tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41195975861535899792024-02-20T08:28:04.891-08:00Sharn's Genealogy JottingsThe spellbinding tales told to me by my Irish grandmother, of her childhood in Brookend, County Tyrone ignited my passion for family history. The threads of family stories I weave here, have been inspired by my grandmother's tapestry of tales. This blog is protected by Australian Copyright law. Reproducing any part of my blog requires my permission © Sharn White APG AGRASharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-11661688849582001032013-11-14T14:23:00.003-08:002018-06-15T18:24:19.430-07:00The Book of Me - My Childhood Home part 1<div style="text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My Fourth Birthday at Enoggera. Image held by author.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="text-align: justify;"><u>My Childhood Home</u></b><span style="text-align: justify;"> as a prompt will unavoidably elicit a long response from me, since, by the age of 14 years, I had lived in five homes in Brisbane, at Enoggera, The Gap, Kenmore, Pullenvale and Jindalee. Each home holds unique and special memories for me. In addition to these homes, my family spent one year living with my paternal grandparents in Garfield Drive Paddington Heights, while we built a new home. For me personally, my earliest memories are my most evocative. Of my early formative years, before my reminiscences of home life become interwoven with school, friends, sports and hobbies, my </span><span style="text-align: left;">memories are affectionately of my home and my family.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Enoggera (marked red) and other suburbs of Brisbane, Google Maps</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My first childhood home was in Crescent Avenue Enoggera, a suburb of Brisbane. Enoggera was an area of Brisbane first settled in the 1840's as farming land. The name Enogerra is believed to have been derived from an Aboriginal word <i>Euoggera, </i>which meant a 'place of water' or 'a place of breeze', Euoggera. It is thought that a simple clerical error afforded the suburb the name Enogerra. One of the prominent pioneer families in this area was the Pullen family who I believe a place I later lived called Pullenvale was named after. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Photo: [State Library of Qld] Enoggera Creek 1906</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My father and myself at my Enoggera home. Image in possession of author.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The house, pictured above, is where I lived until I was 7 years old. To this day, I have strong recollections of my first childhood home. The house, although not old enough to be considered a 'Queenslander' in style was typical of a Queensland 1950's home. Like so many homes in Queensland, ours was timber constructed. It had a brick base at the front and at the back of the house which was slightly higher, as the yard sloped away, timber slats filled the gaps between concrete stumps. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My fourth birthday party at Crescent Avenue. Image in possesssion of author.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Although I only lived in the house at Enoggera until I was seven years old, I can still vividly recall the first house that I called home. My parents owned the house and so it reflected them both very much. My mother, Alwynne Jean MacDade ( Reece-Hoyes) was a talented interior decorator so her style was reflected inside the home and in the garden. My mother was well known for her creative gardens and it was a familiar sight for neighbours to see us pull up outside our home with a car full of plants and barely room for we children. My father, Colin John MacDade (McDade) who would very much today be referred to as a D.I.Y man, built a booth style table with padded bench seats in our kitchen. The kitchen, which was on the right hand side of the house at the rear, was a place in my home where I spent a lot of time helping my mother to bake. Our piano had pride of place in the open plan lounge dining area, which was entered directly from the front door. I don't recall having a formal dining table until our next house which we built new in the leafy suburb of The Gap when my mother splashed out on purple leather Grant Featherstone designer lounge and dining furniture. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">The Grant Featherstone lounge chairs my mother bought in purple</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My Enoggera home was a two bedroom house, so my younger sister and I shared a bedroom. My father painted my pink bedroom walls a pretty pale lemon colour just before my sister was born so I am guessing that he was expecting a son. Lemon walls with lemon and lilac bedspreads were the colours I think about in my bedroom in my first home. Whenever I see the lilac flowers of Jacaranda trees and the yellow of Silky Oaks which grow abundantly in Queensland and which often flower together, I nostalgically think of my bedroom at Enoggera. My father, who was very clever with his hands, built my first bed. I was extremely proud of that bed because it had a blackboard and shelf as a bed head and I was the envy of all of my friends. I wonder now, looking back, if the inevitable chalk dust on my bed was perhaps not quite as popular with my mother.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have a very clear recollection of the bathroom in our Enoggera home. This memory has most likely remained with me because of one distinctly happy event. I recall my mother standing beside the bathtub in which I was bathing, teaching me to do a dance called the Twist. While my sister and I were sharing a bath, the 1960's Beatle's hit, 'Twist and Shout', (originally known as 'Shake it up Baby') began to play on the radio. Singing along to this song, my mother began to show us a dance known as <i>The Twist. </i>Possibly whilst I was in the bath was not the safest place for me to attempt my first ever twist and shake - dance in the bathtub I did. I can still recall the shrieks of laughter coming from that small bathroom. This was the first time I heard of the group known as the Beatles and although I was too young at the time to understand the impact their music was to have upon the world, their music and the memory of my mother dancing, prompts a flashback to my childhood home. I only have to hear the song <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XpzggAVxLME">Twist and Shout</a> to recollect a happy memory.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">The Twist</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The colour of our house changed every few years when my father painted it. He was somewhat of a perfectionist about the appearance of our home and garden. I remember the house as being a greyish green colour. My father is pictured above holding me as a baby, when the house was a lighter colour than I recall. I have a clear recollection of my parents painting samples of colours on the back of our house, to choose from, when I was around four years old. My father and grandfather had built a cubby house for my sister and I, in our backyard which we called our 'Little House'. It was a beautifully constructed miniature of our own house and was even painted to match our home. I was permitted to paint colour samples on my cubby house whilst my father did so on the real house. My cubby, unlike our home, had colourful red, green and yellow timber louvre windows, which opened by means of a small hanging chain. My sister and I spent many halcyon days playing in our 'Little House'.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">My backyard was a wonderful playground for my early years. I had a blue and red tandem swing which as you can see in the photograph below, fitted more than two young children on it. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My sister, left, myself and my cousin on our swing. Image in possession of author.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our back yard and fence adjoined land owned by the the Enoggera Army Barracks. Before I began attending pre-School at the Ashgrove Memorial Kindergarten at the age of three, one of my favourite things to do was to picnic in our back garden. My mother would pack a picnic hamper filled with delicious tomato sandwiches, freshly baked cream buns, drinks and ... cake... but I daresay that I have spoiled that delightful image with my cake tin confession! After spreading a blanket in the back yard my mother, my sister and I langorously enjoyed those pleasant picnics, and many a summer feast ended with sticky fingers from a home made ice-blocks. I recall that whenever I was in in backyard, I desperately wanted to see soldiers over the fence. Apart from the obstacle of a very high fence, the actual army barracks were quite a distance away and over a hill so I never did achieve my childhood dream of seeing soldiers marching.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My grandfather, Colin Hamilton McDade, built a huge sandpit underneath a large clump of banana trees which grew magnificently in the back yard of the home at Enoggera. Those trees yielded delicious fresh bananas and along with paw paws, cumquats, mulberries and fresh grapes picked straight from the vine growing against the side fence, we children feasted on fruit every day. I have one particularly painful memory of playing in our sandpit. It was a large sandpit with a low seat surrounding it for us to sit on. One warm summer's day, I was sitting on that seat and leaning into the sandpit to dig a tunnel, when I noticed a bee slowly walking in the sand. Thinking it hurt I picked it up and called to my mother, <i>'Look mummy, a poor bee. It's sick and can't fly. '.</i> <i>' Put it down at once,'</i> replied my mother calmly. <i>'It will sting you.' 'Oh no'</i>, said I, <i>It's a nice bee!'</i> Before my mother could reply, the bee stung me ... and flew away, leaving betrayed and in excruciating pain. Not learning my lesson that day, it was many bee stings later during the making of clover chain necklaces at my next home that I finally concluded that bees were not nice at all! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was fortunate as a young child to enjoy a great deal of freedom. As a four year old, I knew all of the children in my street and we played at will at each others' homes or at a large oval at the end of our street. Bright yellow flowering cassia trees lined the fence between my neighbour's house and mine and these made perfect 'ladders' to climb to the top of the fence and to jump over into the next door yard. Whenever my father pruned the cassias I used to play in the big pile of branches pretending it was a forest. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On weekends, teams of marching girls competed with their precision drills, on the oval and each Saturday,as soon as I heard the rythmic drums and music begin. I would hurry to the end of my street to watch. At four years of age I wanted nothing more than to wear a white pleated skirt and white boots and to march in uniform to the beat of drums. My mother had other plans for me, however. At four years of age I was enrolled in tennis lessons, making use of my mother's own tennis racquet. I can clearly recall, on my first day of lessons, the tennis coach joking that the racquet was bigger than me. I also began ballet lessons at the age of four. These were both activities that I kept up until my late teenage years with dreams of marching and drills receding into my active routine of Brownies, Girl Guides, Gymnastics and other childhood activities. But I will say this - whenever there was an award for marching on the parade ground at my Primary school - I won it!</span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSLJiafLbgJ_hA4cgujGG1WZdIxe3xYB2zDwo5LxewxmZDxlE3iJi7VpMwnlgI5uTfmovpMYUDFiqxsMNVjEx3kPNq2IrzDMaZSwXRj6z00hc1rWHgQhop7mMqBA5AVOt7o0d2MTQRCD9I/s1600/Marching+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSLJiafLbgJ_hA4cgujGG1WZdIxe3xYB2zDwo5LxewxmZDxlE3iJi7VpMwnlgI5uTfmovpMYUDFiqxsMNVjEx3kPNq2IrzDMaZSwXRj6z00hc1rWHgQhop7mMqBA5AVOt7o0d2MTQRCD9I/s320/Marching+girls.jpg" width="248" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">I wanted to be a marching girl.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most of my memories from my first home are happy ones, however, one sad incident impacted heavily upon me at the age of five. I had made a friend at school who was coming to play at my home one afternoon. As I stood waiting for her for what seemed like hours, I heard my neighbour telling my mother that my firend had been hit by a car crossing the main road near my street and killed. A car that had stopped for her at the crossing and as she walked on to the road, a less patient driver, overtook the stationary car and hit her. I don't think that I fully understood what happened at the time, although I do remember walking to her house a few days later, to tell her mother how sorry I was. After my friend was killed, my mother became nervous about me walking to school and for some time after that, my grandfather drove me to and from school each day. </span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkvq_L9a_2ILuDnDWfv3I4EufQNHopkNvcRwZXPdQWLe59TpJfvR2zlBlO1dkpXziN_F4ZPeoJwp1GhbFr3k_yUEmUwsszH71ZpXj-pW8lOerFMdHxFl1_Ak8UbEnRRK40UrAL2jbhKOKp/s1600/Sharn+Enoggera.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkvq_L9a_2ILuDnDWfv3I4EufQNHopkNvcRwZXPdQWLe59TpJfvR2zlBlO1dkpXziN_F4ZPeoJwp1GhbFr3k_yUEmUwsszH71ZpXj-pW8lOerFMdHxFl1_Ak8UbEnRRK40UrAL2jbhKOKp/s320/Sharn+Enoggera.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">The house painted a darker colour.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I started Primary School from my home at Enoggera, after two wonderful years attending pre-school/ Kindergarten, where my teacher, Miss Lightner was adored by all. I was very proud of the fact that my father and grandfather built an exciting playgound at my Kindergarten, complete with a tunnel made from a huge concrete pipe covered by a turf covered hill. I attended the same Primary school that my father had attended in 1936. The Oakleigh State School was quite a long walk from my home but at just five years of age I happily walked to and from school, sometimes accompanied by my neighbour Denise. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As an adventurous five year old, by the end of my first year, I had discovered a number of alternate and interesting routes to school, several of which, only as an adult have I realised were quite unsafe for a five year old child. But my mother knew none of this and undeterred I continued to explore the areas and suburbs which surrounded my home. My favourite route to school took me through a bushland area and across a bridge over a creek. I thought this journey to be a most exciting adventure. One day I was an explorer and the next, a hunter! I found the bush to be a place of unlimited imagination. Another way home that I discovered, was along a busy main road,which in one section had no footpath, but instead ran right up to a steep cliff. I walked as close to the cliff as possible to avoid being hit by a car. After my friend was killed on this same road I stopped walking by this route. One would never think of allowing a young child so much liberty today and I have no doubt that my mother would have thoroughly disapproved of my excursions, having told me strictly to walk to and from school according to her safe directions. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Oakleigh State School</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our home at Enoggera had an outdoor toilet, since the suburb was not yet sewered. As a young child I hated using this toilet. I recall it as being very dark when the door was closed and I never once ventured in there without a fear that a spider would bite me. I quite clearly remember the overpowering smell of tar which lined the tin under the timber seat, and which was replaced by men who arrived weekly in the sanitation truck to empty the pan. I loved to visit my paternal grandmother because she had an inside flushing toilet. Shortly after I moved from the Enoggera home, the area was sewered.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thinking about my first childhood home, has stirred so many memories. Cracker night, as we children called Guy Fawks night was always anticipated with much excitement. The baker delivered fresh bread in his van daily and the milkman left bottles of milk on the doorstep early each morning. The fishman drove along our street once a week ringing a bell and selling fresh fish, although with my father a keen fisherman we usually had a plentiful supply of freshly caught bream or flathead. A truck delivered soft drinks and the Electrolux representative called regularly to provide service calls for my mother's vacuum cleaner. The highlight of the week for the children in my street, however, was the icecream truck. The driver rang a bell and children ran from every house in summer months to buy flavoured ices. Home delivery was a commonplace service when I was a small child.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My father constructed concrete garden edges around all of my mother's garden beds as well as car tracks in our driveway. I loved to watch him mix the cement in his cement mixer. Both my sister and I left our hand prints in the concrete driveway at the house in Crescent Avenue, Enoggera. My first childhood home was not without some memorable childhood accidents and my father's concrete was involved in at least one. I recall painfully, when aged only three, I dragged a heavy bench to the side fence to chat to neighbours, despite my mother's warning to not to climb up on the rickety bench. The call to chat over the fence with the children who lived next door, lured me into disobedience and of course I did fall. Straight back onto the concrete, splitting my head open, acquiring concussion and requiring an ambulance ride to hospital for stitches.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My father had a workshop underneath the house where we made Mother's Day gifts such as a tea towel hanging rack, sanded and painted by my sister and myself, supervised by our father. My father also craftfully built a small table and two little chairs for my sister and I in his workshop beneath the house. Working for Massey Ferguson, a large tractor firm, my father was often away on country business trips but he always found time to build wonderful things for me. From the age of four, I owned a progression of different sized stilts made by my father, and I became very proficient on them indeed. My stilts were a very popular attraction in my street.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Recently I went back to Brisbane and took a drive down memory lane to look at all of my childhood homes and schools. The house at Enoggera is now painted a bright yellow and the back yard seems so much smaller than I had recalled. The house hd been extended taking up more of the back yard, however, just seeing it again evoked so many wonderful childhood memories. A deck has been added at the front of the house and and my parents' bedroom window is now a sliding glass door, but many of the windows remain original.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">My first home in Enoggera, in 2011. painted yellow</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">I was pleased to see a new generation of parents and children enjoying my old home</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I was seven years of age, my parents bought a half acre block of land in a new, bushland suburb of Brisbane called The Gap. When I first saw the land at the Gap, on which my new home was to be built, I thought all my dreams had come true. We had a creek running through the back of our yard, with a sandy little beach to play on. While our new split- level home was under construction, I spent many weekends playing down by the creek, searching for a platypus and exploring the bush and mountain on the far side of it. As an adventurous 7 year old, this was a fairy-tale place to live and a huge adventure.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't really remember moving from the Enoggera house and as a young child I found everything new to be exciting. A new home and a new school was just a big adventure to me. We were to live with my paternal grandparents while our new home was built. Their Queenslander style home high on a hill at Paddington, was one of my favourite places to be with its huge mango tree in the backyard and dark spaces beneath the house on high stilts to explore. Here, at Paddington, I caught the tram to school and played with the many children who lived in the street, including the four children of policeman Terry Lewis, later Police Commissioner who lived next door to my grandparents. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Part 2 will cover my year at Paddington where I attended the Bardon State School (where I have now discovered that Shauna Hicks, was a year behind me) and my expeditions and adventures while I lived at The Gap from age 7 1/2 to 10 years. I will try to briefly cover my childhood home at Kenmore, where in a war with a wasps nest, I came out the worse for wear, and a 13 acre property at Pullenvale complete with cows, ducks, chickens, a fruit orchard, lots of snakes and a near drowning for my sister, plus our last move to Jindalee, will complete my childhood homes. Make a cup of tea folks... this could be a long blog!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">My Grandparents home at Garfield Drive, Paddington Heights, Brisbane<br />
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Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-15826883777337758732011-06-07T00:53:00.000-07:002018-06-12T18:36:56.792-07:00A Musical family<div align="center">
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615383642906240418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyuT4-BDq3EU0SX7OicfNcPYd8mkI_pQUus7kBBnU_hscEi6tCKklpZMzLDfgv5jqeOrJhFka98fpeU8tr8uSpOXbWDRutAIWjiFkVllNZopW3zYqVHVHFqrY30JASZS_NLubj3-OBOAE/s320/McDade.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 159px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"></span><em><span style="color: #660000;">The photograph above shows the White Heather Jazz Band which played in Brisbane in the 1920's and 30's. Pictured from right is my grandfather, Colin Hamilton McDade seated at the piano; Seated front with Violin, his brother Robert McDade, Playing the drums, my grandmother's brother Andrew Thompson White, On trumpet, my great uncle Alexander McDade, two people are unknown in the photograph but seated beside my grandfather is another of his McDade brothers</span>.</em></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuVOgQPAEXLXVt8oGKiz7QITXwlmxGefmNiI_QdD04OgT9V5a7Th_1ffnMZpYyo6wOXOrKC_Qv2cfQI8AkAgXopYgJK1hBfSmGIxXSaBRvUuVf3ZbqHvb2PnCzJOV8N6Zxvm6f8RHonNY/s1600/Alwynne+and+Colin.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616409091428569890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuVOgQPAEXLXVt8oGKiz7QITXwlmxGefmNiI_QdD04OgT9V5a7Th_1ffnMZpYyo6wOXOrKC_Qv2cfQI8AkAgXopYgJK1hBfSmGIxXSaBRvUuVf3ZbqHvb2PnCzJOV8N6Zxvm6f8RHonNY/s320/Alwynne+and+Colin.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 226px;" /></a> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Both of my parents were musical. My mother and father, Alwynne Jean and Colin John McDade (<em>pictured right on the day that they became engaged</em>),learned to play the piano from the same piano teacher in Brisbane, Queensland as children. My father, Colin John MccDade was somewhat of a child prodigy, performing his first classical music concert at the age of four years and winning a scholarship to attend the Conservatorium in Sydney at the age of 15 years. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">At that time he was attending the Brisbane Boys Grammer School in Brisbane, on an academic scholarship, and his parents wished him to complete his education there. There was no Conservatorium of Music in Brisbane at the time, and my father's family did not want him to move to Sydney so he turned down the offer of a musical scholarship. As a young boy, Colin John won a television contest called Steps to Stardom. As anyone who ever heard him play, will testify, that my father was truly a gifted pianist. He did not make a career out of his talent, however, choosing to get a job when he left school to help his family.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRFnMVgoZhQDurY_V46Pfabli9RBV2cK_1v6MjErN8fQwOU5nx-JVlZfGdeaQBG-ez5rA5Emst4fWxXIRVoEhXQBeRMh8jOLng7DvjzpedtBL_z3mPCixJVIELjkiRvsc49D13BS1fMQY/s1600/McDade+music.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616413697457625298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRFnMVgoZhQDurY_V46Pfabli9RBV2cK_1v6MjErN8fQwOU5nx-JVlZfGdeaQBG-ez5rA5Emst4fWxXIRVoEhXQBeRMh8jOLng7DvjzpedtBL_z3mPCixJVIELjkiRvsc49D13BS1fMQY/s320/McDade+music.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 177px;" /></span></a></span><br />
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<em><span style="color: #660000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Right: My father, Colin John MacDade as a young man playing the piano</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Music was an important part of my life growing up. My father played in a band on Saturday nights and composed musical scores, including some for film tracks. My mother was a music teacher, giving lessons on the piano and electric organ. My uncle owned and operated a Music Academy in Brisbane which launched the careers of a number of well known Australian bands including, Savage Garden. He also played the saxophone and the clarinet in a jazz Big Band. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As soon as I began school I played in the fife band and later played in a recorder band. My sister and I were both choristers in church choirs and I have fond memories of wearing chorister's robes and singing with the choir at church services and weddings. Piano lessons with my father were not a great success as he was a perfectionist, and not patient with my lack of practice. I decided to learn to play the guitar and discovered I had a passion for this instrument. I certainly inherited my father's love for music from him. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From the age of three, my grandfather gave me lessons on a small button accordion which had come to Australia with the family from Scotland. Although I do not have the accordion, it is safely still in the hands of a family member. Later I went on to learn to play the flute, piano and organ. Just before he passed away, my grandfather, requested a family gathering to which every family member was to bring a musical instrument or their voice. The last memory I have of Colin Hamilton McDade is of him happily listening to all of his grandchildren, as well as his grown children and their partners entertaining him with the piano, guitars, a trumpet, drums, and other instruments and everyone else singing along to the music. It was a musical delight which I will never forget. My grandfather died the same week, however he had truly left a musical legacy in his family.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_jQDY4OJ-d3hykwW5rDUTGErPwV3Y0mNQAckpjhWFQPUnuLytB_U8Xr93VQTnYN_rxxzKFqGrA2Re9RtrZMKiPjhCQimj7eSof0L0VjX3oOjMHTsiciwa6WIHTse7k1Wxs-EFcREilE/s1600/McDade+music_0002.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616418379750771618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_jQDY4OJ-d3hykwW5rDUTGErPwV3Y0mNQAckpjhWFQPUnuLytB_U8Xr93VQTnYN_rxxzKFqGrA2Re9RtrZMKiPjhCQimj7eSof0L0VjX3oOjMHTsiciwa6WIHTse7k1Wxs-EFcREilE/s320/McDade+music_0002.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 300px;" /></a><br />
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<span style="color: #660000;">Right: My father, Colin John MacDade</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My grandfather, Colin Hamilton McDade ( it is another story as to how the name was changed to MacDade) taught me to sing songs in the Gaelic </span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">language. Only many years later did I discover that I had taken these ditties to school and sung songs full of quite rude words for show and tell. My father was horrified when he discovered I had been singing songs my grandfather had though to be hilarious. Fortunately my teacher didn't understand a word of the Gaelic language. Either that, or she had seen the humourous side to my innocent 5 year old singing. My grandfather had his own band in Brisbane. It was called <em>'The White</em> <em>Heather Band'</em>, ( pictured above top) named so because the McDade family were from Glasgow in Scotland. Recently a search of the Trove website and digitised newspapers from Australia revealed some interesting articles featuring this band and my talented piano playing grandfather.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Recently I discovered that my grandmother's family were also very musical, although I did not know this growing up. Jemima Florence White ( married Colin Hamilton McDade)had arrived in Australia at the age of 11 in 1913. The family lived in Kaimkillenbun on the Darling Downs in Queensland and articles from the Dalby Herald and other local newspapers tell of the beautiful singing voices of the White girls, Violet and Florence as my grandmother insisted on being called in Australia (she thought the name to be much more modern than Jemima). Her eldest brother, William Thomas White played a pump organ, which is still in the family. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">I am now on a journey to discover more about my musical ancestry. My own children between four of them, play or have played the flute, piccolo, guitar, base guitar, banjo, mandolin, drums, piano, clarinet, violin and the saxaphone. One daughter has inherited a great aunt's singing voice. The same daughter, my youngest, kept us most entertained at the age of 6, being convinced that she had a stage career ahead of her playing the spoons! Talented as she may have been with two spoons clanging together, we were most relieved when she moved on to learn the flute.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ59ITZVEMkroOH-yo2l9KpcqhxVBxdMpD24Jz-IvxAAjujUBqo_OeN2jWPGob_A9FjhRYEUMt4f41AuTOqbDXBFWD6Qa6n8T0Qe5zRsqDbuC3eSp-ml34tZtxVX2WbPDMgIw0Q9qbGNE/s1600/Siobhan+21.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616420986539747474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ59ITZVEMkroOH-yo2l9KpcqhxVBxdMpD24Jz-IvxAAjujUBqo_OeN2jWPGob_A9FjhRYEUMt4f41AuTOqbDXBFWD6Qa6n8T0Qe5zRsqDbuC3eSp-ml34tZtxVX2WbPDMgIw0Q9qbGNE/s320/Siobhan+21.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 307px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></span></a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="Align Center" border="0" class="gl_align_center" src="https://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" /><br />Musical talent, is something that seems to be inherited, although music excludes no-one. I am looking forward to discovering more of my musical ancestors.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #660000;"><em>Right: My daughter learning to play her tiny violin</em></span>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Note - The surname McDade and MacDade have been used by various branches of this family.</span><br />
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<br />Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-82661940249212501182011-05-27T20:37:00.001-07:002020-11-09T21:56:05.104-08:00The 1974 Brisbane Flood - My Memories<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijAqCSGsDCZMxD_eOhxwyE67ttugP2uODlndAWhL5U5doF3hxCE6Kb8NKw5aMThgwaVT0v2i9q_aD0IbpnEOg9T0vXqjexuLqSlXDQcGUiVTSp_IdMLxto1GBWWbCdmpH2MLuLwDKJVVM/s1600/Brisbane+Flood+2011+Jindalee.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611607655646810610" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijAqCSGsDCZMxD_eOhxwyE67ttugP2uODlndAWhL5U5doF3hxCE6Kb8NKw5aMThgwaVT0v2i9q_aD0IbpnEOg9T0vXqjexuLqSlXDQcGUiVTSp_IdMLxto1GBWWbCdmpH2MLuLwDKJVVM/s320/Brisbane+Flood+2011+Jindalee.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 240px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #660000; font-size: 180%;">Memories of my Suburb in the 1974 Brisbane Flood</span><br />
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<em><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #000099;">Right: Jindalee after the January 2011 Flood.</span></em><br />
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<strong><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #660000;">2011 </span></strong></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">In January, 2011, the Australian state of Queensland experienced disastrous flooding. I was holidaying on the Sunshine Coast north of Brisbane and watched on the television, as the city in which I had grown up, succumbed to muddy flood waters. A combination of water rushing from the flooded Lockyer Valley and overflow from the Wivenhoe Dam caused the city of Brisbane to be inundated with water just below the levels of a devastating earlier flood which occurred in 1974. Watching the flood waters rise brought back emotional memories for me. Jindalee, the suburb in which I had lived in 1974, had been devastated by the flood which occurred in that year. Although I had told my children the story of the '74 floods, they only fully comprehended my story as they watched the televised media coverage of the 2011 Brisbane flood.</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">The photograph, above right, was taken in Jindalee in January 2011, during the cleanup following the flood. In this blog, I am going to relate my memories of the 1974 Brisbane flood, as seen through the eyes of a teenager who was privileged to be a part of a team of volunteers who worked to help the suburb of Jindalee during a time of crisis.</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #660000;"><strong>The 1974 Brisbane Flood</strong></span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">In the latter months of 1973, South East Queensland experienced exceptionally heavy rainfall. In January of 1974 a cyclone named Wanda, moved toward the coast causing a deluge of rain for five days from the 24th. As always, the suburb in which I lived was quickly cut off from the Centenary Highway and the rest of Brisbane, as a creek flooded the only entry into and out of Jindalee. This was nothing new to the residents of the suburb who, unaware that dangerous water levels were building up in the Bremer and Lockyer Creeks, and that flood water was making its way towards Brisbane, regarded being 'cut off' as nothing more than an occasional inconvenience. I can recall being pleased that I had an excuse not to attend my part time job of music teaching, and I looked forward to a few days of leisure time.</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">On the morning of the 27 th of January, three days after the deluge of rain began, a gravel barge broke it's mooring up river from Jindalee. My sister and I were listening to the radio and heard the news. We rushed down to the riverbank near the high bridge which crosses the riv</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0jejitV9KjMR0bgm7PMw90MpYqTd8JNIj9-S2HO5DNnSZ2mqydv7pjW-gDhsUCkyT-4lSDSaAKFUWq7ZTD34xT7_0HBsv2tzvpFaz8Fg3x7EnqOB0hHlYUkZ8CiUArKvJncI1RShDiT0/s1600/Jindalee+flood.bmp"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611656224913554130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0jejitV9KjMR0bgm7PMw90MpYqTd8JNIj9-S2HO5DNnSZ2mqydv7pjW-gDhsUCkyT-4lSDSaAKFUWq7ZTD34xT7_0HBsv2tzvpFaz8Fg3x7EnqOB0hHlYUkZ8CiUArKvJncI1RShDiT0/s320/Jindalee+flood.bmp" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 245px;" /></a>er on the Centenary Highway, and watched in horror as the huge barge slammed into the side of the bridge. We felt the ground beneath our feet shudder as the barge collided with the two lane bridge and the extent of the structural damage was immediately obvious. With the barge lodged firmly beneath the upstream side of the bridge there was no choice for emergency workers but to dynamite and sink it before it demolished the bridge altogether. As teenagers, my sister and I watched all of this with the excitement of youth. We had no idea that a disaster was to befall Jindalee in only a matter of days.</span></div>
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<em><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #000066;">Right: Photograph, Courtesy of the Qld State Library. My own photograph, taken at the moment of impact has been lost along with others that I took during the 1974 flood.</span></em></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: black;">In the early hours of January, 29th, 1974, I was roused from sleep, by the sound of large trucks in the street outside my home. Wondering what was happening, I went outside into my front yard. I can still recall my disbelief as I gazed upon Bangalee Street filled with large army trucks and it seemed, hundreds of men in army uniforms. An officer shone a torch for me to enable me to look down my street and what befell my wide eyed stare, defied belief. I could simply not believe my eyes. Water covered what had been, only the evening before, many homes some of whose occupants I knew well. </span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: black;">The officer explained to me that the flood had been caused by the creek and not the river and that they had been summoned to assist in rescuing people whose homes had flooded while they were sleeping. I don't think, looking back that anyone had any idea of the magnitude or sheer amount of water which was rushing toward Brisbane, or that it would bring with it a disaster on a scale which the residents of Jindalee had never known. There was a row of homes on the river bank which were not yet flooded but were cut off and left standing isolated between the raging river and the heavily flooded creek. With water on both sides of them, these home owners, many still asleep and unaware of any danger, needed to be rescued by members of the army. The Post Office gauge recorded that the flood waters peaked at 6.6 metres (22 feet) at 2.15 am on January 29th. </span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">With the river rapidly rising and by now, water only several houses from my home, my family was instructed to gather a few valuables, to place everything in the home as high as possible and to prepare to be evacuated. Army trucks were evacuating as many people as possible. My father was away from home at the time and I recall my mother asking an army officer to help her to lift her precious Yamaha Organ onto our dining room table. My mother was a music teacher and the instrument was her pride and joy. My home was at the highest point on a ridge in Jindalee and by daylight the water was in the home below mine. The army was forced to abandon any more attempts to evacuate people since by morning the water was too deep for the trucks to re-enter the suburb. Help was gone and for the people of Jindalee, it was clear, we were now going to face the flood on our own.</span><br />
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<em><span style="color: #000066;"> <span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">The scene which greeted me on the morning of January, 29, 1974. My home was on the left above the water level. The tyre marks on the road were left by Army Vehicles. The flood from the river was yet to arrive.</span></span></em></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><span style="color: black;">When my family moved to our home at Jindalee, we had not bought a house that my mother liked. My father had stubbornly refused to live in any house but one which he believed, would be high enough to survive a 100 year flood. At the time, my mother was not very happy with this decision. But my father was aware of something which was to stand our family in good stead.</span></span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><span style="color: black;"> My great grandparents, Hugh and Sarah White, had owned a number of parcels of farmland which included the riverbank which is </span><span style="color: black;">now the suburb of Jindalee. They had known well, the danger that the Brisbane River afforded the area. The land at what was known as Seventeen Mile Rocks had been severely flooded in 1930 and in 1841. Although my mother had not really wanted to buy that particular house, she was to thank my father for his decision, during this time of devastation in Jindalee. As the flood level rose perilously, the muddy waters only entered the rear of our property and my father, to his relief, was proven right. My family was one of the few fortunate ones in Jindalee, however, as much of the suburb quickly succumbed to flood water.</span></span><br />
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<em><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #000066;">Right: A Map showing the parcels of farmland owned by my great grandfather, Hugh Eston White (marked in red). Map courtesy of The Centenary Historical Society.</span></em></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">In 1974, there was not the extensive media coverage that beseiged our television sets, radios, newspapers, twitter and facebook and which infectiously spread the word about flooding, as it did in 2011. Word of impending disaster did not reach the ears of Brisbane residents in 1974, in time for them to prepare for a flood of devastating proportions. Nor was there an army of helpers available to help families to remove furniture and possessions from their homes. </span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">As in the terrible 2011 Grantham disaster, a raging sinister menace, that was flood water, slipped into homes, in this case, in the dark middle of the night, taking families by surprise. 14 people lost their lives in nearby Brisbane suburbs and in the city of Ipswich. Jindalee at least was spared a death toll, because the creek had risen first, alerting residents of the suburb to possible danger. Because no one in Brisbane, realised the extent of the damage caused by floodwater in the outer suburb of Jindalee, for several days, there was no help from outside the suburb. Those families unaffected by the muddy river water, took it upon themselves to help others less fortunate.</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: black;">Graham and Joan Nimmo, both primary school t<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk3DqQDeBo8KiQGwDKoDYGUH27YgViqKiR1e_hmmcRzS1STTkvGRrZokOuzvxRos0yjPW24qM6EPJU_PPrM5pgcaPe3dvnmtnNFtZowVyvaRYHNpmhg65D16H7rqdK3S1iwBIB2CtL2mQ/s1600/Jindalee+flood+8.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611661915724062130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk3DqQDeBo8KiQGwDKoDYGUH27YgViqKiR1e_hmmcRzS1STTkvGRrZokOuzvxRos0yjPW24qM6EPJU_PPrM5pgcaPe3dvnmtnNFtZowVyvaRYHNpmhg65D16H7rqdK3S1iwBIB2CtL2mQ/s320/Jindalee+flood+8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 310px;" /></a>eachers at the Jindalee Primary School and leaders of the Uniting Church Youth Group remain among a group of unsung heroes for their untiring efforts to assist the people of Jindalee during and after the 1974 flood. </span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><span style="color: black;">On many occasions, the members of the Jindalee Youth Group, myself included, went on fishing or crabbing excursions in Graham's boat. We were frequent visitors to the Jindalee boat ramp, launching the boat for a day of water skiing or tobogganing. </span><span style="color: black;">During the 1974 flood, Graham gathered a team of teenagers to go out every day in the boat with him to help the people of Jindalee (pictured above right).</span></span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><span style="color: black;">I</span><span style="color: black;"> will never forget the shock of boating alongside power lines. That flood water could reach the height of the top of telegraph poles had never occurred to me. As we approached home after home to assist people </span></span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-mtZoyfnyIE1eXRzcAgLN-CmgZt76rnxAR37wp70jbor9Q5Ob3KSlBuwZgR8j1baxsR_TdumQ2Uw6ZOwDWUsIdHRwjTKTwZIfPtUor6fQprXqH1fAN0ATO5IM3OQRVzHxZl66tAkPWB4/s1600/Jindalee+flood+5.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611670812458449762" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-mtZoyfnyIE1eXRzcAgLN-CmgZt76rnxAR37wp70jbor9Q5Ob3KSlBuwZgR8j1baxsR_TdumQ2Uw6ZOwDWUsIdHRwjTKTwZIfPtUor6fQprXqH1fAN0ATO5IM3OQRVzHxZl66tAkPWB4/s320/Jindalee+flood+5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 304px;" /></a>stranded on verandahs and roofs, the full magnitude of what had happened to my suburb struck me. One photograph, which I took from the boat and which I have unfortunately lost showed a telegraph pole which had been washed high onto a roof and left there as the waters slowly receded. I watched from that boat as items of furniture which had been placed on roofs of homes on the riverbank, were taken away with the raging torrent. I recall vividly that we had to avoid being hit by a fast moving lounge as it went with the flood water. I couldn't help but feel for people who had lost everything in that murky, swirling current. </span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: black;">The owners of the local nursery in Jindalee set up a 'shop', a centre to provide food to residents of the suburb. Both of the shopping centres in the suburb were well under water so Graham took his boat out and we dived into that filthy muddy water to remove louver windows from a supermarket and swam inside to retrieve canned foods. Baby food was a high priority as in 1974 Jindalee had a young population. Looking back, I find myself shuddering at the thought of entering such sinister looking water, but young people have a high sense of adventure and I think that adventurous spirit, allowed us to ignore any danger. Graham and Joan were always mindful of all of their young charges and a were an inspiration to us all during that difficult time. </span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">My mother contributed to the flood relief by cooking meals for many people. We had a gas stove an</span>d as there was no power, she had quite a heavy workload. We also had nine kittens born during the 1974 flood. Our cat, Hortense decided to give birth in my mother's wardrobe, however, she was so busy that she didn't mind at all. She placed a nice warm blanket in alongside her clothes for the 10 cats. </span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><span style="color: black;">The Sinnamon family were pioneers of the 17 Mile Rocks area. Herc Sinnamon</span> who still lived in one of the original farm houses which remained on dry land (only just) on the other side of the Centenary Highway, milked his cows daily and a group of us went with Graham by boat to collect the milk in buckets. With quite a few babies in Jindalee, Herc's fresh milk was much appreciated. Who would have thought that I would watch my first cow being milked during a flood.</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Once word reached authorities about the extent of the flooding in Jindalee, we began to receive air drops of food and other essential supplies. Army helicopters made their drops on a small area of dry land. Graham took his boat to meet them and we carried the food to the nursery where it was distributed.</span><br />
