As autumn arrived, the nearby beach forest turned deep red and the leaves carpeted the ground. Winter, though, was much colder than Florence imagined it would be. Snow settled on the ground in June. The fire bricks had not yet arrived, and so all of the cooking had to be done outside over an open fire. Sometimes the wind was so cold that the adults and older children had to take turns tending to their dinner as it cooked. The diet was monotonous: rice, dried apples from America, and salted beef and pickled pork from England. How Florence longed for the foamy milk and yellow butter she had eaten in England. Even the thought of fresh cauliflower or cabbage began to appeal to her.
Henry Young assured his family that things would be different next year. They would plant vegetables in the spring and buy a cow to provide milk, cream, and cheese for them.
Since no neighbors were within walking distance, it was unusual to see visitors. But anyone who did venture as far as Erme Dale was met with kind hospitality. Florence loved it when visitors came, as they often brought books and newspapers and told stories of what was happening in other parts of New Zealand or in the home country, England.
There was, however, one visitor Florence had mixed feelings about. Mr. Honare was a native New Zealander, or Maori. Like Florence’s parents, Mr. Honare belonged to the Plymouth Brethren denomination. He was an evangelist who walked much of the southern part of South Island preaching to the Maori people. Florence did not have any problems with that. What she didn’t like was the way Mr. Honare and her parents talked about how they were ready to meet Jesus and how wonderful that would be. Although Florence had heard such conversations before, she hated it when Mr. Honare prayed for them all and asked Jesus to come back and take them to heaven. “How selfish he is,” she told herself. “He might want Jesus to come back, but what about me? I’m not ready to meet Him.”
To Florence’s relief, Mr. Honare always kept his visits short. Florence tried to forget about how uncomfortable his prayers made her feel, and plenty of other things were going on at Erme Dale to distract her from Mr. Honare’s visits. For one, her older sister Emily was getting married to a man from Invercargill. His name was John Deck, and he was a doctor. With everyone caught up in preparations for the first wedding in the family, the day was quickly upon them. The wedding was held in the family living room, and then in a big flourish of hugs and kisses, Emily was gone, leaving Florence as the oldest daughter in the house.
Suddenly, at eight years old, Florence had a whole new set of responsibilities. It was now her job to sit at the end of the table and pour the tea and to make breakfast for everyone. Her mother, whose health was failing, did not come downstairs until nearly lunchtime each day. By then the breakfast dishes were done and lunch preparation well under way.
In late September, Florence’s mother announced that she needed to go to Invercargill. Florence’s heart beat fast. She knew her ninth birthday was coming up and that her mother would be planning to buy her a present in town. After much begging, it was decided that Florence, her older brother Ernest, and their cousin Willie McAdam would be allowed to make the journey with Mrs. Young.
The following morning Willie hitched the family’s two horses, Blackbird and Blossom, to the wagon, and Ernest helped Mrs. Young up into the front seat. Ernest and Florence sat in the back of the wagon, while Willie sat next to Mrs. Young to drive the horses. A slap of the reins started the two faithful animals on the long trek to town.
They made good time to Riverton, where they stopped to visit some friends. Then it was off again on the journey to Invercargill. It was low tide, and the fastest way to travel at low tide was along the beach. Willie headed the wagon onto the wide, windswept beach, and soon they were rolling along over the hard, glistening, gray sand. There had been a storm the night before, and the day was damp and dreary. The sea, whipped to a frenzy by the wind, crashed against the beach. The wind tousled Florence’s hair as she watched the seabirds circling over the beach. They reached the Waimatuku River, which was shallow and easily forded at low tide, and crossed over it. Then they drove on farther down the beach, all the while looking for the sign that marked the way for wagons to leave the beach and pass through a gap in the low sand hills and rejoin the road to Invercargill. They had gone several miles when Willie began to voice his concern that perhaps they had missed the turnoff. He turned the wagon around and headed back the way they had come, looking for the marker. But they could not spot it. Eventually Willie satisfied himself that he had not missed the marker, and once again he turned the wagon around and headed back down the beach.
As the sun began to sink low on the horizon, Willie became convinced that they had indeed missed the marker. They needed to find it, because for the next thirty-two miles there was no place where a wagon could be driven off the beach, and already the tide was well on its way in. Willie guided the wagon into the loose, dry sand at the top of the beach above the high-tide line and brought it to a halt. He jumped down from the wagon and headed off along the beach on foot, promising to return when he had found the place where they should turn off. The three Youngs stayed with the wagon and horses. Florence sat on a log on the beach, snuggled up to her mother, to wait.
It was eleven o’clock at night before Willie returned. He had found the signpost. It had been blown down in the storm the night before and lay flat and half buried in the sand. They would have to backtrack six miles along the beach until they came to the turnoff point.
The night air was cold and damp, and fog had begun to form along the beach. Florence huddled in the back of the wagon and pulled her woolen coat tight around her for warmth as they rolled along. Eventually Willie found the turnoff and guided the wagon off the beach and onto the muddy track that served as the road to Invercargill. Finally, at three in the morning, the wagon made its way down the deserted streets of the town.
