I'm increasingly of the view that it's more like 3 or 4 degrees of separation. Just saying...
Friday, July 20, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
a sea captain, me hearties
yes, a sea captain. Slight hitch - at first I had him confused with someone completely different but, thanks to the self-published family histories mum has plied me with, I'm back on track.
Funnily enough, the sea captain is supposed to have been a Cornish-man, just like the imposter I had previously identified.
I'm pleased about that. For some reason I'm keen on Cornwall.
The disappointing thing about the family history about Laura Williams (later Hardy) is that amongst the dozens of pages she only gave one line to her mum's death. Was she too traumatised to reflect on it, or were they just not close? The only thing I'm sure about is that I'll most probably never know.
Funnily enough, the sea captain is supposed to have been a Cornish-man, just like the imposter I had previously identified.
I'm pleased about that. For some reason I'm keen on Cornwall.
The disappointing thing about the family history about Laura Williams (later Hardy) is that amongst the dozens of pages she only gave one line to her mum's death. Was she too traumatised to reflect on it, or were they just not close? The only thing I'm sure about is that I'll most probably never know.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
family papers
Mum has given me a couple of folders full of family papers, along with three different family history books - all self published (big surprise).
I started looking through and was a bit taken aback to find papers ranging from birth and baptism certificates, to the receipt for Ba and Grandad's green lounge suite, a wedding cake recipe, a couple of Cocky, the cockatoo's (very well preserved) feathers, the bill for dad's funeral... the list goes on.
There were ration books, a scattering of random letters and a variety of family trees.
I didn't expect to find myself the new keeper of family documents.
Tomorrow I'll try and find a better box to keep it all in. Somehow it deserves more than its current home: a plastic supermarket bag.
I started looking through and was a bit taken aback to find papers ranging from birth and baptism certificates, to the receipt for Ba and Grandad's green lounge suite, a wedding cake recipe, a couple of Cocky, the cockatoo's (very well preserved) feathers, the bill for dad's funeral... the list goes on.
There were ration books, a scattering of random letters and a variety of family trees.
I didn't expect to find myself the new keeper of family documents.
Tomorrow I'll try and find a better box to keep it all in. Somehow it deserves more than its current home: a plastic supermarket bag.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Burwood Avenue, Maori Hill
I went to Maori Hill today, to look at the house where Margaret Gabites (nee Bragg) died in 1927.
Funnily enough it looks exactly the same as the google maps image - fenced and hedged, with a pair of garages and not much to see beyond.
The houses there today look quite old, and quite flash. The thing is the numbers seem to jump from 5 to 19 - I couldn't see number 13 anywhere at all. I wonder if humbler dwellings were demolished and their numbers with them, or if they where so cunningly hidden behind the hedges that I missed them altogether.
It's a lovely part of town - near Highgate - with amazing views across the city and at least one cafe I'd like to visit next time...
Funnily enough it looks exactly the same as the google maps image - fenced and hedged, with a pair of garages and not much to see beyond.
The houses there today look quite old, and quite flash. The thing is the numbers seem to jump from 5 to 19 - I couldn't see number 13 anywhere at all. I wonder if humbler dwellings were demolished and their numbers with them, or if they where so cunningly hidden behind the hedges that I missed them altogether.
It's a lovely part of town - near Highgate - with amazing views across the city and at least one cafe I'd like to visit next time...
train smash
In 1892 Robert Bruce Henderson Munro was walking through the streets of Dunedin, after work, I think, when he somehow stumbled onto the railway line and was hit by a train. It wasn't a complete train, but an engine being shunted. He got quite a few column inches in the paper, though they weren't entirely flattering. The article announces - almost in disbelief - that he didn't smell of alcohol - and that he lived with his daughter in Mornington. In death he got his 15 minutes - or 15 inches - of fame: it was reported in papers around the colony.
At the time he was 65, widowed, working as a gardener. The only other piece of evidence I have about him is from Margaret's (his daughter's) death certificate. He is listed as a bootmaker on that, but according to the paper was a caretaker at the provincial government buildings and latterly a gardener.
They found a wee bit of his flesh on the cowcatcher, but cause of death was a broken neck. I'd like to report that he died instantly, but that was not the case. He was breathing for at least three minutes after witnesses reached him.
He is buried in Dunedin - southern cemetery - with quite a few family members, including his wife Euphemia, around him. The photograph suggests he doesn't have a headstone of his own, though, and my great-great-granny - his daughter Margaret - is elsewhere, in Timaru, with her husband, Peter Herdman.
At the time he was 65, widowed, working as a gardener. The only other piece of evidence I have about him is from Margaret's (his daughter's) death certificate. He is listed as a bootmaker on that, but according to the paper was a caretaker at the provincial government buildings and latterly a gardener.
They found a wee bit of his flesh on the cowcatcher, but cause of death was a broken neck. I'd like to report that he died instantly, but that was not the case. He was breathing for at least three minutes after witnesses reached him.