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Joan Nimmo also played an important part in keeping the children of Jindalee busy during the 1974 flood, for which she later received a letter of praise from the Lord Mayor of Brisbane. Joan setting up a school in her backyard and providing fun activities such as painting and craft, not only entertaining the children but allowing flood affected parents the freedom to concentrate on cleaning up the badly damaged suburb. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfn_yruSYRh7KURxst-nN5cCLB6GZTV30h3vLtUGxCocbBd2EMv7P1KiYkvr3KMDZQUDdm_2VL1BtgweZSOoVsVrYrCj2lvmO7XHx8ef909JwO3rfl-Y8Mz0A6zsRf8ViO9BQ5TSj88E/s1600/Jindalee+flood+6.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611673636330109618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtfn_yruSYRh7KURxst-nN5cCLB6GZTV30h3vLtUGxCocbBd2EMv7P1KiYkvr3KMDZQUDdm_2VL1BtgweZSOoVsVrYrCj2lvmO7XHx8ef909JwO3rfl-Y8Mz0A6zsRf8ViO9BQ5TSj88E/s320/Jindalee+flood+6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 310px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;"><br /><br /><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">As the flood waters receded and the cleanup began, many people rallied together to clean metres of thick mud from inside homes. Because the Jindalee was a newer Brisbane suburb, the houses did not fare well after a week of flooding and relentless rain. Plasterboard walls and ceilings disintegrated and the damage was seen to be extensive. Every day people who did not know each other arrived at homes to help in the seemingly impossible cleanup. Jindalee buzzed with a spirit of generousity as everyone worked side by side to repair the damage caused by floodwater and mud. </span></span></div>
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<span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">When I visited Jindalee, this year, after the 2011 flood, I was overwhelmed by the familiarity of the smell of mud. I recognised that smell from 1974. Memories are often triggered by smells as well as sights and sounds. I don't think that I will ever forget the smell of mud in the homes in Jindalee following the 1974 flood.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRlewfSzt6Upkmp-l9uokWhfbZpTCSyoKvVMShLw51kyJZWp_HHKEvlJU7Z_dKOSy-Eydh1yuKi4Ct9S5onb2n6JpI_unaVTBXzz2vWGUdOuMeoxJE7N320AxjbXS1Hk35UHy9WeYol0/s1600/Jindalee+flood+7.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611674145534476226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRlewfSzt6Upkmp-l9uokWhfbZpTCSyoKvVMShLw51kyJZWp_HHKEvlJU7Z_dKOSy-Eydh1yuKi4Ct9S5onb2n6JpI_unaVTBXzz2vWGUdOuMeoxJE7N320AxjbXS1Hk35UHy9WeYol0/s320/Jindalee+flood+7.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 307px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div>
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<em><span style="color: black;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Right: Burrendah Road as the flood waters receded and Graham's boat. 1974. Image Sharn White</span></span></em></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Many people helped generously helped each other in Jindalee during the 1974 floods. My story is just one of many stories.</span><br /></span></div>
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Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-51961818231857443532011-05-02T02:07:00.001-07:002020-11-23T17:20:33.964-08:00The White Cane Pram: a Family Heirloom.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTkjhvQ1TfikMSRPx31UNpFj5FxbHBcwKg0zmcdl11qSiQLzDbMei5C9dP9OmZmn2ZLqbWiasblXZ8iNQFKCwdM8wOyEVVSum7eo3EopIfipMDgYg1Ti7KmpsFmzU4JWdo6bzvMs_0l6U/s1600/Pram+1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602043278678498690" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTkjhvQ1TfikMSRPx31UNpFj5FxbHBcwKg0zmcdl11qSiQLzDbMei5C9dP9OmZmn2ZLqbWiasblXZ8iNQFKCwdM8wOyEVVSum7eo3EopIfipMDgYg1Ti7KmpsFmzU4JWdo6bzvMs_0l6U/s320/Pram+1.jpg" style="float: right; height: 218px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Copyright by Author</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; text-align: justify;">For family historians, heritage is of great importance. Our heritage is not only about our ancestors. It embodies places, traditions, ceremonies and tangible things from our past.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The value of items passed down from one generation to the next, cannot be measured in dollars. Their value is found in the continuity of history, especially that of our own family history. Family heirlooms, no matter how big or small, come with rich narratives about past lives.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The pram in the photograph above right, was bought for my mother-in-law by her parents before the birth of her first child David, who is now my husband. The white cane pram was used by my husband David and his three brothers as babies. David is the baby in the photograph, pictured on the balcony of the family's first home at Ashfield in Sydney.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">The pram moved with the growing family to a house in Concord West, where, with its big rubber tyres, and bouncing suspension, it walked four babies</span> to the park to the local shops. The four baby boys in turn, were 'aired' as was the fashion in the back yard in the big cane pram. A mosquito net thrown over the pram provided protection from insects whilst outside. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After the cane pram had finished walking these four babies and rocking them to sleep, it was passed on to other family members. Cousins, nieces, nephews and family friends added their own stories to the pram's history. The lovely big, white cane pram finally found its way to our home after the birth of our second child - a precious gift from my mother in law. By now it was dirty and damaged through much loving use. We had the pram restored to as close to its original condition as was possible and the white cane pram began a new chapter of its history.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Many a night I rocked my daughter Rhiannon, to sleep in the old pram. Although I had a modern pram which was more convenient to take to shopping centres, I used the old cane pram to walk my </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIuy4Ylr5KjR4Jnll4SdEbzy4grh8LVPS_7qJv7weARtCcvO5mJ0Vzo2ZFpOR-kCw0xeKGxnaZZYgq5lJJskiQZTXpM9QEB0cEstIrHWzOxDU6nTV0e62W3X9Pfa1PcwFdFNqDuWz4cXU/s1600/Basinett.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602068314098776018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIuy4Ylr5KjR4Jnll4SdEbzy4grh8LVPS_7qJv7weARtCcvO5mJ0Vzo2ZFpOR-kCw0xeKGxnaZZYgq5lJJskiQZTXpM9QEB0cEstIrHWzOxDU6nTV0e62W3X9Pfa1PcwFdFNqDuWz4cXU/s320/Basinett.jpg" style="float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 268px;" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Copyright by Author</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"></span><span style="text-align: justify;">baby to our local park. Because my daughter suffered from painful reflux, she spent so many nights sleeping in the big pram that it became her bed. The pram was more spacious than the lovely old cane bassinet which had also been used by my husband as a baby, and allowed me to gently rock our baby to sleep.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Once again as our family grew, the pram moved with us and became a part of our next child's life. We had a large back yard and the cane pram spent many hours outdoors with baby Siobhan watching me hanging out the washing or enjoying her big brother Hamish pushing her around the garden in.</span></div>
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<em><span style="color: black;"><br /></span></em><em><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Siobhan sitting in the big cane pram looking just like her dad!</span></em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH-O9CHE3NZQ1SAtYvbDklGKOV-oiPBwvTBHBQvgMwVQYAN3d3QMbJG1dPVI1YNGAVwXLvk3Qzy3tY2ojdk8OfCbrbK0KX2CxzogWlVjsd2TO0U6YeMDc4pHLc8pD_e64uvUiRBn3V6S4/s1600/Pram+2.jpg"></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Our fourth baby, Briallen, enjoyed the white cane pram, along with the old cane bassinet, both now a fine old age of fifty years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The beautiful white cane pram is now awaiting a new and exciting chapter in its life. The birth of the pram's next baby will be our first grandchild. With new tyres and a new interior, the pram is eagerly awaiting the day it will once again be put to good use. The pram is 57 years old now and there is no doubt that this treasured family heirloom will continue to be used by babies for many years to come. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH-O9CHE3NZQ1SAtYvbDklGKOV-oiPBwvTBHBQvgMwVQYAN3d3QMbJG1dPVI1YNGAVwXLvk3Qzy3tY2ojdk8OfCbrbK0KX2CxzogWlVjsd2TO0U6YeMDc4pHLc8pD_e64uvUiRBn3V6S4/s1600/Pram+2.jpg"></a>Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-45308778398494191762010-08-02T21:20:00.000-07:002018-06-15T18:06:04.622-07:00'Out of Ireland have we come...' W.B.Yeats 1865-1939<div align="center">
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 180%;">William White and Sarah Crail in New Zealand</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><em><span style="color: black;">Sarah Agnes Crail </span></em><em><span style="color: black;">and </span></em><em><span style="color: black;">children,</span></em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><em><span style="color: black;">William (1889), and </span></em><em><span style="color: black;">Edith (1892)</span></em></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There is a saying that <i>'It is not the sins of the fathers that are passed on to the sons, it is the sorrows of the mothers'. </i>Sadly, the story of William White and Sarah Agnes Crail is one of sorrow for the mother and for her two children pictured above. They were abandoned by their father, William, after their mother Sarah died. William remarried a woman who did not want to rear the children and they were placed separately into the care of other people. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">William junior left new Zealand and moved to Australia at a young age. He did not return to until 1931 when at the age of 42, he traveled to attend his father's funeral. Neither William nor Edith knew much about their father nor their mother so very little oral history has been passed on to their New Zealand or Australian descendants. With some help from descendants of Edith White Stringleman, and a descendant of William White's second marriage in New Zealand, and with assistance from New Zealand libraries, family history groups, newspapers and official records such as birth, death, marriage certificates and electoral rolls, I have woven the threads of a story together about the lives of William White and Sarah Crail. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Writing, scribbled on the back of an old photograph, of Sarah Crail and her children, hinted</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5jPME1leU91SyPd-717ILgcyImu3cLJlHIJi5SQkqd1Ia2tmar0ief7fcuxx-JOJEYsH5Ag6yBpeZhdZbhtZe9W8xGfSgyVeyQan3ZWEP51kn7QZ9wHNfG4ql_4SmSSOC8EPcNGuLpVA/s1600/Back+of+photo.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531543721149086642" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5jPME1leU91SyPd-717ILgcyImu3cLJlHIJi5SQkqd1Ia2tmar0ief7fcuxx-JOJEYsH5Ag6yBpeZhdZbhtZe9W8xGfSgyVeyQan3ZWEP51kn7QZ9wHNfG4ql_4SmSSOC8EPcNGuLpVA/s320/Back+of+photo.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 202px;" /></a>that Sarah was from 'Ballinorhinche'. According to limited family information, Sarah</span><span style="color: black;"> was 'one of 19 children', born to a Crail or Craile family in County Down in Northern Ireland. She had left Ireland and traveled by ship to Christchurch, New Zealand, for an arranged marriage. The story claims that when Sarah arrived in New Zealand, she found herself jilted,</span> <span style="color: black;">her fiance having already married someone else. If this was true then we can only imagine the distress of a young woman in her early twenties, alone in a foreign country, far from her home in Ireland and finding herself abandoned. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">After some investigation, it became evident that 'Ballinorhinche' was a mis-spelling for a town called Ballynahinch, in the Northern Irish County of Down. The record of a will probated in December 1828, for a William Crail of Ballynahinch, established a crucial link between the surname Crail and this town in Northern Ireland. By the late 1800's according to parish records, there were quite a few families by the name of Crail, living in Ballynahinch. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Information from a nephew of Sarah's, provided a clue as to which family was almost certainly Sarah's. George Crail, who visited William White junior in Sydney, Australia in about 1930, informed the family, that Sarah had a br</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-DOBKI3XYd0v2HFrRj3HS_a6fVyCghCqGtQ-tGMiEs4JMM_VOKPkpr0QfWh-VbSKbILl0ERT2fYK8oQiKeM6i7Sics7vg9Evo_kOAqd2mOEXPpE7ezN9LQgMHNdPOvSYcXKxR2_yM2A/s1600/Ballynahinch_0001.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530753237554214498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb-DOBKI3XYd0v2HFrRj3HS_a6fVyCghCqGtQ-tGMiEs4JMM_VOKPkpr0QfWh-VbSKbILl0ERT2fYK8oQiKeM6i7Sics7vg9Evo_kOAqd2mOEXPpE7ezN9LQgMHNdPOvSYcXKxR2_yM2A/s320/Ballynahinch_0001.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 239px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;">other named Matthew Crail living in Ballynahinch. The 1901 and 1911 Irish censuses, shows Matthew Crail living in Ballynahinch, working as a</span><span style="color: black;"> weigh master and agent for London and Lancashire, and living with his wife Elizabeth (Reid). Matthew was the son of Jordan and Elizabeth Crail, and was born in 1855 in Ballynahinch. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Although no birth record has been found for Sarah yet, it is estimated that she was born in around 1864 or earlier ( from the age given on her son's birth certificate). It appears very likely that Jordan Crail was Sarah's father as he was known to have around 20 children, 14 of whose births have been found to date. The seemingly unlikely story of Sarah being one of 19 children may yet be proved</span> <span style="color: black;">true! The Griffiths Land Valuation for County Down, in 1848-1864 shows the only Crail listed in Ballynahinch, as Jordan Crail. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">A further clue that this Crail family is the correct family of Sarah Agnes Crail, is that Matthew's brother, Samuel, (1851), named his ninth child, Sarah Agnes Crail in 1893. Two other Crail brothers, Patrick (1849) and Jordan (1842) can be found living in Lancashire in the 1881 UK census. Jordan and his wife Eliza, had a son named George Crail born in Lancashire in 1873. This birth date fits with the age of Sarah's cousin, George Crail who visited the White family in Australia and who died in New Zealand in 1945. Shipping records show the same George Crail departing Liverpool, England for Sydney NSW and New Zealand in 1907. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ballynahinch parish records reveal that in 1790, Jane Jordan (from Ballynahinch) married a James Crail (from Loughinisland). The Surname Crail does not appear in Ballynahinch records prior to this marriage. Jordan is a given name which appears in all of the Crail families in this area so it is likely that the Ballynahinch Crails all descend from the marriage between James Crail and Jane Jordan. There exists a record of a testimonial introducing the Jordan family to the Ballynahinch Presbyterian Church in November 1715. An earlier parish record for Ballynahinch shows the baptism of a Jane Jordan, daughter of William Jordan in 1701. The Jordan family are recorded as living in Ballynahinch since the beginning of the 1700's. The Irish Tithe Applotment Books (1834-37) show a number of Crail families living at nearby Loughinisland in County Down. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Far from her home in Ireland, Sarah Crail gained a position as a companion and household help for Mary Anne Dalzell, wife of Henry Dalzell, at their property named '<em>Coldstream'</em>, in the Weka Pass (pictured below right). The property lay between the towns of Waikari and Waipari on the Canterbury Plains. The 1893 New Zealand electoral roll shows Henry and Mary Dalzell living at Coldstream, however, earlier rolls show them living in the nearby town of Waikari. Henry Dalzell had been born in Newtownards County Down, in 1861 and had immigrated to New Zealand as a child. In 1887, Henry's wife, Mary Dalzell (Ewart) had four (of her eventual eight) children aged under five years, and no doubt, would have very much appreciated Sarah's help and companionship on a lonely property. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">In 1888, with the birth of their fifth child, Henry and Mary Dalzell showed their fondness for Sarah Crail, by naming the baby, Beatrice Crail Dalzell. A family member in New Zealand interviewed Beatrice (married name Cook) when she was quite elderly,(she lived to be 100 years of age) and she related the story proudly, of how she was named for Sarah Crail, whom her mother <i>'had a great fondness for'</i>. Beatrice Crail Dalzell said in the same interview, that Sarah was <i>'acquainted with a William Coulthard Brideson, who also hailed from County Down, in Ireland'.</i> 'Bill Brideson, as he was known, was a storekeeper in Waikari, not far from the farm where his friends Henry and Mary Dalzell lived in the Weka Pass and</span> Beatrice believed<span style="color: black;"> that William had procured Sarah the position with the Dalzell family. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">William Brideson had a partner in his store and bakery in Waikari. His business partner's name was William White who was also an Irishman, born in Shankill, Belfast, County Antrim, around 1860. From his de</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0v8Zn5Wm5ikS9ure5R-C10zPZpEyvK7gcwpc041qzMMl-ojn60Z_tAR1XFpSZgzpd6_c_sspLQsN_GATn0tLnkbiFxs7GXU3T8Q8Uzy8J7NeffU7Ny_q3MNQIe5lkWFCekdNq2oTyDW0/s1600/Waikari+in+1898.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530758194070691826" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0v8Zn5Wm5ikS9ure5R-C10zPZpEyvK7gcwpc041qzMMl-ojn60Z_tAR1XFpSZgzpd6_c_sspLQsN_GATn0tLnkbiFxs7GXU3T8Q8Uzy8J7NeffU7Ny_q3MNQIe5lkWFCekdNq2oTyDW0/s320/Waikari+in+1898.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 226px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;">ath</span> </span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">certificate in 1931, it appears that William White arrived in New Zealand in around 1885. Although this death record states that William had resided in the country for about 46 years, it is most likely that William White arrived in New Zealand earlier than 1885. He appears in the New Zealand Electoral Rolls in 1881 and 1889, as a Contractor in Lincoln Road, Christchurch, (at the birth address of his son William) and in the 1893 and 1896 electoral rolls as a shopkeeper in Waikari. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">According to Beatrice Crail Dalzell, (who was recounting a story told to her by her mother), William White was courting Sarah Crail at the time of Beatrice's own birth. William offered to trek across the hilly countryside from the Dalzell's farm to Waikari to fetch Doctor Little to Mary Dalzell when was giving birth to Beatrice. For this kindness and because of the family's attachment to Sarah, Beatrice was given the middle name of Crail. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">William White ( pictured below) was the </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZu7iG5o6I4oqw-PvcTp839QtK_qDGSgW6bSptRtHWLLHpcv5J-xLtorqZ3zuTJ-Dq49P4XVhYnzncucl1iBYsuxkfxFTIyKiNfJGevHhp1WvGnvUd0XKo8Ut6J0BxREauAF0UWMGJdt0/s1600/William+White+NZ_0001.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530799086712634018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZu7iG5o6I4oqw-PvcTp839QtK_qDGSgW6bSptRtHWLLHpcv5J-xLtorqZ3zuTJ-Dq49P4XVhYnzncucl1iBYsuxkfxFTIyKiNfJGevHhp1WvGnvUd0XKo8Ut6J0BxREauAF0UWMGJdt0/s320/William+White+NZ_0001.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 226px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;">son of James White and Anne Jane (Annie) Houston. James, a pawnbroker, married Annie in a civil marriage ceremony on </span><span style="color: black;">April 24, 1854 in St Anne's Church of Ireland, Shankill, Belfast, in County Antrim, Northern Ireland. The couples' address was 75 Nelson Street Shankill after their marriage. Annie was born in the townland of Knockbreda in County Down, and her age being given as 19 when she married James White, places her year of birth around 1835. Her father, Thomas Houston was a clergyman. Parish records for the Knockbreda Reformed Presbyterian Church show that Reverend Thomas Houston was buried in the church's graveyard on February, 20, 1886 aged 75 years. According to the certificate of marriage for James White and Annie Houston, James' father was John White, a farmer of County Down. The </span><span style="color: black;">Griffith's Valuation for County Down (1863-64) show both the Reverend Thomas Houston and John White ( farmer) residing at Ballylenaghan, Knockbreda, Co Down, </span><span style="color: black;">Northern Ireland. In the 1861 Griffiths Valuation, James and Anne Jane White appear in Shankill, Belfast owning properties which they leased, in Cromac Street, Henrietta Street, Edward Street, Stanhope Street, Carlisle Terrace, and Coronation, York and Verner Streets. James' father, John, had joined his son, James, in Shankill, Belfast and was also working as a pawnbroker, before his death. His will states: 'Effects under 800 Pounds. The Will of John White, late of Shankill Road, Belfast, Pawnbroker, deceased, who died 14 June, 1878 at Ballylenaghan, Co Down, was proved at Belfast by the oaths of Henry White of Ballymaconaghy (Newtownards), Farmer and William White of 7 Newtownards Road Ballymacarratt (Belfast), Pawnbroker, both in Co Down....' It appears that William was also employed as a pawnbroker, like his father, before leaving Ireland for New Zealand.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">William White and Sarah Crail had two children. William Leonard (pictured below) was born 0n June 1, 1889. His birth place was</span> <span style="color: black;">recorded on his birth certificate as being Lincoln Road, Christchurch. Edith was born three years l<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zvxzGNPTA7InYz_ty7wgBVNt5V9P3OHMJknS8LX2VfJ8wNCIBaCWaHfkKJ1_bl_ftsI1EiXKnntJMDJ0TPoTOvPNFvDfru73sUciF88TZsaNVKJekAFyqtGhtsupF-U-J-PMkwh2E6I/s1600/William+Leonard+White_0002.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531418083787803506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zvxzGNPTA7InYz_ty7wgBVNt5V9P3OHMJknS8LX2VfJ8wNCIBaCWaHfkKJ1_bl_ftsI1EiXKnntJMDJ0TPoTOvPNFvDfru73sUciF88TZsaNVKJekAFyqtGhtsupF-U-J-PMkwh2E6I/s320/William+Leonard+White_0002.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 183px;" /></a>ater in 1892. A birth certificate has not been found for Edith, however on her death certificate in 1938 (she died suddenly at age 46 from a brain aneurism walking home from church with her family) it states that she was born in Netherby, which is a town on the Canterbury Plains, not far from Christchurch. Beatrice Crail Dalzell (Cook), in her interview with a descendant from William and his second wife, was most emphatic that William and Sarah were married, but attempts to locate a marriage certificate have been unsuccessful. On William Leonard's birth certificate, it states that William and Sarah were married in Melbourne, Australia on March 12, 1888, however, there is no record of a marriage in Melbourne, and no marriage record has been found in New Zealand. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">It is not known exactly when William and Sarah parted company, however it is known that Sarah found herself with a rival for William's affections after the birth of her second child, Edith in 1892. Bessie Marchbank Little, one of the daughters of James Little of <em>Allendale</em>, near Waikari, 'set her cap at William', according to Beatrice Crail Dalzell. James Little was a very successful sheep farmer and is known to this day as the 'founder of Corriedale sheep' in New Zealand. Although James began life on the Canterbury Plains as a shepherd, he was, by the time Bessie made eyes at William White, a wealthy man. No doubt, William found Bessie's attentions most flattering. Bessie became extremely jealous of Sarah, according to Beatrice, who insisted that at this time William and Sarah were still together ( and it has be said that 'no one dared argue with Beatrice!). Life for Sarah became quite unbearable with Bessie determined to have William for herself. Although family accounts describe William White as a 'softie', there is no accounting for his actions. William sent Sarah and the children away, to live in Christchurch. Sarah does not appear with William on the 1893 electoral roll in Waikari so it is possible that they were separated by then. A broken hearted Sarah took ill, some time afterwards and died. No death certificate has been found for Sarah under the names White or Crail, however her death can be placed before</span> <span style="color: black;">July,1899, as William and Edith were admitted to the Christchurch East School on July, 9, 1899 and were in the care of someone other than their mother. The school admission records show that the children attended this school until December of 1900 when they were separated. William was sent to Ashburton at the age of 11 to work, (his father named as his guardian), while 8 year old Edith went to Dunedin to live with a Mrs Hammond and later to Wellington to board with a family named Canner. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How Sarah Agnes Crail died, the exact date and place, all remain unknown. Sadly, where she is buried also remains a mystery, and any persons who may have known, are long since gone. The family will continue to search for more information about her.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7HfjavFlmP7TVMi7X9MIX0fK1kTnXa6MeTjS-bx7NNM3OiEKKTXaUwmJgZlGrlktYJ3T61xbItKz7gOO9TG-A39KBtoggf92zOtB3vLxTpk8PwftAqikkLOunPdkDVHTRdbtXOEwDvsE/s1600/Sarah+Crail.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531436177110911378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7HfjavFlmP7TVMi7X9MIX0fK1kTnXa6MeTjS-bx7NNM3OiEKKTXaUwmJgZlGrlktYJ3T61xbItKz7gOO9TG-A39KBtoggf92zOtB3vLxTpk8PwftAqikkLOunPdkDVHTRdbtXOEwDvsE/s320/Sarah+Crail.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 267px;" /></a><br />
<em><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">'A<strong> mother's love is like no other in the world,</strong></span></em><br />
<em><strong><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">and she has the most wonderful memories of a little boy and girl.'</span></strong></em><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After Sarah had died, William married Bessie Little. The marriage took place on January, 18, 1900 at <em>Allendale</em> (pictured right), the home and sheep property belonging to her father, Janes Little.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEila1Gt0-pBsoq6IgZzpfJO6ZKFO-xC0-U3RRtQVoOLVR3grQtjVejB0gn_ptB7rlBBdXVww_QvNFNa1WmK2TWo5vCcvkGs8vkMsCHP0qSShzaWc74o6fcJ9D66aS9igNHCb92r2TmIMiI/s1600/James+Little.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531416948379799922" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEila1Gt0-pBsoq6IgZzpfJO6ZKFO-xC0-U3RRtQVoOLVR3grQtjVejB0gn_ptB7rlBBdXVww_QvNFNa1WmK2TWo5vCcvkGs8vkMsCHP0qSShzaWc74o6fcJ9D66aS9igNHCb92r2TmIMiI/s320/James+Little.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 283px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;">Following their marriage, William and Bessie lived at a property called <em>Littledale</em>, not far from <em>Allendale</em>, which James Little bought for his</span><span style="color: black;"> daughter. William Brideson had already married Bessie's sister Mary and the two Williams gave up the store in Waikari, (White & Brideson's), in the early 1900's. The shop building was moved to <em>Littledale </em>where it still stands today, known as 'the red shed'. Bessie was referred to by William's children as the 'she devil' and sadly, she refused </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">to have anything to do with William's children, Edith and William. Edith told her children that Bessie, on her deathbed, in January, 1932, apologised for sending the children away from their father, however not even this admission of guilt could have erased the pain William and Edith endured in their very unhappy childhood, after the death of their mother, Sarah.</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="color: black;"><br /></span><span style="color: black;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">William White had three children with Bessie, James Little White born in 1901, Mary Telfer White, born in 1906 and Bessie born in 1910 (pictured below with William amd Bessie). This family portrait was taken in 1910. When the photograph was taken, William, aged 21, was living in Australia and Edith would have been 18 years of age. It is known that both children endured unhappy lives in foster care. As soon as William reached the age of 16, he left New Zealand to make a life for himself in Sydney, Australia, where he married and had a family. Edith later married Edwin Sydney Stringleman and had a happy life with Edwin and their four children. Tragically, however she died suddenly at only 46 years of age. Pictured below right, is Edith Stringleman (White) with the two eldest of her children, Moira and Brian.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLw-23PxOlr8q-U8eCos4opktcsaF6HIX4kz3DATPDVPXztFebM2cTYQ2v8q1YVQ1enpi-XFQvbfHm8nrZf4WpJmHqCkHPmGN4X-a2yE_OMbABigXG3cja_DEJu3dTy2YNeM1mZpftAo/s1600/White.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531382043356418034" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrLw-23PxOlr8q-U8eCos4opktcsaF6HIX4kz3DATPDVPXztFebM2cTYQ2v8q1YVQ1enpi-XFQvbfHm8nrZf4WpJmHqCkHPmGN4X-a2yE_OMbABigXG3cja_DEJu3dTy2YNeM1mZpftAo/s320/White.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 234px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px;" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCuWeAYk1Ty1JTX97P1BH7RiY1MXhyUB9fMIST11R9mNLsab1VxLdYiOzOxymCI2_zPKm2kJVobe9e0rJ0lncSZji55Ou8eHInsqXlTAIgb3YmL3SZ8qgJ2LnhaTxgNF5DJ01k-Uk6Y8g/s1600/Edith+White_0001.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530822039647070050" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCuWeAYk1Ty1JTX97P1BH7RiY1MXhyUB9fMIST11R9mNLsab1VxLdYiOzOxymCI2_zPKm2kJVobe9e0rJ0lncSZji55Ou8eHInsqXlTAIgb3YmL3SZ8qgJ2LnhaTxgNF5DJ01k-Uk6Y8g/s320/Edith+White_0001.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 210px;" /></a><br />
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530823678271158530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqcWZocIcvJwqfFTElE_LC4UIcezvx_U_77U9fHYBzCLFpUNOwMCFNKN8auyC0qWi4nSWvcyI4imbbmZ79_m1pIlmIb1n_SOnM9kdxPQObpG3JA8tLBLAd5Ne0un0qVS_wE89KbJahVas/s320/William+Leonard+White.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 204px;" /><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Pictured left, is William Leonard White in his World War 1 army uniform in Sydney, Australia.<span style="color: black;"></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In 1927, with her sister Ellen (Nell), Bessie, her husband William White, and their two daughters, Mary and Betty (Bessie) traveled to Sydney Australia for a holiday. At the conclusion of their trip, William senior, visited his estranged son, William, his wife Mary Jane (Jean) MacDonald and their children. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">William, Bessie, Mary, Betty and Nell left for New Zealand on November 3, 1927, aboard the ill fated mail steamer, '</span><em style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tahiti'</em><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> (pictured below). Off Bradley Heads, inside the harbour, the ship collided with the Watson's Bay bound passenger ferry, '</span><em style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Greycliffe</em><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">' Still considered to be one of the worst Maritime disasters on Sydney Harbour, this accident killed saw 40 people aged between 2 and 81 swept to their deaths and many more injured.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNr-K4pVhmRSgGJZ9eoVylONijrHTiw9hwzC6OLV-TZmkWBuF0DEfK7KThZ2o_gA5_T1omx_34D9beshZUYGQoTJjbW1fGjSaiN6l-EUvBu2LipmgPusQBk4581R3MslixemuYdZXTYzE/s1600/Tahiti.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531431343198250962" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNr-K4pVhmRSgGJZ9eoVylONijrHTiw9hwzC6OLV-TZmkWBuF0DEfK7KThZ2o_gA5_T1omx_34D9beshZUYGQoTJjbW1fGjSaiN6l-EUvBu2LipmgPusQBk4581R3MslixemuYdZXTYzE/s320/Tahiti.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 120px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;"><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF64JAya4TNszsZFyUcQgdlBuJxXSKswhNlNsZ37IahQpx8AczEAVEI3uEqYw5lR8xiXAf7-HcDAjhcsalW9YmWg-bNeqvTpn9479PJPhiN2t4S7gIcyZfCOtuxNyua6qTT2j36hxTA0o/s1600/Tahiti.gif"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531432104341040226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF64JAya4TNszsZFyUcQgdlBuJxXSKswhNlNsZ37IahQpx8AczEAVEI3uEqYw5lR8xiXAf7-HcDAjhcsalW9YmWg-bNeqvTpn9479PJPhiN2t4S7gIcyZfCOtuxNyua6qTT2j36hxTA0o/s320/Tahiti.gif" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 182px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">William junior, did not see his father again after the 1927 visit. William White senior, died on March 13, 1931, of Broncho Pneumonia. His last place of abode was 29 Clissold Street, Christchurch and at the time of his death, he was 71 years old. Bessie White died the following year, whispering her regret and sorrow to Edith that she had treated her and her brother William so thoughtlessly. At her father's funeral, Edith became friendly with her half sister, Betty and they remained firm friends until Edith's untimely death 7 years later. William junior, returned to New Zealand for his father's funeral, seeing his birthplace for the first time since he had left at the age of 16. After the funeral, William, unemployed, because of the Great Depression, remained in New Zealand for a year, travelling around the South and North Islands by car with Sarah Crail's cousin, George Crail and a friend, Tom Miles, the three, selling manchester. Photos that William junior brought back with him, are a record of his trip and include images of the tragic earthquake which destroyed Napier in February, 1931. Sadly,William White left nothing for the children born to him by Sarah Crail. The photographs which appear here were sent to William junior by his sister Edith and by her daughters Moira, Gwen and Patricia. </span></span><br />
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531433454192795362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ff9AoNN6H_9nsKcsWNmZ4kR5Gf8r0cWKJE4hdNQTM66JT1KwpnTf6BSsFh5ArnxREGJZpj6tV38KCCcGxfVAat0maQzCNbnsLXDfmHQ_aPmVtZ5XaxLcMl7TJNMuTspj3vm9fsiiEfg/s320/William+White+snr.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 238px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Pictured above, is William White senior, seated, holding one of his grandchildren with his wife, Bessie beside him. The White family tree is a work in progress and we hopefully one day will know more about the ancestors of William White and Sarah Crail, from County Down in Northern Ireland. </span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Thankyou</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was assisted by many people with my research into the lives of William White and Sarah Agnes Crail. Thankyou to you all. Thankyou to Robin Pawsey, (a descendant of William White through his second marriage to Bessie Little), for his enthusiastic assistance.</span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Of particular interest was information provided by John Harper of the Waipari Historical Group, who <span style="color: black;">was contacted by the Christchurch Library on my behalf. John was able to help me with some of this story. By sheer coincidence, Henry and Mary Ann Dalzell's property <em>'Coldstream</em>' is situated directly next to his own property between Horsley Down and Mason Flat. By another amazing coincidence, the chimney from James Little's property, <em>Allendale</em>, is now sitting in John's home! I am grateful to John for his help.</span></span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sources:</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Christchurch Library</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Canterbury Historical Society</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Society of New Zealand Genealogists (of which I am a member)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">New Zealand Historical Births Deaths and Marriages - <a href="http://www.bdmonline.dia.govt.nz/">http://www.bdmonline.dia.govt.nz/</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Cyclopedia of New Zealand [Canterbury Provincial District]</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">New Zealand Electoral Roll 1881, 1889, 1893, 1896 [CD] & <a href="http://www.findmypast.com.au/">http://www.findmypast.com.au/</a></span><br />
<a href="http://www.canterburymuseum.com/"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">http://www.canterburymuseum.com/</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.archway.archives.govt.nz/"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">www.archway.archives.govt.nz/</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.irishroots.com/"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">http://www.irishroots.com/</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.rootsireland.com/"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">http://www.rootsireland.com/</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.ancestryireland.com/"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">http://www.ancestryireland.com/</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.irishfamilyresearch.co.uk/"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">http://www.irishfamilyresearch.co.uk/</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.emeraldancestors.com/"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">http://www.emeraldancestors.com/</span></a><br />
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Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-56993138019534426402010-07-25T19:58:00.000-07:002016-10-04T00:29:47.369-07:00'Get the place and wealth, if possible, with grace:If not, by any means get wealth and place.' Alexander Pope 1688-1744<div align="center">
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<span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: "trebuchet ms"; font-size: 180%;">Marwell Hall</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Xe1V3Qy-H2T5EXS_3YvGqrYdWuaiTEPssHPseXLwmXQzBtPmUETU6ZT_6CqeUTiBpEhWeNBFsRz6Yck7KU4Q0Tv7Jm53TxvXYAeTunve2fKtq-PTdddIhIU-fCcjnaN-5oPu7gvLlOE/s1600/Croatia+26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Xe1V3Qy-H2T5EXS_3YvGqrYdWuaiTEPssHPseXLwmXQzBtPmUETU6ZT_6CqeUTiBpEhWeNBFsRz6Yck7KU4Q0Tv7Jm53TxvXYAeTunve2fKtq-PTdddIhIU-fCcjnaN-5oPu7gvLlOE/s320/Croatia+26.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marwell Hall, Image by permission Siobhan White ©</td></tr>
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Before I continue the intriguing story of Rex Morley Hoyes (last blog), I would like to write something of the history of Marwell Hall, the historic British, Grade 1, Listed home, which my great uncle, Rex, bought in 1934 with his second wife, Patricia Blackader (formerly Lady Waleran). When I first searched the 1934 UK phone book for Rex M Hoyes' address, I had no idea of the surprise which lay in wait for me. The name Marwell Hall Estate sounded charming enough, however, as soon as I saw the magnificent manorial home, pictured above, I was more than curious to discover the history of the home and the surrounding estate. When I discovered that the original house had been built in 1320 and that in the 16 th century, King Henry VIII had granted Marwell Hall to the Seymour family, this amateur historian embarked on yet another exciting journey i<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjziAkx0VIjyMYOWelVE50LEYUbrP1pxSxO_ax47pPJSTeAdSRbyX0JBMOYXzXsdoT-xJ6u2XQYXn35WttOX7cC4YHwsmu4JjHbd72FkYo45g9SfxMaFvlH1zqJQR-byCmPPt8MlXtO0Yg/s1600/Owslebury_signpost_L.jpg"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><span style="color: black;">nto the past. As I have conducted my research from Australia,I acknowledge that this account of the history of Marwell Hall is only as accurate as my sources, which I will acknowledge at the conclusion of my story.
