I was encouraged by the way the remarkable story of William Arnott ‘the Biscuit King of Newcastle’, fired interest. For me, telling the tale of the penniless convict’s son who built a business employing 800 workers, took on a surprising twist when I realised its threads were woven into the tapestry of my Dad’s family history. Two years after 20-year-old William arrived in Maitland on the Hunter River in 1851, my great-grand mother Marianne stepped off the barque Lady Anne, a child immigrant from Portsmouth. Her family settled beside Newcastle Harbour at Stockton. She later married and mothered five children. Mary Ann Dalby loved serving people. For the next fifty years, while raising her family and sharing in the running of a shoe business with her husband, she maintained her commitment to organisations that touched the lives of the needy. Suffering the loss of two infant children only seemed to deepen her compassion. These were the days before government welfare agencies and social service benefits. Somewhere in the 1870’s, she began as a young volunteer doing home visits across Newcastle. She was the original Pink Lady at Newcastle Hospital, spreading kindness among the patients and doing the small things that spoke of a caring heart. It was said around the wards, ‘Nobody ever wanted for comfort if the case reached the knowledge of Mrs Dalby.’
‘Ma Dalby’ became something of a local legend and soon found herself working alongside William Arnott and his wife Margaret for The Benevolent Fund. Formed in 1813, it was the first charitable organisation in Australia at a time when governments were reluctant to take responsibility for relief work. Its goal was to extend practical action on the basis of Jesus’ teachings. The Newcastle branch opened in 1885, largely funded by the Arnotts. Driven mostly by Christian women of the city, it set up an asylum to supply the growing number of poor with shelter, clothes, food and necessities for survival. Their particular concern was providing accommodation for the aged and a maternity ward for single mothers. Ma Dalby became one of the visitors sent to assess the needs of those applying for help. The demand for aid increased rapidly to the point where it was decided in 1896 to build a new asylum (safe place) at Waratah which became a well-known symbol of Christian compassion in the city. When World War One brought loss and added suffering, Ma Dalby threw her energies into patriotic efforts like the Ambulance Brigade and Red Cross. Struggling families of returned soldiers found her a sympathetic friend. When the influenza epidemic drifted over the suburbs in 1919 like a cloud of poison gas, Ma Dalby, now almost 70 years old, stepped into the breach again. The Waratah Asylum became an isolation hospital and her base for action. With public offices, shops and factories at a virtual standstill, women volunteers established a kitchen at nearby Hamilton, distributing beef tea, custard and jelly to hundreds of people. My father spoke of doing the rounds with her as a young boy. Funds were desperately short and soon the stout figure of Ma Dalby became a familiar sight, out in all weathers, organising and collecting for the different charities that called on her. It moves me to think of tiny Ma Dalby, energetically at work in the eye of that ferocious 5-month storm in her home town. Discovering my great-grandmother’s story reminded me of the words of Australian poet Adam Lindsay Gordon, Life is mostly froth and bubble, Two things stand like stone. Kindness in another’s trouble, Courage in your own. After Marianne passed away in August 1924, her son Claude recalled the impulsive generosity which nearly impoverished herself and her family and summed up his mother’s life simply: “She really lived for others. She was a follower of Jesus Christ and made no distinctions of creed.” The people who crowded into Newcastle Cathedral to farewell the little shoemaker’s wife silently proved that to be true. Anglican clergy in robes stood with Salvation Army lassies in uniform; members of the Painters and Dockers Union and tugboat crews rubbed shoulders with head office staff from Newcastle industry. Undoubtedly many of the poorer, working-class folk to whom she had ministered made up the crowd. Along with representatives of nearly every Newcastle charity, they listened as the Dean affirmed that her long life of practical Christianity had made an indelible mark. He said, “She showed what one heart and one pair of hands consecrated to the service of humanity could do. For fifty years she radiated good courage and cheerful optimism to the poor and needy. Every city needs a Mary Ann Dalby…the people’s friend.” As three Mayors of Newcastle helped carry the coffin from the Church, the flags of all the ships in the nearby Harbour fluttered at half-mast. It was a tribute from the 28,000 seamen who ebbed and flowed in the port to their friend Ma Dalby. A memorial plaque later unveiled by the Mayor at Newcastle Hospital, as a tribute from the citizens of the city, was headed with the words of the Apostle Paul, “The greatest of all, is charity.” Now when I visit my family’s hometown, I like to imagine Ma Dalby of Newcastle standing beside Mother Teresa of Calcutta up on Nobby’s Head, looking out across the city and agreeing, “We can’t all do great things, but we can all do small things with great love.”
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AuthorJoin The Outback Historian, Paul Roe, on an unforgettable journey into Australia's Past as he follows the footprints of the Master Storyteller and uncovers unknown treasures of the nation. Archives
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