Here are some “Deleted Scenes” – these were cut for a variety of reasons. Maybe they were repetitive of something established more succinctly elsewhere. Often they were cut in order to maintain pace. And often they were very hard decisions to make.

This first scene occurred on the boat, en-route to Australia, as they left the Gulf of Aden, before the storm in the Arabian Sea.  It was to show the position of women in society, but also to foreshadow that as Australia had been a British Colony, perhaps the strictures of the British class system would govern the colony.  The brutality of the scene forced Amelia to be honest with herself and Clara.  It was cut to make the pace of the journey quicker. 

Now very keen to master this new language, most afternoons Amelia would take an English grammar book to the deck and sit with it and struggle.  She would try to separate a direct object from an indirect.  She’d pronounce the words but only to herself, never out loud, over and over she’d turn them in her mouth.  She would sit near those who spoke English.  She concentrated on the sound, how flat they all seemed, how lifeless, as if everyone who spoke English were sad.

“Are you studying English?” 

She was seated on a bench and looked up at the man.  He was in his mid-thirties and dressed very well, with the airs such sartorial elegance brings.  He’d come down from first class to steerage.  But the most startling thing was that he’d spoken to her in English and she’d understood. 

“Yes,” she said, her vowel held too long and far too open. 

He said something and she didn’t understand.  He repeated it, she thought, but she could still make no sense of it. 

“My name is Charles,” he said, the words separate and crisp.  “Charles Fotheringham.” 

He stood to attention and offered her his hand.  She took it. 

“My name is Amelia.”  Then she looked down at her book, shuffled through the pages and found the phrase she wanted.  “I tra-vel-a to Aus-trae-li-a.”

“Very good.”  He smiled and stood back.  “I can help you if you like?”  He now spoke perfect Italian. 

“You speak Italian?”

“Yes.  On my mother’s side.  My nanny was also Italian.”

“I see.”

Now they could speak, she was embarrassed he’d deluded her. 

“Where are you travelling?” he said. 

“To Babinda.”

“I’m not sure I know where that is.”

“It’s in Queensland.”

“I am travelling to Melbourne.” 

She nodded slowly. 

“Would you like some help with your study?” 

She looked at her book and felt acutely embarrassed. 

“We could look at some verbs,” he said. “The irregular ones, the hard ones, but they make English what it is.” 

“I don’t want to take up your time.” 

“Amelia, on this boat, time is something of which we have an immense amount.” 

He smiled, soft and generously. 

“Where shall we start?” 

He motioned for her to sit again and sat in the chair beside her.  He took her book, moved through it until he found what he was looking for. 

“Let’s start with something irregular.  The most useful verb – to be.” 

He took her pencil and wrote the full conjugation.  He pronounced each pronoun and verb slowly and she repeated them. 

“Good.  You know that one, I see.  Let’s try another.”

And so the afternoon went by, with to eat, to sleep, to want, to feel, to hear, to touch.  He peppered these verbs with nouns.  He took her book from her, flicked through the pages. 

“I’ve a much better book,” he said.  “If you like, I can lend it to you.  It’s in my cabin, if you’d like to come and get it.”

Amelia was unsure.  The steerage passengers were banned from the upper desk but he assured her if he accompanied her, there was no problem.  And she was intrigued to see the upper grandeur and agreed.  The decks were broader and populated with long lounges.  His cabin was at least twice the size of theirs and there was only one bed.  He closed the door behind him and made his way to the bookshelf, ran his finger along the spines. 

“It must be here somewhere …”

He went to the table by his bed.  Went through the pile of books. 

“Oh …  I remember.  I lent the book to Signor Carusi.”  

Amelia felt uncomfortable.  “Perhaps when he’s finished with it …” 

Signor Fotheringham stood and walked the few paces to her.  He grabbed her, pressed himself to her, his lips at hers.  She dropped her book, raised her hands to his shoulders and pushed back.

“What are you doing?” she said.  “I’m married.”

“Married?  I hardly call that marriage.  And that hasn’t stopped the other brides on this boat.” 

He threw his arms about her.  His hand squeezed her breast.  But she was deft and moved back.  She turned to the door, pulled at it.  But it was locked.  There was no key.  She fumbled again, rattled the whole door in the frame.  He advanced on her. 

