Exceptional Talk by Paul O'Keefe - 'The Girl Who Loved Ned Kelly'

All The Elements of a Great Story - Randwick Branch Library 12/04/12

Paul O'Keefe

There is no escaping the fact that bushranger Ned Kelly is an iconic part of the Australian historical narrative. Whether you think of him as a criminal or a victim of the times in which he lived, his story occupies an important place in Australian history.  Edward (Ned) Kelly, holds an undeniable fascination for every Australian and his story never fails to touch people in some way.

Paul O'Keefe, great great nephew of Steve Hart, (a member of the notorious Kelly gang), delivered an enthralling family story, which encompassed a tantalizing twist to the story of Ned Kelly's life, today at the Randwick Branch Library, in Sydney.

Some years ago, after finding papers and a scrapbook which belonged to his great great grandmother, Ettie (Esther) Hart, sister of bushranger, Steve Hart, Paul O'Keefe embarked on a research journey to discover truth in family anecdotes, and significantly, to provide the answer to a question which has long confused historians. Who was the real love of Ned Kelly's life? Paul O'Keefe's research offers convincing evidence that he has unearthed an illuminating new chapter in the real story of Ned Kelly.

Although it has long been known that Ned Kelly had a close female friend, wife or lover, the actual identity of this woman has been the subject of much controversy.

 Paul O'Keefe's narration had all the elements of a great story. It had a 'killer title' (no reflection on Ned) and without doubt, some of the most vivid characters in the history of Australia. The most exceptional element to this family and historically significant story, is the tremendous amount of thoroughly researched and documented evidence, which Paul presented orally and visually to illustrate his compelling proposal as to who really was the 'mystery' woman who loved Ned Kelly.

 Paul's engaging and passionate talk captured and held the attention of the entire audience.  Paul told his story in a most entertaining manner with contagious enthusiasm, humour and passion. The extraordinary and dynamic visual images in the powerpoint display meaningfully illustrated the previously unknown story of Ned Kelly's lover. As Paul O'Keefe's intriguing  personal, but historically significant, story unfolded, the potency of his research along with the startling revelations he divulged, created a new and entirely plausible narrative regarding the love of Ned Kelly's life. 

I am most grateful to Cassie and Ben Mercer of Inside History Magazine for the invitation to hear Paul O'Keefe's talk, entitled, 'The Girl Who Loved Ned Kelly'.  I am certain that fellow geneabloggers and family historians, Shauna Hicks and Jill Ball, who I sat with, as well as members of the Randwick Historical Society, will agree when I say that I felt as though we were all witnessing history! 

This is a story of great substance and one which I am certain will attract much positive attention. 

Paul O'Keefe with myself at the Randwick Branch Library

Cover of the latest Inside History Magazine

'Memory is the Diary that we all carry about with us' - Oscar Wilde : "The Importance of being Ernest"

'When thy mind 

Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies' - William Wordsworth 1798

Temple Hill - the original house.

There is nothing so likely to retrieve memories of the past than a visit to the places of our past. A trip to Temple Hill, Laggan, near Crookwell, NSW, rekindles fond memories for my husband, of carefree childhood holidays on the MacDonald family farm. Far from his busy life in Sydney, he and his brothers, discovered a new world of weeping willow lined creeks, horse riding, old family graves and life on the sheep farm on which their paternal grandmother spent her childhood.

 In addition to being a significant element of our family history, past places are an integral part of our identity. The places of our past are the keepers of a wealth of memories of our own lives and life stories. Our memories and stories are important sources of our history.

Temple Hill - 2012

I have made a point of returning to as many significant places of my past as possible to record them photographically for family history purposes. Each time I retrace my steps through life, I am astonished at how many memories are recaptured. 

Myself aged 22 months sitting on the gatepost of my first home at 24 Crescent Avenue.

I returned to the home in Brisbane, where I was born and where I lived until aged seven, a few years ago to find it much changed from the days of my childhood. Seeing the house after many years of absence, brought back memories I had long forgotten, but memories which afforded me a wealth of anecdotes to record for my children, grandchildren and future generations of family historians. Photographs from the past graphically record our visual history, however, our personal anecdotes delve profoundly into the fabric of our lives and enrich our own biographies significantly. It is important to record our own history, the events which we witness and experience,  as reliable first hand or primary sources.