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<span style="color: black;">Marwell Hall Estate is now a Zoological Wildlife park. Situated in the parish of Owslebury, Hampshire in the south of England. Marwell Hall is about 9.6 km from Winchester, on the Roman road from Winchester to Portsmouth.(see map below right). Evidence of settlement in Owslebury, has been found, dating as far back as the Iron age and the Romans. In the ancient Saxon times of</span> <span style="color: black;">King Edgar the Peaceful, Owslebury was pronounced as <em>oselbryg.</em> In around 964 AD, King Edgar granted land a</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU1jCwT1nxvjTIjScVjMq3gWUXxgrv_VqX4pWqmkTdcSf11vjJUFJWiIQG5qBX_8Y04hCl38rwXFITUUKDZZ6AyePU3RIfDwVBLN4qkd-yM_1aSEx7LknHXMvoESWoI_t21NtRItRnm9w/s1600/marwell-directions-map.jpg"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><span style="color: black;">t Owslebury, to the Bisho</span>p <span style="color: black;">of </span><span style="color: black;">Winchester. The Domesday Book, of which I have a well read copy, shows land at Owslebury held by the Bishop of Winchester, prior to and after the Norman Conquest (William the Conqueror). Much of the land which became the Marwell Hall estate, was used as parkland by the Bishop for hunting, grazing cattle and timber getting. The area where Marwell Hall stands was known then, as Twyford with Marwell. Local legend says that the name Marwell comes from, <em>mere</em> meaning water and <em>well</em> meaning a spring. There are several</span> <span style="color: black;">natural springs in the grounds of Marwell Park and Fisher's Pond is about 2 km away adding credibility to this story. In the 1100's, the Bishop of Winchester, Henry de Blois established a College of Secular Priests, where a number of buildings including a chapel were built, on a moated site at Lower Marwell. </span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-A6AIWm5KCGvbelNTOEdE_mmzftunUaH-2ldutKq2sYfuljLsqcfj4Fr7_7ha3tEwqPysSiDh7l8HuzMtl8ODdtYJSbyNlUMTdxKXHg3SOOaOGTK5lScrP438I0in9ecEZskF1Tf3kA/s1600/Owslelbury+Hampshire.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-A6AIWm5KCGvbelNTOEdE_mmzftunUaH-2ldutKq2sYfuljLsqcfj4Fr7_7ha3tEwqPysSiDh7l8HuzMtl8ODdtYJSbyNlUMTdxKXHg3SOOaOGTK5lScrP438I0in9ecEZskF1Tf3kA/s320/Owslelbury+Hampshire.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Owslebury, Hampshire Image Wikipedia ©©</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black;">In the early 14 th century, the Bishop of Winchester was by then, a Henry Woodlock (1305-1316), who grant</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgrSZA3GMF344zgoH_oJ3WeBNjvFYuGQCTihCuS9e6_9P-p3x8mBvxosYryukaNsGJWM8_mWmu5z-6HalVaKqh-71oncYD0aQK-6NcN1ak9lUzE2UZqlAez5ojcEU_FKdR8IbzcrohqpE/s1600/cruck.gif"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><span style="color: black;">ed land at Twyford with Marwell to a Walter Woodlock, (believed to be a relative of Henry Woodlock). Walter Woodlock was granted a licence to enclose the land at Marwell in about 1310, and paid rent for the property to the Bishop. The Manor or Country Estate became known as Marwell Woodloke or Woodlock. The original home which Walter Woodlock built at Marwell between 1314 and 1320, was a timber framed construction </span><span style="color: black;">called a <em>base cruck </em>which was 8 metres by 13 metres in size. A base cruck construction was common in Hampshire and other parts of England in this period and was defined by the cruck blades or timbers which rose from the ground up to a tie-beam or collar-beam which supported a separate roof construction.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinw7IzjGGanh2FGQBT6phVLFVVRaCVUP4MCoxOFihi9HpiS8qqXsQJM2X-3Ypc8yf6aSWstkLqcOI9jmngvEbCgu19MYp8jW1rQw2FbwVMvfnWtxp2dxqOuLakzDuj6RX3SkAxxPRS_tM/s1600/Cruck+Framing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinw7IzjGGanh2FGQBT6phVLFVVRaCVUP4MCoxOFihi9HpiS8qqXsQJM2X-3Ypc8yf6aSWstkLqcOI9jmngvEbCgu19MYp8jW1rQw2FbwVMvfnWtxp2dxqOuLakzDuj6RX3SkAxxPRS_tM/s320/Cruck+Framing.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cruck Framing Image Wikipedia ©©</td></tr>
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By the early 16 th century, the Bishop of Winchester, Bishop Fox, granted use of Marwell Hall to the Corpus Christi College at Oxford and revenues from the estate helped to fund the college. In about 1551, the Bishop of Winchester surrendered Marwell Hall Estate and all of its land to the Crown in return for a fixed income of 2000 marks. King Henry VIII granted the estate to Sir Henry Seymour whilst he was courting his sister, Jane Seymour (who became wife number 3). Henry Seymour at the time, already held Twyford Manor adjoining Marwell Woodlock (Marwell Hall). Legend tells us that at the precise moment that Anne Boleyn was beheaded, King Henry and Jane Seymour were married in a secret ceremony at Marwell Hall prior to their official public marriage. Whether or not this tale is true, there is no doubt that the story lends a certain air of romance to Marwell Hall's history. What is known, is, that King Henry VIII spent time at Marwell Hall after his marriage to Jane Seymour. Henry and Jane's son, Edward VI is known to have visited Marwell Hall on a number of occasions and the Royal Arms and<br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrpPkr1rVIdktZ8Qsd0VIoqf-8Hf37TQ3U2vfEn_zLuT00iy4lB9RvDslgEUFCsmL25V3eJGQ5jnkfer9fwEpQrQG8b-iPkm5nJ4g3eY5KG4FHHwYibJjAHQ2mts5R7fVCAfgOY5iWyAg/s1600/Seymour+Crest.gif"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498096524057913666" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrpPkr1rVIdktZ8Qsd0VIoqf-8Hf37TQ3U2vfEn_zLuT00iy4lB9RvDslgEUFCsmL25V3eJGQ5jnkfer9fwEpQrQG8b-iPkm5nJ4g3eY5KG4FHHwYibJjAHQ2mts5R7fVCAfgOY5iWyAg/s320/Seymour+Crest.gif" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 124px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 102px;" /></a>initials <em>ER</em> can be seen carved in a stone panel above the fireplace in the Great Hall. The Seymour Crest (pictured left) can still be seen today in the library, now known as the Seymour Room. Much remodelling of the house was done by Sir Henry Seymour and the medieval Great Hall still remains the central core of the building today (pictured above above). A square dovecote, which survives today, was built during the time that Sir Henry Seymour owned Marwell Hall. This building, which was converted to a dairy in the 1800's, has walls 1 metre thick built of brick and flint and is thought to have housed around 700 bird's nests. In the middle ages, doves and pigeons were a valuable source of meat and only manorial lords were permitted to keep the birds. Most dovecotes were built from stone and were round in shape. When a dovecote was timber framed, it was usually square as is the one at Marwell Hall or rectangular in shape.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0B7T4wAT0VzWWFYro2DuqBETt-AxcLu0kgCdygebdUszs39wI5MGlir0_PzPdrQrYuZpWAtn2ppWTyibICj1qhhkRZxrY5uROpIVEO9mrevH0xrHT606wzuyZ0urYooShxMXtn3QpzIE/s1600/Dovecot.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0B7T4wAT0VzWWFYro2DuqBETt-AxcLu0kgCdygebdUszs39wI5MGlir0_PzPdrQrYuZpWAtn2ppWTyibICj1qhhkRZxrY5uROpIVEO9mrevH0xrHT606wzuyZ0urYooShxMXtn3QpzIE/s320/Dovecot.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rectangular Covecot Image Wikipedia ©©</td></tr>
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Sir Henry Seymour's descendants, including Sir John and Sir Edward Seymour, occupied Marwell Hall until around 1638, when the family fell out of royal favour and were reduced to poverty. Sir Henry Mildmay, a friend of King Charles I, took possession of Marwell Hall and the adjoining Twyford Manor. They were occupied by his descendants, until the 19th century,beginning with his grand-daughter, Letitia. Marwell Hall Estate was the stage for some interesting happenings and escapades in the 1600's. During the English civil war (1642-1651), Marwell Hall was the site of a skirmish, when a drunken party of Royalists moving from Winchester, took on a party of 60 Roundheads who were staying at the Hall. The Roundheads won the battle despite being outnumbered( being sober helped!). During the late 17 th century, King Charles II is known to have visited Marwell Hall on a number of occasions making the hall a very royally frequented estate.<br />
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<span style="color: black;">In 1940, a firm of solicitors who had acted for the Mildmay family for many years, handed 22 boxes of family records to the British Records Association. Many of these records were related to Marwell Hall and in 1972 these were sent to the Hampshire Archives, where, now catalogued, they provide a wonderful source of information about the estate. Meticulous records were kept by the Mildmay family which date back to 1447 and they include lists of tennants at Marwell Hall as well as expenses and sundries, journals and events. These records provide an irreplaceable source of information about Marwell Hall. Information regarding these documents</span> <span style="color: black;">can be found at the following link</span><span style="color: black;">: </span><a href="http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/a2a/records.aspx?cat=041-mildmay&cid=-1"><span style="color: #3333ff;">http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/a2a/records.aspx?cat=041-mildmay&cid=-1</span></a><br />
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<span style="color: black;">According to several sources, William Long purchased Marwell Hall and occupied the estate from 1798 until around 1839. William Long wh was a prominent surgeon at St Bartholomew's Hospital in London, made major alterations to the house between the years 1812 and 1816. He rebuilt the uppe</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2G4Fa_misq1CHs_-YPIgSdsJDkcMSyNdyJBmOqNq1QDK7p6zR3R_Ap28_G2Xb9PhkSXRsQeo8vf3du6cMPksXOUQ3pBP689dReq5gQLmJJqoHP9eu4khxjkZh5Wzc360DG4MbMO4lfag/s1600/Marwell+Hall+chimneys.jpg"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><span style="color: black;">r storeys and was responsible for remodelling Marwell Hall to appear as it stands today. The huge Cedar tree which still stands on the lawn at the rear of Marwell Hall, several hundred years old, with a girth of almost six metres, is believed to have been planted by William Long. </span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marwell Hall, Hampshire Image Wikipedia ©©</td></tr>
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By the middle of the 19 th century, the owner of Marwell Hall was John Gully, an MP for Pontefract and a race horse trainer from Danebury. John Gully was reputed to have had two wives and 24 children!<br />
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Marwell Hall was purchased in 1882, by Rowland Standish, whose family occupied the estate until the last of his descendants, William Standish, died in a car accident in 1933.<br />
<span style="color: black;">No manorial home is complete without at least one resident ghost. Marwell Hall is well known for the spirits which haunt its rooms. Jane Seymour is said to haunt the corridors of Marwell Hall. Another spirit to frequent Marwell, is King Henry's previous wife, Anne Boleyn. Anne's ghost reportedly wanders the corridors of the mansion plotting her revenge on Jane Seymour! The most famous of Marwell Hall's ghost stories is that of the <em>Mistletoe Bough. </em>According to this ghostly tale, during a party, that was held one Christmas</span> <span style="color: black;">Eve for a young newly married couple, it was decided that the guests would play a game of hide and seek. The bride was the first to hide and after a while the guests discovered that she was nowhere to be found. Although they searched all night long and into the next day, there was no trace of the girl. Many </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzjL08Xgh9aEyVwxezfKE6IWJpnGUFdHMh0nwv9DUln00cJ5JCYzDYrokqJ9UhQjSNVTHbp_v7GkLR-O4cjq0vRJtqr7sU6EbOitIsZLdvjuelIAxe1jXpc6I_mGgAR0QyWUxGtHr9HoA/s1600/Marwell+Hall+haunted.jpg"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><span style="color: black;">years later, the young woman's skeketon was discovered, by workers, in an old chest in a room at Marwell Hall. By her side was a piece of Mistletoe. She had become trapped in the chest when the lid had closed tightly, turning the chest into her grave. The young bride has been heard wandering through the corridors of Marwell Hall. Details of ghosts that have been investigated and detected at Marwell Hall can be found at </span><a href="http://www.paranormaltours.com/"><span style="color: #3333ff;">http://www.paranormaltours.com/</span></a><span style="color: #3333ff;"> .</span>
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<span style="color: black;">Along with its distinguished, Royal and ghostly past, in July 1934, Marwell Hall went to auction and was purchased for 5750 pounds, by my great uncle, Rex Morley Hoyes and his wife Patricia (nee Blackader and formerly Lady Waleran). Whilst Marwell Hall was in the possession of Rex Hoyes, the estate became very much involved wartime activities. A secret airfield was built in the grounds of Marwell Hall and operated there from 1941 until 1944. The airfield was an important site for the conversion of Spitfires to Seafires and of American bombers and fighter planes for use by the British RAF. Rex was Managing Director of Cunliffe-Owen Aircraft Ltd from 1937 and the company moved part of its operation to Marwell Hall where their aircraft production and conversion would be safe</span> <span style="color: black;">from enemy bombing at Southampton.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhST9ciBcJX3DGP6kgr-UwG8tT0bWiDKgStUBhIh1GeiADtK9n96QMMxMNMKGuTtd2hYjyzWYbJR8Ey9ejQiQVOUf0Xu0PYs2YBtBVLSYOsME42VPBhyphenhyphend4rsbu4E-zdaRaAvkV-xi3SPb0/s1600/Marwell+Hall+Airstrip+Site.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498859954538612962" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhST9ciBcJX3DGP6kgr-UwG8tT0bWiDKgStUBhIh1GeiADtK9n96QMMxMNMKGuTtd2hYjyzWYbJR8Ey9ejQiQVOUf0Xu0PYs2YBtBVLSYOsME42VPBhyphenhyphend4rsbu4E-zdaRaAvkV-xi3SPb0/s320/Marwell+Hall+Airstrip+Site.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 245px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;"> This <em>dispersal</em> airfield, as Marwell was known, was a highly kept secret, well camouflaged amongst the woodland on the estate. So well hidden was it that many of the test pilots, most of whom were women (another well kept secret), overflew the airstrip on more than one occasion. One of the aircraft hangars that was built on the grounds, during this period, is still standing</span> <span style="color: black;">today and is heritage listed. At Marwell Hall, Rex entertained such distinguished guests as Lord Mountbatton ( whom he called 'Monty') and Winston Churchill. Rex and Pat were known to entertain the War Cabinet at Marwell Hall for weekends during the war years. It is not known exactly when Rex sold Marwell Hall. There has been some conjecture that he sold the estate whilst Pat was overseas opening Malcolm Clubs (for servicemen) during the war and that she returned to England in 1948 find it sold. Rex had remarried in 1848 but the details of the sale are unknown. ( read more about Rex Morley Hoyes and the secret airfield at Marwell Hall in the next blog). (Pictured above is the location of the Marwell Airfield in the grounds of Marwell Hall).</span>
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<span style="color: black;">The London Times reported an auction of parts of the Marwell Hall Estate on October 26 1959. <em>'In a recent auction held by Mssrs James Harris & Son, parts of the Marwell Hall Estate, near Winchester, which was recently purchased by Sir John Blunt, Lower farm, extending to 179 acres was disposed of for 23,000 pounds.'</em></span>
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<span style="color: black;">In September, 1963, the London Times once again reported the auction of Marwell Hall Estate. By now much of the original estate had been divided and sold off and the remaining 348 acres was for sale. </span><em><span style="color: black;">'The well known first class Agricultural, Residential and Sporting MARWELL HALL ESTATE, Owlesbury,Nr, Winchester, comprising, A beautifully equipped Country House of Tudor origin: 3 reception</span> <span style="color: black;">rooms, study, billiards room, 6 principal bedrooms, 2 dressing rooms, 4 bathrooms, 7 secondary bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, oil fired central heating, main electricity, private water supply, garage and stable block, well timbered grounds and parklands together with 9 well modernised cottages, a first class Dairy Farm extending to about 200 acres with well equipped modernised and attested farm buildings.Valuable woodland extending to about 130 acres. Extensive shooting rights available. In all about 348 acres' </span></em>
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<span style="color: black;">In 1969, John Knowles purchased the Marwell Hall Estate with plans to turn the estate into a Zoological Park focusing on endangered animals.
