Esty Maher's family is uprooted and torn apart during the Irish potato famine - 'the Hunger'. Esty is sent into service, but dreams of going to Australia to find gold, and manages to get assisted passage for her family and friends. However, when they reach Ballarat, her dream and hard work nearly turn to dust in the midst of scavenging and rebellion - but thanks to their self-reliance and ingenuity, the Mahers family turns up trumps.
Mary Arrigan always keeps her readers agog with cracking adventures, and here she moves confidently into historical fiction. - Irish Times
Girls who like adventure stories will like this one. - School Librarian
A famine story with a difference. - Irish Sunday Independent
The distances between the Ireland of the Famine and Australia's goldfields are skilfully bridged in a young heroine's story of courage and determination. - Irish Times
This is a compelling read which shows us that although life can be a difficult business, in the end everything counts. - Carousel
Recommended reading. - Books for Keeps
May and I ran ahead as Grandpa and James urged the horses on. Adam was already way in front, his long legs striding up the incline. James turned to us as his wagon sped past.
‘Hey, girls!’ he bellowed good-humouredly. ‘Race you.’
Rose waved her bonnet and Mama was laughing, as they leaned from the back of the wagon.
‘Hop aboard, you two,’ shouted Grandpa, making room on the front seat of our wagon.
‘No thanks,’ May called back. ‘I want to be standing on my own two feet when I reach that goldfield.’
‘Me too, Grandpa,’ I laughed.
Holding hands, we stumbled after them. They stopped at the top of the hill. Mama and Rose climbed down from the wagon. John Joe had dismounted and was rubbing the horse’s nose. Adam reached the top and stood with them.
‘Come on, May,’ I panted. ‘They’ll see it before us.’
Giggling, we joined them. But we fell silent when we looked over the place we’d travelled so far to reach.
Stretched out below us was a bustling township of people, wagons, horses, even a coach and four that clattered along a busy street lined with a mix of weatherboard and fine stone buildings. I hadn’t known what to expect Ballarat to look like, but such a civilised town was way beyond my imaginings.
A short distance away, in the area we came to know as Sovereign Hill, hundreds of tents were packed close together around high chutes on stilts, wheels and other strange structures. Smoke was rising from fires, voices carried across to us as we stood up on the hill. Mama had her hands to her face, and she was speechless. Rose’s arms were folded across her big chest, an expression of disbelief on her face. Grandpa was nodding his head. Then a broad smile lit up his face.
‘We’ve made it,’ he said. ‘Can you believe it? We’ve actually arrived in Ballarat.’
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