Sunday, 8th July, 1838

To Divine Service this morning where, true to his word, Charlie Howard preached a special effort to mark my leaving the Colony.

I asked for something "short and simple", but Charlie just couldn't help himself. He managed close to two dense and soporific hours on Hebrews 6:10-15

10 For God is not unrighteous to forget your work and labour of love, which ye have shewed toward his name, in that ye have ministered to the saints, and do minister. 11 And we desire that every one of you do shew the same diligence to the full assurance of hope unto the end: 12 That ye be not slothful, but followers of them who through faith and patience inherit the promises. 13 For when God made promise to Abraham, because he could swear by no greater, he sware by himself, 14 Saying, Surely blessing I will bless thee, and multiplying I will multiply thee. 15 And so, after he had patiently endured, he obtained the promise.

All very flattering, I am sure, but I would have preferred a quick "Well done, thou good and faithful servant"  and be out the door.

Saturday, 7th July, 1838

The question arises, "What to do with Widow Harvey?"

With my returning to England, my wife has decided that once she is settled into new accommodation, she will have in her employ a servant more in the category of "lady's companion" than "cook" and hence we must find a way to move Lucrezia Harvey on to pastures new.

My suggestion, that we put her in a bag, take her far enough away so that she will not be able to find her way back and dump her by the side of the road, has not been met with general acclaim, though it seems perfectly sound to me.

An advertisement appeared in this morning's "Gazette and Register"

A female servant capable of cooking, washing &c; liberal wages will be given to a competent person. Apply to Mr C. C. Dutton, Currie-street, Adelaide, next door to the Southern Cross Hotel.

 Mrs Hindmarsh sees this as manna from Heaven and I must admit that the stipulation that the successful applicant will be "capable of cooking" and not "an excellent cook" seems made for the Widow. And she is certainly capable of washing, at times even herself. However, I pointed out that the caveat "a competent person" might prove a stumbling block. If Charles Dutton took on the Widow, then the wages would need to be more than "liberal". "Compassionate and merciful" would be the ticket.

But I cannot help but think that there is an ethical dilemma here. Do we have the moral right to release Lucrezia Harvey, the Mad Poisoner and her Experimental Cuisine upon an unsuspecting and unprepared world? I suspect not and I suggested that it might be best if we kept her on after I leave as an act of Social Responsibility.

Mrs Hindmarsh's response to this left me aghast.

"You don't think I want her?" she said. "I only employed the women to keep your philandering ways under control! Once you've left I'll get someone who can cook properly, not endure more of her slop!"

I took the wisest course and made no comment.

Dutton, of course, is the type of man who would be pleased to impress his friends with the news that his table is being supplied by the "Vice-Regal Chef" and would, of a certainty, big note himself something chronic. It goes without saying that the one thing he could not do is invite those friends to share a meal at that table or the whole masquerade would be exposed.

All in all, I suspect that Lucrezia is headed off to Currie Street, but I shall stipulate that she cannot do so until after I leave. Once Dutton discovers the reality he may come looking for revenge and I have no intention of being here to see it.

The Widow herself was very teary when we broke the news and assured us that she would be forever grateful "for all the nicenesses and kindness" we have shown her and for "raising her to a place of standing and sophistication what she might not have otherwise attained" and Baby Harriet showed just how sophisticated by choosing that moment to break wind with such ferocity that the windows rattled and two of the dogs took the precaution of leaving the room before they could be blamed.

The baby's action brought forth a flood of giggling through the flood of tears from the Widow and she whooped out "OOO! Isn't she awful!"

"Yes," I said. "Yes she is." Which brought out more hilarity. 

"Oh Guvnah! Always one with a joke! I'll miss you all!" said the Widow and then burst out into even louder sobbing.

Mrs Hindmarsh embraced Widow Harvey in response to her effusions and assured her to "think nothing of it" and "it was no more than she deserved". For once I agreed with my wife. The Widow deserves nothing and no more.

Three Undated Entries from Hindmarsh's DIary

First Undated Note

Charlie Howard came to see me today to tell me what he clearly believes I will find exciting news.

In honour of my departure, Charlie intends to preach a special sermon on the Sunday before I sail and wanted to know what sermon I would like him to preach.

Now, the correct answer to the question "What would you like Charles Beaumont Howard to preach?" is "No sermon at all" and I was as near as damn it to telling him so, when Mrs Howard, realising my intent, gave me a look of such intensity that the varnish on the sideboard behind me began to blister and bubble. 