<br />In 1972, Marwell Zoological Park opened to the public with endangered species such as the Siberian Tiger and the Scimitar-Horned Oryx.</span>
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<span style="color: black;">Since then, the Zoo has gone on to open an education centre and has helped to save many species of endangered species of</span><span style="color: black;"> animals from all over the world. Many of the endangered animals from Marwell Zoological Park have been re-introduced back into their native environments in places such as Brazil and Tunisia.</span>
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The stately home at Marwell Zoological Park, once the home of the Seymour family, and visited by King Henry VIII, and King Charles II, is available for functions such as weddings and conferences, offering the <em>Seymour Library Room</em> (capacity 40 people) which bears the Seymour Coat of Arms, The Long Room (capacity 80 people) named after William Long, the Woodlock Room (capacity 40 people) which is the medieval hall and the Tudor Rose room which features a grand entrance, high ceilings and an ornate staircase.<br />
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<span style="color: black;"><em>Wedding at Marwell Hall</em></span>
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<span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Another pleasant feature at Marwell Hall is the Formal Garden which includes some ancient trees and is located near the back lawn of the Hall. These three gardens, the Knot garden, the Parterre garden and the Kitchen garden, represent garden styles of the 16 th and 17 th centuries and and visitors can explore the ancient historical and ecological importance of the garden.</span>
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<span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZVqmHzOUHqi5B9leD-AU6J7DIPXEhoiXD4FQim7NXBcebAVFkVpzpC5ZUIJurxm0YafPasc3sk7Y5hjfPLIbimUIHMgz0HF1QC-tnwx3KP-DlXgIWDPeYH7odiKP4ALUhJHfoEai56KA/s1600/Marwell+Hall+11.jpg"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><em></em></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><em><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZVqmHzOUHqi5B9leD-AU6J7DIPXEhoiXD4FQim7NXBcebAVFkVpzpC5ZUIJurxm0YafPasc3sk7Y5hjfPLIbimUIHMgz0HF1QC-tnwx3KP-DlXgIWDPeYH7odiKP4ALUhJHfoEai56KA/s1600/Marwell+Hall+11.jpg"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><em></em></span></em></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><em><span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZVqmHzOUHqi5B9leD-AU6J7DIPXEhoiXD4FQim7NXBcebAVFkVpzpC5ZUIJurxm0YafPasc3sk7Y5hjfPLIbimUIHMgz0HF1QC-tnwx3KP-DlXgIWDPeYH7odiKP4ALUhJHfoEai56KA/s1600/Marwell+Hall+11.jpg"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><em></em></span></em></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><em>SOURCES:</em></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.marwell.org.uk/behind_scenes/about_marwell_hall.asp?css=1">www.marwell.org.uk/behind_scenes/about_marwell_hall.asp?css=1</a> </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.marwell.org.uk/zoo_guide/FormalGarden.asp?css=1">www.marwell.org.uk/zoo_guide/FormalGarden.asp?css=1</a> </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.britishlistedbuildings.co.uk/en-145458-marwell-farm-barn-immiediately-e">www.britishlistedbuildings.co.uk/en-145458-marwell-farm-barn-immiediately-e</a> </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.hants.gov.uk/hampshiretreasures/vol101/pages243.html">www.hants.gov.uk/hampshiretreasures/vol101/pages243.html</a> </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/a2a/records.aspx?cat=041-mildmay&cid=-1">www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/a2a/records.aspx?cat=041-mildmay&cid=-1</a> </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.paranormaltours.com/site_in_detail.php?siteid=mar25">www.paranormaltours.com/site_in_detail.php?siteid=mar25</a> </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~ancestorsofcedric/dec_skelt/pafg1">www.freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~ancestorsofcedric/dec_skelt/pafg1</a> </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.images.google.com.au/imgres?imgurl=http://img2.photographersdirect.com/img">www.images.google.com.au/imgres?imgurl=http://img2.photographersdirect.com/img</a> </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.british-history.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=41990">www.british-history.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=41990</a> </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.pigeoncote.com/dovecote/cooke13.html">www.pigeoncote.com/dovecote/cooke13.html</a> </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.owslebury.org.uk/history">www.owslebury.org.uk/history</a></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.twyfordpc.hants.gov.uk/history.htm">www.twyfordpc.hants.gov.uk/history.htm</a> </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.buildinghistory.org/manors.shtml">www.buildinghistory.org/manors.shtml</a> </span><br />
<span style="color: black;">London Times Online</span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.southernlife.org.uk/folklore.htm">www.southernlife.org.uk/folklore.htm</a> </span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixC3jcy6DOMa5hYqGQVFQKdKFhR2rFwVdz3dARTx_dENsYJ5vWuDr07yh7yTJQ5t-5UHhVt4CxvKuj_RmgLS7uLNXTsso624Qhin9hOzPOVOQeGutuJw2saTR7Kr-qLXL9PI3LgFFaOQY/s1600/marwell+hall+detail+inhall.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498116421891313586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixC3jcy6DOMa5hYqGQVFQKdKFhR2rFwVdz3dARTx_dENsYJ5vWuDr07yh7yTJQ5t-5UHhVt4CxvKuj_RmgLS7uLNXTsso624Qhin9hOzPOVOQeGutuJw2saTR7Kr-qLXL9PI3LgFFaOQY/s320/marwell+hall+detail+inhall.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 240px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZVqmHzOUHqi5B9leD-AU6J7DIPXEhoiXD4FQim7NXBcebAVFkVpzpC5ZUIJurxm0YafPasc3sk7Y5hjfPLIbimUIHMgz0HF1QC-tnwx3KP-DlXgIWDPeYH7odiKP4ALUhJHfoEai56KA/s1600/Marwell+Hall+11.jpg"><span style="color: black;"></span></a></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><em>Detail in the Great Hall at Marwell Hall</em>
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<br />Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-50161222292398277692010-06-17T00:53:00.000-07:002017-09-12T01:06:07.985-07:00'The greater the wealth, the thicker will be the dirt.' J K Galbraith1908 -: The Affluent Society 1958<div align="left">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Warrior II Image ©©</td></tr>
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<strong style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 180%;"><em>REX MORLEY HOYES: An Extraordinary Life - Part 1</em></strong><br />
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This story would not have been possible without my fellow researchers, friends and cousins, Len and Jan who have joined me me on a captivating journey into the past. It is together, that we tell the amazing story of our uncle, Rex Morley Hoyes. This story will be of particular interest to those people who have contacted me through my blog, seeking information about Rex and his steam yacht 'Warrior', pictured above in a painting <span style="font-size: 78%;"><em>[1]</em><em> </em></span>commissioned by the yacht's first owner, American millionaire, Frederick Vanderbilt<em><span style="font-size: 78%;">.[2]</span></em> The true life story of Rex Morley Hoyes is an extraordinary one. It is a tale which seems too astounding to be true, but it is as factual an account as I know, of the sensational life of an ordinary but extraordinary man. It is a story which embodies suspicious implications, a secret airfield, a millionaire's yacht, illegal gun running, criminal trials, MI5, spies, excentric name changes and not least of all, the curious title of Vicompte.<br />
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<span style="color: black;">As we researched Rex's life and his story unfolded, we travelled from New Zealand to England, Spain, Japan, America and France and to remarkable and exotic places such as Hyderabad and Tangier, Morocco. We encountered among Rex's personal friends, Lord Mountbatton and Winston Churchill and among his associates, General Peter El-Edroos, Sidney Cotton and Agent Zig-Zag as was known the infamous World War 2 double agent, Eddie Chapman (pictured below). Rex's associations escorted us into the world of British nobility, Leaders of State, Ministers of Government, the rich and famous, common thieves, numerous wives and many other colourful characters. Over the course of our journey, we, the Hoyes descendants, were obliged to ponder whether Rex Morley Hoyes was a brilliant entrepreneur, or a charming rogue, an unscrupulous fellow or a man of principles beguiled by the world of affluence and grandiosity he perceived in England. There is a saying that 'actions speak louder than words' but these proceedings occurred more than seventy years ago so we are left with mere words. We are optimistic that our words will bear sufficient witness to past deeds, for as Rudyard Kipling said 1923, ' Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind'. So in our own words, here is the story, as we know it, of a most colourful character, Rex Morley Hoyes. </span><br />
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<strong><em><span style="color: black;">THE EARLY YEARS</span></em></strong></div>
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Rex Morley Hoyes was born in Auckland, New Zealand on March 30, 1902. His father, Leonard Cuthbert Hoyes was the youngest son of English born parents, James Berry Hoyes and Elizabeth Morley (pictured below), who had immigrated t<br />
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<span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOyFyhAx-0ctRu-TP8Vp1wd0kUKPPjTHoTRjds7lsZjcHF7axFh7c4JnPcuH04kQ1i-0XotAvVqGhgyhC161t8bXcrGfLBMfowjYJmjyux4oihsasSnbJJ6v5-P9xnu78sCx7xseuqhV4/s1600/Elizabeth+Morley.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496257515694993682" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOyFyhAx-0ctRu-TP8Vp1wd0kUKPPjTHoTRjds7lsZjcHF7axFh7c4JnPcuH04kQ1i-0XotAvVqGhgyhC161t8bXcrGfLBMfowjYJmjyux4oihsasSnbJJ6v5-P9xnu78sCx7xseuqhV4/s320/Elizabeth+Morley.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px;" /></a>o New Zealand as part of the famous missionaries, the Albertlanders <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[3] </span></em>, on the ship <em>Gertrude</em> in February, 1863<em>. <span style="font-size: 78%;">[4]</span></em> Born in Nottinghamshire, in England, James had turned his back on his family tradition of weaving, and learned the trade of milling in Houghton, Lincolnshire under the guidance of William Morley, the grandfather of his future wife Elizabeth. Elizabeth was the daughter of a strict Methodist, Thomas Morley, in the parish of Houghton, Lincolnshire. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[5]</span></em> James Berry Hoyes was the choirmaster at the great Gonerby Church where Elizabeth Morley and her family were also parishioners <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[6]</span></em> and where James and Elizabeth were married. Once established in Auckland, New Zealand, James Berry Hoyes was regarded as a gentleman. In addition to his occupation as a miller, James had various other lucrative interests which included owning shares in silver and gold mines. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[7]</span></em></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">Rex's mother, Elsie Violet Wood, was also born in New Zealand, to Enoch Wood and Martha Spragg. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[8]</span></em> Enoch Wood was a butcher whose business was in Symonds Street, Newton, Auckland, not far from where the Hoyes family lived in Rose Street. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[9]</span></em> According to The Encyclopedia of New Zealand, Mr Wood was the organist at the Newton Congregational Church for thirty years. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[10]</span></em> It is possible that the two quite religious families attended the same church in Newton as it was not uncommon for Methodist and Congregational parishioners to meet in one church even prior to the formal establishment of the Uniting Church..... Leonard Hoyes and Elsie Wood married in 1900 <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[11]</span></em> and two years later, their son Rex Morley Hoyes was born. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">Rex's middle name of Morley was given in honour of his grandmother, Elizabeth, as it was her maiden surname. The name Morley was to feature significantly in Rex's later life. When Rex was 4 or 5 years old, his father, Leonard, an amateur opera singer, left New Zealand and travelled to Sydney, Australia, where he obtained a number of jobs before joining a small travelling opera group. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[12]</span></em> It is thought that Rex's father, Leonard left New Zealand in about 1906 as the 1905 Auckland Post Office Directory shows him to be living with his family in New Zealand and working as a furniture manufacturer at the address of Mt Roskill Road, Mt Eden, Auckland. It is possible that when Leonard settled in Australia, he intended to send for his wife Elsie and son Rex since he lived with Elsie's sister, Eva and her husband, Helier Harbutt, when he first arrived in Sydney. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[13]</span></em> </span><span style="color: black;">For reasons known only to Leonard Cuthbert Hoyes, he disappeared from his son's life and Rex was left to grow up with his mother in Auckland. His grandfather, James would most likely have been a positive influence in young Rex's his life, but tragically, he was killed accidentally in 1910, when he stepped off a tram and was hit by a bicycle. <em><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-size: 78%;">[14</span>]</span></em> The New Zealand newspaper, <em>The Evening Post</em>, which carried the story on December 24, reported that James had been on his way to buy his wife, Elizabeth a bonnet for Christmas when the accident happened. At the age of 8 years, Rex had lost his father and grandfather. It is believed that James Berry Hoyes provided well for the education of his grandson, Rex, as he was enrolled in the most prestigious boys school in New Zealand. The King's College, situated in an affluent area of Auckland, known as Remuera, was established in 1896 and offered all the subjects required for entry into the University of New Zealand as well as Military Drill and Gymnastics. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[15]</span></em></span></div>
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<em>King's College Remuera</em></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghxYSlI2W-Rfquzge20PBsKcKRGQ9GztfZlwSSsjkcvOmOeAVwqpmi6ooTItJoUIY6NSccduloO3NCiJHzWmK9xMwtg_GXcHjs6vzxlo1zKXLy4eAen_IJ5locSHCryXFeMnV_UJpujXM/s1600/kings_college,_auckland.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489515619487876050" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghxYSlI2W-Rfquzge20PBsKcKRGQ9GztfZlwSSsjkcvOmOeAVwqpmi6ooTItJoUIY6NSccduloO3NCiJHzWmK9xMwtg_GXcHjs6vzxlo1zKXLy4eAen_IJ5locSHCryXFeMnV_UJpujXM/s320/kings_college,_auckland.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 160px;" /></a> <span style="color: black;">In 1909, at the age of 7 years, Rex began his education at the King's College in Auckland in Form 1, his register number: KR721. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[16]</span></em> Young Rex's grandfather, James Berry Hoyes and his mother, Elsie, must have been proud of him, as he set off on his first day of school in the military style uniform of the King's College. Records from the College Archive show that he attended the King's College until 1912 when, according to archive records, he left the school, to move overseas. The King's College crest bore the Latin words Virtus Pollet which mean 'Truth Prevails', <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[17]</span></em> however, as Rex's life story unfolds, it may become apparent that Rex, in his later life, let slip from his memory, his old school motto. </span><br />
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Shipping records show that Rex, at the age of 12, travelled to Sydney with his mother Elsie on board the <em>Makura</em> in 1914.<span style="font-size: 78%;"> <em>[18]</em></span> The ship had originated in Vancouver but its route to Sydney, Australia, was via Auckland. There is no way of knowing whether Rex and his mother began their journey in Canada or in New Zealand. This trip, was most likely, a visit to his Aunt Eva's home in Turramurra, Sydney, NSW, Australia, where his uncle Helior Harbutt was a well respected builder of substantial homes on the North Shore of Sydney. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[19]</span></em> Little is known about Rex's childhood years including whether he lived for a period outside of New Zealand. Elsie Hoyes divorced Rex's father, Leonard in 1911 citing that she had been deserted. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[20]</span></em> It is possible Elsie took her young son overseas for a few years to complete his schooling. Perhaps, alternatively, the year 1912, when Rex left the King's College, corresponds with the death of his paternal grandmother, Elizabeth. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[21]</span></em> It may have been that the Hoyes family were contributing to the College fees and with the death of his grandmother, Rex was forced to leave the prestigious King's College. Rex probably grew up with little contact with his father Leonard Cuthbert Hoyes, although we know from Rex's only surviving half brother who lives in Australia, that Leonard did return to New Zealand a number of times, over the years, to see his family, even living in Auckland for about a year in the 1920's with his second wife Florence Morrison and his eldest son Ian from his second marriage ( two younger sons, Leonard and Lawrence were left in Australia with their maternal grandparents). It is unlikely, given that his father deserted his mother and himself, that the young boy Rex, enjoyed a close relationship with his father.<br />
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491336034000665970" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnY5zm6C8r8J311kB5qmQ37KysAOCNgF8SwwF6gumSvraayFqcwi2MNYFzvMCpVlMndyRVHDyMXFQPgHuL1XlUXKk1sFjS2ncD4g3UJ4ot97S2pQv-Fxn-g0cSUPJ8hLGipDxTTmCOqZk/s320/Rex+Hoyes+Alien+card+1921.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 182px;" /><span style="color: #666666;"><span style="color: black;">In 1921, aged 19, Rex travelled to Chicago, via Canada to study, sailing on the <em>S.S.Makura</em> and arriving on the 3rd of March. Shipping records state that he was a student. It is believed that he studied</span> </span><span style="color: black;">engineering in America in Chicago or in Seattle, Washington. <em><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-size: 78%;">[22]</span> </span></em>The 1966 Kelly's Directory <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[23]</span></em> states that he was educated at the King's College in Auckland, New Zealand and in America. It is an interesting insight into Rex's character that he describes his religion as aethiest which he boldly printed on his alien card pictured left. Perhaps the religious beliefs of his grandparents had not been passed on to Rex or quite possibly he was a typical teenage student, about to embark on an adventure and eager to throw off the shackles of home.</span><br />
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<strong><em><span style="color: black;">MARRIAGE AND A MOVE TO ENGLAND</span></em></strong></div>
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<span style="color: black;">After completing his studies, Rex Morley Hoyes returned to New Zealand, where in 1925, at the age of 23, he married Muriel Bates Philcox. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[24]</span></em> <span style="font-size: 78%;"><em>[25</em>]</span> After the death of Muriel's father, Harry Bates Philcox in 1930, Muriel's sister,Vivienne journeyed to London in 1931 with her mother, Anne, to pursue a career as a dancer.<em> </em><em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[26]</span></em> With her mother and sister both living in England, there is no doubt that Muriel would have been excited at the prospect of accompanying her husband, Rex on a business trip to London in 1933. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[27]</span></em><em> </em></span><span style="color: black;">Rex and Muriel Hoyes left New Zealand,</span><span style="color: black;"> bound for London, on board the <em>MV Rangitane</em>, arriving on the January 26, 1933. Rex was 32 years old and a Company Director, according to the ship's passenger records. This trip to London would change Rex and Muriel's lives in ways that they could never have foreseen. There can be no doubt that Rex believed he was destined for great things in life and possessed a resolute desire for both wealth and influence. Unfortunately for Rex, it was a charge of bribery and corruption ( of which he was later acquitted), which afforded him the most notoriety, especially in the London Times. Rex's penchant for the good life was undisguised amidst his flamboyant lifestyle in London, his relationships with diplomats, politicians, royalty and dalliances with exotic people and places. There is no doubt that some of Rex's associations were of a dubious and questionable nature, however his life was undeniably fascinating from the moment he arrived in London.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><br />Rex and Muriel quickly moved into influential and diplomatic social circles in London. On February 5, 1933, only weeks after her arrival in London, Muriel was presented at the Royal Court to the King and Queen, by Lady Wilford, as part of presentations made in the diplomatic circle<em>. <span style="font-size: 78%;">[28]</span></em> The London Times gave a detailed and descriptive account of the presentation. Life must have seemed wonderfully exciting for the young New Zealand couple. Lady Wilford's husband, Sir Thomas Wilford was the New Zealand High Commissioner in London<em>. <span style="font-size: 78%;">[29]</span></em> Encouraged by Sir Thomas, Lady Wilford, had formed the New Zealand Women's Association in London, in 1930 which invited wives of diplomats to socialise and to meet members of British nobility. Sir Thomas and Lady Wilford were actively involved</span> in horse racing, <span style="color: black;">both in New Zealand and in England. Rex, also, had racing connections in his home country, so it was perhaps, through the Wilfords that Rex was introduced to high society and people of influence in London. </span></div>
<span style="color: black;">Rex appears to have had found employment on arrival in London. The British Phone Book for 1933, listed Rex's profession as a Stockbroker and his address as 190 Piccadilly, W1, Regent. There has been a suggestion that Rex made a large amount of money on the stock market through an association with Sir Alfred Butt, a Baronet and member of parliament. Sir Alfred was also a keen horse racegoer and race horse owner and a flamboyant figure in London theatre circles. Sir Alfred was charged with prospering from a serious leak regarding government budget secrets and although there was no trial, in 1936, Sir Alfred resigned as a member of parliament over the affair. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[30] </span></em>The story of a connection between Rex and Sir Alfred has been passed on verbally, from a contact in England however, given, that in the following few years, Rex, quite publicly enjoyed life as a millionaire, it is quite likely</span> <span style="color: black;">that the story is credible.</span><br />
<span style="color: black;">The 1966 Kelly's Handbook is a window into Rex's intriguing professional life. According to this well respected 'who's who' directory, Rex held the following positions: Chairman of the Southern Board, Minister of Production 1942-45; Vice Chairman of the Southern Board Emergency Services Organisation (M.A.P.) 1940-45; formerly Managing Director of Cunliffe-Owen Aicraft Ltd., formerly Director of British and Foreign Aviation Ltd., Marwell Shipping Company Ltd., European Aviation Company., Aircraft Inventions Ltd. and Eagle Star Insurance Ltd, ( Southern Board); Air Advisor to the H.E.H. Nizam of Hyderabad and Govt., Deccan-India 1947. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[31]</span></em></span><span style="color: black;">In August of 1933, 8 months after arriving in London, Rex Hoyes travelled to America on board the luxurious liner, <em>RMS Aquitania</em>, arriving in New York on the 1st of September. Travelling with him, were Lord William George Hood Waleran and his young wife, Lady Margaret Patricia Waleran nee Blackader. From an article in the Sydney Morning Herald, dated Saturday, 2 March, 1935, <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[32]</span></em> we know that Lord Waleran, lived in New Zealand from 1927-1930, when he was the second Secretary to the then Governor General, Sir Charles Fergusson. It is entirely speculation that Rex Hoyes met Lord Waleran in New Zealand before he arrived in London, however, what is clear, is that the New Zealand connection played an important part in the unfolding events of Rex's life in England. The journey to New York, was presumably for business purposes as Rex is listed as a Company Director on the passenger list.</span><span style="color: black;"> Rex travelled to New York on the <em>Aquitania </em>without his wife Muriel which was to be a decision that Muriel would come to deeply regret and one that within a short period of time would change the course of her life. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzK9Y0rL1gWx4y-Z11yJsA5ohRCZb1QOHP0ZETeH6qWNFO6QAJPrheaqrlCTMoHfUtGqXRyXHUozfaQzXlPrYIqnIXSj8ODDkeUmbI0_vf6ZHtkn12BwefoRY591dnBsfu3xFLQweCq2w/s1600/Aquitania+Wiki.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="470" data-original-width="743" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzK9Y0rL1gWx4y-Z11yJsA5ohRCZb1QOHP0ZETeH6qWNFO6QAJPrheaqrlCTMoHfUtGqXRyXHUozfaQzXlPrYIqnIXSj8ODDkeUmbI0_vf6ZHtkn12BwefoRY591dnBsfu3xFLQweCq2w/s320/Aquitania+Wiki.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Aquitania Image Wikipedia ©©</td></tr>
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The <em>RMS Aquitania</em>, launched in 1913, and sister ship of the <em>Mauretania </em>and the <em>Lusitania, </em>was one of the most of the most revered of the Cunard Line ships. No other ship boasted such exquisite and luxurious interiors as the Aquitania. Her elegant accommodation and size would have assured Rex and his companions, a most pleasurable journey. It is easy to picture Rex relaxing in the oak panelled smoking room or dining with Lord and Lad<br />
<span style="color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLv1w76NxFPjVmzEJ93x_Cj7q4Rf-2_iQNjtcu0C4MEmVepNegyQgd9LgcfM-wjTIjvIr3c6PdfxVbBCRBnvikfv2goYDumCbkNABECTMySKOJw93Fixr2ef8Fz0vhClVMy954jrwWrpE/s1600/220px-RMS_Aquitania_First_Class_Lounge.png"><span style="color: black;"></span></a>y Waleran in one of the restaurants, beautifully decorated in Louis XIV or Jacobean styles. <span style="font-size: 78%;"><em>[33]</em></span> From her maiden voyage in 1914, the Aquitania was used for regular transatlantic crossings and amidst the festive and opulent surroundings on such a crossing, in 1933, the young Lady Waleran and Rex Hoyes obviously discovered a mutual attraction. Perhaps it was whilst strolling around a moonlit deck or whilst dancing to the music of a band after dining that the romance began. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-pGIiibw4c1f5Z0wr9fZe6fHopuclhfvjt99L2Sq9sBLuSeaXa-Tf_N7J35mXZE5bQcb1jowgXouTMWXjbWPkz55FtBD3u-KHWtrf6qgGzDoCmxWpT3UEE81PerPfLEqDcEc-dLRuqc/s1600/Aquitania+first+class+dining.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1234" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF-pGIiibw4c1f5Z0wr9fZe6fHopuclhfvjt99L2Sq9sBLuSeaXa-Tf_N7J35mXZE5bQcb1jowgXouTMWXjbWPkz55FtBD3u-KHWtrf6qgGzDoCmxWpT3UEE81PerPfLEqDcEc-dLRuqc/s320/Aquitania+first+class+dining.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aquitania First Class Dining Room Image Wikipedia ©©</td></tr>
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However discreet Rex Hoyes and Lady Waleran (or Pat as she was known), attempted to be, evidence shows that Lord Waleran became aware of the affair between his wife and Rex in late 1933. In March of 1934, newspapers in London and as far as Sydney, Australia reported the news that Lord William George Hood Waleran ( Walrond), 2nd Baron, was seeking a divorce, citing adultery as the cause and naming New Zealand businessman, Rex Hoyes, as co- respondent. In May of 1934, a decree nisi was granted to Lord Waleran and undoubtedly,to Muriel's public humiliation, the London Times carried the story of the divorce, stating that, 'It was alleged that the respondent and the co-respondent had committed adultery at a flat in Bury Court, Jermyn Street, W, in November, 1933.'<em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[34]</span></em><br />
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<span style="color: black;">There can be little doubt that for Muriel Hoyes, 1934 was a wretched year. The distress she must have felt due to her husband's infidelity could only have been worsened by the tragic death of her sister, Vivienne in March of 1934. A much publicised inquest into the death deemed due to an accidental overose of slimming pills, (the first such death recorded)was closely followed by the London Times. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[35]</span></em> Following this, only two months later, Muriel was forced to endure the public embarrassment of the Waleran divorce. For Muriel, the new and</span><span style="color: black;"> exciting life in London, which began in early 1933 with her<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjVuPGyn83k-KRixq03qtAeY_qKTH7IwuSLh7m8rmAEBKS7xuEr_iBnVOUsTwVcEGwwfLu9-ENwAkmQk4AnfLGWDINXqbptLox2DvH86PzMMMQ2lgM1qTjH54pDnuuMOd3JogMuSEt-jQ/s1600/Muriel+Hoyes+divorce.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495848054663946210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjVuPGyn83k-KRixq03qtAeY_qKTH7IwuSLh7m8rmAEBKS7xuEr_iBnVOUsTwVcEGwwfLu9-ENwAkmQk4AnfLGWDINXqbptLox2DvH86PzMMMQ2lgM1qTjH54pDnuuMOd3JogMuSEt-jQ/s320/Muriel+Hoyes+divorce.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 408px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 180px;" /></span></a> presentation to the King and Queen, ended a year later in heartbreak and tragedy. Muriel Hoyes returned home to New Zealand with her mother Anne Philcox, on the ship <em>Orama</em> which departed England on June 22nd,1934. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[36]</span></em> Once back in New Zealand, Muriel petitioned for divorce and a decree nisi was granted in March 1935.<em><span style="font-size: 78%;"> [37]</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: black;">With a divorce from Muriel finalised, Rex Hoyes was free to marry Pat Blackader, formerly Lady Wa</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHW3qVusKoxpWL666cS_mmGhWFF6rrJpnCqCh5_h_NOBexf0jOYdWwdxhUfgS0mSF_S20fwvSa9R__nYaZH61UrSWobOzgrvlFGrCg70_xRqdLeVUvRSoEdXSOqjfoVwQS5e_EUKtcOuI/s1600/Rex+Hoyes+marriage+2.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495858484146440370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHW3qVusKoxpWL666cS_mmGhWFF6rrJpnCqCh5_h_NOBexf0jOYdWwdxhUfgS0mSF_S20fwvSa9R__nYaZH61UrSWobOzgrvlFGrCg70_xRqdLeVUvRSoEdXSOqjfoVwQS5e_EUKtcOuI/s320/Rex+Hoyes+marriage+2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 330px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 204px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;">leran. It is a testiment to his overt charm that Pat, aged in her early twenties, had discarded the title of Baroness for the New Zealand businessman who had appeared on the London social scene only a year earlier. The couple announced their engagement in the social pages of the London Times and were married in a civil ceremony in Westminster, Middlesex, in April 1935. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[38]</span></em></span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Prior to their marriage, on July 13, 1934, the couple had purchased, at auction, the stately Marwell Hall <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[39]</span></em> Manor Estate, once owned by King Henry VIII. This opulent new home for Rex and Pat Hoyes, Marwell Hall, reportedly sold for 5750 pounds. <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[40]</span></em> The UK Phone Book for 1934 listed the address for Rex M Hoyes, as Marwell Hall Owslebury...6, South Lodge...6, Estate Office...6 and Hurst Common...6. This would indicate that Rex, and possibly Pat, might have been living at Marwell Hall prior to their 1935 marriage. </span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Marwell Hall, near Winchester, Hampshire was built in the 14th century for Walter Woodlock, a relative of the Bishop of Winchester. It was later owned by King Henry VIII who presented the Estate to the Seymour family prior to his marriage to Jane Seymour. It is rumoured that Henry married Jane at Marwell Hall at the precise moment that Anne Boleyn was beheaded. Despite, changes being made over the centuries, to Marwell Hall, the Medieval hall remains the core of the building. Jane Seymour's son Edward VI is said to have visited Marwell Hall and with the Royal Arms and the intitials ER carved above the fireplace in the great hall <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[42]</span></em> (pictured below right), Marwell must have been an impressive home for Rex Morley Hoyes and his new wife Patricia. <span style="font-size: 78%;"><em></em></span></span><br />
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In a eulogy, delivered by a close friend of Pat's (then Patricia McCarthy), at her funeral in September, 2002, <em><span style="font-size: 78%;">[43]</span></em> it was said that the marriage was not a happy one however it is probable that the couple were in love in the early years of their relationship. It appears that they embarked on a long honeymoon following the marriage in June of 1935. On January 24, 1936, Rex and Pat arrived in Southampton aboard the <em>S.S. Potsdam <span style="font-size: 78%;">[44]</span> </em>having cruised to Yokohama, Japan from Palma in Spain, according to the ships passenger records. The couple, Rex aged 36 and Pat aged 22 travelled first class through ports that included Barcelona, Shanghai and Colombo. Rex's profession was given as a merchant and the couple's country of residence as Spain. This may have been an error on the ship's records or possibly the couple spent some time residing in Spain before returning to Hampshire to take up residence in their stately home, Marwell Hall.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTJJk4WRKUk1ugwuzcOSh9SJ-vA2uwT-dt5g9HzdiiZLHCHsQys5lnL9EhQhz8o9498Xt4H-IPeuvL56__3ZxVTDRzs77Lw5jgyCk9aF9AbP0Xz4TVqJ8KMriDzDMybzsi36iyqZPN7vs/s1600/Marwell_Hall%252C_Hampshire%252C_England-22Jan2006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="623" data-original-width="1024" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTJJk4WRKUk1ugwuzcOSh9SJ-vA2uwT-dt5g9HzdiiZLHCHsQys5lnL9EhQhz8o9498Xt4H-IPeuvL56__3ZxVTDRzs77Lw5jgyCk9aF9AbP0Xz4TVqJ8KMriDzDMybzsi36iyqZPN7vs/s320/Marwell_Hall%252C_Hampshire%252C_England-22Jan2006.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Marwell Hall Estate (left) is now a large Zoological Wildlife Park and three of the beautiful reception rooms are used for receptions, conferences and seminars. [45] Image Wikipedia ©©</span><br />
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<strong>In the next Blog</strong> - Rex becomes Managing Director of Cunliffe-Owen Aircraft Ltd, The wartime years at Marwell Hall reveal a secret airfield, Rex is charged and goes to trial for corruption and bribery over a government deal to convert spitfires, Rex buys the steam yacht 'Warrior', Wartime activities attract the attention of MI5, Illegal gun running, The Nizam of Hyderabad and much more....<br />
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<strong>FOOTNOTES</strong><br />
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<strong></strong><br />
<br />
<ol><br />
<li><a href="http://www.valleyjogallery.com/">http://www.valleyjogallery.com/</a></li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.hunet.com/houses/vanderbilt/INDEX.HTM">www.hunet.com/houses/vanderbilt/INDEX.HTM</a></li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.nzctc.org/tm">www.nzctc.org/tm</a> New Zealand Electronic Text Centre. <em>'The Albertlanders; Brave</em> <em>Pioneers of the Sixties'</em> Sir Henry Hook</li>
<br />
<li>New Zealand Society of Genealogists: Shipping Database <a href="http://www.genealogy.org.nz/">http://www.genealogy.org.nz/</a></li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.ancestry.com/">http://www.ancestry.com/</a> </li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.ancestry.com/">http://www.ancestry.com/</a></li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/">www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/</a> </li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.bdm.govt.nz/">http://www.bdm.govt.nz/</a> New Zealand Births deaths & Marriages</li>
<br />
<li>New Zealand Electoral Rolls</li>
<br />
<li>Encyclopedia of New Zealand </li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.bdm.govt.nz/">http://www.bdm.govt.nz/</a></li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.trove.nla.govt.au/">www.trove.nla.govt.au/</a> Sydney Morning Herald</li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.trove.nla.govt.au/">www.trove.nla.govt.au/</a> Sydney Morning Herald</li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/">www.paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/</a> </li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.thecommunityarchive.org.nz/nate/77948">www.thecommunityarchive.org.nz/nate/77948</a> </li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.kingscollege.school.nz/">www.kingscollege.school.nz/</a> </li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.kingscollege.school.nz/">www.kingscollege.school.nz/</a> </li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.ancestry.com/">http://www.ancestry.com/</a> </li>
<br />
<li>Australian Electoral Rolls <a href="http://www.ancestry.com/">http://www.ancestry.com/</a> </li>
<br />
<li>NZ Archives</li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.bdm.govt.nz/">http://www.bdm.govt.nz/</a> </li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.ancestry.com/">http://www.ancestry.com/</a></li>
<br />
<li><em>Kelly's Handbook of the Titled, Landed and Official Classes 1966</em></li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.bdm.govt.nz/">http://www.bdm.govt.nz/</a> </li>
<br />
<li><a href="http://www.ancestry.com/">http://www.ancestry.com/</a> </li>
<br />
<li>London Times Online</li>
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<li><a href="http://www.ancestry.com/">http://www.ancestry.com/</a> <a href="http://www.trove.nla.govt.au/">www.trove.nla.govt.au/</a> Sydney Morning Herald</li>
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<li>London Times Online</li>
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<li><a href="http://www.trove.nla.govt.au/">www.trove.nla.govt.au/</a> </li>
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<li>London Times Online</li>
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<li><em>Kelly's Handbook of the Titled, Landed and Official Classes 1966</em></li>
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<li><a href="http://www.trove.nla.govt.au/">www.trove.nla.govt.au/</a> Sydney Morning Herald</li>
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<li><a href="http://www.thecunarders.co.uk/Aquitania%20History.html">www.thecunarders.co.uk/Aquitania%20History.html</a></li>
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<li>London Times Online</li>
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<li><a href="http://archive.timesonline.co.uk/">http://archive.timesonline.co.uk/</a> New Zealand Archives</li>
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<li><a href="http://www.ancestry.com/">http://www.ancestry.com/</a></li>
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<li><a href="http://archway.govt.nz/ViewFullhem.do?OID=6697089">http://archway.govt.nz/ViewFullhem.do?OID=6697089</a> </li>
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<li><a href="http://www.ancestry.com/">http://www.ancestry.com/</a></li>
