Open Writing

It is one of those cold, bleak, uncharitable days when icy westerly winds sneak across the paddocks and there’s no hint or promise of any warming sun. The dirt track from the main road to the cemetery snakes its way up the hill where padlocked wrought iron gates rust away. There are ghost gums scattered round the perimeter and a solitary crow cries out for attention.

The Benedictine who gave me a lift from the monastery, tells me I might find who I am looking for towards the back, near the children. I’m not sure what he means by ‘the children’ but say nothing.

The monk is frugal in his choice or words and selects each word carefully, as though working on a fixed supply each day. Whilst his faith in God may have been the dominant factor is his joining the Order, the discipline of silence was probably an added bonus.

‘He may have wanted to join us…’ he volunteers as he slips the Landcruiser into gear, glancing in the rear view mirror. ‘But it’s not for everyone. Perhaps he was too…’ he shrugs, searching for the appropriate word, ‘…damaged, yes. Which is understandable considering the times’. He waves a farewell and I watch him disappear over the rise. I suspect he’s used more than half his allocation for the day.

There are forty five graves in various states of disrepair, the most recent dates back to 1951, so the souls resting here are unlikely to see any renovation or remembrance in the foreseeable future. Some graves have been substantial and the marble, although weathered and in some places chipped, speaks of more caring and affluent times. On others the names and inscriptions are illegible, and in a few years of wind and weather, even evidence of their presence here will have disappeared. Several have simple, unmarked wooden crosses. And then I find the children.

Three unmarked graves side by side with no headstone, words of charity or wooden cross. They are barely recognisable as graves and seem to be no more than slight depressions in the ground. The graves are small, two feet long at most. There is already leaf litter and small twigs strewn across them and in another season or so, certainly if there’s any heavy rain, they will cease to exist; leaving no story, explanation or promises to be with God. All cemeteries are places of loss and emptiness but these three little mounds, known only as ‘The Children’, are sadness within sadness.

But I’m looking for a distant relative. A Doherty, a long way back on my mother’s side. A scribbled note in a family album about Thomas going to Australia to become a monk. And that was it. No further comment or reference. Like the children, it’s as though he ceased to be. But I’ve traced him back to his arrival in Perth in late 1849 or early ’50. After that he disappeared.

After several dead ends and a decision to return east, someone suggests I try New Norcia, a Benedictine Monastery 130 kilometres north of Perth. It’s a long shot and a long drive. New Norcia is the only monastic town in Australia and has a long history of growth, pastoral activity and coping with isolation and adversity.

How Thomas Doherty would have known about the place, which in the 1840s was just established and struggling to survive, is anyone’s guess. Unfortunately there’s no record or evidence of him being there. It’s disappointing and before leaving, I wander into the gift shop to buy something to remind me of the town, which has an attraction which is hard to define. Perhaps it’s the discipline, the work ethic or the unswerving belief in a God, values I have difficulty embracing. I hand over my credit card to buy a history of New Norcia and start talking with the woman.

‘Really? Goodness, I think there’s a Doherty in the other cemetery’. She excuses herself and phones a friend. Marj thinks there is in fact a Doherty, but whether it’s a Thomas is another question.

And so I’m here, wondering about the children and then as I glance around, see a headstone lying at an angle. I splash some water over the inscription. I’ve found Thomas Doherty. Surprisingly, given the age and elements, the inscription is legible. Thomas Doherty, born County Mayo 1820, died New Norcia 1882. Comforted by the rites and rituals of the Catholic Church. I wonder if he was.

Thomas was one of an estimated 1,500,000 who emigrated from Ireland following the Great Famine of the 1840s. There were another estimated 1,000,000 who couldn’t and died of starvation and associated diseases.

I know from what information I have that he was married with two small children but according to the records of his arrival there is no mention of any family.

I sit on his grave and wonder about his decision to travel across the world alone to what must have seemed to be the end of the earth. Did he try to join the Benedictines to seek solace and comfort and an understanding of God’s plan? Or was he, as the Benedictine monk suggested, ‘too damaged’. And how did he spend those twenty odd years between his arrival in Perth and his death at New Norcia?

It seems as though the answers to those questions, like the identity of the children who lay side by side for eternity, will remain unknown. And perhaps that’s as well.

I decide to spend one last night in the hotel at New Norcia and after dinner as the log fires are lit to provide warmth and comfort, I settle down and wonder about the sadness of Thomas Doherty’s life.

* * * * *

What happened back in Mayo, Thomas?
Was life good before ‘The Hunger’ came?
was there someone loved
and kids who played and laughed
without a thought of things to come

Did it happen slowly
with just a few at first
perhaps the frail and sick
or was it all too fast
with only listless faces left
dying and bereft of hope,

was there someone loved,
someone wrapped and lowered to the ground
with only prayers as comfort

and was there comfort in those words
as you wondered why you lived
and was there guilt attached,
so many dead, a village, town, your world
yet you survived, a burden in itself

one million souls, too great a task
to mourn them all
enough pain close to home
to last a life

And finally at moments end
those many miles away
did you find faith
and understanding
in the church,
and did that ease the pain?