Anxiety only worsened at cabin passengers began to board, pushing through the usual crowding. We couldn’t afford to be with the cabin passengers, as expected, so we made a temporary home in steerage.

Go to New Zealand, they said. It will be paradise, they said. Well, what they failed to mention was the cramped, wet, cold, and grimy one hundred and twenty days in the hell people call steerage. While it wasn’t much worse than the conditions at home, at least at home we had proper bedding. Provided with not much more than mattresses, many restless nights ensued.

First of all, pests invaded the ships. I’m not entirely sure how that happened, but here we are.  And then we were subjected to flooding when waves rolled over the ship. I could only imagine what it was like to not almost constantly have a soaked bed. Not to mention the smells… Let me tell you, onboard toilets and livestock are not a good mix. While the cabin passengers were living on fresh meat and milk, us poor survived on preserved meat, ship’s biscuit, flour, oatmeal and dried potatoes. The only good thing is that we were never short. Those in steerage were limited access to fresh water. The same fresh water that would deteriorate in a few months anyway. I remember watching fellow passengers, cabin and steerage alike, catching rainwater in place of the stuff they stored in barrels.

Hygiene was almost impossible to keep well. With a lack of fresh water, people would attempt to use salt water but even with the nicest soap, it wasn’t an easy feat. When we reached tropics, men would swim or even get hosed down by sailors onboard to keep cool and clean, but women were usually straight up denied the chance. Something about preserving propriety. With these poor conditions, the chances of catching some disease were at a peak. Scarlet fever, diphtheria, whooping cough and measles overtook voyagers, mostly children.

We spent our days entertaining ourselves in various ways. Finn and I would love to watch dolphins and flying fish swim past our boat, accompanied by the albatrosses and whales. I heard the cabin passengers with their concerts and plays and debates, green with envy. However, it didn’t matter, I was quickly distracted by passing boats, waving handkerchiefs and passing letters. Those interactions were uncommon but also quite fun. The lower decks would rarely interact with the cabin passengers, because for what reason would the privileged want to hang with the bums. When they did, I found they were really quite sweet.

~~~

February 27, 1854

Greetings,

I’m not sure how many of these I’ve done so far, nor how long we’ve been on the water. I’ve tried to do a letter every day of the trip but my resources are running out. There really isn’t much to do in the first place.  Finn and I manage to get by though. He loves taking me to watch the dolphins. They remind me of freedom sometimes. The days ahead of me.

The food makes me feel sick though. We’ve eaten the same dried food for days and days and days now. I swear if I have to cook any damn potatoes after we arrive, I may kill someone. Considering my husband is a farmer, I guess I have no promises.

I really don’t like this boat and I’ve made it very clear so far. The rats, the cold, the damp.  If I thought London was bad, this was clearly worse. Children with whooping coughs keep me up all night. I smell and feel horrible when it’s sweltering while Finn gets to swim in the tropics. Purely because he’s male. The only thing I hate more than this boat and London is how I’m treated sometimes. But that’s the way the cookie crumbles, right? Tangent, I apologise.

I can’t wait for this trip to end. From what I’ve heard about this place, I’m sure to enjoy it. I’m not sure how fast things will get going for us, but I trust Finn and I could barely survive on my own at this point. I’ve got to go, I’m running out of pages.

Farewell.

~~~

It took three bloody months for the torture to end. As much as I hate to say it, I think it was worth it. We arrived in Lyttelton, a new found hope. I had been scared the whole trip, worried that I wasn’t going to make it as I watched people fall deathly ill all around me. Yet there I was, standing on deck watching the land draw nearer and nearer, a mix of nausea and hope growing in my stomach.

Once off the boat, we were herded into quarantine, where I watched the unlucky few drop like flies. I didn’t know any of them, for better or worse. In quarantine, I felt almost safe. Almost. We had protection, nobody could get out. Or in. The bedding and the passengers were disinfected before we were let go.

Now out and about, I could finally take in my surroundings. New Zealand was beautiful. The people there were wonderful. The natives were so alien yet so kind, there were so many of them. It wasn’t a problem. Sometimes I couldn’t understand them, or I couldn’t say their names right, making me feel guilty.

~~~

May 15th 1854

Hello again,

It’s been a little while since I wrote. I’ve completely forgotten about this, I’ve been way too caught up in this new life. New Zealand is incredible. It’s so much better than London already. We arrived in Canterbury not too long ago, in the Lyttelton harbour. Finn has already gotten a decent paying job and I’m after one at the moment.

I love the people here. Everyone is so kind already. The natives seem a little reluctant but it’s only to be expected. How would you feel if people took over your home? Sometimes they speak in a foreign tongue and get in trouble, and I’d feel horrible. It’s like they’re trying to erase their whole lives. Life is unfair, we get used to it.

I think Finn likes it here. I mean, I haven’t asked yet but he hasn’t complained at all yet. I should ask him. Update: I asked and he said he did. But that’s about it. I’m not sure what’s in store for me or whether I should be scared.

Here’s to a new life?