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<li><em>Marwell Life</em> Maureen taylor <a href="http://www.images.google.com.au/">http://www.images.google.com.au/</a></li>
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<li>Hampshire Archives</li>
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<li><em>Marwell Life</em> maureen Taylor</li>
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<li><a href="http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb/">http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb/</a> <em>Descendants of Sir Philip Skelton</em></li>
<li><a href="http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb/">http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb/</a> </li>
<li><a href="http://www.ancestry.com/">http://www.ancestry.com/</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.marwell.org.uk/images/page_sigs/about_marwel">http://www.marwell.org.uk/images/page_sigs/about_marwel</a>... </li>
</ol>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_lKKBM6Zhs0_MiXr-D4dMnt-ZEoIy28lauVoIYbJcJ_wxX6gAW5fW82z2P6f3KLh38UNjJX1axzklnyq8avVhVBiBGE02cEcNQQabcFmkx9eUaFyW90Jroxdd3fIUTohTV4daRBfp04g/s1600/James+Berry+Hoyes+002.jpg"></a>Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-52314501404488144502010-05-14T19:43:00.000-07:002015-12-09T17:03:17.329-08:00'Truth is the property of no individual but is the treasure of all men.' Ralph W Emerson, Poet 1803-1882<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqh6pOjBHj8pv1UD0AUHtmezr2IpUXO2e_TRwQiHsnXBBy9xI7l8nT2B-mkabqj8EcW-rwY1SnPp6G_19ERI9aaCoHU23L46y-_WzZjAio6msZv8mz8slECthXqdmQUgK15-87rOK5HKs/s1600/John+Morrison+Nth+Ipswich+Railway.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527868586541152754" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqh6pOjBHj8pv1UD0AUHtmezr2IpUXO2e_TRwQiHsnXBBy9xI7l8nT2B-mkabqj8EcW-rwY1SnPp6G_19ERI9aaCoHU23L46y-_WzZjAio6msZv8mz8slECthXqdmQUgK15-87rOK5HKs/s320/John+Morrison+Nth+Ipswich+Railway.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 226px;" /></a> <strong><em><span style="font-size: 180%;"><span style="color: black;">A treasure </span></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-size: 180%;"><span style="color: black;">'Trove' </span></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-size: 180%;"><span style="color: black;">of information -</span></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-size: 180%;"><span style="color: black;">how newspapers </span></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-size: 180%;"><span style="color: black;">told me a story</span></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-size: 180%;"><span style="color: black;">about the life </span></span></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-size: 180%;"><span style="color: black;">of an ancestor</span>.</span><br /></em></strong><br />
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<span style="color: black;">The National Library of Australia has introduced a wonderful website called Trove</span> ( <a href="http://trove.nla.gov.au/">http://trove.nla.gov.au/</a> ) <span style="color: black;">where it has made available, searches of digitalised newspapers from</span> <span style="color: black;">all around Australia as well as diaries, pictures, journals, magazines and other archived materials. The wealth of valuable information that has been made easily accessible, is not only interesting, but has particular importance for family historians. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Through searches of the newspaper articles which I found on the Trove site, I have been able to tell a detailed stor</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkHIw6lOrq7KT3GfB5b_CyMG_BuRbiJlyWfSQq3jTzkL3JLXItqGhEjraRCaGX3_aN_MSaYaylr0LZP7oujgyIB02lBtDMCsnU2i2EjaZKDGSH8nQh_o5TBFxYRf9eyX9G-JdgGkUoKHQ/s1600/Cooroy+Cemetery+Morrison+Grave+094.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527378697939380898" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkHIw6lOrq7KT3GfB5b_CyMG_BuRbiJlyWfSQq3jTzkL3JLXItqGhEjraRCaGX3_aN_MSaYaylr0LZP7oujgyIB02lBtDMCsnU2i2EjaZKDGSH8nQh_o5TBFxYRf9eyX9G-JdgGkUoKHQ/s320/Cooroy+Cemetery+Morrison+Grave+094.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 240px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;">y about my 2 times great grandfather, John Morrison. I have been researching my Morrison forebears for some time and had discovered that the family had arrived in Melbourne, Australia in </span><span style="color: black;">1878 on the ship 'Kent' from Northumberland in England, with four children. I had found the Australian births of five more children in Newcastle and Sydney, NSW and the death of a son, William John a year after their arrival. I knew that the Morrisons had, for some reason relocated, from NSW to Queensland between 1894 and 1905. (These are the same Morrisons that I spoke of in a recent blog, whose gravestone my husband and I cleaned in Cooroy, Queensland - posted January 25, 2010). </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">From birth, death and marriage records, I knew that the Morrison family had lived in Newcastle and Sydney,after arriving in Australia and that John was a builder. The Australian Electoral Rolls, showed that the family's Sydney address was Morwick Street, Burwood. I knew that this was the address where the family had remained until sometime after 1894. John and Hannah Morrison and some of their grown children then appeared on the 1905 electoral roll in Ipswich, Queensland, Between the years 1894 and 1905, the Morrison family seemed to disappear until they turned up in South East Queensland. From the Queensland electoral rolls I found that John had later managed the Stewart River Sugar Mill in Queensland and lived in the town of Cooroy. I had to assume that John had found work wherever he could and that this had been the reason for the family's move from Strathfield in Sydney to Ipswich and then Cooroy in Queensland. With no oral family history at all about the Morrison family, I was left with a bare skeleton of a story, and nothing extra-ordinary, until I discovered a wealth of information </span><span style="color: black;">through the National Library of Australia's Trove website. The value of online, easily accessed information in newspapers became apparent, as I read article after article, as well as advertisements in <em>The Sydney Morning Herald</em>, the<em> Brisbane Courier Mail</em>. Many enlightening newspaper items which I discovered written between the years of 1884 and 1933, enabled me to sew together, colourful threads of information, into a wonderfully informative account of John Morrison' life in Australia.</span><span style="color: black;"></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvdgmXb0HS81ifwKhLzZWHnjUGtbxJ9UDB__LYRwG_Tb2YQVIq9EKEUkJyvQWVq0DbVji9uQOrQrziLh2DULxm_T2uBfuYaDFArIeNa9xbowyo_jPbyl1jn-E1NHLNMB1mBtrj7f8lKLA/s1600/John+Morrison+news+2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528483306442826898" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvdgmXb0HS81ifwKhLzZWHnjUGtbxJ9UDB__LYRwG_Tb2YQVIq9EKEUkJyvQWVq0DbVji9uQOrQrziLh2DULxm_T2uBfuYaDFArIeNa9xbowyo_jPbyl1jn-E1NHLNMB1mBtrj7f8lKLA/s320/John+Morrison+news+2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 226px;" /></a> <span style="color: black;">The first search of Trove for 'John Morrison', resulted in my finding a Tender advertisement in the <em>Sydney Morning Herald</em>, August 7, 1884, which called for the delivery of 120,000 bricks and 100 tons of sand to an un-named building site and which advised the tenderer to 'Contact, John Morrison, Builder, Burwood.' This was a substantial amount of building material, obviously intended for a large project. If this was indeed my great great grandfather, I deduced that he must have been a builder of considerable note. My curiosity intensified as I read other Tender advertisements for things such as a '3 ton jib crane, 60 feet jib, John Morison Contractor, Burwood.' I wasn't certain that this builder was my John Morrison, but I had a certain 'hunch' that urged me to continue to follow this trail. Another Tender requested 900 perch of Stone to be delivered to the sit</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">e in George Street. I was confident that this building project was</span> significant, and now I had an address for it as well. More importantly, the last Tender gave the address of<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwHu3YLJMMw7tC3aw8XJbHrLKk541SPwZbAWOCE28FM8mWewlvcDy0tpNvUjWMxGt0Atsutx1xZBe7PQAKMzwk_lmGjLf9kvS8TGwhTHgHVitz_1mHdP1wyjF3D6AonZ0MQA-lKYshNw/s1600/Chapter+House+in+front+of+St+Andrew%27s+Cathedral.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527865062319350770" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwHu3YLJMMw7tC3aw8XJbHrLKk541SPwZbAWOCE28FM8mWewlvcDy0tpNvUjWMxGt0Atsutx1xZBe7PQAKMzwk_lmGjLf9kvS8TGwhTHgHVitz_1mHdP1wyjF3D6AonZ0MQA-lKYshNw/s320/Chapter+House+in+front+of+St+Andrew's+Cathedral.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 284px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 191px;" /></span></a> the Contractor, as John Morrison of Morwick Street, Burwood so I knew without a doubt that the builder was my 2 times great grandfather. With much enthusiasm, I went in search of what it was that he was building, widening my search to 'John Morrison, George Street'. I was quite excited when I found what I was looking for, in an article written in the <em>Sydney Morning Herald</em>, on November, 27, 1885 entitled, 'The Chapter House at St Andrew's Cathedral' which described the new addition to the well known Sydney Cathedral, George Street, Sydney, which was designed by architects Blacket Bros, and built by John Morrison for a price of 7,600 pounds, pictured below and right.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhliYYIrEDaf05SIkvRmD6YGn5mhslUqblU_0KtG1ELHw6zp7h01FYXU7-C5m4dYjtuSiyrDk7HUE2hu1NxSJzvhSMOmTHLAgDYNQqZ_dEp_TsDjQ9iSUG4AvRpRuAE_hP1mD36d4oqX30/s1600/Chapter+House.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529196408257669506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhliYYIrEDaf05SIkvRmD6YGn5mhslUqblU_0KtG1ELHw6zp7h01FYXU7-C5m4dYjtuSiyrDk7HUE2hu1NxSJzvhSMOmTHLAgDYNQqZ_dEp_TsDjQ9iSUG4AvRpRuAE_hP1mD36d4oqX30/s320/Chapter+House.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 213px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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<span style="color: black;">Another tender notice in the same newspaper in August, 1885, which advertised for a large amount of stone and sand to be delivered to Newtown prompted me to search futher until I discovered that John Morrison had also been contracted to build a large Presbyterian church known as St Enoch's in Newtown ( pictured below right), which was completed in 1887. St Enoch's was a beautiful stone building of Gothic design by the same architects Blacket Bros who had designed Chapter house and were the sons of the well known </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJLXDq2fNAMdUg23Jgf5TA226Uzy6S836zRwT4v8_lEKVQ5cr2buCoyY16kktYLNe21sg8sv2NT4mQVGTOkkLEiEaOsSTMQfDNMBC20hgsphfCymU2h-NgQmmK1vQV-58Gadd9WwdEgvY/s1600/St+Enochs+church+newtown.jpg"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><span style="color: black;">colonial architect, Edmund Blacket. The large church seated over 600 people and housed one of the two largest pipe organs in Australia. Unfortunately it was demolished in the 1960's when many Presbyterian and Methodist churches became redundant with the uniting of these denominations with the Congregational church. Few pictures remain of this significant stone church.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Tender notices and other advertisements in the <em>Sydney Morning Herald</em> between the years of 1884 and 1889 informed me of the many building projects which John Morrison undertook as a contractor. He built a number of churches, mostly in the Gothic style of architecture, including the Presbyterian Church at Burwood, as well as large villas and homes designed by prominent architects, in Manly, Woolwich and other affluent suburbs of Sydney. One particular Tender notice which interested me, invited tenders for plasterers and concretors for 'Municipal <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIWb9DgHwK_JQ465UhD4RZdPxCHJFznV40eFppgL9yesWHMOuaNiud6werWVcQxXoWmgps6zevHVYyti4JDahQ6MxEZHtsiNQgf9CopKr1BXtB0TVG3sYnKguH-y7rJpnOYoMZ86yqVc/s1600/John+Morrison%27s+work+Burwood+Strathfield+034.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529204274705561586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzIWb9DgHwK_JQ465UhD4RZdPxCHJFznV40eFppgL9yesWHMOuaNiud6werWVcQxXoWmgps6zevHVYyti4JDahQ6MxEZHtsiNQgf9CopKr1BXtB0TVG3sYnKguH-y7rJpnOYoMZ86yqVc/s320/John+Morrison's+work+Burwood+Strathfield+034.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 240px;" /></a>Buildings' in Strathfield. Further searching revealed that John Morrison had built the Strathfield Council Chambers ( pictured below, right). This was especially significant as it was where my husband's grandfather had spent much time as a member of parliament and as a mayor. As each building that my great great grandfather had built, became known to me, I visited the sites to take photographs. I am from Queensland and must admit that since marrying, and living in Sydney, have never really felt quite the same 'connection' to this city as I have done to my home town of Brisbane, Queensland. With the discovery of my new heritage, I experienced a considerable sense of new pride, as I realised that important contribution my ancestor had made to the built fabric of of Sydney, NSW. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Next, I read an interesting Tender notice from October, 1887 in which John Morrison invited offers to advertise on a ' large railway frontage at Strathfield Junction'. I assumed that since Morwick Street, Burwood where John lived, bounded the railway line near Strathfield Station, that he was advertising his building contracting business. Further searches revealed that between 1889 and 1890, John Morrison's Tender advertisements for building materials ceased. Then I discovered several </span><span style="color: black;">articles written in the Sydney Morning Herald between April and June of 1890, which explained the significance o<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiilhEG1r2n69bm9DWQPuUziFJSNhA4q23uDBVkmUs0uiNWwrSxL9nspp108F91sPiMjL5S8WyEnP82toygBjCM-13YfGOyDmJZEmclr3gKU2hOjOH7OSCZrtDtVdfZjCvuoHkZw7XLBiM/s1600/John+Morrison+news.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529207964825293698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiilhEG1r2n69bm9DWQPuUziFJSNhA4q23uDBVkmUs0uiNWwrSxL9nspp108F91sPiMjL5S8WyEnP82toygBjCM-13YfGOyDmJZEmclr3gKU2hOjOH7OSCZrtDtVdfZjCvuoHkZw7XLBiM/s320/John+Morrison+news.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 226px;" /></a>f the 1887 'railway frontage' advertisement. Intrigued, I read the following words, from the <em>Sydney Morning Herald</em>, Saturday, April, 19, 1890 <em>'The Railway Commissioners</em> <em>yesterday took delivery of the second chain of railway carriages built by Mr John Morrison of</em> <em>Strathfield ...</em>', and ' <em>railway carriage factory, Strathfield'</em>. I wondered if could this possibly be my John Morrison. My challenge was to discover whether</span><span style="color: black;"> a builder of churches, homes and council chambers could turn his skills to the industry of carriage building. As I searched the advertisements in the </span><em><span style="color: black;">Sydney Morning</span><span style="color: black;"> Herald</span></em> from 1887 to 1890, it became evident that John Morrison , builder, and John Morrison, carriage builder, were one and the same man. Through further searches of the advertising section of the <em>Sydney Morning Herald</em>, I discovered that John had a large tram and rail carriage works adjoining Strathfield Station on the site where the Tafe College now stands. The business began its operations in 1889 and was located directly adjoining his address in Morwick street, on the other side of the rail line. John Morrison would only have had to step out of his home and walk across the railway line to his workshop. </div>
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<span style="color: black;">With pride, I read article upon article, which praised the quality of the fine rail carriages built by my 2 times great grandfather, the first of which was in service in 1889 on the suburban railway lines in Sydney. Through these news items I became aware that John Morrison was at one time, one of the six largest providers of rolling stock for the Australian government. My desk overflowed with printouts of news stories, photographs and advertisements for John Morrison's rail and tram carriages from 1889 to 1993. My great great grandfather, was clearly a very wealthy and prominent business man. The question remained as to why he had left Sydney and moved his family to Queensland, when he had built up several successful businesses. A large notice in the <em>Sydney Morning Herald</em>, in March, 1894, under Auction Sales, provided the answer I was seeking.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVA5-O8YLS7n0nsmiK45LZrSHeGn1lHrnkibtyLCBHwmLH8pC9j3OtK2zmu5uf_D9n4E6dqX4f1aICftdqc1iiVndHunjyVEVBzNgnrerfX7KEtzXfvGU1BA5DOdpx3S0f-VqNbtlEGqk/s1600/john+morrison+news+4_0001.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529214563519792834" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVA5-O8YLS7n0nsmiK45LZrSHeGn1lHrnkibtyLCBHwmLH8pC9j3OtK2zmu5uf_D9n4E6dqX4f1aICftdqc1iiVndHunjyVEVBzNgnrerfX7KEtzXfvGU1BA5DOdpx3S0f-VqNbtlEGqk/s320/john+morrison+news+4_0001.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 157px;" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">With dismay as I read, I realised that that due to a cancelled government contract for 180 rail carriages 'J. Morrison Carriage Builder' had lost everything he had worked so hard to achieve. A large advertisement which appeared in the <em>Sydney Morning Herald</em>, in 1894, advertised an auction sale of all of John Morrison's household goods to be held on Friday, July, 9, at 11 am at 'Myella', Brooklyn Street Burwood. The auctioneers announced with regret that, 'the furniture was not displayed to its best advantage due to it having been suited to the Morrisons' previous much larger home', which John had obviously lost due to his unfortunate circumstances. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAiUqUUwhyjo3dT9ci7nPtqqtzgA1bB06X5Wo1qhDiN40hPOMkv5RBo7h6KhBfDknIEqt25lUqcugoE7K9h2G5rRMAg2NqnWkRWaA81NkIUd10ThDhpVw8N2nghiBrPQY8SXDDQauNV84/s1600/John+Morrison+news+4.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529216285226117682" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAiUqUUwhyjo3dT9ci7nPtqqtzgA1bB06X5Wo1qhDiN40hPOMkv5RBo7h6KhBfDknIEqt25lUqcugoE7K9h2G5rRMAg2NqnWkRWaA81NkIUd10ThDhpVw8N2nghiBrPQY8SXDDQauNV84/s320/John+Morrison+news+4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 127px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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<span style="color: black;">Part of the advertisement read: 'Favoured with instructions from Mrs John Morrison.... <em>the auctioneers will sell the whole of her exceedingly Handsome, modern and substantial furniture and household effects...Dining, Drawing, Breakfast and bedroom suites... Seven grand carpets, all bordered...Magnificent Overmantel and mirrors, Really splendid water colours by Huddlestone, Fletcher Watson and other artists of great</em> <em>ability....two pianofortes</em>... ' On and on went the list of beautiful things that my 2 times great grandparents were forced to part with. <em>'Expensive jewelery, designed by well known craftsmen, Ladies riding equipment'</em> As I read, I found myself thinking about the great wealth that John Morrison had obviously built up for his family and the even greater loss this family had sustained. I felt the pain of how devastating this tragedy must have been for them as they sold all of their possessions, ' <em>now for sale owing to the terrible losses sustained by Mr John Morrison and family, owing to the cancellation of Government contracts and consequent closing of the carriage-building shops at Strathfield station.'</em> </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">From the searches of the <em>Sydney Morning Herald</em> on the Trove site, I learned that John Morrison had remained in Sydney after losing his rail carriage business, until 1907, once again working as a builder, contracting his building services to architects and the contruction of homes. I found the addresses of many of these homes in Mosman, Cremorne and Potts Point through Tender notices. Finding no further information regarding John Morrison in Sydney, I turned my attention to the Queensland newspapers. An article entitled 'Overland Passengers' in the <em>Brisbane Courier Mail</em>, on Saturday January 27, 1900 informed me that Hannah Morrison, wife of John, and several of their daughters had left Sydney bound for Ipswich by rail, the previous day on January, 26. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">On Saturday, September, 3 1910, a story appeared in the <em>Brisbane Courier</em> <em>Mail</em> under the heading; 'Carriage and Wagon Shop - XII, by W.B.D', in which John Morrison was mentioned as the carriage works foreman. Finally, I knew why John and his family had relocated to the town of Ipswich in south east Queensland. In the photograph at the top of this page, also from the <em>Brisbane</em> <em>Courier Mail</em>, John is pictured standing fourth from the right in a white suit. This is the only known photograph of my 2 times great grandfather. Pictured below, also from the <em>Brisbane Courier Mail</em>, is the Ipswich Carriage Workshop where John Morrison remained as foreman for some years before moving to Cooroy.</span></div>
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529226715879300642" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzdmCvnc7rINWK3lbLBjzMpUuj8ezITLFsC1KZpNiO1ySOmDD4ckhfJUPItWYgiuFdF32Z4WpxnyTx8yDDcB3a_LmUrOSuQdJ2Z1BqRYMVfUEOsaMT17Va1Y1Mkd693VuumyFAYojj7l0/s320/Ipswich+Rail+workshop.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 279px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /><br />
Queensland newspapers told the next chapter in John Morrison's life, after leaving Sydney, until his death in 1927, however, that tale is for another time. I have now personally seen three of the carriages which my great great great grandfather built. They are housed at the State Rail Musuem at Thirlemere. I have visited many of the buildings which he constructed and felt admiration for this man who I never met, but feel that I know through his wonderful craftsmanship. This story would not have been possible but for the enormous project undertaken by the National Library of Australia in digitalising so many of Australia's leading and regional newspapers.<br />
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Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-25376901007983016052010-03-18T20:46:00.000-07:002013-07-30T19:14:08.480-07:00'If you endeavour to take out...that manly confidence which ought to be cherished in every civilised human being..you begin the work of demoralisation<div align="center">
<strong><span style="color: black;">A Convict in the Family Tree</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfs7bQIMUeVkCPPanhW9cO9-Z_K5lPwmf1JgVAx4UVUfIKpG9-3JNSpr_OW-3OWA_zOgQPwx6aRWCBkXIqhhyXNmfWinqNtfGqGinokR16IsAc70_hgybGQSAoHReIK5T1qky-0Am8giQ/s1600-h/frayne+001%5B1%5D.jpeg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450188624026967810" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfs7bQIMUeVkCPPanhW9cO9-Z_K5lPwmf1JgVAx4UVUfIKpG9-3JNSpr_OW-3OWA_zOgQPwx6aRWCBkXIqhhyXNmfWinqNtfGqGinokR16IsAc70_hgybGQSAoHReIK5T1qky-0Am8giQ/s320/frayne+001%5B1%5D.jpeg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 130px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px;" /></span></a></strong></div>
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<span style="color: black;">The above quote is from Lawrence Frayne, a convict on Norfolk island who was my 3 x Great Uncle on my mother's side of my family.</span> <span style="color: black;">The picture is of a tombstone erected on Norfolk Island by Lawrence Frayne in memory of his friend and fellow prisoner, William Storey who died 9 January 1838 aged 29 years, a native of Dublin.</span> <br />
Like many Australians, I grew up with no knowledge of my convict ancestry. As with many families, mine had most probably gone to a great deal of trouble to cover the fact that we had a convicted felon on the family tree . It was not always as fashionable to 'claim' a convict in your past as it is today as we embrace our felonious foundation in Australia. To deny heritage, however, is to deny your identity. <br />
<span style="color: black;">I was quite excited when I discovered, some years ago, that the father of my great great grandmother Sarah Frayne (who married Edward Joseph Weston), was a Lawyer from Dublin. Until then most of my ancestors had been coal miners, bootmakers, farm labourers and even a law clerk but an Irish lawyer was something new to research. His death certificate, obtained from the Queensland State Archives, issued in 1878, stated that Michael Frayne had lived in the colonies for 40 years. This indicated that Michael had arrived in Australia from Ireland in around 1837 or 1838. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">As I was researching several other family lines at that time and as I also knew that Irish research was difficult, with less online resources than other parts of the UK, I filed Michael Frayne in the temporarily 'too hard' basket. While I went on to discover my husband David's fascinating Royal connections, something kept bothering me about my 3 x great grandfather, Michael Frayne. If he had indeed left Ireland around 1837, this date would appear to be too early for a free Irish settler to have arrived in the colony of Australia. Daughter Sarah's birth certificate in 1868, stated that her parents Michael Frayne and Mary Williams were married in Singleton, NSW but I was unable to find a marriage certificate for Michael and Mary in NSW. Similarly, no record of a marriage was located in Queensland where Sarah was born. Although I was thrilled to have an Irish lawyer on my tree, I was left with a niggling suspicion that all was not as it seemed. I decided to re- examine the information I had. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">When I looked again at the birth certificate for Michael's daughter, Sarah (my 2 x great grandmother), I noticed my mistake immediately. Since first 'finding' Michael, I had become much more familiar with old handwriting and poor Michael Frayne fell from grace at once, as I read that he was a 'Sawyer'..... not a Lawyer! In old handwriting, the flourishing style of letter 'S' is often easily mistaken for an 'L'. A disappointing discovery when your husband has many Kings and Queens in his ancestry. The discovery of another record verified that Michael was indeed a 'timber getter' and had nothing to do with the law.... or so I thought! My great great great grandfather was about to fall even further down the social ladder..</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">I had a hunch - one of those feelings we family historians get where we just 'know' something! The more I thought about Michael Frayne, the more the date of his arrival became significant. I began to suspect that my 'Lawyer turned Sawyer', 3 times grandfather may have arrived in Australia as a convict. I began to research Irish immigration and soon discovered that the first free Irish settlers had arrived in Australia in 1839, when an immigration plan was put in place to bring farmers to this country from Ireland with their families. This discovery made it vital to put a date on Michael's arrival. If Michael Frayne had indeed arrived a year or two earlier than 1839, as I believed, it seemed quite likely that this 3 x great grandfather of mine, might indeed have been connected to the law after all, but as a convict and not as a lawyer as I had first thought. </span><br />
Growing up as I did, believing that I had no connections to Australia's colonial founding, this discovery was very exciting to say the least. <br />
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<span style="color: black;">The next step was for me to search all convict records I could find. The Australian Society of Genealogists, (SAG), based in Sydney, had put some records online on their website. I discovered three Michael Fraynes and two other Fraynes (Peter and Lawrence) who had arrived on different ships as convicted felons. The NSW state Archives also had a considerable number of convict records such as Tickets of Leave, Pardons, Permission to Marry and Convict Bank accounts which I searched. A Michael Frayne had arrived in 1837 on board the convict ship 'St Vincent' and I suspected that I had found my 3 x great grandfather. So began my search for evidence.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">My search for Michael Frayne began some years ago, and at the time there were not as many online convict records available as there are now. Now, with online records made available by organisations such as FindmyPast and Ancestry.com, convict records in particular are easier to access. In the early stages of my research, 'Michael' was forced to sit an archive box to wait until I had time to visit the Archives or the State Library to research in person. Then, as I often do, when I 'file' an ancestor away, I climbed out along another branch of the family tree and forgot my convict as I became engrossed in the world of MI5 and 2 x great uncle Rex Morley-Hoyes who it seemed likely had been a World War 2 spy/ traitor/ illegal gun runner/ titled gentleman or all of the above.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">Some time later, after a break in researching the family history, I suddenly remembered great great great grandfather Michael Frayne and decided to pursue his possible convict past once more. I discovered to my delight, that many more resources were available to me through Ancestry.com and the Irish Archives and that the Australian Society of Genealogist's website was much improved. On this website, I found the link I needed to prove beyond doubt that my Michael Frayne was indeed the convict who had arrived on the St Vincent in 1837. I found records for the convict, Michael Frayne, which linked him to his wife Mary Williams, daughter Sarah, parents Michael 'Freyne' and Sera Phoenix as well as a step son Richard Brown and a brother Larry Frayne. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">I re-examined Michael's death certificate and discovered that the witness present at his death was his step son Richard Brown. I had found the proof I needed to establish beyond doubt that my 3 x great grandfather was a convict. An exciting discovery but as is so often the case in the pursuit of family history, when one mystery is solved, others are unearthed. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">Michael's death certificate stated that he had been married in Singleton in 1858. This date made little sense as Michael's wife Mary, born in around 1845, would have been too young to have married in 1858. Searching the NSW Births Deaths and Marriages Historical online records, I discovered that Michael had indeed been married in 1858, but to not to my 3 x great grandmother, Mary Williams. Michael's marriage in 1858 was to a Bridget Donelly and had not married in Singleton as stated, but in St Mary's Cathedral in Sydney. (This was not the large Cathedral which stands today but it was on the same site as the current cathedral occupies. The original cathedral was destroyed in a fire and rebuilt.) So I now had two wives for Michael. Or at least I had one legal wife and a step son whose mother was a mystery. I could find no record of a child named Richard born to either Bridget nor Mary.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">The marriage certificate for Michael and Bridget confirmed that Michael was born in Dublin and was aged 34 years at the time of the marriage on the 18 th February, 1858. This meant that in 1837 he was only 13 or 14 years old when he arrived in the Colony as a convict. A quick search of the BDM's showed that Bridget had died on the 29th August 1864 in Singleton aged 26 years. No marriage record has been found for Michael and Mary Williams, whose daughter Sarah was born in Brisbane Qld, 4 years after Bridget Frayne's death. The fact that Michael's death certificate states that he was married in 1858, seems to suggest that he did not marry Mary Williams. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">The Irish Archives and a helpful site provided by Peter Mayberry, 'Irish Convicts to NSW 1788-1837', informed me that Michael Frayne was tried for 'burglary,robbery' in Dublin in 1836 aged 14 years. He was described as 'single' and an 'errand boy'. His brother's name was given as Larry Frayne -who arrived about 1827.' Michael's sentence was 'death', later commuted to 'life'. I discovered that not only did I have a great great great grandfather who was a convict and a Dublin burglar, but it appeared that my 3 x great uncle Larry Frayne also arrived in the colony as a convict. I was thrilled to have several convicts on my tree. With my husband descending from almost every Royal House in Europe, this provided me with some very colourful, and significantly, very Australian colonial history of my own. Little did I know then, however, just how interesting a journey the felonious Frayne family would transport me on.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">I had previously seen a record for a convict named Lawrence Frayne who had arrived on the ship 'Regalia' in 1826, but had not realised his connection to Michael. Now that I knew they were brothers, I began to research both Michael and Lawrence Frayne. According to a record of convicts on Norfolk Island in the NSW State Archives, Lawrence was sentenced in Dublin on the 5th of October, 1825 for 'stealing rope'. He was described as a pantry boy, born in 1809. Lawrence Frayne was just 17 years old when he arrived in NSW as a convicted thief to serve his 7 year sentence. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">The next record I searched was the 1838 Convict Muster. There I found Michael Frayne employed by a James Brown at a property called 'Strathallan', NSW. This record showed me that the ship 'St Vincent' had departed Cork, Ireland on the 13 September 1836 and arrived in NSW on the 5 January 1837, a voyage of almost 4 months. Strathallan is near Braidwood where there had been considerable land grants made in the 1830's and convict labour was in demand. The 1872 NSW Post Office Directory describes Braidwood as 'Distance, 186 miles south of Sydney.' </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">I didn't confine my search to just Michael and Lawrence as I have found it useful to research the people around the lives of ancestors such as neighbours and relatives of a wife. Every clue can be important in the search for vital 'pieces' of an ancestor's life story. A search of the S.A.G (Society of Australian Genealogists) website, revealed information about Michael's first wife, Bridget Donelly. Her parents were James Donnelly and Mary McMahon and the witness to the wedding of Michael and Bridget in 1858 was Margaret McGee. I recorded these details in case they proved useful in tracing Michael Frayne's life in NSW.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">My search for convict records in Australia was far from over however I decided to try to find some record of the births of my convict forebears in Ireland. I am a subscribed member of a wonderful website called Emerald Ancestors but this proved of no use as unlike my paternal Irish family who hailed from Counties Tyrone and Londonderry in Northern Ireland, Michael and Lawrence were born in Dublin. No records are available for Dublin on this site. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">After a number of investigations, a search of a site called the Online Irish Records System proved successful in providing me with a record of Michael's baptism. Michael Frayne was baptised at St Paul's Arran Quay, Co Dublin on the 4th of June 1821. His parents were recorded as Michael Frayne and Sera.. 'surname not recorded.' Sponsors for the baptism were James Gerety and Margaret Hoey. A surprise discovery was another brother Peter Frayne, baptised at St Pauls Arran Quay Dublin, on the 7th of July, 1822. Sponsors for this baptism were Michael Tierney and Elisa Farrell. A new question arose in my mind. Was the convict, Peter Frayne, I had found earlier in my research, the brother of Michael and Lawrence? Were three brothers tried and convicted of crimes in Dublin Ireland and sentenced to transportation to Australia? </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">A search of the convict records of a Peter Frayne who served his time in Tasmania have as yet proved no connection and this lead is still a work in progress.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">Both the NSW State Archives</span> and Ancestry.com provide an online search facility for convict <span style="color: black;">records. In the 1828 Muster, I found that Lawrence Frayne was sent to Moreton Bay for 3 years to be served in the employment of the Government. He was later granted a Ticket of Leave in Maitland, NSW in 1845. This was reported in the Maitland Mercury and Hunter River Adviser on Saturday 10 May 1845, 19 years after he arrived to serve a 7 year sentence. A further notice in the Maitland Mercury dated August 15, 1845 read that, 'The tickets of leave belonging to the under mentioned prisoners of the crown have been cancelled for the reasons stated opposite their respective names....... Lawrence Frayne absent from district, Maitland bond.' </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">A Ticket of Leave was a document given to convicts to allow them the freedom to live and to work in a given district before they were pardoned or before their sentence expired. With a TOL, a convict could hire him or herself out for employment but had to remain in the district for a stipulated time. To leave the area, permission was required and 'passports' were issued to allow convicts to move between districts for the purpose of employment. Church attendance was required. How or when Lawrence left the Moreton Bay Penal Colony remained to be discovered.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">I knew by now that Lawrence Frayne had been originally sentenced to a 7 year sentence which began in 1826 on his arrival in NSW. It appears that he was first sent to Yass to work and then to Moreton Bay.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEZuxtXZT1Jm3S4mBWv8ae1Lk-PH58TadPukqKIfLhE2ZLLOH4AATSCp2XTh6kka96ABcvlO6CPVDJXRHqjOGeuoAkzNRnQRMPRqV7IuBVtkc3nfxE9jLojHOyksh6AbAje5gwBUbs8yA/s1600/Lawrence+Frayne+Cert+of+Freedom.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462095622929480994" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEZuxtXZT1Jm3S4mBWv8ae1Lk-PH58TadPukqKIfLhE2ZLLOH4AATSCp2XTh6kka96ABcvlO6CPVDJXRHqjOGeuoAkzNRnQRMPRqV7IuBVtkc3nfxE9jLojHOyksh6AbAje5gwBUbs8yA/s320/Lawrence+Frayne+Cert+of+Freedom.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 269px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;"> Lawrence was transported to Norfolk Island in 1830, sentenced by the Supreme Court, Sydney for stealing from a dwelling house. From his ticket of leave I know he was working in the Maitland area in the Hunter Valley NSW in 1845 and the Certificate of Freedom pictured right shows that he obtained his freedom in 1846. Below is a copy of the original documentation for Lawrence Frayne's</span> Pardon in 1846, 20 years after his arrival in NSW <span style="color: black;">to serve a 7 year sentence. I was very interested to learn the reason he had ended up with a 20 year sentence and so planned to do more research on my convict, 3 x great uncle.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfrwVahYfPY6956L1QzBe2yx_fpBbthW_R8jcWVjhmHQKAWELgkx0jet00lLxeO80nhEzphM83QybI0KmhYmeT7UGoZFBbkcy_yKJakDAZFE6NFox5Lh4168b1g7euN8pGQkAizt5492o/s1600/Lawrence+Frayne+Pardon.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462100326019777762" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfrwVahYfPY6956L1QzBe2yx_fpBbthW_R8jcWVjhmHQKAWELgkx0jet00lLxeO80nhEzphM83QybI0KmhYmeT7UGoZFBbkcy_yKJakDAZFE6NFox5Lh4168b1g7euN8pGQkAizt5492o/s320/Lawrence+Frayne+Pardon.