Instead, I asked for "no fuss to be made" and asked him to preach "something short and simple".

I hold out little hope.


Second Undated Note

Johnny writes from Hobart Town to tell us that he has a good chance of being appointed a surveyor in Van Diemen's Land.

I was unaware that Johnny had any interest or aptitude for surveying and has never shown skill or talent in that area. But then, it is generally agreed that Durward Kingston has no skill or talent in anything at all and he is currently Surveyor General. So it may be that having no aptitude is a prerequisite for the job.


Third Undated Note

There is a strong rumour that many of the colonists are working hard to prepare a spontaneous outpouring of respect and gratitude in the form of an address to be given to me by a deputation.

I suppose that I will need to spend time preparing a heartfelt, off the cuff response expressing my overwhelming surprise and thanks.  

Thursday, 5th July, 1838

Last night, Mrs Hindmarsh sat down with me and explained her plans regarding the winding up of our affairs here in the Province.

I was expecting to hear how she intended selling our land here in the town. We have considerable holdings in both North and South Adelaide and with the price of land rising every day we stand to make a tidy sum. But I was surprised to learn that she plans on buying even more land cheaply and selling it at a considerable profit.

In fact, if her plans come to fruition, we will be more than comfortably set up financially for the foreseeable future.

And will Mrs Hindmarsh's plans come to fruition? I have no doubt that, through the majestic force of Mrs Hindmarsh's will, they will come to bear a bumper crop and that large sums of money will be coming our way.

(Later undated note)

Since we will have money, Mrs Hindmarsh has decided that it will not be necessary to spend cash to ship much of our old furniture back to London. Instead, we will be able to afford to buy new when we arrive there.

In particular, she has decided to leave behind a rosewood double ended sofa given to us as a gift by my mother years ago. She has always referred to it as "the ugly sofa" and says that she "is happy to see the back of it".

Wednesday, 4th July, 1838

I did something today that I have long meant to do and took myself down to Light's Cottage. Before we came here to South Australia I counted him a friend, and did so still for much of last year. But politics and misunderstandings led to us breaking that friendship asunder - that and the way Light is a stubborn goat with a prickly temper made even worse by his bad health. 

But I leave the Province soon and it would be a regret that lay heavy on me if I did not at least attempt to shake his hand and part - if not friends again, then at least not enemies. 

I walked down North Terrace and knocked on his door, which was opened by Light's housekeeper, Miss Gandy. I explained that I was here on a social call and asked if the Colonel was at home to guests?

Miss Gandy came out of the cottage and shut the door behind her, I guess so that Light would not hear.

"He had a bad night last night and is in a bad way this morning," she said. "Coughing all night with no sleep." 

I suspect that Miss Gandy is more nurse than housekeeper these days, but said nothing. Instead, I asked: "Do you think he will see me?"

She gave a quiet laugh and reassured me. "Leave it to me," she said and went back inside the cottage. "You have a visitor," I heard her say.

There came a low mumble that was clearly Light's voice.

"Well, you'll see this one," said Miss Gandy. "It's the Governor come to visit."

I heard yet more low grumbling and could pick out the words "confound him" and "damned impudence" which, as welcomes go, seemed unpromising.

I heard Miss Gandy say: "You're being foolish. Tidy yourself up and I'll let him in."

There was more grumbling, and then Miss Gandy scolded: "And don't take that tone with me!"

The door opened and Miss Gandy showed me into the room. The Colonel was propped up on a day bed. He looked at me.

"You, eh?"

"Yes... me," I said, which seemed to be stating the obvious.

He grunted.

"I suppose you intend to stay, do you? Then you'd best get a seat."

Miss Gandy appeared with a chair and, as she put it down, whispered to Light, "Behave!"

Light grunted again.

"And what brings you here? I didn't expect you to come near me."

I smiled a little. "You know we have been friends," I said. "I could hardly allow myself to return to England without at least saying goodbye."

Light looked at me quizzically.

"Do you know what Fisher has never understood about you? That underneath your bluff and bluster you are, in fact, a big, soft sentimentalist!"

I chuckled lightly and we sat in  silence for a time. Finally the Colonel spoke.

"How many sea battles have you seen in your time?"

I thought for a moment.

"Six?" I said, doubtfully. "Seven? Yes, seven."

"You have a charmed life. Many don't even survive one and here you are having lived through seven without a scratch."