There was a knock at the door, rapid and sharp. 

“Charles?” 

It was a female voice.  The woman said something.  Charles responded and the woman spoke again.  Charles breathed out heavily, lent down and scooped up her book and gave it to her.  He unlocked the door. 

A woman, his age and refinement, stood in the hall.  She glared at Amelia.  Amelia’s face burned.  She lowered her glance and made to pass the woman. 

“You’ll find your way to the lower deck,” Charles said.

Despite her shock at his impertinence which quickly turned to anger, she bowed her head to the woman and made for the hall.  People glared at her.  Never had she felt so heavily the stigma of her unrefined clothes, her hair style, her shoes, she wore no hat, but she wouldn’t stop and she wouldn’t excuse herself. 

The late afternoon was souring, the air hot and humid, the sky plumping grey.  She couldn’t return to their cabin.  She needed fresh air, a moment to herself and walked towards the bow of the boat. 

How dare that man.  What gave him such power? 

It grew dark.  She had no hunger and as the rain had held off she decided to remain in the quiet.  People came to the view, some on their own and some in flirting pairs.  She had nowhere to go, nowhere to be. 

“There you are.”  Clara came to the bow.  “I was worried.  It’s late.  What are you doing here?”

For some moments, Amelia continued to stare out at the dark sky and sea. 

“I lied to you,” Amelia said.  “But I’ve lied to myself as well.  There’s only one real reason I wanted to leave Italy.  I hate them.  I hate them all.” 

“What’s happen?  Who?” 

Clara sat next to Amelia, took her hand but Amelia felt repulsed by contact and pulled hers away.  A silence passed. 

“I had a friend, Emma Veronesi,” Amelia said.  “She was a very beautiful girl …”   

This next scene occurred when Amelia, Clara, Cristiano and Frau Gruetzmann had just arrived in Fremantle and gone ashore in Australia for the first time.  Whilst they stood on the Fremantle docks finding their land legs, a couple approached them.  The scene contains Amelia’s very first impressions of Australia. 

Then a couple came towards them from the crowd.  They were in their forties and very well dressed and smiled generous smiles and held out their hands to them. 

“Willkommen,” they said, over and over. 

Frau Gruetzmann perked up and returned their greeting.  Amelia and Fulvia smiled at them as their conversation became happily animated for some time.  

“This is Herr and Frau Utecht,” Frau Gruetzmann said.  “They came to Australia a year ago from Austria.  They would like to offer us afternoon tea.” 

The couple smiled and Amelia and Fulvia nodded their acceptance.  More Austrians who had left Europe.  Herr Utecht stood and held out his hand towards the road that led from the port.  Frau Utecht helped Frau Gruetzmann to her feet.  She swayed momentarily and then stepped forward.  They began to walk, slowly at first, the Utechts and Frau Gruetzmann ahead, followed by Fulvia and Amelia and Cristiano.  Herr Utecht tilted his hat towards the mob and shepherded them past.  

Soon they were seated in a café and without asking what they’d like, Herr Utecht ordered.  Frau Gruetzmann talked on with the couple but was hard pushed to translate everything and so soon just spoke with them.  Amelia and Fulvia and Cristiano sat in silence.  Amelia tried to take in every new thing; the wood panels of the café, the table cloths, the black and white uniforms of the waitresses who carried a full tray to their table.  Herr Utecht had ordered tea for everyone and small individual cakes served with jam and cream.  Cristiano’s eyes swelled at the sight. 

The tea was English, the cream clotted.  Amelia looked at the cakes she’d never seen them before, judged them halfway to bread.  The jam was very sweet, strawberry, perhaps overly sweet.  Everything in the tea room was clean and well-kept.  Once they’d finished, the Utechts had to leave.  Amelia could find no words in any language to thank them for their kindnesses.  They were obviously well-to-do people and for them to take their time on a Sunday was beyond belief.  She just smiled.  Herr Utechts offered her his hand.  They shook hands.  Never had she felt such a fine glove. 

They still had some time until they were due back to the ship and feeling fortified by the tea and scones they decided to walk a little further.  The streets were wide and bore so few people.  They walked into a park and found a bench …