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 239px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px;" /></a> <span style="color: black;">The Certificate of Leave for Lawrence Frayne was an especially exciting discovery for me as it described his physical appearance. He was 5 feet 7 1/2 inches tall, had brown hair and hazel eyes. The colour of his eyes was significant as both my mother and sister have hazel eyes but no one else in the family seems to have them. Perhaps they are inherited from the Frayne family. The record states that Lawrence had a scar in the corner of his right eye and another on the bridge of his nose. It is obvious from this description that Lawrence Frayne had endured a rough life. </span><span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: black;">I knew that Michael Frayne had died in Brisbane in 1878, 10 years after the birth of his daughter Sarah in September 1868. From a Courier mail article dated Thursday July 9th, 1868, I discovered that he had been fined 10 shillings in the Central Police Court before Mr G Petrie for 'drunkeness'. A website called Trove which has digitalised quite a few Australian newspapers, provided me with a picture of Michael's life in Australia. Any hope that he had been reformed in this penal settlement was dashed when I read that Michael and wife Bridget were frequently in Court, in Sydney, in 1858and 1859, on charges which included 'stealing shoes and boots', drunkeness, drugging a man named Donald Cameron Dingwall and robbing him in their home and stealing money from a number of people, just to list a few crimes. Michael was taken before the court on Thursday, 20 September, 1860, charged with 'being a prisoner of the crown illegally at large'. He was charged and returned to the service of the Crown. The same year, his wife, Bridget then aged 22, was charged with 'keeping and maintaining a disorderly house for lucre and gain'. I can only imagine what that means!! The address given for the Fraynes was York Street, Sydney.</span> <span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: black;">It appears that Michael and Bridget Frayne just could not stay out of trouble as they were again brought before the Police Court, this time in Maitland, 11 August, 1864. Bridget was charged with use of obscene language on Sunday 31st July and find 10 shillings or 24 hours imprisonment in default. Michael, now a Publican, was charged with allowing disorderly conduct in his premises on the same day. The scene described in the Maitland Mercury tells that between 7 and 8 o'clock in the morning on the said Sunday, Bridget was observed from outside the Public House through the open front door an open bedroom door, to be half naked and half in and out of her bed in a 'state of beastly intoxication.' When asked to put a stop to his wife's behavior,Michael told the attending policeman, ' What the ____ has that got to do with me. There is a keg of rum for my wife to drink if she choses to drink it' and that he would do in his own house what he thought proper.</span> <span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: black;">Living the life that Michael and Bridget Frayne lived, it is little wonder that Bridget died two weeks later, at the young age of 26 years. I know little of Michael Frayne's life after Bridget died. He was declared insolvent on Thursday 15th of May, 1866 by the Supreme Court of NSW, his address given as 139 King Street Sydney. How or where he met my 3 x great grandmother, Mary Williams is a story waiting to be discovered. Two years later, in 1868, Michael and Mary Frayne were living in Edward Street Brisbane and that is where daughter Sarah was born in the September of that year. I may never know who was the mother of Michael's step son Richard Brown. Richard later changed his name to Frayne and died under that surname in Queensland in 1912.</span> <span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: black;">If I had thought the life of my 3 x great grandfather to be interesting, if not sad, nothing prepared me for the journey I was about to go on with his brother Lawrence. Through a Google book search, I discovered that Lawrence Frayne was mentioned in a number of books, including 'The Fatal Shore' by Robert Hughes, which devotes almost an entire chapter to Lawrence and his time on Norfolk Island. Another book written by Carol Baxter, called' Breaking the Bank' also makes mention of the apparently notorious convict Lawrence Frayne. I discovered that there exists a CD of songs by artist Martin Curtis which features, 'The Ballad of Lawrence Frayne' which I am eager to obtain a copy of. it was becoming very apparent that lawrence was something of an interesting character and my curiousity well and truly aroused, I went searching in earnest to discover more about my convict great great great uncle. </span><span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: black;">In a sermon, entitled, 'God with a Human Face', by the Reverend John C Purdy, which I found on the internet, I found the following story,' Lawrence Frayne, irishman, kept a written account of his captivity. He was originally sent to Australia for theft. For attempting to escape, he was sentenced to death. That sentence was commuted and he was sent to Norfolk .(Island) As he lay at night chained to the stone floor of his cell, his back scarred with hundreds of lashes, his mind numbed with months in solitary confinement, he despaired. Because he had been reared a Catholic, suicide was unthinkable. For comfort, he clung to verses of the bile that he had memorised as a youth. Night after night, over and over, he recited the words of Psalm 88. The 14th vrse reads, 'Oh Lord why do you cast me off,</span> <span style="color: black;">Why do you hide your face from me?'</span> <span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: black;">From my research I have discovered that Lawrence Frayne was the only convict to leave a written account of his treatment on Norfolk Island. The quote at the beginning of his blog is from that account which is held in the NSW State Library as part of the 'Colonial Papers'. The 'biography' of Lawrence Frayne reflects a well read man.</span><span style="color: black;"> For a period, Norfolk was under the</span> <span style="color: black;">command of Alexander Mcconochie, a man who encouraged the prisoners to read and to educate themselves in orderto become better equipped to live as free men in society. This was an unusual attitude towards convicts at that time but one that obviously benefited Lawrence Frayne. Lawrence included in his writing, a 'point by point denunciation of transportation and a laying out of his own ideas about penal reform. Given Frayne's personal history, it is unlikely that he read Paine, Cobbett and Owen before he came to Norfolk Island and Maconochie is the most likely person to have passed these writers on to him.' </span><span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: black;">One day soon, I hope to spend some time in the NSW State Library. reading the long document, written by my 3 x great uncle, in which Lawrence poignantly wrote of the demoralization of harsh treatment of convicts, saying of it that,' you make him (the convict)regardless of himself, and fearles as to the cosequences of doing wrong to others.'</span> <span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: black;">In 1833, Lawrence Frayne was involved in a convict rebellion on Norfolk island. He was granted a Ticket of Leave, according to the Maitland Mercury, on Saturday 10th of May. 1845. On August 15th 1845 his TOL was cancelled, the reason given, that he was absent from the Maitland district. </span><span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: black;">As with all of my family history research, the Frayne family tree is a work in constant progress. I have yet to discover what became of my famous convict great uncle, Lawrence Frayne. His whereabouts, after 1845 are completely unknown to me and there is much more to his life story that I would like to discover. As with all historical research, family, local or world, there are always facts to find and new stories to tell. Hopefully, soon, I will have much more to add to the story of my convict ancestors Michael and Lawrence Frayne.</span> <br />
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<br />Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-86657140648283494852010-01-25T19:03:00.000-08:002015-10-15T11:08:08.291-07:00Non Omnis Moriar. 'I shall not altogether die.' Horace 65-8 BC: Odes<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplSZu-JUkrlZNlyBDnHVN8KdsCAlxWQqvRX5fYzrAloQcQLHZcRHH2gQfygcnvN8WfUZe0ZNPyfBuBK9YUz-vPWQ-g0j4q80Et8Yeg3PT-XB59iGjHl6gjeLMWABnaJUinq6SO7fnaE0/s1600-h/Cooroy+Cemetery+Morrison+Grave+094.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430882886134728178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiplSZu-JUkrlZNlyBDnHVN8KdsCAlxWQqvRX5fYzrAloQcQLHZcRHH2gQfygcnvN8WfUZe0ZNPyfBuBK9YUz-vPWQ-g0j4q80Et8Yeg3PT-XB59iGjHl6gjeLMWABnaJUinq6SO7fnaE0/s320/Cooroy+Cemetery+Morrison+Grave+094.jpg"></a> <strong></strong><span style="color:#000000;"><strong>JOHN AND HANNAH MORRISON - Pioneers of Cooroy</strong> On a recent holiday on the Sunshine Coast in Queensland, my husband David and I drove to Cooroy, a small town inland from Noosa. We went to Cooroy in search of the graves of my great great grandparents, John and Hannah Tait MORRISON who both died in 1927. John and Hannah are official 'Pioneers of Cooroy and as such their descendants are entitled to a Pioneer Certficate once they have proven descent. The photo above, is John and Hannah's headstone after David had carefully removed 80 years of lichen, which had made it almost impossible to read the inscriptions. </span><br><div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">Two years ago, I had never heard of John and Hannah Morrison, much less imagined that I would visit their resting place in January, 2010. I had known since 1999, after obtaining the marriage certificate of my maternal grandparents, Hilda Lillian Weston and Ian Cuthbert Reece-Hoyes (married in 1929), that Ian's mother was Florence Morrison, born in Strathfield, Sydney. There were quite a few Florence Morrisons born in Sydney around her estimated birth date, but none born in Strathfield so I had no way of knowing which was 'my' Florence. My research into this side of the family had hit a 'brick wall'. My mother had passed away and because her parents had divorced when she was three years old, I knew nothing of her father's family. So, Florence was forced to 'rest' in an archive box while David celebrated the fact that I had Sydney origins. The discovery that Florence Morrison was a 'Strathfield girl', in his eyes, considerably weakened , my 20 year old argument that I 'belonged' in Queensland and not in Sydney where we live. </span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">Almost two years ago, on Facebook, I found a Reece-Hoyes relative, a first cousin to my mother, Leonard Alwyn (Len). We arranged to meet in Brisbane and thence began our journey into the past together. Pictured below is Len, myself and my sister Reece at our first meeting in Brisbane, Queensland.</span></div><br><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipMLVKckhIXUs9RQicXfFu_5X5zZkhJe9u0HEe21RvpTnR-I2KSTqm-ylghXNdluPlTiWKg0J4TFFScq_NsRiQJF9jXM1aFsh8ht6FYkKaG5dl0FQnOv9gqMk7tABRPNMsWwlNYiH43AI/s1600-h/Reece-Hoyes.jpg"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433962803260021826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipMLVKckhIXUs9RQicXfFu_5X5zZkhJe9u0HEe21RvpTnR-I2KSTqm-ylghXNdluPlTiWKg0J4TFFScq_NsRiQJF9jXM1aFsh8ht6FYkKaG5dl0FQnOv9gqMk7tABRPNMsWwlNYiH43AI/s320/Reece-Hoyes.jpg"></span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> Several times, I had tried, unsuccessfully, to find a marriage certificate for Florence Morrison and my great grandfather ( Len's grandfather), Leonard Cuthbert Reece-Hoyes., estimating the date to be prior to the birth of my grandfather, Ian in 1910. Ian's birth certificate, issued in 1910, gave Florence's age as 24 years and this information enabled me to narrow 'my' Florence down to three possible births in Sydney. </span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">My sister Reece and I arranged to meet Len and his wife Jan in Brisbane. What more appropriate place to meet than the Queensland State Archives, where after coffee and an instant rapport, we spent much of the day researching, discovering, and learning how to use the unfamiliar micro-fiche machines (under the stern and watchful eye of the archive attendant who was less than impressed with, what I am certain she thought, were our attempts to destroy her machines!). By the end of our day, after much fun and some frustration, we were amazed at what we had collected. We had begun with the information already known to us, which was, that my grandfather Ian was born in 1910, Len's father, Leonard John, was born in 1917 and a younger brother, Lawrence had been born in 1921. What a surprise to discover three sisters, Yvonne Florence, born in 1913, who lived only a short time, Mabel Lenore who had died in 1920 and Alwynne Jean , born in 1916, who had died of convulsions in 1918. The discovery of this last sister was a special find for Reece and myself as our mother's name was Alwynne Jean and now we knew for whom she had been named. I also discovered the reason I had not found Florence's marriage, as she and Leonard Reece-Hoyes did not marry until 1913, three years after the birth of my grandfather Ian.</span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;"></span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">Among the Archive records, we found School Admission records for Ian and Len Reece-Hoyes . These were fascinating as they showed the boys, Ian and Leonard living in Cooroy in 1922 and 1924, in the care of a Nurse Morrison at a Private Hospital. In 1917 we discovered Ian attending the Chermside State School in Brisbane. A phone call to Len's father Len senior, revealed that he recalled living in Cooroy with his maternal grandparents as a young boy. His grandmother had been a nurse and he </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHzwpW80w1XU36iuTPYTYNekdiObfmIzPodKTTx2F3wDmkPBU0qFzlqPJrdHMSJaSyESt_96BDY16RLel_UUYOgop98wgx5bB-gQSbxXSlWN-c4kPO54pupUQ7cNq2Y8WL02NgfgDY7aI/s1600-h/Len+Reece-Hoyes+snr.jpg"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434296014650611538" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHzwpW80w1XU36iuTPYTYNekdiObfmIzPodKTTx2F3wDmkPBU0qFzlqPJrdHMSJaSyESt_96BDY16RLel_UUYOgop98wgx5bB-gQSbxXSlWN-c4kPO54pupUQ7cNq2Y8WL02NgfgDY7aI/s320/Len+Reece-Hoyes+snr.jpg"></span></a><span style="color:#000000;">remembered some aunts who were nurses as well. What a blessing that we still had someone to ask questions of. The memories that Len senior, now in his 90's,( pictured above) shared with us filled in many gaps and proved invaluable. The names of Florence's parents, however still remained a mystery.</span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;"></span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">On my return to Sydney, I searched the Births, Deaths and Marriages online service that is available for NSW. I chose two births, one of which I felt was certain to be my Florence and ordered the birth certificates. I 'sensed' immediately that I had found the right Florence, when on one certificate, I saw the family's address; Morwick Street, Burwood. This street is situated right on the cusp of Burwood and its neighbouring suburb of Strathfield. This Florence Morrison was born on the 10 th of August, 1885. Her parents were, John MORRISON, 38 years, Contractor, born Aberdeen, Scotland and Hannah, formerly GAIR, 38 years, born in Northumberland, England. Meanwhile, Jan Reece-Hoyes, in Queensland, had sent away for the marriage certificate of Florence Morrison to Leonard Reece-Hoyes. The state of Queensland, has yet to introduce an online service for Birth, Death and Marriage records and so we had to wait for the certificate to arrive via 'snail mail.'</span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">The arrival of the much anticipated marriage certificate for Florence Morrison to Leonard Reece-Hoyes caused much jubilation as it proved beyond doubt that we had found Florence's parents. Of course, this certificate also opened up a whole new branch of the family tree with our discovery that Leonard Reece-Hoyes had been born in New Zealand to Elizabeth Morley and James Berry HOYES. We felt as though we had opened Pandora's box with an intriguing mystery (how and why did Hoyes become Reece-Hoyes) as well as new clues tempting to distract us. For the moment, however, we decided to remain on the trail of John and Hannah Morrison. There were questions which needed answering. How did they come to be living in Cooroy after Florence was born in Sydney? When did they come to Australia? On which ship? Did they come together or with their families? The most vital lead that the marriage certificate provided was the link we needed to go back in time: the birth places of John and Hannah. John was born in Aberdeen, Scotland and Hannah, in Northumberland, England. </span></div><br><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyR7Afpebrd58xcAnt93_cOhmNjdJeF55z1cDoXE55BqxcZFQHLoHWkwfuhgHl0v-_bjCTyYA6Xj69_PVYrMboxmMQOqyfbmEVjkwDaTiUwN0eg2ilBvAva9QrL_nCAP097hIQ3JJjCU/s1600-h/Florence+Morrison.jpg"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433961965671697474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyR7Afpebrd58xcAnt93_cOhmNjdJeF55z1cDoXE55BqxcZFQHLoHWkwfuhgHl0v-_bjCTyYA6Xj69_PVYrMboxmMQOqyfbmEVjkwDaTiUwN0eg2ilBvAva9QrL_nCAP097hIQ3JJjCU/s320/Florence+Morrison.jpg"></span></a><span style="color:#000000;">Before we ventured back to Scotland and England, we decided to gather as much information about the Morrison family here in Australia as we could. It was our hope that we might collect 'clues' that would assist us in our search into the past in the UK. One thing to consider was that names of children are often passed down from one generation to the next and sometimes, an unusual name or a surname used as a middle name provides crucial keys to unlocking the past. </span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;"></span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">Another search of the NSW BDM's online, resulted in finding the birth of another son to Florence(pictured above) and Leonard Reece-Hoyes. Wallace Dalkeith was born in 1930 in Ballina, NSW and died a few days later. Lawrence Reece-Hoyes, (1921),brother to my grandfather, Ian and to Leonard , also had a son called Wallace and a daughter named Yvonne. Two brothers had named children after siblings they had lost. An even greater surprise awaited us as a further search of the NSW BDM's revealed that John and Hannah Morrison had been blessed with a son also named Wallace Dalkeith in October 1892. The names Wallace and Dalkeith were filed away as possible links to Scotland and the Morrison family. A search of NSW Births, Deaths and Marriages online, found the following children born to John and Hannah Tait Morrison (the middle name of Tait made searching much easier as there were more than one Morrison couple with the names John and Hannah): Colin R-1879, George-1881, Minnie-1883, Florence F-1885 (my g grandmother), and twins John and Jessie born in 1887. As Colin R was born in Newcastle, a timeline began to appear. John and Hannah were living in Newcastle, NSW in 1879 and by 1885 were living in Morwick Street, Burwood, a suburb of Sydney. The death of son George in 1892 aged 9 years showed that John and Hannah were still residing in Sydney at that time. </span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">The time had come to take the search to England and Scotland where the couple had come from. Assuming that the couple had followed tradition and married in Hannah's home parish in Northumberland, I searched the Northumberland parish records through Ancestry.com as well as council websites in Northumberland which had put historical records online. Success! John and Hannah were married in South Shields, Co Durham, Tyne and Wear in the October to December quarter of 1868. Encouraged by my success so far, I sent for a copy of the certificate from the GRO (British Register Office). Not sitting idle, while awaiting the arrival of this document, we thought about the large gap between the marriage of John and Hannah in 1868 and the birth in Australia of their 'first' child, Colin R in 1879. It seemed likely that other children had been born to John and Hannah in England. I searched for possible births of earlier children in the UK and soon found four more children. Through Ancestry.com website, I found that Martha Ann was born in 1870, Alice J in 1872, Elizabeth in 1874 and John William in 1877, Due to the expense of obtaining certificates from the UK I did not send for copies of these but was pleased that I now had a definite timeline for John and Hannah's arrival in Australia. The last child born to John and Hannah in Northumberland, was John William, in 1877 and the first child to be born in Australia was Colin R in 1879. This meant that the Morrison family left the UK sometime between 1877 and 1879. This narrow window of time helped greatly in finding the ship on which they travelled to Australia. </span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;"></span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">Searches of passenger lists to NSW proved fruitless and it was only when in desperation we broadened our search to the online Victorian Unassisted Passenger Lists that we found John and Hannah. One thing I have learned since I began searching for ancestors is to always look beyond the obvious. John and Hannah Morrison arrived in the port of Melbourne on the ship 'Kent' in the hot month of December, 1878. Martha Ann 7yrs , Alice J 5yrs, Elizabeth 3yrs, and John W 1yr, travelled with their parents to begin a new life in Australia. Whether it was their original intention to travel to Sydney, we will probably never know, but we do know from the birth of Colin R, that the family were living in Newcastle, NSW in 1879, in the year following their arrival in Australia. My husband David suggested that Newcastle may have attracted the Morrisons because of links to the city of Newcastle in Northumberland. It appears that by 1885 when Florence was born, John William had died as the certificate states that one male child was deceased. Another son named John was born to John and Hannah in 1887. The Morrisons lost another son, George in 1892. We can only imagine the grief that John and Hannah felt at the loss of these children.</span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;"></span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">Using records such as Electoral Rolls and School Admission records, we were able to reconstruct a timeline of John and Hannah Morrison's life in Australia. They arrived in Melbourne, Victoria in 1878, were living in Newcastle, NSW in 1879. By 1903, according to the Queensland Electoral Roll, some members of the family were residing at Harlin Road, Ipswich. Hannah and daughters, Jessie and Minnie were recorded as carrying out domestic duties. Son, John was working as a machinist while his father John was, at that time, a carriage builder. Daughter, Martha Annie was recorded as being a Nurse. In 1908, the family was still living at the same address in Ipswich. The 1913 Queensland Electoral Roll shows John Morrison working as the Mill Manager at the Stuart River Mill, Nanango, Wide bay. With him were Hannah ( home duties), Jessie (home duties) and John, whose occupation was still a machinist. The Stuart River Mill was a sugar mill. Often the occupation of a person provides valuable clues to finding them in a past census, but as John had been a carriage builder in 1903 and was now a Manager of a Sugar Mill in 1913, we suspected that this would be of no help in our search in the UK. It was more likely that he obtained work wherever he could. </span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;"></span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">We knew that John and Hannah were living in Cooroy in 1922, to 1924, from the School Admission records of their grandsons Ian and Leonard (Len senior) who were living with them. The 1925 Electoral Roll shows the family living in Cooroy with John and Hannah who were both retired by this time. Daughter, Martha Ann, and Elizabeth (assumed to be the wife of son John ) were both Nurses in Cooroy. Len senior has shared with us his memories of a large house in Toowoomba where he spent time with his grandparents. He remembers tennis courts and maids. Exactly, when John and Hannah may have lived in Toowoomba remains a mystery.</span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;"></span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">The private hospital opened by the Morrisons was in Maple Road Cooroy, backing onto Hospital Lane. Researchers into the history of Cooroy, have produced a book entitled, 'Pioneers of Cooroy', From this work we have learned that John Morrison was a part owner of the Butter factory in Cooroy. This building ( pictured below) remains an important feature in the</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpCuV0dvoQXXT79vvyQpKJnP8TQT3tHMvof0VJJq97bMBQWxQmbJdd0BL4u8pc3ur6QymsntehCZ7M2z0CnmRQQodSuwvkfvGtXkzSFQEtvAX3EfAtaaT_u-Ns6AgU5udnZitXvwdhyphenhyphenLQ/s1600-h/Cooroy+Butter+Factory.jpg"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433981750668377682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpCuV0dvoQXXT79vvyQpKJnP8TQT3tHMvof0VJJq97bMBQWxQmbJdd0BL4u8pc3ur6QymsntehCZ7M2z0CnmRQQodSuwvkfvGtXkzSFQEtvAX3EfAtaaT_u-Ns6AgU5udnZitXvwdhyphenhyphenLQ/s320/Cooroy+Butter+Factory.jpg"></span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> town and now provides a facility for the arts. The hospital was situated in a building which had previously been a private home. Today there is still a private hospital on the Morrison's hospital site in Maple Road.</span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;"></span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">There is much more we would like to know about John and Hannah Morrison's life in Australia and our search is by no means complete. We know very little about the lives of John and Hannah's children. Martha Ann was living in Cooroy in 1925. She would have been 55 years old in that year, so presumably she did not marry. Colin R was found on an Electoral Roll, living in Melbourne around the same time. One day, we hope to know more about Florence's other siblings. </span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">When David and I visited the Cooroy Cemetery, we had no idea where the grave of John and Hannah Morrison was located. We had seen a photograph taken by Len Reece-Hoyes and his wife Jan, the previous year when they passed through the town. Len had cleared quite a lot of rubbish from the uncared for, but significantly large grave. We found the grave sitting on the side of a hill in a very pretty location. Sadly the Headstone was covered in 83 years of lichen and dirt which made reading the inscription almost impossible. The words, 'Hannah Tait and 'Morrison' were clear enough to establish that this was the grave we were looking for but it was sad to see the deteriorated condition of the grave.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiroh1_yizYu6rbGCFjcJqytyzEDXNrnvjUWWimNApdFM9tO5IAhk-hT9bXHPsXDi6K7pGWdaKqLl82TCDKP46DQjXKlsBAV83A9fJGf1T5yAwy_vrflos4OwSkrjDrrZ-SqM97KGvQgPs/s1600-h/Cooroy+Cemetery+Morrison+Grave+007.jpg"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434205930131315586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiroh1_yizYu6rbGCFjcJqytyzEDXNrnvjUWWimNApdFM9tO5IAhk-hT9bXHPsXDi6K7pGWdaKqLl82TCDKP46DQjXKlsBAV83A9fJGf1T5yAwy_vrflos4OwSkrjDrrZ-SqM97KGvQgPs/s320/Cooroy+Cemetery+Morrison+Grave+007.jpg"></span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> </span></div></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">A visit to the local hardware store armed us with the correct cleaning products and David set to work restoring the headstone. We had no idea of the surprise that awaited us. David had suspected that the headstone was granite but as the lichen came away and the stone began to shine in the sunlight, we saw just how beautiful the engraved stone really was. Gradually the wording became clearer and whiter against the black granite. </span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">After quite a few hours of hard work, we could see clearly that the result was worth the effort. </span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">Below, left, is the headstone, pictured during the early stages of cleaning with the inscription becoming clearer. In the photograph to the right and below, I am standing at the grave of my great great grandparents John and Hannah Morrison in the picturesque Cooroy cemetery. The stone beneath the headstone is a lovely block of sandstone just waiting for someone to come along and clean the lichen and dirt off it. We ran out of time on this recent trip, but perhaps we might find the time to tidy up the rest of the grave on our next holiday? </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheNnNQL3AG7rjsd4dXpXTv4JHBPJFwYLKeO7QIifSRgTW7_qHYI-y10EXNTDoQbCDLHMQedUAhyaxyc7PO9UqGolxPKoCL_8Uxtt8BE1I4ZPT2r5VaOQxBZCCKBhfg5xPEJioyRBDDsN0/s1600-h/Cooroy+Cemetery+Morrison+Grave+038.jpg"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434202628194413666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheNnNQL3AG7rjsd4dXpXTv4JHBPJFwYLKeO7QIifSRgTW7_qHYI-y10EXNTDoQbCDLHMQedUAhyaxyc7PO9UqGolxPKoCL_8Uxtt8BE1I4ZPT2r5VaOQxBZCCKBhfg5xPEJioyRBDDsN0/s320/Cooroy+Cemetery+Morrison+Grave+038.jpg"></span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> It is so important for graves to be cared for. I did not ever meet John and Hannah, yet I feel, now that I have seen their beautiful grave and headstone, that I 'know' them and that they will not be forgotten. </span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBjPZZ949V3SXcYPYeapwUX2zcedYmeUl4gfQks3-3pgdMzoXVDy0SBeVH6Q6kdc7iKBBPhyphenhyphen71qPmK8LxmVPhW9jlLyHlWHTrwteKIgXpdN1gjapPkltvtSMcTApOcy8hn9rm_11JOVw/s1600-h/Cooroy+Cemetery+Morrison+Grave+083.jpg"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434208299121583426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBjPZZ949V3SXcYPYeapwUX2zcedYmeUl4gfQks3-3pgdMzoXVDy0SBeVH6Q6kdc7iKBBPhyphenhyphen71qPmK8LxmVPhW9jlLyHlWHTrwteKIgXpdN1gjapPkltvtSMcTApOcy8hn9rm_11JOVw/s320/Cooroy+Cemetery+Morrison+Grave+083.jpg"></span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> </span><br><div></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">This is the story of John and Hannah Morison from the time they arrived in Australia, as we know it so far.</span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">Len, Jan and I have also taken a journey back in time and discovered the ancestors of Hannah Tait Morrison (maiden name Gair). We know that Hannah's middle name of Tait was her mother's surname. We have traced Hannah's Gair family in Northumberland to the early 1700's and the Taits, so far, back one generation. This is a work in progress and by no means completed. John's family tree has, as yet, proven somewhat more difficult to trace, but we do not give up easily. </span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">We have traced the families of some of Hannah's siblings in England, forward to today. Her sister Ann mmarried a James Turnbull and we are currently attempting to make contact with this branch of the family. Recently I made contact with the great great granddaughter of Ralph Gair, Hannah's youngest brother. Deborah lives in Newcastle in the UK not far from where John and Hannah lived. Hopefully, together we will all go on a new journey of discovery. Our journey with John and Hannah Morrison has truly taken us to the UK. </span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;"></span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;">In my next blog entry, I will show how we used Census records, Parish Records, Marriage and Death Records and Christening Records to research and to create the story of the lives of our Gair and Tait ancestors. </span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;"></span></div><br><div><span style="color:#000000;"></span></div><br><div></div><br><div></div><br><div></div><br><div></div><br><div></div><br><div></div><br><div></div><br><div></div><br><div></div><br><div></div><br><div></div><br><div></div><br><div></div><br><div></div>Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-24665741427600152772009-12-21T13:30:00.000-08:002017-10-08T02:07:29.997-07:00'The very touch of the letter was as if you had all taken me into your arms.' Anais Nin 1903-77: letter to Henry Miller, 6th August, 1932<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjge0neBdWuKEiOfog9qonhyphenhypheno7Ya6IPMo4r4FJbrOXbmxN3kWsM6_2GmShqqFnIkwvFRnl_MEJ7lWRbu5bd3vbNpjkxg1XBTNVmQdBcLyK85RHZ7sAH_JRmscNDzBq2ABXCrJvRdrww334/s1600-h/Elizabeth+Gibson+Macdade.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417805898171034898" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjge0neBdWuKEiOfog9qonhyphenhypheno7Ya6IPMo4r4FJbrOXbmxN3kWsM6_2GmShqqFnIkwvFRnl_MEJ7lWRbu5bd3vbNpjkxg1XBTNVmQdBcLyK85RHZ7sAH_JRmscNDzBq2ABXCrJvRdrww334/s320/Elizabeth+Gibson+Macdade.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 218px;" /></a> <br />
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<span style="color: black;">What love and comfort, a letter from James MCDADE's mother Elizabeth, pictured left, must have brought him as he bravely endured the horrors of war. I can only imagine the joy and relief a letter from their son would have brought to my great grandparents, John and Elizabeth as they waited for news of him, in their home in Cumbernauld, Scotland. letters are a wealth of information. Throughout the years they have delivered good tidings, sad news, the happy announcement of a birth and news of the death of a parent. They tell of the trials and triumphs of long voyages far from home, send news of safe arrivals, describe the horrors of war and extraordinary tales of comradeship. Letters pass on recipes, exchange knitting patterns, offer heart felt apologies, carry forth declarations of love, reveal secrets; treasured emotions all tucked inside an envelope and sent around the world to loved ones awaiting contact. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Letters, for the family historian are a wonderful portal to the past. They provide the human stories behind names and dates on the family tree. Words, written by hand, and from the heart, are an irreplaceable wealth of information. They tell us where our ancestors lived, who their friends were and how they lived their lives. Letters reveal much about the personality of an ancestor, his or her degree of literacy and sometimes just tell some jolly rollicking yarns. A death certificate is able to provide us with a date and cause of death, but a letter written to a relative provides a window through which we are privileged to view the emotions and reality of deaths, births, marriages, illness and the daily life of our predecessors. The humble letter is a window to the past.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">My family members don't appear to have been prolific letter writers. Unlike myself, perhaps they were just not prolific hoarders. Of course, there is the very strong possibility, that in my family, letters were not preserved in order to hide some 'tiny' untruths! If my family had kept letters, I might have discovered earlier, that a very grand old family Welsh Castle does exist, but definitely not in my family! A letter might have saved me from years of searching for the grandfather in the Royal Welsh Fencibles.. who wasn't! These stories were myths, created to carefully guard well kept family secrets. ( I understand the desire for secrecy, and I do admit that the Royal Welsh Fencibles does sound a touch nicer than jail!) I might have discovered that letters were sent to Australia from Northumberland and Nottinghamshire and not from Wales where contrary to family tales, we have no ancestors at all. Not one! Disappointingly, no Fencibles, no Castle, no Welsh ancestors! </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">I know that letters arrived from America in the 1980's, and that, had they not been destroyed, they would have informed me that my grandfather's youngest brother, Alexander, was not a brother at all, but actually a nephew. I would have known the reason that the entire family left Scotland and came to live in Australia (family 'scandals' are a popular reason for emigration!) and why a family member emigrated to America having no contact with family for over 40 years. A letter might have told me that my grandfather on my mother's side was not a politician but instead, a bit of a rogue - quite possibly why there are no surviving letters ! How much easier my job would have been if letters had been stored away for me to read. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Documents such as divorce papers and shipping records and even photographs provide some useful information, but the letter remains the family historian's best friend. Letters are rich in detail, they are a part of the real fabric of life in the past and sometimes they are more importantly, proof of identity,and a key to unlocking the past, as in the case of my husband David's great, great grandfather.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">David's side of the family, fortunately were both prolific writers and horders. Such a treasure trove for me! There are letters from Bedfordshire, England to the BEARD family, some from South Africa from Polly Brown (nee Beard) to her family in the Gippsland area of Victoria, letters from Kent, England to the DUNSTER family who settled in the Kiama area in NSW and letters from new Zealand to the WHITE family that tell of farming life on the Canterbury Plains.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">Mathew MACDONALD, great, great grandfather of David White, was born in about 1812 in Sleat, Isle of Skye, Scotland. There has been no birth record found for him, although this has been well checked. Family lore says that he was born on his grandfather Alexander MacDonald's farm, Gillin Farm on the Isle of Skye. His death certificate states that his father was Charles MacDonald of Ord, David's father, Brian was proud to tell everyone that he was descended from the great Lord John of the Isles through Charles of Ord. There is no marriage record for Mathew to Mary McPherson who travelled with him on the ship 'William Nichol' to Sydney, Australia, in 1837. It is only from a letter to Mathew, when he </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0CRU29SYmJzMWcReN9lyekyxxg8C4T9sjZLPiGumCLUVI7nwjh25szgaE73TG9nOfu4iri9vkQiJNTRg3UzoquEdB5gK8Qg3e5E8u0zs7tdJ4qiHwkr8UwuuT84Vy-prE_eAk9RxnQY/s1600-h/Mathew+McDonald+%26+family.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418030611100097330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0CRU29SYmJzMWcReN9lyekyxxg8C4T9sjZLPiGumCLUVI7nwjh25szgaE73TG9nOfu4iri9vkQiJNTRg3UzoquEdB5gK8Qg3e5E8u0zs7tdJ4qiHwkr8UwuuT84Vy-prE_eAk9RxnQY/s320/Mathew+McDonald+%26+family.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 250px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;">was almost 90 years old from a half brother in Scotland, that we can verify this ancestry. The author of the letter, Keith Norman MacDonald was a well known musician and writer of Scottish Reels and Spreys, as well as being a medical doctor. He was also the son of Charles MacDonald of Ord House, Ord, on the Isle of Skye, by his wife Anne McLeod who he married in 1828 and therefore a half brother to Mathew. In his letter, Keith referred to Mathew as his brother and informed him that 'their' father, Charles was buried in the churchyard of Kilmore, as were both his mother, Anne and Mathew's mother. So here was proof that Keith and Mathew were half brothers and that Mathew was the son of Charles MacDonald of Ord, whose ancestry is well documented, not only back to John, Lord of the Isles but to the Royal Stewart Kings and the McKenneth Kings. Unfortunately the letter did not tell us who Mathew's mother was. The letter also revealed that Mathew's wife, Mary McPherson, was a nanny to Keith and the other MacDonald children and that Keith still remembered her fondly. It is obvious that Keith's letter was in reply to a letter from Mathew and that this had been Mathew's first contact with his family since leaving Scotland some 60 years earlier. We might deduce from this that Mathew had a falling out with his father, possibly over his relationship with Mary McPherson. Keith Norman's letter describes beautifully, the scenery in Skye that Mathew might have wistfully recalled and offers colourful character sketches of local identities. This letter is a valuable document, without which, David's MacDonald ancestry could not have been traced back to Scottish Royalty. The photograph above, pictures Mathew and Mary (McPherson) MacDonald with their children, at their farm at Crookwell which is still in the MacDonald family today. It is sad to think that Mathew and Mary had no contact with their families for so many years and one wonders whether old age prompted Mathew to write to his half brother. It is a blessing that he did, for without that letter the Royal MacDonald connection would have been lost with the passing of time.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">Some years ago, in a clean out, I threw away a bundle of letters from my mother and from friends. Now, I regret that I do not have those precious letters, the contents of which are lost forever.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">Letters, for most people are now a thing of the past. I do receive several typed 'news letters' from friends who live overseas or in other parts of the country. Although these are, strictly speaking, letters, they are missing that special touch of a hand written personal letter. They are 'speaking' to many and not just to me. I am fortunate enough not to have to wait long weeks or even months for news of a loved one at war or to learn of the death of a family member. I can contact instantly on Skype, relatives in London and New York and not only speak to them but see them as well. My sister and I correspond by telephone or by email daily. Our emails are a record of our daily lives. They concern our families, the antics of our pets, the swapping of recipes, gossip and news of family and friends. Often our emails are quite silly and sometimes very humorous and they give us great pleasure. Then we press the delete button on our computers and any record of our conversation is lost. No one is going to find old deleted emails nicely tied with ribbon in a drawer one day in the future. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">Now, I have to admit, that I am not likely to take up letter writing as I am quite comfortable living in an age of instant communication. I have, however, come to appreciate the value of communications of the past to the preservation of history, whether it be world, local or family history. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">In keeping with technology, through my blog entries, I hope that my stories will be written from the heart, for the future. I am trusting that somewhere out there in cyberspace, my good tidings and recipes and family stories and even some secrets will be discovered by someone who will appreciate them and perhaps even discover a family tree through them. These blogs are a record of lives past and present. They are my 'letters'.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-kGMncqTXf8GQWMdEo8Jjn2ivJr5Tac1ZV4qXdZCBoZhzFbIe1Hcb2Zxpk58U-Ui1O94ShoYGmv1uFkfF04oZjfbZGeLBHac7oiU1XJStfsPuS_IRlFwgPfA1f6CAEFsq1jyqDhcUp0/s1600-h/Elizabeth+Gibson+Macdade+Glasgow.jpg"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><br />
