A Journey of Faith

When I ended my call with Jane, I was angry and so frustrated I didn’t know what to do with myself. Jane was a very dear friend but unfortunately for me, a hopeless romantic. She just couldn’t understand why I was so mad at her for setting me up on a blind date.

“Oh Sue, you’ll love this guy. He just started working in my office after arriving from one of our overseas branches. He hardly knows anyone here and I really thought it was time you put yourself out there again.”

“At least you could have checked with me first,” I said.

Jane just laughed.

“You would have found any excuse to say no. Listen, we haven’t been out together for ages. No pressure, honestly. Jeff and I will bring your date and meet at your place and go to that little Italian restaurant just down the road from you.”

I just couldn’t win. I told her I had planned to work on my house this weekend but all she said was that “You have to eat at some point, so you may as well have company. Anyway, Jeff and I haven’t seen the plans for your renovations yet.”

I put the phone down and just sat there looking at the wall.

I had only recently purchased this little, old, weatherboard house. My first place I could call my own – well mine and the bank’s anyway.

It was on the outskirts of Raymond Terrace in New South Wales. A lovely area, positioned near the Hunter River, several beautiful beaches within a forty-minute drive and only a thirty-minute, easy drive to work.

There were quite a few things needed doing to the house which meant I had to call in a builder. The dollar figure was climbing alarmingly as we went through my list of necessities and then my wish list.

The necessities included things like new wiring, roof insulation and various plumbing repairs which also included a new water heater.

My wish list was quite modest; a facelift for the bathroom and kitchen eventually, when I had saved a bit more money; making the two small bedrooms into one large room.

The builder said he could organise an electrician and plumber where needed and conceded that those costs would be quite substantial. He said however, the roof insulation and demolishing the wall between the bedrooms to make one big room could be kept to an affordable target if I was willing to help him where possible and also do some of the work myself.

I thought, why not, I had watched enough DIY shows to know that everyday people, like me, could do it.

I had at least six hours before I had to get ready for this stupid blind date so why not take my frustrations out on that wall that had to come down. The builder had already checked that it wasn’t a load-bearing wall, so I was free to start dismantling it. Being so old, it had what they called lining boards as the cladding. It looked easy enough to me to pull them all off. Ha! Stupid me!

They really made things solid back then. Each nail was taking forever to pull out. The claw hammer and the crow bar were getting a real work out, as were my muscles.

Jack, my builder, had loosened a couple of the boards for me before he knocked off yesterday. I would have to make sure I gave him a good rap on Facebook. He really was a marvel and he treated me like his part-time apprentice; taking the time to explain things as we went along; naming the tools we were using; just generally teaching me all that he could. I suppose he was just happy to have someone who was interested in learning. He said it would be only a few more years before he retired and he really wished he had someone to carry on his business.

I kept going at the wall for hours, only stopping for a quick bite at lunch time. I wanted to get as much of it done today so I had time to recover tomorrow before work again on Monday.

Getting the boards off the other side of the wall was a lot easier. I was able to wack them with the hammer from the side I’d already done. Perspiration was pouring off me but I was nearly there. I was off the ladder and working on the lowest portion of the wall. There had been plenty of cobwebs, thankfully no live inhabitants, and stacks of dirt and dust. I was covered in it.

Suddenly, I saw a wad of papers in the bottom of the cavity, down near the floor.

First thought – someone’s hidden treasure!

Unfortunately, no. It was a stack of hand-written pages. Lots of them. I pulled it all out of the wall and found that most of it was tied with ribbon but some had rotted away and these sheets were loose. I looked at the writing on one of the sheets and it looked very old. I mean – really old.

It was that old fashioned swirly writing of the past. The paper was old and dry too and I was worried it would tear just with me handling it.

I gently blew off the dust and then carried the bundle to the kitchen, my curiosity driving me crazy.

What had I uncovered?

It was eating away at me but I held it together long enough to grab my bottle of Merlot, the one I had bought as a treat to have this weekend, and a glass. I figured I really deserved it now, after the work I had put in today.

I cleaned a spot on the table, poured a glass of Merlot, undid the ribbon from the roll of papers and ever so gently spread them out on the table. I took a sip of my merlot, always a wine that seemed to sooth me with its beautiful bouquet and subtle flavours, just made to calm me, which I definitely needed now. Then I started to read ....

Wow, what a woman. I found out her name was Ellen Kerwin. Travelling out here to a land she knew nothing of; to start a new life with people she didn't know. Conditions were horrendous. Mind you, after the voyage, she probably thought Sydney town was a blessing. Sections of her story about her voyage were difficult for me to stomach. Her story continued -

After her brief respite in Sydney she was taken to the Hunter River region. For me, today, that trip takes me around two hours in the comfort of my own car. Ellen had to travel on a coastal ship, amongst all the cargo being shipped from Sydney to the outlying settlements. Her journey would have taken her up the coast of New South Wales to the port of Newcastle from where she would have journeyed up the Hunter River. Forget hours, it would have taken days. I’m sure after what she described of her trip from Ireland, getting back on another ship was the last thing she wanted to do.

Ellen did just that though and ended up meeting the man she was to marry.

The life she described, though oft times harsh, was, however, very fulfilling. The following pages told of the many hardships; death of her child; floods and droughts. They had four children and though never financially well off, from what she wrote, they were happy.

How did the pages and her story end up in my wall?

Unfortunately in their later years, her husband became ill and died. Ellen found herself alone again. Her eldest son and his family moved back into the family home to look after her.

Theirs was a growing family, so Ellen suggested that with a new addition to the family on the way, they needed another bedroom. As hers was larger than she needed, she asked her son to put in a dividing wall. It was then Ellen thought to write her story and hide it in the wall.

I sat there in my kitchen, dwelling on the risks and challenges that Ellen had overcome to reach for a better life. I looked around at this house that I now called home and tried to imagine the strength she had to step into the unknown and build such a life.

I noticed that it was getting dark and I looked at the clock on the stove and panicked when I realized I only had forty minutes till Jane, Jeff and my blind date arrived. I had been so engrossed in the pages of Ellen’s story, I hadn’t realised how late it was.

I took a deep breath, then downed the last of the Merlot that was in my glass putting the rest aside for later. I figured if Ellen could travel from Ireland to Australia way back then for a chance at a better life, I could at least step out my front door tonight for a blind date. She had shown me that you could develop an inner strength to face challenges and that the risks you took in life could pay off.

Clean and presentable after my shower, all traces of dirt and dust gone (I hoped), I answered the knock on my door.

Jane and Jeff stood there with a very nice-looking guy.

Jane pulled me out the door and happily said, “Sue, meet Patrick. Patrick, meet Sue.”

I could have throttled her. No subtlety at all. She had just about shoved me in his face.

Patrick laughed and said he was happy to finally meet me. He said Jane had told him so much about me, he felt like he knew me already.

“I believe Merlot is your favourite wine. I hope you like this that I picked out for dinner”, he said.

I couldn’t believe my ears, for he had the most gorgeous Irish accent I had ever heard. I looked up into his eyes, he was a good foot taller than me, and they were a beautiful chocolate brown. They seemed to just melt my heart.

I felt like a silly young teenager again, not knowing what to say. The best I came out with was a very weak “Hi” and “thanks”.

When I managed to drag my eyes away from him, I turned to Jane.

“You didn’t tell me he was Irish.”

Jane winked and said, “That was the surprise”.

Jane knew how I had always had a thing for the Irish. I loved their accent and their joy for life.

Ellen had opened my eyes to life’s possibilities and I was resolved that I would hold onto what some might call ‘bind faith’ and see where tonight’s date would take me.