Adrienne Frater - SS Penguin SOS

The story of the wreck of the SS Penguin, which was one of New Zealands worst maritime disasters, and of the heroic actions of her Great-Aunt Ada Hannam, was particularly dear to author Adrienne Fraters heart. She felt that there was little knowledge of this tragedy and was determined to write about it. As well as researching material on the wreck and its aftermath, Adrienne researched her family history extensively, managing to interview an aunt who recalled memories of Ada.

But how do you write a story based on a family tragedy? Adrienne decided to write through the experiences of Jack (her father) who lived for many months with Ada and her son Wally in their boarding house, several years after the disaster.

First published by OneTree House Ltd, New Zealand, 2020

Text Adrienne Frater

978-0-9951176-0-0 (print)

978-1-9900359-1-3 (ebook)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

Cover design: dahlDESIGN

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Prologue

If you were asked to write about a hero or heroine, how many of you would write about Ada Hannam? How many of you have even heard of her? Although relatively unknown, Ada Hannam is one of New Zealands bravest women and this book tells her story.

Adas story is told through the voice of her eleven-year-old nephew. Jack, who is staying in his aunts boarding house, is asked to write an essay on this very topic. He senses his aunt has a secret and when someone tells him she may be a heroine he persuades her to tell her story.

This is a work of historical fiction. The main characters are real people and Adas sad story is true. The rest of the story is as I imagine it to be. However in telling it, I felt close to the characters, for Aunt Ada is my great aunt and Jack is my father.

CONTENTS

Rain raps.

Lightning flashes.

Thunder rolls.

I haul the blankets over my head and jam my fingers in my ears. Im brave about most things, but not thunder and lightning. If I was home, by now Id be in Mums bed. But Im not home and Aunt Ada is not the cuddling kind.

More lightning. More thunder. I cant understand how Wally, my older cousin, snores on. The house could be burning round him and hed not wake. But it isnt just storms that keep me awake. During the day Im so busy with school and playing footie and helping out in my aunts boarding house, I have no time to think about Dad. My father died in the influenza epidemic. The picture theatre he managed had been closed down and as he had time on his hands, he helped nurse those who were ill. He was one of the last to die from it in our town.

Youre my man now, Mum had said when she found me crying in the woodshed. I havent cried since. I want you to go to school in town, Mum had said. Its not for long just until I get back on my feet. Mum and Gwennie are staying with one of Mums cousins in the country now.

How long is long? I wonder. Ive been with Aunt Ada for months now. My aunt is my mothers sister. Theyre not at all alike. Mum laughs a lot and likes a good gossip but Aunt Ada keeps herself to herself.

Wallys dad, my Uncle Joe, is dead too. He drowned before Wally was born, Mum told me, but she wouldnt say any more. I cant understand why Aunt Ada doesnt talk about her husband. Mum and I talk about Dad all the time.

When Dad was alive, wed have friends in for sing-songs round the piano. Id hang around, hoping I wouldnt be spotted and sent to bed. When the singing was over Mum would pour tea and Dad would pass around the fruit cake. Theyd be talking away, then suddenly theyd lower their voices and look grim. Its past your bedtime, Dad would say and hed shoo me out the door.

The next thunder clap sounds like a bomb! I leap out of bed and tear downstairs as if a tiger is at my heels. Its late and the boarders have all gone to bed but I know Aunt Ada will be where she always is in a storm. Shell be sitting with her back to the window and will have drawn the rocking chair close to the fire. And shell be knitting. The knitting my aunt does during storms is not the normal kind of knitting its frantic!

But tonight Aunt Ada is not knitting. Shes sitting in her rocking chair, holding the framed photograph that usually hangs on the wall. I cant sleep, I say from the doorway, but she doesnt hear. A gust of wind rattles the windows. When the next thunder clap sounds, I scoot across the room and dive into my aunts lap.

Aunt Ada is the tallest woman I know and the strongest. She can heave sacks of coal as well as any man and, as I said, she isnt usually the cuddling kind. But she doesnt like storms either, for tonight she lets the photograph drop into her lap and for the first time since Ive been here, she hugs me. Its a bony hug and she holds me so tight I can barely breathe.

There there, Jack, she says, rocking me. Dont fret; its just a silly old storm.

You hate storms too, I say.

I go back there when its stormy, she says, looking down at the photograph. It shows an upturned white, wooden boat. Its not a large boat and the number four is painted on the side. There are rocks in the picture and the waves look scary. Its an ugly picture. My mother hangs pretty calendar pictures on our walls and an embroidery sampler she did at school. But not Aunt Ada.

My head buzzes. Boat... sea... storm... storm... sea... boat.

Aunt Ada sighs, then looks away. She goes to make cocoa. I love my aunts cocoa. She lets me have two spoons of sugar, while at home I can only have one.

You do hate storms, dont you? I ask again, stirring in the sugar and hoping she doesnt think Im being cheeky. She spends a long time drinking her cocoa and I wait for her to say more.

But it doesnt happen.

It stops raining.

It stops blowing.

Theres no more lightning, no more thunder and Aunt Ada hangs the picture of the boat back on the wall and picks up her knitting.

Off to bed with you, she says. And straight to sleep or youll be late for school.

My cousin has a second-hand bike and he gets up early to do a paper run. Its a large bike and most days he dubs me on the handlebars to school. This is going to be Wallys last year in school, although my aunt doesnt know that yet. Tall and strong like my aunt, Wally plans to go to sea when he leaves school and has made me promise not to tell. Wally is not a chatty cousin and often doesnt bother to answer my questions. (I ask heaps of questions.) In the same way that Aunt Ada is the opposite of my mother, Im the opposite of Wally I talk a lot, read a lot and like to write stories. My dad was always reading.

This house has an inside dunny, but in Picton our dunny was in the yard. Dad would spend ages in the dunny then walk out with a book stuffed down his shirt. I guess Im a lot like my dad.