"I lost an eye," I said

"Oh, an eye! That hardly counts." His voice dropped and he seemed to become maudlin. "You were alive at the end of it. And here you are again, heading back to London and alive at the end of it again. Getting out alive - rather more than I'll manage to do."

I was surprised. This was a bit morbid for my taste.

"Oh, buck up Man!" I said.

"Buck up be damned! It's consumption. Slower, but just as certain as that warrant you signed for McGee. I give myself a year or two and you'll be reading my obituary." 

Miss Gandy called from the other room. "The Governor didn't come here to listen to you being downhearted! Smarten your ideas up and try being pleasant!"

The Colonel pulled a face at me. "She's a terror to have in the house. She bosses me about from morning till night!"

Miss Gandy entered the room with a teapot and two cups on a tray.

"Well, somebody needs to, you old misery," she said. "If you don't brighten up I might just put a pillow over your face while you sleep and have done with you."

For the first time Light smiled. I judged it a good moment to produce a small parcel from my coat pocket.

"I went up to Lee's this morning. They have excellent caraway seed cake."

Light smiled once more.

"Well done John," he said, "You remember I do like caraway cake."

And so we sat for a time drinking tea and eating cake until Light suddenly said: "Well tea and cake is all very well, but it's not enough for such as you and me! Mariah! Fetch in that bottle of brandy on the dresser."

I do not usually imbibe, but as this seemed a special occasion I took a glass with him.

"It was a mistake, my coming out here," Light said. "I thought it would lead to something better, but no. They'll bury me and forget me."

I smiled. "Well, at least they didn't boot you back to London."

"Oh, you'll be fine. They'll find something else for you."

And then we sat talking, spending a pleasant hour or two before the Colonel showed signs of tiring. I said my farewells to Light and Miss Gandy and then was surprised when Light got slowly to his feet and walked with me to the door. He stood for a moment, looking out at North Terrace.

"What do you think, John? Did we do a good job of setting this place going?"

I was not certain how he would take it, but I could not resist the temptation to tease him.

"Well," I said. "I think I did pretty well."

He frowned and gave me a look.

"You? And what about me?"

I patted him on the arm and said, quietly: "Too many straight lines."

For a moment I thought he would be angry, but instead, he roared with laughter. He slapped me on the shoulder and then leaned in with a secretive air.

"Between you and me Jacky," he said, "sometimes I think that too!"

Tuesday, 3rd July, 1838

Dissension in the Company Camp as both Fisher and Mann are bickering with each other like school boys playing marbles "for keepsies".

They rightly find no satisfaction in the appointment of Milner Stephen as Acting Governor and have both decided that the rightful occupant of the position is their own fair self.

They are now at daggers drawn with each other and while they squabble Milner Stephen proceeds unimpeded. 

Quite what Fisher had in mind is not hard to understand. I have, on several occasions, heard him opine that he was appointed Resident Commissioner "for life". Combine this with the Vice-regal role and Mr Fisher's ambition to become an Antipodean Pericles is realised at once.

Well, he is in for a shock!

Reading the dispatches that arrived this week it is pretty clear that the intention of the Colonial Office is to give Mr Fisher the kick in the arse he so richly deserves.

Having seen the trouble I had with power shared between the Crown (me) and the Company (Fisher), their elegant solution is to divest the Company and hand Gawler the combined powers of both Governor and Commissioner. 

In short, far from being Pericles, Mr Fisher's name will become, like that of Odysseus in the cave of Polyphemus, "Outis"  - which, if I remember my Homer aright, means "Mr Nobody".

Monday, 2nd July, 1838

The ship Henry Porcher arrived yesterday carrying with it mails from England and, in particular, dispatches for me from London.

It appears that my permanent replacement as Governor of South Australia will be George Gawler, a man know to me, though not a close acquaintance.

A Bible Tract

Gawler is a churchman of the Evangelical persuasion, a man whose mouth is invariably turned down at the corners. I believe he once saw some people enjoying themselves, but has managed to avoid sullying his eyes in that way since. His wife is, I am told by those who know her, a great and devoted reader of Bible Tracts. One who has met her says that she feels The Bible is open to interpretation, a grave fault, whilst the Tract says what it means straight out. 

Well, if George Gawler fronts up to run the place, then they'll soon know about it. There'll be no more dances held at Government House, I'll warrant.  No more cakes and ale. The place will be like monastery within a week, thought without the evils of Popish influence.