Monday 15th December 1850
Early this morning we docked at Lyttelton harbour and all of our possessions were loaded
onto the dock from the Charlotte Jane. However, we were not there yet because we still
had one last challenge ahead of
us. We had to climb the mountains.onto the dock from the Charlotte Jane. However, we were not there yet because we still
had one last challenge ahead of
The trek was long and hard, my sweat ran down my back and my calf muscles
groaned in agony. I was only eleven but I had thought, ‘was it possible to die
of walking?’ Apparently God hadn’t thought so. Until what had happened the
next morning. Up ahead of me my parents hadn’t been faring much better. We
were struggling to get to paradise. The next morning tragedy struck. My
younger sister Amy died at only three years old. I had never seen my parents
cry so much. My mother had yelled to God asking why did her youngest
daughter, only a toddler, a defenceless toddler at that have to die. My father
had to drag her away from Amy’s still warm body. My father, elder sister and
I had seen there was no arguing with her and we had carried Amy’s stone cold
body to the top. I was shocked at how light she was. When we got to the top
the sight was mesmerising. We saw a swamp and decided it would be the
perfect place to raise a family and farm. My mother had come to us and said
she wanted to bury Amy here where she could always see those she loved.
We all decided to agree with her and bury Amy, so we paid our respects to
her and then left the grave with a wild flower on top. Then we had started
on the downhill trek. It was a lot faster on the way down, but just as
dangerous, if not more for there were unseen cliffs and gorges to watch out
for. But we made it to the promised flat land that God had told us about and
we decided to set up a farm beside the swamp we had seen. We all helped
to build it including my father John Smith, my mother Anne and my
elder sister Rosiland and her husband to be Jack Murphy and of course I.
groaned in agony. I was only eleven but I had thought, ‘was it possible to die
of walking?’ Apparently God hadn’t thought so. Until what had happened the
next morning. Up ahead of me my parents hadn’t been faring much better. We
were struggling to get to paradise. The next morning tragedy struck. My
younger sister Amy died at only three years old. I had never seen my parents
cry so much. My mother had yelled to God asking why did her youngest
daughter, only a toddler, a defenceless toddler at that have to die. My father
had to drag her away from Amy’s still warm body. My father, elder sister and
I had seen there was no arguing with her and we had carried Amy’s stone cold
body to the top. I was shocked at how light she was. When we got to the top
the sight was mesmerising. We saw a swamp and decided it would be the
perfect place to raise a family and farm. My mother had come to us and said
she wanted to bury Amy here where she could always see those she loved.
We all decided to agree with her and bury Amy, so we paid our respects to
her and then left the grave with a wild flower on top. Then we had started
on the downhill trek. It was a lot faster on the way down, but just as
dangerous, if not more for there were unseen cliffs and gorges to watch out
for. But we made it to the promised flat land that God had told us about and
we decided to set up a farm beside the swamp we had seen. We all helped
to build it including my father John Smith, my mother Anne and my
elder sister Rosiland and her husband to be Jack Murphy and of course I.
Now I hear good news, that mother is pregnant. And now I here father
calling to me to stop writing in this diary and get out and help him shear
the sheep so I better go now.
This is Thomas Smith signing out.