My father and myself at my first home at 24 Crescent Avenue Enoggera, Brisbane

24 Crescent Avenue in 2011- and a new generation of father and child..

24 Crescent Avenue, Enoggera in Brisbane, was the home of my earliest childhood memories until the age of seven years. I can remember my sister being born there, the large sandpit my grandfather built for me and the cubby house complete with coloured timber louvre windows which my father lovingly constructed. The house was a green colour and my cubby house was painted to match it. This was where I, as a determined four year old, dragged a wobbly bench to the fence, to climb upon so that I could chat to the neighbours. I did this, of course despite my mother's warnings and fell backwards hitting my head on the concrete exactly as she had predicted. The memory of the pain has long since vanished but my mother's patience and concern as I was rushed to hospital to have my head stitched, remains with me. It was in this home that my father made a table and two small chairs for my sister and myself. In the kitchen of this home I laughed until my sides ached, as my mother sang the song 'On top of Spagetti' to me. In this wonderful family garden I picked grapes from a home grown vine and bananas from the trees which shaded my sandpit. I ate fresh tomato sandwiches on backyard picnics with my mother. I peered through my backyard fence to watch in wonderment, the military drills at the Enoggera Army Barracks onto which my yard backed. Every Saturday I watched  marching girls who competed at an oval near my home and dreamed longingly of joining them in their shining buttons, white boots and tall hats. I climbed trees and played happily on my twin swing. Our first television arrived in the home at Crescent Avenue, amidst great excitement and took pride of place in the lounge room; the room at the top of the steps behind my father in the picture above. My memory tells me that these were good days. I was afforded great freedom to roam the street in which I lived. The baker delivered fresh bread and delicious fat cream buns, the Soft Drink Truck delivered Creaming Soda and Sarsparilla and children raced noisily into the street in response to the sound of the icecream van's bell. 

Swinging with my sister, left and cousin, right. My bedroom window pictured.

Those were the halcyon days when children were 'safe'. I often walked alone to the local shops aged only five years, to buy items for my mother. I recall clearly a day on which I purchased sweets with the money my mother had given my to buy something else. Punishment was 'dealt' by my father who chased me round and around the house in Crescent Avenue, never once catching me although looking back now, I have no doubt that he could easily have done so. The past, often holds memories which are not so happy, and this is a part of who we are, equally as much as those which are sanguine. Crescent Avenue was the place where I first encountered danger. Afternoons were spent playing with local children, in a park at the end of the street, until a tragedy occurred. A council trench in which we were excitedly digging a 'cave' collapsed, burying and killing one of the local boys I was playing with. I was five years of age. When I was six years old,  my best friend was hit by a car and killed crossing a road on her way to play at my home at Crescent Avenue.. As I gazed at my old home, on my visit, I could almost see myself aged six, standing at the gate awaiting my friend's arrival and hearing from a neighbour of her accident.

My Fourth Birthday at 24 Crescent Avenue Enoggera.

I have far too many memories to relate them all. Many childhood memories have only re-established themselves since my visit to my old home. Some of the momentous events of my childhood occurred when I lived at Crescent Avenue. I began my education at the Ashgrove Memorial Pre-School at the age of three years. When I revisited my old Pre-School, I suddenly recalled that the treacher's name was Miss Lightner. Memories flooded back, of jumping on the jumping board, of the smell of home made glue and of sitting at small tables and chairs for lunch - always a choice of Vegemite or Peanut Paste (outside Queensland called peanut butter). I started Primary School from this home, walking the very long walk which took me past the tennis courts where I began tennis lessons at the age of four years, to Oakleigh State School. This was the same school my father had attended until he went to Brisbane Boy's Grammar School. I re-visited Oakleigh State School on the same day that I went back to Crescent Avenue. 

Oakleigh State School

Walking around the grounds of the Oakleigh State School some long forgotten memories returned. I had won an art competition at the age of six years and my prize was a much treasured stamp album which I have to this day. I remembered the swimming lessons which I dreaded in the school swimming pool. Not because I hated swimming. I loved it but my mother loved to sew, and I was the only child in the class wearing a particularly floral and very frilly two piece swimsuit rather than the standard blue school swimsuit. As I stood looking at the swimming pool I could remember the feelings of that small five year old wanting desperately to stay in the change rooms. As I reached the play area, I could physically feel the same sense of humiliation which had long ago gripped me whilst playing on the see-saw in the playground when I was in grade 1. On that particular day, I had taken to school, my precious walkie-talkie doll. She was named Florence, for my paternal grandmother, (even at the tender age of 5 I was introduced to the traditional Scottish naming patterns!). Florence's hair had previously fallen out, (no doubt from excess brushing), and my mother had replaced her long blonde hair (to my disappointment) with a short curly (completely unbrushable) orange wig. As I soared gloriously high into the air, on the see-saw, Florence's wig detached itself from her head and flew across the playground. I may as well have lost my own hair, such was the complete embarrassment I felt as I was lowered to the ground, a very bald doll clutched to my heaving bosom and sobbing loudly while a  group of older boys ran around the playground laughing and waving Florence's flaming curls wildly. The awkwardness of some moments seem to have a perturbing way of rebounding to disturb our tranquil memories!

 [Postscrip: Florence's wig was firmly adhered with super glue that very night and I still have her, complete with orange hair.]

Oakleigh State School.

At the age of 7 years, my family built a house in a newer suburb of Brisbane, called The Gap. While our home was under construction, we lived with my paternal grandparents at 16 Garfield Drive, Paddington Heights. From this lovely old home high on a hill with a view all over the city, I entered a new world of catching trams to the Bardon State School where I was one year ahead of well known Genealogist Shauna Hicks. 

My Grandparent's Home at 16 Garfield Drive, Paddington 2011.

