Hobart, 11 July 1866
Hobart, 11 July 1866Wednesday. Catherine wasn’t sure why it was important for her to know the day of the week. It didn’t matter what the days were; she knew she didn’t have long for this world. But each morning when the sun’s rays found their way into her bedroom and danced on the bed, working their way up to her face, she asked her middle daughter Sadie, what day it was. The days all blended into each other, she wanted to keep track.
‘It’s a typical winter’s morning, Mama,’ Sadie said. ‘The sun is shining but there is no warmth in its rays. The wind is howling and bringing with it the icy blast from the snow on Mt Wellington. You stay in bed, snug and warm.’
Margaret had sailed from Melbourne to visit. They hadn’t seen each other for almost thirty years. Margaret’s