<span style="color: black;">'Letters of thanks, letters from banks, Letters of joy from girl and boy, Receipted bills and invitations To inspect new stock or to visit relations, And applications for situations, And timid lovers' declarations, And gossip, gossip from all the nations. W. H. Auden 1907-73: 'Night Mail' 1936 </span><br />
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<br />Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-46153454613426704892009-12-14T22:36:00.000-08:002017-10-08T02:04:05.374-07:00'Mother o' mine, Mother o' mine.' Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_ocHLhVNUyYBvapAnKC3-sFgJ10_zhQw3h7URAbKaOS9nv6NVcS1GMZizGPw9oa5R7jRszYWELNCuRjFBze9UZQ3l-jk9j7iMjmeWcg7N-oApOvvrniDntBn1KgWsrrcXU3NhFaQDNs/s1600-h/Alwynne+Jean++7+mths+Rotarua.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415349161585516306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_ocHLhVNUyYBvapAnKC3-sFgJ10_zhQw3h7URAbKaOS9nv6NVcS1GMZizGPw9oa5R7jRszYWELNCuRjFBze9UZQ3l-jk9j7iMjmeWcg7N-oApOvvrniDntBn1KgWsrrcXU3NhFaQDNs/s320/Alwynne+Jean++7+mths+Rotarua.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 222px;" /></a> <br />
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<span style="color: black;">Recently, a friend of mine, said to me,'I remember your mother as such a lovely lady. She was always gracious and kind. She was such a 'proper' lady.' Sadly, whilst only in her 40's, my mother developed Alzheimers Disease before her three daughters could learn much about her childhood. I have snippets of memories from anecdotes told to me as a young child and so from my memories and from gathered documents I will try to tell my mother's story. Alwynne Jean Reece-Hoyes was born on the 24th of September, 1931 to parents Ian Cuthbert Reece-Hoyes and Hilda Lillian (Weston)Reece-Hoyes. She was born in Brisbane, Queensland. Alwynne Jean's parents, Ian and Hilda were married at St Andrew's Church of England, in South Brisbane, on the 12th of August , 1929. Ian, a motor mechanic was 18 years of age and Hilda, working as a waitress, was aged 21. At some time before Alwynne was 7 months old, Ian and Hilda left Australia and travelled with their young baby daughter to New Zealand, to make a home there. Ian's father, Leonard Cuthbert Reece-Hoyes had been born in new Zealand and in 1931 all of his father's siblings still lived there. The early 1930's were years of depression so perhaps Alwynne's parents moved to New Zealand in search of work. Ian's paternal grandfather , James Berry Hoyes and his wife Elizabeth (Morley) had settled in Auckland in the 1860's and it is possible that he found employment with a family company. His grandfather, James had died in Auckland in 1910 after being hit by a bicycle as he stepped off a tram, on his way to buy his wife Elizabeth a bonnet for Christmas, but he had been a successful business man involved in gold mining and other enterprises. Nothing is known of Ian's employment in new Zealand </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuAie01H0tAVYTS8kk_-_ZKNZrnMAVVvvqf3zCfGJDPx2huXmBrpdHTdWeWwDjwLIFFcIa2NX8DDuXHvRWmgfprTGMWl4C2Chv3qKIaYtVh7dxzxmd3KUPy2eZq6XX3dkAHu3YOi4Fmcs/s1600-h/Alwynne+Jean+1yr+10+mths.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415378041247011506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuAie01H0tAVYTS8kk_-_ZKNZrnMAVVvvqf3zCfGJDPx2huXmBrpdHTdWeWwDjwLIFFcIa2NX8DDuXHvRWmgfprTGMWl4C2Chv3qKIaYtVh7dxzxmd3KUPy2eZq6XX3dkAHu3YOi4Fmcs/s320/Alwynne+Jean+1yr+10+mths.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 239px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;">but it is certain that Alwynne Jean met her New Zealand family in Rotarua and Auckland as that was one of the few memories she recalled. The photograph above shows the baby Alwynne Jean aged 7 months in Rotarua, New Zealand.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">In the photograph on the right, taken in Auckland, Alwynne at 18 months, appears a happy, well loved and very cute toddler. Someone, possibly her maternal grandmother, Lillie Weston who lived in Brisbane had knitted, lovingly the dress she was wearing. My mother still had the little shoes that she is wearing in this photo when I was a child. I remember that they fastened with tiny buttons.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">I imagine that it was difficult for Alwynne Jean's maternal family to be separated from their only grandchild and neice however I am certain that photographs such as these taken of her she grew would have been a source of comfort to the families back in Australia.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Hilda and Ian separated when Alwynne Jean was only three years old and Hilda filed for and was granted a divorce in Auckland in 1934. She returned to Australia with her young daughter Alwynne, some time prior to 1936. In this year she appears on the Queensland electoral roll as Hilda Hoyes.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">When Alwynne Jean returned to live in Brisbane, she and her mother, Hilda, lived with her maternal grandmother, Lillie Herminnie Weston (Nargar), at 52 Amelia Street, Fortitude Valley. Her grandmother Lillie was to have a very strong, positive and loving influence on young Alwynne's life. Lillie was a very religious woman and very particular about good manners. She took young Alwynne to Church every week at the Baptist Tabernacle in Wickham Terrace in Brisbane. It was Lillie, Alwynne's grandmother as well as her aunt Dorothy May Weston, Hilda's youger sister, who introduced her to to cooking and to sewing and instructed her in the rules of social etiquette </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Alwynne Jean possibly never knew that she was named after a sister of her father who had died in 1918 aged 18 months. My mother did not tell me this and I only discovered this fact from the Births, Deaths and Marriage records at the Queensland State Archives in 2008. Alwynne's father, Ian Cuthbert Reece-Hoyes would have been an impressionable 8 year old when his baby sister Alwynne Jean died of convulsions and so named his first child after her. Alwynne was the middle name of Ian's mother Florence Alwynne Reece-Hoyes (Morrison). </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">In 1936 or 1937, at the Fortitude Valley State School, Alwynne Jean began her education whilst living with her grandmother. At the age of 12 years she attended Brisbane State High School which was a selective girls school. Although her parents had divorced and her mother Hilda worked hard to support her, Alwynne was much loved and supported by both her grandmother and mother. She did not meet her father again until she was 21 years of age when he took her to dinner for her birthday. Alwynne Jean did not see her father again after this meeting, although I have recently discovered that he died in Brisbane in the mid 1980's. Her paternal grandmother, Florence Alwynne Reece-Hoyes also lived in Brisbane until her death in the 1980's however as far as I know, my mother had no contact with her or any other member of the Reece-Hoyes family as she grew up. As an adult my mother contacted her father's brother, Leonard John Reece-Hoyes, who was 7 years Ian's junior. Sadly, too late for Alwynne, my sister, Reece and I have now become firm friends with Leonard's son, also called Leonard Reece-Hoyes and his lovely wife Jan. How proud Alwynne Jean would have been to see the Reece-Hoyes (and Hoyes) family tree that we have discovered together.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Alwynne Jean's grandmother, Lillie, had been a single mother since 1920 when her husband William Joseph Weston had left her for another woman. She ran a busy fruit shop to support her family and although money must have been in short supply, Alwynne was always beautifully dressed, well spoken and well loved. One memory that she shared with me, however, was of having to take bread and dripping to school for her lunch when finances were difficult. She told that story many times when I was a child to encourage me to appreciate the things I had. Lillie was determined to provide her grandaughter, Alwynne with everything she needed. Alwynne Jean learned to play the piano from a young age from the same piano teacher who taught music to my father, Colin John MacDade. My parents first met when they were quite young and amusingly, I do recall my mother relating her early impresions of my father as a child being a 'spoilt little Lord Fauntleroy'. My father was the teacher's favourite student being an extremely talented pianist and as a young child, Alwynne Jean thought him quite 'full of himself'. Obviously, she thought differently in later years as she married him.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJRVFWKxT-oyxXEQ5D1aPGA9j0Bj8p2dXeHyhV1WwcGZcEyGzvp5MIAU0kje0m27geQJ5fOuCnTMEnYbJ4dsMiMO0WAe9N0C7H19qNfy5Jyqyx84OhYX38kiE9VZjQ6UNmrogIKwe4-A/s1600-h/Alwynne+Jean+5+years+new+Zealand.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415594610705402402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJRVFWKxT-oyxXEQ5D1aPGA9j0Bj8p2dXeHyhV1WwcGZcEyGzvp5MIAU0kje0m27geQJ5fOuCnTMEnYbJ4dsMiMO0WAe9N0C7H19qNfy5Jyqyx84OhYX38kiE9VZjQ6UNmrogIKwe4-A/s320/Alwynne+Jean+5+years+new+Zealand.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 196px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;"> Alwynne's grandmother Lillie and Aunt Dorothy taught her to sew. From the age of 13 Alwynne sewed all of her own clothes. She quickly became an exceptionally competent seamstress. Perhaps Lillie or Dorothy sewed the pretty dress worn by the five year old Alwynne Jean in the photograph on the right which was taken in Auckland before her return to Australia. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Alwynne's early life in Brisbane would have been strongly influenced by her grandmother's committment to her church, although her own mother, Hilda was not a religious person. A family friend, Amelia Gertude Hansen, always known as Aunty Gertie, also lived at Amelia Street. She had been helping to care for the family since Hilda's father had left them. Gertie, or Aunty Stewie' as she became known after her married surname became Stewart, was a deeply religious woman. She became the prison chaplin at the Women's Prison in Brisbane and was very much respected and loved by the prisoners and all who knew her. Alwynne Jean remained very close to her all of her life, Much of Alwynne's strong faith had been formed in her early years in her grandmother's home and remained wih her throughout her lfe as she taught Sunday School and regulary attended and was very involved in her local churches.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">When Alwynne Jean was 8 or 9 years old, her mother, Hilda remarried. Alwynne's stepfather, David John Schmith, was very fond of his young step-daughter and formally adopted her on the 29th of February. 1940. For Alwynne, Dave, as she called him, became a positive male role model in her life. This marriage entered into at the outset of the Second World War, was not destined to last. Dave enlisted in the army and was sent overseas to fight. The subsequent separation took a toll on the marriage and once again Alwynne's parents divorced. Alwynne Jean did not have happy memories of the war years. As much as her mother, Hilda loved her, she also loved to socialise and Alwynne found herself left on her own much of the time. With noisy and often drunken American soldiers in Brisbane during the war, Alwynne recalled being quite afraid on many occasions whilst alone at night. Although Hilda and Dave divorced, Alwynne remained in contact with Dave for the rest of her life. She cared for him in his later years until he died and then cared for her mother until she could no longer do so because of her own health.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">It was during the war years, that Alwynne's aunt, Dorothy, now married to a wealthy Hotelier and property Investor, William Holme Cameron, asked Hilda if she and 'Jock' could adopt Alwynne. She felt that they would be able to offer her neice a more stable lifestyle than that provided for by her Hilda. My great Aunt Dorothy told me this tale. She was unable to have children of her own and loved Alwynne like a daughter. Hilda broke down at this request and cried. She replied,' I know I haven't been the best mother to Alwynne, but she's all I have . I love her. Please don't take her away.'</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">When Alwynne Jean was about 13 or 14 tragedy struck her mother and herself. Whilst on an afternoon outing to the movie theatre, their home burned down destroying all but one room of the house. Almost all of their possessions were lost and all of Alwynne's childhood photographs were burned. For a short while Hilda attempted to live in the one room of the burnt out house in the Valley, but Alwynne soon found herself back living with her grandmother,Lillie again. This was an incident in my mother's life that she talked about a great deal. She never really recovered from losing her home and everything in it. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZhpzmQYpbS9ZFFkNSS3Yd-u6_ZGQrKUhl9iS-cHtNfIrSv-v40ftybYDFyCquq3GDzSM3M0xPhJqoGiIui4wQ1HAmKgMheE2KPO_0C4yL1e6Zx0hrN9ixmCGl-dgTCxKMiAjo-n_kaA/s1600-h/Alwynne+Jean++21.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415593489532033474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZhpzmQYpbS9ZFFkNSS3Yd-u6_ZGQrKUhl9iS-cHtNfIrSv-v40ftybYDFyCquq3GDzSM3M0xPhJqoGiIui4wQ1HAmKgMheE2KPO_0C4yL1e6Zx0hrN9ixmCGl-dgTCxKMiAjo-n_kaA/s320/Alwynne+Jean++21.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 206px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;">As a teenager, Alwynne socialised and played tennis. Lillie had made certain that her grandaughter learned the skills necessary to enable her to socialise correctly, including providing dancing and tennis lessons for her as a child. One of Alwynne's favourite pastimes was to go to the famous Brisbane icon, Cloudland, (sadly now demolished) to dance. She was very popular and very attractive. I am certain that her dance card would have been constantly full. In fact, Alwynne Jean was crowned Miss Cloudland on more than one occasion. In the photo at left, Alwynne is pictured in a dress of her own creation, at her 'coming out' ball. She would have been 18 or 19 years old when this photograph of her as a debutant was taken. Although the child of divorced parents, Alwynne Jean grew up in the company of all the social niceties.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">From the age of 13, Alwynne often travelled to Mackay and later Sydney to stay with her aunt Dorothy. Together they would go in to the city to shop or to have their hair done. In later years, Dorothy recalled a story about Alwynne that made us laugh. On one of her visits to Sydney, Alwynne and Dorothy were catching a tram into the city from Randwick where Dorothy then lived. Alwynne had spent a very long time doing her hair and when she stepped outside the wind blew it everywhere. Dorothy could see the tram making its way along the street but 14 year old Alwynne refused to budge. They had to return inside the home so that she could re-do her hair all over again. Aunt Dorothy laughed as she said to me , "I kept telling her that as soon as she stepped outside, the wind would do the same again, but she was very stubborn, your mother.' Of course that was exactly what happened and according to Dorothy, the young Alwynne sulked all the way to the city. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">So, how did Alwynne Jean come to court and marry the boy she had once thought a spoilt young pianist? My paternal grandmother related the story to me. She was proud that she had been intrumental in helping to bring Alwynne and her own son Colin together. At the age of 22, Alwynne Jean was engaged to be married to a chap named Mervyn. There were problems in the relationship, however, because Mervyn was Catholic and Alwynne was Baptist. Mervyn's mother very much wanted him to marry a previous girlfriend who was also Catholic. Every time Alwynne and Mervyn attended a function, Mervyn's mother made certain his ex girlfriend was there as well. Alwynne began to rethink her decision.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">As it turned out, fate (named Alma and </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1T7cqYveWhTXIOXZamevRrcCepal7Vph8-vpOXx-WPBX5OtdvaOlumMzYGCZeWXTXu5YDoZ7u768cOYy7DtdEslDJnU_wMrZXDppgrvZQsWKY_HuKnb93bd5EbQJDky6rfn7zRGN3HWY/s1600-h/Beautiful+fashion+in+the+1930%27s++2+Nana%27s+%26+Alma.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415755356012478818" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1T7cqYveWhTXIOXZamevRrcCepal7Vph8-vpOXx-WPBX5OtdvaOlumMzYGCZeWXTXu5YDoZ7u768cOYy7DtdEslDJnU_wMrZXDppgrvZQsWKY_HuKnb93bd5EbQJDky6rfn7zRGN3HWY/s320/Beautiful+fashion+in+the+1930's++2+Nana's+%26+Alma.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 253px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;">Florence) stepped in and changed Alwynne's plans for her. Over the years, Alwynne's aunt by marriage, Alma Weston, had befriended my father's mother, Florence Jemima Macdade as they frequently travelled by the same tram to the city in Brisbane for shopping expeditions. Alma, also eager to end Alwynne's engagement to the Catholic Mervyn gave Florence a photograph of Alwynne. She asked Florence to place the photograph on her son Colin's pillow that night. Florence happily played along and did as she was bid. That evening after he had returned from work the 22 year old Colin came rushing into the kitchen at his home in Garfield Drive, Paddington Heights, asking, 'Who is the gorgeous girl on my bed?' My father loved to tell that story. Colin was besotted immediately but Alwynne's attentions were not won so easily. Pictured above, are the co- conspiritors Florence MacDade. Alma Weston and also Alwynne Jean's mother Hilda.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">While Alwynne was at a dance with her fiance Mervyn, on one Saturday night, Colin John MacDade was quite jealous. He had tried in vain to court the lovely Alwynne Jean. Alma's husband, Mervyn, uncle of Alwynne, who was never one to give up easily, thought up a plan to help young Colin to win the affections of his niece. While the dance was under way Mervyn and Colin let down the tires on the younger Mervyn's car. They then waited outside the dance hall. When Alwynne and Mervyn appeared it quickly became obvious that Mervyn was not gong to be able to ecort Alwynne home (such bad luck to have four flat tyres!) . The gallant Colin, who just 'happened' to be on hand, stepped up and offered his services. Not to help fix the tyres though! He left poor Mervyn with the car and drove Alwynne home himself. Colin charmed his way into her heart and Alwynne was hooked. 'Hook, line and sinker,' to quote Colin (a keen fisherman). </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Alwynne Jean Reece-Hoyes ( aka Schmith)married Colin John MacDade in March of 1954, at St Paul's Presbyterian Church, St Pauls Terrace, Spring Hill, Brisbane. Alwyyne was named Bride of the Year and her wedding photo was displayed in the Brisbane Courier mail and a shop window in the city. Alwynne and Colin honeymooned in Lismore during which time there was such a heavy rainfall that Lismore was severely flooded. Alwynne</span><br />
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Alwynne Jean (Reece-Hoyes) and Colin John MacDade had three daughters of which I am the eldest.<br />
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<span style="color: black;">Alwynne Jean MacDade died from Pneumonia as a result of Alzheimers Disease on October 29th, 1996. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415772928425111602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZqb_cZ7Y75aPWOshIjuQ4aSiN5xnkMPwJOXGzNeP4__CrXO2S_bVbmBZD06p1-ILK8lRUChKfi6sImWZJJAL7CZs2pY_MaC829OrS1awgw0QsKK6eJkwRaJobQF0_LY8h4nd2uFiaIf4/s320/Sharn++2+yrs+%26++Mum.jpg" style="display: block; height: 224px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /> Alwynne Jean MacDade</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">24-9-1931 - 29-10-1996</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">'I will spend my heaven doing good on earth.' St Terese of Lisieux, 1912 </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">I began my family tree on my mother's side of my family in 1998. To date I have traced the Reece-Hoyes (Hoyes) family back through New Zealand to England and Scotland with the surnames of GAIR, BERRY, BERRIF in Northumberland, England, as far back as the early 1700's; MORRISON in Scotland to the late 1700's: HOYES in Lincolnshire to the early 1800's; MORLEY in Nottinghamshire to the 1700's. I have also added to the tree the surnames of HABERLING, RYSER and many other names in Switzerland as far back as 1520; WESTON and TURNER in Suffolk, England to the 1700's, NERGER (NARGAR) in Prussia to the late 1700's; SIEGLER, SEGLEN in Weuttemburg, Germany to the 1700's and FRAYNE in Ireland (convicts) back to Dublin in the late 1700's. Along the way I have discovered convicts, including one who was on Norflok island and was the only convict to leave a written narrative describing the harsh treatment he received during his incarceration. This 74 page document is held by the NSW State Library (Mitchell) and is an important part of the 'Colonial Papers' in the library's collection. I have found a great Uncle who was a millionaire , who owned and lived in Marwell Hall, a home which belonged to King Henry VIII which he had given to the Boleyn family, owned a huge steam yacht built for the American billionaire Frederick Vanderbuilt, played an integral part in winning the Second World War for Britain, was involved in suspicious 'activities' in Spain and France during the war, Air Advisor to the Nizam of Hyderabad, gun-running in Hyderabad in 1948 after India became independent from Britain, and died as the Vicompte (Viscount) de Borenden just to mention a few fascinating things about him. Along the journey, I have 'met' many extraordinary and ordinary people. People who came to Australia to make a new home for themselves and their families. They came from all over the globe and settled in Maryborough, Queensland, Sydney, NSW, Maitland in the Hunter Valley, The Darling Downs, went to Gympie during the Gold Rushes and were farmers, bootmakers, miners. nurses, sawyers ( that was a disappointment - I read it as Lawyer!), piano tuners, furniture makers and felons. I am here because of them all and their stories are fascinating. They deserve to be told. </span></div>
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Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-47747475021273838442009-11-19T22:31:00.000-08:002020-11-09T22:46:03.261-08:00'A garden of Love grows in a Grandmother's heart.' Unknown Author<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKGKZhbR40NnP0TW5HDuQfZitwj4pvLHrpf_Q2xlj3kJwMQsrWMzANBgWVGfKJsKsSnUM-hk8nGfRfHnBJDjvozkf6A5R4DZoA36CSwFIFGBtjzxk8xz0pzW6PWMc74USOzjNVVjeRyOI/s1600/Jemima+Florence.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406070028545581906" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKGKZhbR40NnP0TW5HDuQfZitwj4pvLHrpf_Q2xlj3kJwMQsrWMzANBgWVGfKJsKsSnUM-hk8nGfRfHnBJDjvozkf6A5R4DZoA36CSwFIFGBtjzxk8xz0pzW6PWMc74USOzjNVVjeRyOI/s320/Jemima+Florence.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 233px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;"> There is an old saying that 'grandmothers never run out of hugs and cookies.' The source of the quote may be unknown but the sentiment perfectly describes my paternal grandmother, Jemima Florence MacDade (m.s. White). If any one of Nana's grandchildren were to be asked to recall their most treasured memories of her , I suspect that ahead of her hugs and devoted unconditional love, would be her scrumptious cooking. I well remember her mouthwatering Irish Bap , tempting Gem Scones, rich thick Caramel Custard, tantalisingly delicious Rosella Jam (if you are a Queenslander you'll know how good Rosella Jam was! ) perfect shortbread biscuits delicately patterned with the bottom of a crystal glass, pikelets, every single one, so incredibly light and fluffy, so absolutely even coloured and so perfectly round that they defied the laws of possibility, and the creamiest home made vanilla ice-cream I have ever tasted. All served with lashings of love. My memories of my Irish grandmother , begin at 16 Garfield Drive, Paddington Heights in Brisbane were she lived with my Scottish born grandfather, Colin Hamilton MacDade. I have warm memories of that house, with Nana's fern room at the entance and patterned carpet and comfortable big couch in the lounge room , the big picture window at the rear, overlooking the steep hills and deep valleys of Paddington, Bardon and Ashgrove, the window seat in her bedroom where I loved to sit and read, louvre windows on built in verandahs. There was the delightful thrill of exploring the dark world beneath this house built high on stilts in Queensland. Most significantly, it was a place where I spent many contented hours in the company of this very special lady. My earliest memories are of trips to the beach at Redcliffe or Wynnum with my grandparents in their two toned blue and white holden, picnics and frollicking in the shallow calm water. I recall holidays and weekends spent at Garfield Drive, playing with cousins and the children next door, (children of later police commissioner Terry Lewis ) as well as sisters Jane and Robin who lived across the road. Together we climbed the huge mango tree that grew in the corner of the backyard, ate delicious sweet mangoes whilst sitting high on the branches of the old tree, swinging legs, dripping juice to the ground below, laughing and sticky. We picked cumquats for Nana to make jam with, and sweet paw paws from the tree which grew at the bottom of the back stairs. Shrieking and laughing, we slid fast down the steeply sloping back yard on pieces of cardboard and though forbidden, we continually tried to climb the big council water tank that towered on the block of land adjoining the house. My grandmother worried terribly that someone would fall and be injured and I'm sure we would have tried the patience of a saint. Perhaps my memory is mistaken, but I can't recall Nana becoming cross. I'm certain that we, her precious grandchildren, gave her cause to worry a great deal and I am amazed now, looking back, at how calm she remained as we hurtled through her garden, racing each other through our 'secret' paths with careless regard for the hydrangeas and the frangipanis that she had planted. Recently, I returned to look at the house at Garfield Drive and quietly pirated a cutting of one of Nana's frangipani trees from near the front fence. I have planted the frangipani in my back garden in Sydney where it reminds me every morning of Nana. Sadly, the mango tree is gone from Garfield Drive and the house is greatly changed, but I recognised much of the garden that my grandmother planted. If I am to be truthful, I must admit, that I do recall one incident where my grandmother became quite angry, but her anger was directed at my grandfather and as for me, I thought the whole incident rather funny. It happened that we, my grandparents and I, were returning from a lovely day's outing to somewhere at the beach, perhaps Southport, when a very strange sight befell us. As we drove along the road, a wheel off a car went rolli</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8y7OfcT0BEt6uhnYprilFoLgl_CMYlkA0gva0FxE6Mf_l76q1PZBrC1EbSeFb_Ud-aVpxgy2OSe9Sr6jx1vCPjdQLz7NIQfHZcrwtXol1U-yHzlAV4oUwyICNihv4vrFH8pjkpniexw/s1600/Sharn+,+Reece,+Mum,+Nana+at+Maroochydore.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407099248130177570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia8y7OfcT0BEt6uhnYprilFoLgl_CMYlkA0gva0FxE6Mf_l76q1PZBrC1EbSeFb_Ud-aVpxgy2OSe9Sr6jx1vCPjdQLz7NIQfHZcrwtXol1U-yHzlAV4oUwyICNihv4vrFH8pjkpniexw/s320/Sharn+,+Reece,+Mum,+Nana+at+Maroochydore.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 227px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;">ng past us, gathering speed as it flew along the road towards a steep hill. As clearly as if it were yesterday, I can hear my grandfather laughing as he said, "Some poor fellow has lost a wheel." No sooner were the words out than the rear right side of our car hit the road and sparks flew as the realisation sunk in to my poor grandfather's horror! He had changed the rear tyre not long before , and had obviously forgotten to replace the wheel nuts. My recall of this encounter has always been one of immense hilarity, but I am not certain if this is due to the sheer unexpectedness of seeing that wheel rolling at high speed past us, or the absolute incredulousness of hearing my usually calm and composed grandmother, shrieking, ' You stupid man, Colin! You stupid man'! I have no doubt that I can attribute her response to shock, but as for me, I could hardly contain my fit of giggles as I struggled to remain sitting upright in the steeply inclined back seat. The car is pictured in the photograph above, although pictured here with the blue and white Holden is my mother, Alwynne Jean, her mother Hilda Lillian and myself and sister Reece. My poor grandmother continued to mutter something about 'stupid' the entire time,while we waited for my grandfather to make the long trek down the hill to retrieve the tyre. It had landed in someone's front yard, much to their surprise. Years later, in the retelling of that event, Nana did see the funny side, but explained that at the time, her concern had been that I, her precious first born grandchild might have been injured. A special treat for me as a child, was a bowl of Nana's caramel custard, which was, without a doubt, my favourite. Many years later, Nana divulged to me the 'secret ingredient' that made her custard so rich and delicious. At the time she told me, Nana was blind from glaucoma, and was visiting my own family in Sydney. How she laughed at my surprise when she told me that her secret ingredient had been nothing more than simple golden syrup! 'My' caramel custard is now legendary and oops, now I've let the secret out! Even after losing her eyesight, Nana still made a treat for us to have after dinner every evening when she was staying with us. Her pumpkin scones would have given Flo Bjelke Petersen's a run for their money! My grandmother taught me how to crochet when I was 7 years old. She patiently demonstrated each complicated stitch, back to front, for this left handed grandchild. Years later when I tried to pass the skill of crochet on to my three daughters, I marvelled at how she did that. I couldn't teach my right handed girls! She taught me to knit, although I must confess that I was not as interested in knitting, but crochet really became a relaxing and enjoyable hobby for many years of my life. My sister, Reece and I, as children, wore with pride, the beautiful crocheted tops and dresses and berets that Nana lovingly made for us. To this day I still possess one of her creations - a cream, long sleeved jumper that one of my own daughters, Rhiannon, also wore as a little girl. She treasured this lacy patterned top all the more because her Great- Nana had made it for me. I was very proud of my Irish Nana as a child. I considered myself quite Irish despite my very scottish surname. Nana's stories 'of Ireland' were legendary in our family. The most memorable of Nana's stories was one about how she almost drowned in a flax bog as a very young girl in Brookend, County Tyrone in Northern Ireland. This incident, which happened when she fell and became trapped beneath the heavy layers of flax on her 'gentleman farmer', father's farm must have quite traumatised my grandmother, for although she came to live in Australia on the Darling Downs aged 11 years, she never learned to swim and always remained frightened of going into water. I requested this story every time I saw my grandmother and she never tired of telling it. I sat quiet and wide eyed, mesmerized by every detail. No matter how many times I listened to that story, it seemed more exciting with each narration. For some reason, most of the stories of childhood, that I recall my grandmother telling, were set against the background of her home at 'Carrig-na-gule', Brookend, Co Tyrone. I wish, now that I had asked her about the journey to Australia by ship or the long train trip to Kaimkillenbun on the Darling Downs in Queensland. What, I wonder, were her impressions of her new home? How was school different in Australia from that in Ireland? As a child and even as a young adult, I didn't think to ask these questions and so, now as a family historian, I must surmise as to what life was like as a new Australian child. I am fortunate to have some evidence on which to build a picture of her life, such as local newspaper articles and family treasures including a testimonial presented to her father when the family left Kaimkillenbun. Although from these I can discover a story of my grandmother's past, no story will be as vivid as those that she told me herself, in her soft, still slightly Irish, lilting voice. In another blog, I will attempt to tell the story of Nana's life, but for now, I will remain with my own memories. Whenever my parents went away for a weekend, which was always to stay at the Pink Poodle Motel or the Chevron Hotel at the Gold Coast, Nana would come to stay with us. She also stayed with us while my mother was in hospital having my youngest sister, Stacey. My only memory of that stay was of how she settled an argument between my sister, Reece and myself. I can clearly see her patiently trying to calm us down as we fought over a broken toy rolling pin! Each of us was claiming to own the undamaged one. There is another saying, that,' Grandmothers are people with more patience than when they were mothers.' I don't know if this is true of my own grandmother, but I do know that she possessed the patience of a saint that day. In the end she removed both the offending rolling pins and left the argument for our poor mother to settle when she returned home with our new sister. Such are the privileges of a grandmother! Nana started losing her eyesight, as far as I can remember, in her 60's. Our memories of childhood are often flawed, so this may not be correct. Age is not something that children are accutely aware of. I seem to remember that, as a child, every adult seemed 'old'. I remember my grandmother sitting before her dressing table mirror in her bedroom at the front of the house in Garfield Drive, brushing her long brown hair 100 times before going to bed. I thought she was quite old then but now, as I revisit that memory, I realise that she would have only been 58 or 59 years of age. To my four or five years she seemed a 'a very old lady'. I can see her just as clearly in my mind today, brushing her hair, as I did when I watched her almost 50 years ago. By the time I was 17, Nana had very little eyesight left. She was 72 years old. She could no longer see enough to use her beloved Pfaff sewing machine. My grandmother sewed magnificently. She made all her own and her daughters' clothing and she was always the most beautifully dressed woman in the room!</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xrw8O2gXcBHDlAaVHKBHAXYBimwymGdMYN7oAPZT_kiKfTNPivoYVByaA0Hp3kGYcBSIJMIq-9vR-jHSC3bJLfKuGJtr4p6wu-eW6hAuK-6_hb4r9WIb-WnR0NWr4-3KOtlHuoqfNJo/s1600/Nana+and+Dandy+dressed+up.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406393835570214322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xrw8O2gXcBHDlAaVHKBHAXYBimwymGdMYN7oAPZT_kiKfTNPivoYVByaA0Hp3kGYcBSIJMIq-9vR-jHSC3bJLfKuGJtr4p6wu-eW6hAuK-6_hb4r9WIb-WnR0NWr4-3KOtlHuoqfNJo/s320/Nana+and+Dandy+dressed+up.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 323px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 247px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;"> Nana and my mother had each bought a Pfaff sewing machine whilst shopping together. It was quite an expensive purchase but it was the rolls royce of sewing machines at that time. When Nana gave me her precious Pfaff machine in my early 20's, I wondered what on earth she was thinking. I hated sewing! Some years later, when married,with two young children of my own, I pulled that machine out from its packing box and soon understood the pleasure that my grandmother had found in sewing. As I appliqued beautiful little dresses, romper suits and T-shirts for my children, I also appreciated the faith that my grandmother had in me when she gave me her precious Pfaff. I know that she was overjoyed that I had not wasted her kind gesture. I loved that sewing machine right up until its death in the 1990's. I have never enjoyed sewing so much with another machine. My own mother had also been a beautiful seamstress but she had never been able to pass on to me her enjoyment of sewing. One of my grandmother's most beautiful gifts to me was that Pfaff sewing machine which I gratefully treasured. Even with her eyesight failing, Nana was undaunted. In her private moments, I have no doubt that she must have felt that her life had taken an unfair turn, however, I never heard her complain. When I attended teachers' college at Kelvin Grove, in Brisbane in the early 1970's, I often drove to The Gap where Nana lived, to have dinner with her in the evenings. Despite being almost completely blind, she always had a wonderful meal cooked for me and would not hear of my helping her. She knew that I especially loved her meat loaf and so she often cooked it for me. Many times I marvelled at how she had managed to cook such a delicious meal and always a dessert for me as well. We never tired of each other's company and never, ever, ran out of conversation. Over those meals we laughed together and talked of things of the present and things of the past. One of the things I admired in my grandmother was her sense of humour. When staying with us in Sydney in the mid 1980's, she told us a story that to this day makes me laugh. One of Nana's legacies to me is the ability to remain positive in the face of misfortune, and to see things in the light of good humour. This was her story. One day while living with one of her daughters at the Gap in Brisbane, Nana, who was completely blind by then, decided to make lunch for herself. She took the black sausage that she knew was on the top shelf of the fridge, carefully sliced it and placed it on buttered bread. That evening as the family sat down to dinner, Nana announced that she had very much enjoyed the black sausage for lunch. Being blind, she was unaware of the puzzled glances exchanged around the table. Finally someone looked in the refrigerator and found that poor Nana had neatly sliced the Pal dog food that had been removed from its tin and placed on a plate in the fridge. When Nana heard what she had eaten, she sat quite silently for a moment and then announced," Oh well, it was delicious!" For me, that was the true character of my grandmother. She chose to laugh rather than weep! Blindness as well as a heart problem necessitated a move for my grandmother to Sinnamon Retirement Village at Jindalee. By coincidence she was now back living right next door to the farm at Seventeen Mile Rocks where her family had moved when she was 19. The neighbouring Sinnamon family had owned much of the land where the suburb of Jindalee now stood (where I myself had spent all of my teenage years). Despite being blind, Nana attended weekly craft classes. Christmas was a treat for my own children with always a special gift, hand made by Nana, such as crocheted coat hangers and a variety of ornaments all created at her classes. Since a child, I had collected many beautifully made 'glory box' items that Nana regularly made for me. When I married, I used the place mats, table cloths, tea towels with crocheted edges and aprons that she had lovingly sewn for me through the years of my childhood. At my wedding, I </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLhUCwhfRhjm4HcbaRdlINVszwhvgyqk_Gwe6HCYWgANHOIHmtVwD6VicVFkVOWAgLeu5yfsyr86Exl8f2zYfABNC8p_jfvyRUYQXeCqhFzzWAVYGlPxxU3I0Z8nV8aqqGrB2P2MTS-9o/s1600/David+%26+Sharn%27s+Wedding+004.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406529060060772866" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLhUCwhfRhjm4HcbaRdlINVszwhvgyqk_Gwe6HCYWgANHOIHmtVwD6VicVFkVOWAgLeu5yfsyr86Exl8f2zYfABNC8p_jfvyRUYQXeCqhFzzWAVYGlPxxU3I0Z8nV8aqqGrB2P2MTS-9o/s320/David+%26+Sharn%27s+Wedding+004.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 320px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 225px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;">felt honoured to kneel on the 'wedding' cushion that my grandmother had knelt on at her own wedding. This photograph on the right is of my grandmother, Florence Jemima MacDade at my wedding reception. She had been known by her middle name since she had arrived in Australia aged 11 in 1913. She told me that she had thought the name Jemima to be 'very old fashioned' and that Florence was 'much more modern'. I gave my second daughter the middle name Jemima after my grandmother but she couldn't understand how I liked the name. But I think she was secretly pleased, and I had, after all, spent my childhood with a favourite big walking talking doll named Florence in her honour! My grandmother was a great presence in my life. I am sure that she had her faults as we all do, but to me she was a wonderful role model and in my admiring eyes, close to perfect. She loved me unconditionally and she always made me feel special. I know that other people will have their own memories of Nana that probably will be quite different from mine. I believe that it was a wonderful privilege to be graced with the grandmother I had. She gave me many gifts throughout my life, the greatest of which was herself. I have been blessed to know and love her. Jemima Florence MacDade (White) </span><span style="color: black;">19-12-1902 - 15-10-1995</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKkTA4-P0sDV6YatL4sK8iKDHuXzQ4hpl11jebRWba5Q5m7obqRGghX-DiJjMu-rd30hGju4L927qR5fNlpAniekS5hftdtArYpa8Hzv-REtwEBM1dwOACdnYjgEbWmpQYLm0v-uXST8/s1600/Jemima+Florence+001.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407105243194212002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKkTA4-P0sDV6YatL4sK8iKDHuXzQ4hpl11jebRWba5Q5m7obqRGghX-DiJjMu-rd30hGju4L927qR5fNlpAniekS5hftdtArYpa8Hzv-REtwEBM1dwOACdnYjgEbWmpQYLm0v-uXST8/s320/Jemima+Florence+001.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 329px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 218px;" /></span></a>Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-37265431812965590482009-11-17T02:43:00.000-08:002017-09-12T00:37:32.168-07:00'When grandma was a lassie...' E V Harburg 1898-1981<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSfzSN3mT6bRXjmd33fxwdfOlljG6OefHKGBq2uqDNM195G7JDIp2EujDQzaFuHkhSpnKtCr7Nid_RLRRDyBb0S84wMcPDaBV45Q8J708S2aH3x0FLqdI8NNV4ip4Oy79WIdxSXIuF_s/s1600-h/brookend+011.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2HhyMgwSCPJ82DscroSJczRV_8U2rsJFYQLchy8x6Y6dg4iSDTCI3-qUKeYKGIWvJ4ZcnO0Mb0nSFQfe_UaCpb9KX_WCnOy3LDpBjLrZDl0A91KdWgpLCxg0UO5f1gsC59W2jgpaCel0/s1600-h/Jemima+Florence+002.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410527043885789314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2HhyMgwSCPJ82DscroSJczRV_8U2rsJFYQLchy8x6Y6dg4iSDTCI3-qUKeYKGIWvJ4ZcnO0Mb0nSFQfe_UaCpb9KX_WCnOy3LDpBjLrZDl0A91KdWgpLCxg0UO5f1gsC59W2jgpaCel0/s320/Jemima+Florence+002.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 182px;" /></a> <br />
