with me,” Lewis motioned, and he hailed a cab. We drove in it to Little Collins Street and entered the Police Station. The officer on duty, Sergeant Pewtress, knew him well. “What can I do for you Mr. Abrahams?” he enquired in the friendliest of manners. “Is my brother in the lock-up?” He was there all right, a near naked, pitiful, human wreck sitting cross-legged on a slimy stone floor in the dark corner of a filthy cell. Lewis failed to recognise him. It was twenty-five years since he had seen him. He shuddered, then he spoke gently as to a child. “Are you my brother Morris? Is your name Morris Abrahams?” Morris gave no response, not even a hint of recognition. “You know me, don’t you Morris?” I interposed, and Morris smiled. The ice was broken. I confirmed for Lewis that this was Morris Abrahams, the man who a young Jewish widow had brought aboard the Sussex at Gravesend and requested that I care for during the voyage. We couldn’t take him home that evening. Certain legal formalities had to be enacted before a Bench of Magistrates in the morning before he could be restored to his family.
Lewis Abrahams took me home. He was obviously a man of means. His grand house was set in a large garden that was beautifully manicured. Its contents were exquisite and demonstrated fine taste. The family had delayed the evening meal so that we could all dine together and we were treated to a most sumptuous supper. The youngest daughter, a sweet little thing, pleaded to be allowed to stay up to listen to my adventures on the Sussex.
After dinner Lewis showed me to a room and bade me good night. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow and remained in that somniferous state for sixteen hours. When I awoke the next afternoon, a brand new outfit from Cantor and Loel’s was laid out on my bedside chair. On dressing I found ten sovereigns in the pocket of the waistcoat. I questioned Lewis about this; he had already returned home with Morris; but he just laughed it off. “You can always pay me back when you make lots of money. In the meantime go and see the town.”
Lewis also filled me in on the lovely Miriam Green. Morris Abrahams had worked for her father, a wealthy manufacturer. The young couple had fallen in love and wanted to marry, but a match had been made for her with a wealthy older man instead. Morris lost his bride, his job and then his mind as well. Within four years Miriam’s father and husband had both died and she had inherited great wealth. She sought out her first love, only to find him in the Colney Hatch Asylum for the insane. Faced with his condition she decided that the best thing was to send him to his older brother in Melbourne. This story, however, was not destined to end happily. Morris Abrahams eventually wandered off into the Australian bush and perished. But I learned a lesson from having made his acquaintance: that an act of kindness to a perfect stranger is like bread sent upon the water.
The Sussex continued to make news for several weeks. The first few days saw extensive salvage operations at the scene of the wreck. These proved quite successful and many passengers had luggage retrieved. I was not one of them. My belongings, a heavy trunk and six cases, were lost. Contained within them were the residual funds that constituted the remainder of my inheritance, my wardrobe of clothes and a library of books. My plans for farming the land went down with the Sussex. I no longer possessed sufficient money for the venture. But I fared better than Captain Collard did. A subsequent enquiry into the cause of the shipwreck found him negligent of his duties and he was sentenced to twelve months imprisonment.
Lewis Abrahams discussed the aspects of my life with me - family history and upbringing - education - past experiences - and future aspirations. He then suggested that I look for work teaching languages. “They are always wanting such teachers in Melbourne. Why don’t you start by going down to the synagogue and asking for a job as a Hebrew teacher? It will introduce you to the Jewish community if nothing else. What have you got to lose?”
The Jewish School, or as it was more correctly known Common School 180, was under the direct supervision of the Synagogue. Founded in 1859 as the West Melbourne Grammar School, it received a grant from the government sponsored Denominational School Board, provided it teach secular subjects as well as Hebrew and religion. With the introduction, in 1865, of the Common School Act, Government funding could be withdrawn unless certain new criteria were met. To still qualify for a subsidy the West Melbourne Grammar School was required to place itself under the Victorian Education Department, and in accordance with this move its name was changed to Common School 180. It rapidly developed a reputation for academic excellence. I was appointed to the staff as an assistant Hebrew teacher soon after my arrival in Melbourne. If you access the records of the school you may note that I resigned at the end of my second year only to be virtually immediately re-appointed. The education system was undergoing great change at this time and the apparent fluctuating course of my employment was interwoven with this. On January 1st 1873, a year to the day after my arrival, a new Government Education Bill was passed. State funded education was made free and compulsory but wholly secular. Schools that remained private would now lose their Government subsidy. In the case of denominational schools a special clause was introduced. The school and the religious community, which it represented were permitted one years grace, during which to decide, whether to hand the school over to the Education Department on a purely secular basis, or to retain it as a religious institution. The Jewish School favoured the latter course. It now opened on Sunday mornings to teach Hebrew exclusively. This was good for me as it provided extra work and more income. The Jewish School at this time boasted an enrolment of 164 students: - 137 boys, 27 girls and, interestingly enough, 8 Christians among them.
As a result of the new Government regulations the teaching staff of Common School 180 were given notice for December 31st 1873 and from that day onwards the school ceased to exist. Its successor the Melbourne Hebrew School was founded three days earlier but did not open for business until January 12th 1874. I was now given a new one-year contract to teach Hebrew. My appointment was for two and a half hours each day, Mondays to Fridays, and an additional two hours on a Sunday morning. It was also a prerequisite of my employment that I attend Synagogue on Saturdays and Festivals as an example to my students. But this was not my only job. I also taught at three other schools, the Turret House Commercial College, the Fitzroy Secondary Academy, and the All Saints Church of England Grammar School. At the Fitzroy Secondary Academy I had a stint as Head Teacher as well as teaching French and German. By having several part-time teaching positions I was able to extend my horizons into the general community and make the acquaintance of a large number of non-Jews as well. This in no way represented a flight away from Judaism. I always believed that man has a common humanity that is every bit as important as his personal ethnicity and that he should use it to transcend fears of cultural differences that may exist between him and his neighbours. This was my legacy from having been educated in the midst of differing cultures.
Let’s digress a bit and talk about “The Haunted Castle.” The haunted castle was a pseudonym for the Turret House Commercial College. Turret House was a two storey palatial mansion built at the corner of George Street and Victoria Parade in Fitzroy by pioneers who had struck it rich. No expense had been spared in its construction. The bricks were even imported from England. It was built at a time when the wealthy elite began to establish aristocratic private homes away from their places of business in the city. Fitzroy and East Melbourne, in the nearby bush, were favourite locations. The original inhabitants lived merry lives full of extempore dinner parties and fancy dress balls. The city’s leading butchers, grocers and wine merchants catered for these functions. Their carts were seen, daily, unloading wares at the front gates. A domestic tragedy then put an end to all this frolicking. The exact details are not known. The Coroner, Dr. Richard Youl, is said to have taken the dark secret to his grave. The house became deserted and from that day onwards was known in the neighbourhood as “The Haunted Castle”.
In 1872 a schoolteacher named Martin from Ballarat who wanted to establish a Commercial High School finally rented the property for a lowly sum. Martin suggested that I partner him in the project and invited me to dine there one evening, with his family, and discuss the matter further. I found Martin to be a kind and caring man and when I expressed a wish not to tie myself down financially, he offered to employ me instead. He also hired a third