He is buried in Dunedin - southern cemetery - with quite a few family members, including his wife Euphemia, around him. The photograph suggests he doesn't have a headstone of his own, though, and my great-great-granny - his daughter Margaret - is elsewhere, in Timaru, with her husband, Peter Herdman.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Jessie Forbes Williams
So, the question was: how would William Henry cope as a widower with a young family?
Answer: Marry his dead wife's sister.
In 1885, a year or less after his first wife's death, WH married Jessie Forbes.
Meanwhile, over the ditch, the Herriots were settled in Creswick - a Victorian mining town - where it's possible that William Herriot was involved in the rescue attempt following the 1882 mine disaster.
Trips to Shag Point, Creswick, and Riwaka, are pending... Further afield will have to wait.
Answer: Marry his dead wife's sister.
In 1885, a year or less after his first wife's death, WH married Jessie Forbes.
Meanwhile, over the ditch, the Herriots were settled in Creswick - a Victorian mining town - where it's possible that William Herriot was involved in the rescue attempt following the 1882 mine disaster.
Trips to Shag Point, Creswick, and Riwaka, are pending... Further afield will have to wait.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Helen Forbes Williams
Helen died in 1884, when she was only 46. A birth notice in the Otago Daily Times, dated 4th August, reports that she gave birth to a son.
One week later another notice reports her death.
Some of the death notices write of her as the "beloved wife" of William Henry Williams, mine manager at Shag Point. I hope so.
It's just that other reports from the time suggest that the mine was struggling - it was clearly a dangerous place to live and work - and there were inspections, inquiries and even court cases at different times. Was Helen subject to the same stress as her husband, or were her concerns limited to the domestic responsibilities that ultimately killed her?
Today it's hard to imagine that being a mother might be more dangerous than being a miner. Clearly, for Helen, it was.
I wonder if W H Williams drifted after her death. How did he cope as a widower with a young family, not least with his week-old son?
Eventually he become crown lands ranger - whatever that involved - in Timaru, but there a lots of gaps between.
My great-grandfather, Frederick Arthur Williams, would have been 14 when his mother died. How did he cope?
He didn't marry until 1893 - another nine years after his mother's death.
It's frustrating that the only way to find out about Helen is through her husband and sons. I'm waiting on her death certificate from BDM, hoping that might shed some further light on her very short life.
One week later another notice reports her death.
Some of the death notices write of her as the "beloved wife" of William Henry Williams, mine manager at Shag Point. I hope so.
It's just that other reports from the time suggest that the mine was struggling - it was clearly a dangerous place to live and work - and there were inspections, inquiries and even court cases at different times. Was Helen subject to the same stress as her husband, or were her concerns limited to the domestic responsibilities that ultimately killed her?
Today it's hard to imagine that being a mother might be more dangerous than being a miner. Clearly, for Helen, it was.
I wonder if W H Williams drifted after her death. How did he cope as a widower with a young family, not least with his week-old son?
Eventually he become crown lands ranger - whatever that involved - in Timaru, but there a lots of gaps between.
My great-grandfather, Frederick Arthur Williams, would have been 14 when his mother died. How did he cope?
He didn't marry until 1893 - another nine years after his mother's death.
It's frustrating that the only way to find out about Helen is through her husband and sons. I'm waiting on her death certificate from BDM, hoping that might shed some further light on her very short life.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
the first post
I've been playing at granny hunting - on and off - for quite a few years. Recently I bit the bullet, committed some dollars and some regular time to have a proper look into my past.
In some respects it's about who am I and where am I really, really from. In others it's just an excuse to muck about with dead people - cartoon bits and pieces and the occasional image from their lives or, most likely, the headstone shot marking their death and burial.
Still, there are already some interesting finds and a couple of mysteries to unravel. Did great- great- great- granny Herriot really die in a Melbourne lunatic asylum? Is there a link to the Channel Islands through William Jeyes Moore? I'm keen on that possibility - a great excuse to visit.
Geoff's Gaudion rellies all appear to have sprung from there, so he might be keen to have a look there one day as well.
Also, Riwaka is assuming far more interest that its size might suggest. My Clark and Fowler relations landed up there in the early 1840s, long before heading south to Ashburton. There is the slenderest chance that I might be related to my hairdresser. That would be cool.
The more I muck around in ancestry.com, papers past, and the like, the more New Zealand feels like the tiniest place...
In some respects it's about who am I and where am I really, really from. In others it's just an excuse to muck about with dead people - cartoon bits and pieces and the occasional image from their lives or, most likely, the headstone shot marking their death and burial.
Still, there are already some interesting finds and a couple of mysteries to unravel. Did great- great- great- granny Herriot really die in a Melbourne lunatic asylum? Is there a link to the Channel Islands through William Jeyes Moore? I'm keen on that possibility - a great excuse to visit.
Geoff's Gaudion rellies all appear to have sprung from there, so he might be keen to have a look there one day as well.
Also, Riwaka is assuming far more interest that its size might suggest. My Clark and Fowler relations landed up there in the early 1840s, long before heading south to Ashburton. There is the slenderest chance that I might be related to my hairdresser. That would be cool.
The more I muck around in ancestry.com, papers past, and the like, the more New Zealand feels like the tiniest place...
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