Wild Card – Mary Porter

Having sorted out the identity of Sarah and David Heffernan’s two younger sons to my satisfaction, their births threw up another mystery that remains unsolved. In each case the birth was registered by a Mary Porter of Murray Street. Ms Porter may have been able to be explained away as a helpful neighbour or friend if not for the fact that she described herself to the registrar as the newborn’s grandmother!

Wherever did she spring from? Was she Sarah’s mother (or stepmother) or David’s? And who was Mr Porter, assuming there was one?

Some possibilities can be pretty much excluded. The few Mary Heffernans (or similar names) who arrived (all Irish convicts) prior to 1848 were far too young to have been David’s mother. Similarly the one Mary Henshelwood who arrived in Van Diemen’s Land was so close in age to Sarah that at times it seemed possible they were the same person.

That leaves possibilities such as Sarah or David’s mother marrying a Porter in the United Kingdom or Ireland before arriving in the colony but I can find no evidence of such a marriage. Of course any Mary X could always have simply adopted the Porter name without marrying, leaving no official trace.

Porters were unhelpfully prevalent in Hobart Town at that period and red herrings abound.1 Nevertheless I have an hypothesis, based mostly on conjecture, that the Mary Porter in question was the wife of James Porter, a Hobart carpenter and builder, arrived free in 1833.2 I’m just not convinced that she was the biological grandmother of Sarah and David’s children.

This Mary and James Porter had at least two children of their own born in Hobart: John William (1834)³ and Mary Ann (1836).⁴ James Porter was a Murray Street carpenter in 1847 when Mary Porter registered the birth of Sarah and David Heffernan’s son.⁵ The valuation roll for that year adds the details that James Porter was the owner and occupier of a shop in that street.⁶

The most promising link is via James and Mary Porter’s daughter, Mary Ann, whom I suspect played an important role in the life of Charles Richard Heffernan, Sarah and David’s son. But that’s a story for another day.

FICTION BITES

Heffernan’s Straw Bonnet Makers, Collins Street, Hobart Town, 28 December 1841

‘Good morning ma’am,’ Hannah Armstrong, the apprentice, greeted the thin woman hesitating on the doorstep. As far as customers went she was not from the very top drawer Hannah thought. Still she ushered the woman in with a bob of the head as she had been trained to do.

‘I should like to speak with Mrs ‘effernan about bonnets.’ The woman’s manner was more decided once inside.

‘Do you wait here an’ I will see to her availability.’ Training not yet perfected, the nails of the girl’s boots rang on the wooden treads as she clattered upstairs to fetch her mistress.

There had been such a run on straw bonnets at Christmas Sarah Heffernan was unable to produce a single one for inspection. But when the shabby woman explained she had been sent for samples by the Commissary’s lady Sarah scented a lucrative sale to an influential customer.

She extracted the remaining models from the ‘Glenbervie’ shipment from their wrapping and proudly laid them on the counter. While they had not met with the hoped for success no-one could deny the quality of the merchandise.

The two women exchanged on the relative merits of the hats and bonnets at length, touching only briefly on the subject of price – after all Mrs Commissary Darling, or was it Hull? would not be one to quibble long if the hat pleased – before the woman made her selection.

‘I shall have them back to you within the hour,’ she declared firmly on leaving with a package under each arm. Hannah opened the door and followed her out onto the step, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Commissary’s lady waiting opposite in a hansom cab. But instead of crossing the thin woman hurried in the direction of Elizabeth Street before disappearing behind two carts laden with timber for the builder’s yard in Trafalgar Place.

Roberts, Pawnbrokers, Argyle Street, 31 December 1841

Mary Ann sweated as she watched the pawnbroker turn the two satin bonnets, one old, one new, over in his hands. Had she asked too much? Eight shillings was barely enough to cover the rent and some things for the baby.

‘I shall have to detain this item,’ Roberts spoke at last, indicating the new bonnet. ‘The other you may take away with you.’

‘But I already told you, I’m here for a friend. I can fetch her this instant, she’ll back me up.’ She was torn between wanting to flee that beady stare and the still slim hope of persuading the pawnbroker to advance her the money.

Roberts was implacable, ‘On second thoughts I shall keep them both. I bid you good day missus.’

Once she had quit the premises James Roberts called to his wife, working in the back office.

‘I’m going out for a constable my dear. I’ll not be long.’

Sarah Goes to the Theatre, 14 July 1843.

‘I have a surprise. Close your eyes.’ David Heffernan folded his wife’s hand around piece of stiff card. A two shilling ticket for Signor Carandini's Benefit concert.

‘But this is for two nights ago,’ Sarah objected.

‘There’s the beauty of it. Carandini had to postpone by two days so Mrs Morris has given up her ticket – you know she always dines with her brother on Fridays.’

Sarah hesitated. The gesture was well meant but it still seemed so little time since she had lost her tiny babe. She was constantly tired and a night at the theatre seemed unlikely to help.

‘It will do you good to go out. And you should be making an effort to be seen in the right circles.'

David was right. She must be more business minded if she wanted to live up to his hopes for her. Plain straw bonnets brought meagre returns compared with the profit to be made on more elaborate millinery. And undeniably the Royal Victorian Theatre was the perfect location to see and be seen by Hobart Town's most fashionable ladies.

Arriving right as the doors opened at 7 o’clock Sarah positioned herself with a view of the dress circle patrons entering from Campbell Street. Her practised eye told her that many of the bonnets had come ready made from merchants such as Purkiss at Wellington House or Howe's in Elizabeth Street. Imported direct from London they may well have been but the trims desperately lacked imagination. She could do so much better and at little extra cost!

The theatre bells rang just before the half hour sounded sending Sarah to her seat with the rest of the stragglers. Around her anticipation was divided. Which would be the more sumptuous treat: the maestro’s performance of his new mazurka and Rosetti’s tarantella or the freshly painted theatre sets rumoured to surpass anything previously seen at the Royal Victorian? Sarah was simply happy to bathe in the warmth and hum of the crowd and finally to be able to think of something other than her dead child.

Once the concert had ended Sarah walked home with neighbours from Elizabeth Street her head full of ideas for bonnets for the coming spring. A lamp had been left inside the front door at No. 81 lighting her way to their rear apartment but David had already retired for the night. Some of the euphoria of the evening faded as she caught the unmistakable smell of alcohol in the cramped room. She turned out the lamp and slipped into bed waiting for his arm to reach towards her but it did not come.

 

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