After several hours of sleep, Florence set out with her mother to go shopping. They bought a number of supplies for Erme Dale, including several new books and some newspapers for Mr. Young. Then her mother bought a doublewide slate as a present for Florence’s birthday. Florence was delighted with the gift. She would be able to write her school lessons on the slate, which was big enough for her to draw some wonderful pictures too.
The following morning Ernest and Willie loaded up the wagon for the trip back to Erme Dale. Florence’s new slate was packed away in a box with a collection of large corks that Mrs. Young planned to use to stop the tops of the jars of preserves she would make from the fruits and vegetables planted in the new garden at Erme Dale.
As they drove along, Florence noticed that Blackbird was unusually frisky this morning. He was hard to rein in and kept pulling against Blossom, the other horse. When they reached the Oreti River, they waited for the punt to cross over to pick them up and ferry them across the river. Mrs. Young was tired from all the travel and the whirlwind of shopping in Invercargill and wanted to stay seated on the wagon during the crossing. But Ernest reminded her that Mr. Young forbade anyone to stay on the wagon while it crossed the river, fearing it was too dangerous, and managed to coax his mother down. Willie guided the horses and wagon onto the deck of the punt, and they set out across the Oreti.
They were not yet halfway across when Blackbird seemed determined to take a drink from the river. He lunged forward. Blossom tried to pull against him but eventually gave in. The two horses careened forward, with the wagon following. Seeing what was happening, Willie grabbed his knife and frantically tried to cut the leather traces that held the horses to the wagon. But it was too late; horses and wagon tumbled off the front of the punt and splashed into the cold, clear water of the Oreti River.
As frantically as Ernest and Willie and the ferryman tried, there was little they could do. Coughing and snorting and churning up the water, the horses heaved desperately against the weight of the wagon. They lunged and kicked, but with the wagon pulling on them, Blackbird and Blossom soon drowned. The contents of the wagon spilled into the river and sank to the bottom, and the water stilled.
Florence could scarcely believe what she had just witnessed. Everything was gone, even the new slate that was to be her birthday present. She wanted to cry about it and then realized she needed to be strong for her mother’s sake.
When the punt reached the other side of the river, Ernest and Willie, with the help of the ferryman, tried to salvage what they could. The wagon had sunk wheels first to the bottom of the river. The men were able to attach a rope to the wagon and, after cutting the drowned horses free, dragged it from the water. They were also able to collect a number of the larger, heavier items from the river bottom and load them back onto the wagon, but the books and newspapers for Mr. Young were completely ruined.
While the men worked, Florence walked along the edge of the river. There, she found some comfort when, to her delight, she spotted the box containing her new slate bobbing in the water at the edge of the river. The corks in the box had kept it afloat, and the current had pushed it to the edge. Florence scooped up the box and excitedly ran to show her mother.
Finally, using two borrowed horses, the group made it back to Erme Dale. It had been quite an adventure, and soon Florence was sitting beside her father telling him all about the trip while he drank a cup of strong black tea.
October 10, 1865, was Florence’s ninth birthday. It was also her father’s birthday. After receiving her slate, wrapped in brown paper, for her birthday present, Florence and the rest of the family made their way to Rocky Island Bush for a picnic. Back at the house following the picnic, they pushed aside the furniture in the front room and everyone joined in a game of blindman’s bluff.
Florence enjoyed a wonderful birthday, and as she went to sleep that night, she wondered what surprises the year ahead might hold for her.
Chapter 3
A Colonial Girl
The following year Florence was surprised when her father announced that he had sold Erme Dale and the family would be moving into Invercargill. Her surprise turned to delight when Florence learned that her married sister Emily, who lived in Invercargill, was expecting a baby.
Henry Young found a small house in town for the family to rent, and they moved just in time for the birth of Emily’s baby. It was a girl, whom they named Kathleen. Florence was thrilled to be an aunt at ten years of age, and she spent many hours helping her older sister with the baby. Everything seemed perfect until her father announced that he could not make a living in Invercargill and the family would have to move to Australia.
Florence’s father and brothers went on ahead of the rest of the family to find a place in Australia to settle down in. Like New Zealand, Australia was home to many British colonists. Letters passed between the divided family, and Florence learned that her father had chosen to settle near Melbourne, on the southeastern end of the continent. From the way her father and brothers described Australia, Florence was sure that she would not like it. The place sounded dry and barren compared to New Zealand, and her brothers wrote about snakes, dangerous crocodiles, and other strange reptiles. Florence wept when it was time to leave Invercargill, and she made Emily promise to come and visit as soon as she could.
Dromana, the small community located forty-five miles south of Melbourne, was even more disappointing than Florence had imagined it would be. The family arrived in March 1868, and everyone was set to work in the new family venture—growing grapes. Within a week eleven-year-old Florence had learned to loathe the vineyard her father and brothers had planted when they first arrived on the property.