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<span style="color: black;">Jemima Florence White was born on the 19th of December, 1902 in Brookend, Co Tyrone, Northern Ireland.The second daughter of Hugh Eston and Sarah White (M.S. Thompson) joined her older sister Violet Victoria Maude(1897), brothers William Thomas (1898) and Samuel John Clarke (1901) aged 5, 3 and 1 year. The family was later blessed by the birth of another son, Andrew Hugh Thompson in 1905. Brookend is situated on the west shore of Loch Neagh, just south of Ardboe( Arboe). In the very cold and wet winter month of December, Jemima Florence was born on the family farm ' Carrig-na-gule' in Brookend near the shores of Loch Neagh. December,the month she was born, would have seen the shoreline of the Loch, partially flooded and boggy, despite the waterline of Loch Neagh having gradually receded since 1840. Jemima's father, Hugh Eston White was a flax farmer and the farmland and shore of the Loch became the playground for Jemima and her siblings until 1913, the year that the family left Ireland for Australia.In the summer months the shores of Loch Neagh would have been transformed into a lush grassland where Jemima Florence and her sister and brothers could frolick amongst local plants such as bog cotton, ragged robin, marsh cinquefoil and flowering rush. Each Spring, the children would have awoken to the calls of cuckoos, curlews and warblers, and Brookend would have echoed with the noisy cries of black headed gulls which bred on the islands offshore. When the sun shone, Jemima would surely have delighted in seeing the waters of Loch Neagh shimmer with thousands of dancing dragonflies. </span><br />
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It must have been a beautiful vista, every summer, with the fields of Carrig-na-gule<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcfzRZeEWK1LkCrG0Kepxz56bkIMSdq2tcUyOhJnxGns0_aqgEqvibhu_85lizUYhR68WjCr4Qht4Vuok7bUp9mrZsyKMsrYaJPGEnMmrw-757QrUyV5t9DpWLG_D0H8qpU03xpy72lFA/s1600-h/brookend+004.jpg"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><span style="color: black;">blanketed with the blue flowers of the flax plant. Since 1952 there has been little flax grown in Northern Ireland, however in the early 1900's about 18,000 acres of land was planted with the flax plant. Carrig-na-gule was part of the thriving Linen Industry in Northern Ireland and for the White family flax provided a very substantial income. The family had domestic servants as well as farm labourers employed to help Sarah in the home and Hugh on the farm. Jemima Florence well may have loved the silky feel of the fine brown flax seed as a child, as she held them and let them run through her fingers. 40% of the flax seed is made up of oil which gives the seeds a soft feel similiar to soap. She may have watched the farm workers use the seed fiddles with a bow at the front which moved back and forth to rotate a dispenser which threw the seed in an arc onto the ploughed fields. The farm would have humm</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdkqe-wzMHh3q0_EBPZBWeQ58B0toZauJPfiKhndkGS3MLoFqp6NdsregUkOq3uuXexV5tht8m_P-j4Wf4bSFsJrnSWC2XRs18yoYtfhgZnL3S2Jy8K0c2GigsAr8PNgFHdDCDaI7XDNU/s1600-h/brookend+007.jpg"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><span style="color: black;">ed with the 'singing' of the seed fiddles as the planting took place each spring. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">© Copyright <a href="http://www.geograph.ie/profile/2282" property="cc:attributionName" rel="cc:attributionURL dct:creator" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif;" title="View profile" xmlns:cc="http://creativecommons.org/ns#">Kenneth Allen</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif;"> and licensed for </span><a href="http://www.geograph.ie/reuse.php?id=120259" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif;">reuse</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif;"> under this </span><a about="http://s0.geograph.org.uk/photos/12/02/120259_38661d51.jpg" class="nowrap" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/" rel="license" style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif; white-space: nowrap;" title="Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Licence">Creative Commons Licence</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif;">.</span></span></td></tr>
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If the weather was kind, at Carrig-na-gule, the harvest would have taken place in April, autumn in Ireland. Linen is the oldest woven fibre in the world and the growing of flax from which it is woven is a labour intensive process. The farm on which Jemima Florence grew up would have produced a fine quality linen because the year round damp conditions and moory ground were perfect for producing successful flax crops. Each year, when the blue flax flower appeared, life on the farm became very busy. After the harvest, the flax boles were placed in bogs where the fibres gradually separated beneath the water. The strong stench of the flax bogs would have been a familiar smell to the young Jemima Florence during the months of August to September each year. It was in one of these bogs where the flax lay in heavy layers in the murky waters, that the young Jemima Florence almost drowned after falling in and becoming trapped beneath the flax. She was lucky that a worker on the farm heard the cries of her sister and rescued her from a near death. The flax bogs were a dangerous hazard for children on these farms in Northern Ireland and many children were not so fortunate as<span style="color: black;"></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Jemima was.The school that Jemima and</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSkfhVHRM13gGYyIG6F2Lahy5zHNrwy3Zy2jloOaavWFx5SxwRHUDDe_exvBtJLKRyd5UgbLQL9vYiGoUgqBi3rABcT_qsUf1VnwUf8h0MYTJQOr6c-leTfv8fnv7bm8b72MNSFcCwd2Q/s1600-h/brookend+006.jpg"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><span style="color: black;"> her siblings attended would have looked much like the one in the photograph below. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image Wikipedia ©©</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black;">There would have been no ride to school for these children of a busy farmer and his wife. The children would have walked quite a distance to attend the little school on country lanes that remained damp even in the dry weather. Perhaps when Jemima was very young, the household servant Minnie Coleman or later Lizzie Devlin might have accompanied her to school. In the 1901 Irish census, the family employed Minnie as a domestic servant and a Patrick Brady, as a farm servant. Both were of Roman Catholic faith unlike the family who were regular attenders at the Arboe Church of Ireland. In this same census Hugh is aged 30, Sarah 27, Violet 4, and William 2. Samuel John Clarke was born after the April census that same year.In the census year of 1901 the White family </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3JfnXEg2mMlc4QGikNBo-M9_Vd_rVeR0Z4w34ErNWDcWILRxXyvOueJEbtG8gxoOC-U99ZRL9ty_MBgXFGPNX25EtsQjmv5MrAYabMykZqrAok1oy-KZDfsyw1yH50u6b72mjB3dHUk/s1600-h/brookend+008.jpg"><span style="color: black;"></span></a><span style="color: black;">lived at Brookend, in the Electoral Division of Kilkopy, Parish of Ardboe in County Tyrone.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGY6rEi8AeIjWMMxBeOI9DszV6t4gWPqUtOU-XAYjCNTKOoNYqUrjWz-FiRmZ3AJtEMns1E2YnQe2ZmXDIsG_KPQbZEYtDZYRiZ2lJlclJgZCgnVQ1WiwfNnk9bYPWSqcRNFpRhMpVZtI/s1600/Ardboe_Church_of_Ireland_-_geograph.org.uk_-_300697.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="479" data-original-width="640" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGY6rEi8AeIjWMMxBeOI9DszV6t4gWPqUtOU-XAYjCNTKOoNYqUrjWz-FiRmZ3AJtEMns1E2YnQe2ZmXDIsG_KPQbZEYtDZYRiZ2lJlclJgZCgnVQ1WiwfNnk9bYPWSqcRNFpRhMpVZtI/s320/Ardboe_Church_of_Ireland_-_geograph.org.uk_-_300697.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Church Ireland, Ardboe, County Tyrone Image Wikipedia ©©</td></tr>
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Jemima Florence, along with her brothers and sister were all christened in the Arboe Church of Ireland Church. There are many White Baptisms and marriages in this church and quite a number of these Whites were cousins, aunts and uncles of Jemima Florence White. George R White who owned the farm next to Hugh White was most likely a cousin of Hugh's. George married Mary Eliza Harkness on 4 may, 1898 at the Albany Presbyterian Church, Arboe. One of George's daughters, Annie married John Watters. John and Annie were second cousins, through John's mother Sarah Louisa Watters (m.s.White). Both John Watters and Annie Watters (m.s.White) were known to be cousins of Jemima Florence. White. It is apparent that Hugh Eston White's father William White had relations if not siblings in Co Tyrone. William probably owned land in Co Tyrone which may account for his son Hugh White's move to Brookend in Co Tyone from Co Londonderry, prior to his marriage to Sarah Thompson. Many years later, in the 1970's, Hugh's son William Thomas White returned to Brookend for a visit. A cousin named John A Watters ( a grandson of Sarah Louisa White who married a Watters) who lives in Co Tyrone, has told me that he drove 'Willie' White all around Co Tyrone on that visit. Apparently William had commented on how slowly John drove. He had told John that at 'home' in Australia 'we drive very fast'. Jemima's sister, Violet ( married surname Baxter)returned many times to Brookend over the years to stay with a cousin, Violet Watters who still lives near the land on which Hugh and Sarah White farmed. jemima Florence's daughter, Charmaine also visited Brookend a few years go with her husband, Warren Sheehan and whilst there they visited Violet Watters. She excused herself for a moment, while they sat in her living room, and with true Irish hospitality, rushed into her kitchen to 'whip' up a fresh sponge cake, returning triumphantly with a cream cake to befit royalty!<br />
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<span style="color: black;">Hugh Eston White and his wife Sarah (M.S. Thompson) both came from farming families in nearby County Londonderry. The marriage too place in St John's Church of Ireland, in the parish of Desertlyn, Cookstown in County Londonderry, on the 27 th of May, 1896. Hugh's address was given as Brookend, Co Tyrone and Sarah'</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVLVVwBfcnrwHW6PVKGDND5YlpbmAihTWMEVEETFwhYCrONAHkf3LXx1TZhqEc7RUGyYBngl3OGC65IEqOimB8J-OI4i39KRBufo8ekP2FSlNHShKt2HFCOtSUpb0E5AJCWq19qs9YQJk/s1600-h/brookend+012.jpg"><span style="color: black;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410537133916283266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVLVVwBfcnrwHW6PVKGDND5YlpbmAihTWMEVEETFwhYCrONAHkf3LXx1TZhqEc7RUGyYBngl3OGC65IEqOimB8J-OI4i39KRBufo8ekP2FSlNHShKt2HFCOtSUpb0E5AJCWq19qs9YQJk/s320/brookend+012.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: right; height: 270px; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></span></a><span style="color: black;">s address as Ballycomlargy, County Londonderry. Witnesses to the marriage were Thomas J Purvis and Margaret A Galway . It is likely that they were family friends or relatives. Above, is a map showing the proximity of the counties of Tyrone and Londonderry( Derry). Hugh was born in Londonderry on the 18 September, to parents William John White and Sarah McIlfatrick. William and Sarah were married in 1867 in the Churchtown Presbyterian Church, Tamlaght O'Crilly in the civil district of Margherafelt, County Londonderry. The couple had three children, Hugh, the eldest in 1868, Robert John born 21 June 1870, and a daughter, Mary Ann born 22 April, 1871, all born in Bellaghy, Ballyscullion, Magherafelt. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">The parents of Sarah Thompson were Joseph Shaw Thompson and Sarah Jane Clarke. Joseph, a farmer, married Sarah Jane in 1858 in the Woods Chapel, in the Parish of Artrea, District Margherafelt in County Londonderry. Joseph's father's name is given as Andrew Thompson and Sarah's as Samuel Clarke. Witnesses to the marriage were John Marshall and James Lennox. The children of Joseph and Sarah Thompson were, Andrew, Samuel (birth dates unknown) James Richardson (1865), Martha Jane (1868) and Sarah in 1870. Joseph Shaw Thompson remarried in 1874, four years after the birth of Sarah and as his marriage certificate states he was a widower, it appears that Sarah's mother died somewhere between 1870 and 1874 when Sarah was only four years old. Joseph's second wife was Eliza Winning ( m.s. Hutchison), a widow. She had previously married Samuel Winning and had a son by him also named Samuel. The second marriage also took place in the Woods Chapel Artea, Margherafelt, Londonderry. In the 1911 census of Ireland, Eliza is aged 81 and is living with her son Samuel 44, wife Sarah Ann (m.s. Hutchison) and children, Samuel 7, Robert 3, John 2 and Elizabeth 8 months.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">The 1858-9 Griffith's Valuation (land) shows Joseph and Andrew Thompson as occupiers of land in the Poor Law Union of Margherafelt,Barony:Loughinisland and the Parish of Artrea,Townland: Derrygarve in Co Londonderry. Andrew Thompson, Jemima Florence's maternal great grandfather died 8 february, 1876 in Largy, Co Londonderry. Both William White and Samuel Clarke are listed in the Poor Law Union of Margherafelt, Parish of Desertlyn and Townland of Ballycomlargy. The death of Samuel Clarke is recorded on 11 February, 1859 at Portstewart, Co Londonderry. Looking further back into history, in the Defenders of Londonderry list of 1689 the surnames of White, Thompson and Clarke appear, so it is very possible that these families were a part of the early plantation of Ulster</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">The probable origin of the surnames Thompson and Shaw was in Scotland while the White and Clarke families would have moved from England to Ireland. Only a few Mcilfatrick families appear to have been living in Ireland in the Tamlaght O'Crilly area in County Londonderry and this surname appears to also be of Scottish origin.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">The 1911 census of Ireland shows Sarah White living at No. 9 Brookend aged 36, with daughter Violet Victoria,14, and sons William Thomas 12,and Hugh Thompson aged 5 years. Also at this residence on the night of the census was an uncle, John Clarke aged 75, a retired farmer and servants, David Guess, 36 and Elizabeth Devlin 24(both Roman Catholic). It is very likely that this domestic servant, Elizabeth Devlin is the same person who accompanied the family to Australia. She was always known as Lizzie by the family. Hugh was absent from the farm on that census night but can be found staying at 15 Victoria Terrace, Portstewart, Co Londonderry as a visitor of one Matilda Junk. Hugh aged 43 is accompanied by daughter Jemima Florence 8, and John Clarke 10. We can only surmise as to why Hugh and two of his children were visiting in Portstewart on that Sunday night. Perhaps one of the children needed to see a specialist doctor or perhaps they were simply visiting relatives in the area. It might be assumed that Matilda Junk may well have been an aunt on the Clarke side of the family and might have been the same Matilda Clarke who married John Campbell Junk in 1880 in Sandhills Presbyterian Church, Desertcreat, Cookstown.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">In 1912 among the many signatures on the Ulster Covenant in protest against Home Rule in Ireland were those of Hugh and Sarah White. In the act of signing this petition, Hugh and Sarah demonstrated the strong feelings they had for their homeland. We can only guess as to how difficult it must have been for them to uproot their family and to undertake the long journey to Australia to make a new home for themselves.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Hugh White suffered ill health as a result of the damp Irish climate. On his doctor's advice he reluctantly agreed to immigrate. Hugh's first choice was Canada, where it is believed he had a brother. Canada was deemed as unsuitable a cold climate for Hugh's chest complaint as Ireland was and Hugh's next choice was New Zealand. Hugh's doctor made it quickly apparent that New Zealand was also not a climate in which Hugh could thrive. Sarah's siblings had all emigrated to New Zealand in the 1890's but in 1907, her eldest brother, Andrew had moved to Australia and established himself as a sheep farmer there. He had been allotted a property in a land ballot at Kaimkillenbun near Dalby on the Darling Downs in Queensland and had established himself there as a well respected part of the farming community. In 1913, Andrew Thompson sponsored Hugh and Sarah White and their children to emigrate to Australia.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">This is brief account of the early years of Jemima Florence White's life in Brookend, County Tyrone, Northern Ireland as well as her Irish ancestry as far back as her great grandparents both maternal and paternal. Irish family history is not easy to trace from the distant shores of Australia. The Irish have been fairly slow to allow internet access to genealogical records and many valuable records were sadly lost in a fire in the record office in Belfast. In the future, I hope to add to this Irish family tree as more Parish records become more freely available and perhaps I may even visit the Emerald Isle myself to see where my grandmother, Jemima Florence White was born.</span></div>
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Hugh Eston White, his wife Sarah and children Violet, William, John, Jemima and Andrew left Ireland on board the ship 'The Aryshire'. They arrived in Brisbane, Queensland in Australia in June of 1913. In the next Chapter I hope to cover, 'A New Start' ,'The ship' 'Life on the Darling Downs', Seventeen Mile Rocks' and more.<span style="color: black;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">Sources: Ancestry.com</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Emerald Ancestors</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Ancestry Ireland.com</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">The Ulster Historical Foundation PRONI ( Public Record Office of Northern Ireland)</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">To John A Watters who lives in Co Tyrone Northern Ireland and who has kindly looked up the Arboe C. O. I parish records for me and been a constant source of inspiration via email, Thankyou.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">To my partner in the search for our White ancestry, and whose birthday I share, my aunt, Charmaine Sheehan (m.s. MacDade), my love and thanks for the support, information and photographs you have given me. </span></div>
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Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-3518381042666913822009-11-03T15:20:00.000-08:002011-04-15T18:11:25.423-07:00'history now comes equipped with a fast forward button' Gore Vidal 1925<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsMtDyS3yvL6qvK4AuaHEDrqrTLo8VJQMPRrtx5RNgDltDlABIopqXkMhP6wsO6vWbe9_LZvNkEL8PNo4DOYcVd4MceFwMYyCoUF3t2b3ZWLoaCe_4LOwRqJfLyqDjHDTBuOjOoAPENgk/s1600-h/The+Macdade+Family+Colin+002.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 215px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400022133358509426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsMtDyS3yvL6qvK4AuaHEDrqrTLo8VJQMPRrtx5RNgDltDlABIopqXkMhP6wsO6vWbe9_LZvNkEL8PNo4DOYcVd4MceFwMYyCoUF3t2b3ZWLoaCe_4LOwRqJfLyqDjHDTBuOjOoAPENgk/s320/The+Macdade+Family+Colin+002.jpg" /></a> <br /><div><span style="color:#000000;">I began researching my family history in 1998 after an elderly great aunt told me the story of her birth. She was not one for speaking of the past but on that day, she offered me a rare glimpse in to her childhood. She was born by the roadside after her mother who was in labour, found the trip in to the nearest town in a horse and buggy too rough. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#000000;">She went on to tell me how she had run through sugar cane fields bare foot as a fearless young 3 year old despite the snakes that lurked there. With a wistful look in her eye, and passion in her voice, she painted a picture of the high standing Queensland farmhouse that was her home, of an old fashioned laundry beneath the house with nothing but a dirt floor, a copper for washing the clothes in and snakes for company. In the heat of the Queensland summers the snakes crawled up through the floorboards in the house to seek cooler air and her mother, my great grandmother, Lillie Herminnie Nargar, often had to beat them out of the house with a broom. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#000000;">I listened enraptured as she recounted a story from her childhood. Her mother had gone to visit a family on a neighbouring farm and left the young four year old Dorothy at home with her father. Strong willed and stubborn and decidedly cross that she had been left at home, little Dorothy decided that she, also, was going to visit and took off on a short cut through the sugar cane felds. The cane was at its highest, ready for harvest and full of deadly snakes. She wore no shoes. Several hours later it became apparent to her family that she was lost and a search party was dispatched by her distraught parents. Four hours later, as the sun was setting, over the waving acres of cane, Dorothy arrived at the neghbour's farm, none the worse for her long walk and wondering what all the fuss was about!</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#000000;">I had grown up with a photograph of my great grandmother wearing a Land Army Uniform in our home and I had never even known she had lived on the land! I asked no questions that day and my great aunt died shortly after our meeting. I was left with a fierce longing to know more about my family but both my parents and all grandparents had passed away. If only I had taken an interest in my past earlier. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#000000;">I had no idea where my mother was born. I knew she was living in New Zealand as a baby and until she was 5 years old from the few photographs I had. I knew nothing of my mother's father as her parents had divorced when she was very young. I had questions swirling around in my head and no one to answer them. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#000000;">Time cannot be turned back and nothing can replace the stories told by those who own them. In hindsight, I regret that I did not ask my parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles and their friends so many things, but I am grateful that I live in an age of computer technology. A computer can never tell me how my great aunt ran barefoot through a canefield or how my parents met, but it has helped me to discover who my ancestors were and how they lived. from the facts I find through wonderfully helpful websites such as </span><a href="http://www.ancestry.com/"><span style="color:#000000;">http://www.ancestry.com/</span></a><span style="color:#000000;">, ,</span><a href="http://www.findmypast.com/"><span style="color:#000000;">http://www.findmypast.com/</span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> (and many others) I have found the names,addresses, occupations, religions, births, marriages and deaths of manyof my own and my husband's forbears. Not content to stop there, I have also traced their siblings and cousins. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#000000;">By researching the places where they lived and what was happening in the world at the time they lived, I have been able to build up a picture of the past. Google maps and Google Earth can show us exactly where our ancestors lived. I have 'walked' down the streets and seen the very homes that many of my forbears lived in. History becomes very real when you look at the row of terrace houses where your coal mining great great grandparents lived in Glasgow in the 1800's or the beauty of the grounds of Heaton Hall in Northumberland where my great great great grandfather was the head gardner in the late 1700's.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#000000;">Along the journey, I have learned some valuable lessons. As useful a tool that the internet is, it cannot ever really replace the 'real life' tales of the past that are past on verbally. These are the real clues to finding out about the lives of our past families. If you gather as much information from the family around you as you can, your computer will take you to places you haven't imagined. In a search for my maternal grandfather, which had been fruitless for some years, a google search of his unusual surname resulted in a match with a Facebook profile. I contacted this person on Facebook who is the son of my mother's first cousin. He lives in the USA but he put me in touch with his parents, cousins, who were previously unkown to our family. After exchanging a number of emails we arranged to meet ( no easy feat as we live in different states). We have since met up on more occasions and have become fast friends. On the way we have taken an amazing journey into the past. The internet has been our main vehicle of transport back in time but we couldn't have made the journey without the help of the memories of surviving relatives. These memories were the 'clues' that led us ever onwards and backwards and especially interestingly to the now infamous Uncle Rex. Rex Morley Hoyes, aka Rex M Morley-Hoyes, aka Rex Morley-Morley, aka Fessenden Charles Rex Morley-Morley, Viscomte de Borenden......</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#000000;">I think that the 'hunt', as we call it, for Uncle Rex has been all the more pleasurable because we have undertaken the journey together. So, for that, I must thank my newly found cousins and friends. As I said before, two heads are better than one......</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#000000;">The internet has led us to newspaper items about Rex's life, his occupations, marriages and divorces, his part played in WW2 and not least of all, his court cases! Even to the death of his sister in law in 1934, the first recorded death to be contributed to slimming pills. </span><a href="http://www.timesonline/"><span style="color:#000000;">http://www.timesonline/</span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> holds a fabulous wealth of information in the archives of the London Times. It is not always possible to visit Archives in person, especially if the family you are researching is on the other side of the world (most are if you live in Australia!) and without my trusty (so far) laptop I would not have taken exciting trips into many National Archives, War Memorials, Museums and Libraries all over the world. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#000000;">Recently I and my computer ventured into the family history of my husband's uncle by marriage. His background was Norwegian. Now that was interesting! I speak no Norwegian. Norwegians had no fixed surnames until 1923.... and then there's a yacht with a very rude name!....... another story for another day. Sharn</span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div>Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4119597586153589979.post-14172767246381043072009-11-02T04:19:00.000-08:002017-11-29T15:23:53.070-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGpUhbaoJUWYdUAGkU37dFshr0io3tS6vometbkSqQFLsnYCN00aJAxTVJ9uNaApl4Rc_0pu5iFMhVgWWFqLadoCKwqsbP6WAhI_PglDjCVHmbA1rzWKeqAVFgmHCw1i45zxNTzuB-wOQ/s1600-h/Sharn+%26Reece+001.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399482135926027650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGpUhbaoJUWYdUAGkU37dFshr0io3tS6vometbkSqQFLsnYCN00aJAxTVJ9uNaApl4Rc_0pu5iFMhVgWWFqLadoCKwqsbP6WAhI_PglDjCVHmbA1rzWKeqAVFgmHCw1i45zxNTzuB-wOQ/s320/Sharn+%26Reece+001.jpg" style="cursor: hand; float: left; height: 320px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 291px;" /></a> <br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><u>ANCESTORS BURIED IN CARDBOARD BOXES </u></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Today I exhumed my forbears, dusted them off and took a pleasurable trip down memory lane. Before you decide that the buriel practices in my family are somewhat odd, I must explain that each time I encounter a dreaded 'brick wall' or seemingly the end of a search for ancestors, I carefully archive all information regarding my predecessors away in well labelled boxes. When I next resume a search for any particular ancestor I have my notes and sources at hand. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">With so many people in one's ancestry to find, it is easy to become preoccupied with placing names on the tree and forget about the people. </span>I like to discover more than just a name. Once I have found an address through Census or Birth, Marriage and Death records a google search can reveal much about the address- if it is a freestanding house, a business or even the address of a bank as in the case of my great uncle Rex. Between operating a secret airfield at his Hampshire property during WW2, cruising the Mediterranean in his large yacht or busy acting as the Air advisor to the Nizam of Hyderabad (in the days before it became a part of India in 1948) Uncle Rex Morley Hoyes' addresses included (somewhat suspiciously) a Swiss bank, George V Hotel in Paris, Tangiers, Marjoca in Spain, Berlin among others. Clearly uncle Rex's addresses were a clear indication of the type of life he led. His Marwell Hall address in Hamphsire, was a home owned once by King Henry VIII which had been gifted to the Boleyn family. A google image search provides wonderful images of Marwell Hall and of the steam yacht 'Warrior', which sadly was requisitioned by the British navy in 1939 and sunk in the English channel in 1940 by 50 german planes. (yes it WAS that big!)</div>
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<span style="color: black;">Now, how did I get onto uncle Rex again. He keeps popping up. I was talking about the ancestors in the cardboard boxes....Today, I decided to dig some of them up. I pulled old family photographs out in order to scan them to my computer - a job I have been meaning to do for </span><span style="color: black;">some time. Scanning was postponed, however, as every old photograph I looked at told a story about my ancestors. I marvelled at the changes in fashions over the generations. There was a wondeful photograph of my great great grandmother Barabara Lena Haberling who came to Australia in 1871 from Switzerland as a 4 year old with her four daughters and son taken in the 1890's. I found five generation photo that appeared in the Brisbane Courier Mail in October 1955 when I was 8 months old. The occasion of that photograph was my great great grandmother's 88th Birthday celebrations held in Maryborough. I suddenly wondered, how often does the five generations occur? In my case our five generations were all females - myself, my </span><span style="color: black;">mother, my grandmother, my great grandmother and my great great grandmother. All mothers and daughters. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">I spent a wonderful day pouring over pictures of old homes and farms, cars and buggies, weddings and baby pictures. Needless to say no scanning was done but I am determined not to leave the forbears 'buried' in their cardboard boxes for so long again. I recognised people that I had not previously known the identity of since last viewing the photographs and discovered clues to lead me in new directions. Over the years I have gathered family photographs from a number of family members and sometimes from unexpected sources. The email is a most useful way to connect to others. My motto is 'Be Bold' and send an email. Whether it is information I am looking for or photographs, I email everyone! I mean, they can only say no! And some do though I have generally found regarding genealogy people are extremely generous</span>. </div>
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<span style="color: black;">The old saying,'two heads are better than one' is most appropriate when it comes to family history. Someone else often has that missing piece that enables you to put the puzzle together. Recently I was looking for information about my husband David's great grandfather in New Zealand. We knew a little from a brief encounter with a half cousin some years earlier but with whom we had lost contact. I emailed almost every library in New Zealand with a request for information. A kind librarian in the Christchurch library, sent my email on to the Hawarden library, whereby another librarian sent it on to the Waipari Historical Society. The kind president there, John, cycled to his local library the very next day to look for the information I was asking about. John not only kindly found much of the information I needed, but what was most amazing, was that he found someone who knew quite a lot about the family I was searching for. After that round about generous journey, quite incredibly my new contact turned out to be the cousin we had met years before. He knew much more about the great grandfather he shared with my husband through different marriages. There's that 6 degrees of separation!! </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Back to uncle Rex (I can't help it -he is most intriguing), I recently emailed an Air Museum in the UK. They had a moderate fee for information about the secret airfield that uncle Rex had built on the land at Marwell Hall. When the researcher at the Solent Sky Museum discovered something notable, that he had previously not known about this airfield, he was so excited that he waived my fee and sent me the information.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Some libraries have an 'ask a librarian' service which can be really helpful. I have been sent parcels of photocopied material at no charge through this service. The State library in Brisbane only permits you one question per year. I suppose the librarians need to go home occasionally! Don't worry if you forget and ask too many in any one year. Trust me the librarian will let you know. 'Mrs White. You have already asked your ONE question for this year. Please kindly remember, you are only permitted ONE question.' Infairness to myself, a year is a long time. It's easy to forget. (Actually, I knew that I had already asked my one question but I didn't really think they kept tabs!)</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Well, I must go and study the death certificate that arrived from England today. It's great uncle Rex's. I'll have a new address to google and perhaps a clue as to how he came to be the Viscomte de Borenden after declaring himself bankrupt after not being paid by the Nizam of Hyderabad for flying in guns and ammunition to help Hyderabad from being gobbled up by India. Not to mention his arms trafficking for Israel and 'activities in France' post WW2 ( he was suspected of transporting displaced persons). </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">Do I seem obsessed with uncle Rex. he was, after all a 'Great' Uncle! MI5 didn't share my sentiments however and the 'Guy Liddell Diaries' (head of MI5 during the war) is full of objectional ponderings about him. I have so much more to discover about his colourful life. It will be some time before great uncle Rex is buried in a cardboard box! </span></div>
Sharn Whitehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12322295467277564960noreply@blogger.com3