 I cannot possibly recount all of my childhood memories here, as there are so many, however, I do record them. Each time I revisit my past homes and other places from my past, more memories are triggered and I write them down. By recording my stories, I am ensuring their reliability as a primary source. If my stories are passed on orally to my children and they later recount my anecdotes, they become secondary sources and will be less reliable.

When I visited the Garfield Drive house pictured above, it was undergoing a renovation and was vacant. I took the liberty of taking a cutting from the large Frangipani tree which I remembered my grandmother planting and it is now growing in my garden in Sydney. Every time I look at the  pink and white flowers on my Frangipani tree, I think of childhood days spent playing hide and seek amongst the plentiful purple Hydrangeas in my grandmother's wonderful garden, swinging in the big old hammock, picking rosellas and persimmons to make jam, and climbing the huge mango tree growing in my grandparent's garden.

Standing outside the Paddington house, I recalled an event which I had long forgotten. Next door to my grandparents, lived a policeman by the name of Terry Lewis. Late one night a burglary occurred across the street from my grandparent's home. My grandfather heard much yelling and  screaming and he took it upon himself to chase the burglar right down the hill and around the block with no thought to his own safety. The next morning I accompanied my grandfather as he knocked on the door of Constable Lewis's house to report the incident, believing that his neighbour must have slept through the event. The policeman laughed and told us that he had a policy 'never to get involved in such things'. Some years later the same policeman, Terry Lewis became Police Commissioner of Queensland. I only recalled this memory though when revisiting the house in Garfield Drive. 

The garden now, that my mother planted at our home in Marrall Street, The Gap, in  the 1960's.

Another garden which my mother planted at our home in Kenmore.

My last family home,at Jindalee, Brisbane during the 1974 Brisbane Floods.

Last year I wrote a blog post about the memories which the 2011 Queensland Floods evoked for me when I revisited my old home in the badly flood effected suburb of Jindalee (in both 2011 and 1974). Sights, sounds and even smells from the past have the ability to awaken sleeping memories of the past. Family History is our search into the past so recording our memories of our own past is an important way of preserving the past for the future. Visiting our home at The Gap conjured for me, memories of threatening bushfires, red-bellied black snakes, ticks, stinging nettles and happy days swimming in the creek which ran through our property. A visit to the home in which I lived from the age of 11-14 years on 12 1/2 acres at Pullenvale, ( we moved a few times!) rekindled memories of exploring the bush, horse riding, snakes, picking fruit from our orchard, making rafts in the lagoon behind our house and cracking macadamia (Queensland) nuts picked straight from our trees. I have taken my children to all of my past places and told them the stories from my childhood - some humourous, others moving, some painful but all so much of my past and my own identity. For me, personally, revisiting the places in my own past, is a fascinating way to make memories come to life.

Riding my tricycle at 24 Crescent Avenue.

Brick Wall Blunder... Cognomen Erratum!

Cognomen Erratum - Understanding Records and Avoiding Mistakes. 

Photograph Sharn White ©Copyright 

Loosely speaking, my inexperienced Latin translates (I hope) as 'A mistake of name'.  It is not often that knocking down a stubborn genealogical brick wall results in anything other than elation. Depending on the age of the brick wall or the length of time it has been blocking the tantalizing path  to the next generation, elation can range from a broad smile to shrieks of merriment. But beware - there are pitfalls to premature excitement. It is wise not to jump to conclusions hastily and VERY important to understand the records that you find.

Photograph Sharn White ©Copyright

Whilst tracing my family tree, I have demolished quite a few brick walls. In the midst of the thrill of razing a previously steadfast brick barrier in Lincolnshire, England and whilst adding several generations of family to my tree, I  learned that no matter how many years experience one has researching family history, there is always something to learn. 

On my maternal side of the family tree I had traced my Morley family line back to  John Morley (1756-1824) and his wife Esther Hardy. Tracing Esther Hardy's ancestors presented no obstacle. I quickly found her father Richard Hardy, born on March 6, 1717 in Lincolnshire, England and her grandfather William Hardy, my 7th great grandfather, who was born in about 1680 also in Lincolnshire. It was while searching for the family of  Esther Hardy's mother Alice Collingwood that I came up against a solid genealogical Brick Wall blocking my path to the past.

Photograph Sharn White ©Copyright

Often, I find that it is advisable to leave a Brick Wall alone for a period of time, and when I return to my research, I hope that new records might have been released or that I might find a clue that I missed when searching previously. For my Collingwood ancestors, I had a marriage record for Alice Collingwood to Richard Hardy on March 6, 1743 in Long Bennington, Lincolnshire, located in the Lincolnshire, England Extracted Parish Records  on Ancestry.com as well as in the England Marriages 1538-1973 on the FamilySearch website.  A family member had confirmed this record as well, whilst in England. 

Late one night, I finally burst through my brick wall and found the birth of Alice Collingwood as well as her siblings born to parents Gulielmi and Maria Collingwood in Claxby (near Alford), Lincolnshire. The birth records for these children showed their names to be Alicia, Maria, Elizabetha and Lucia. It appeared that Alice Collingwood's real name was Alicia and that this was the reason for the trouble I had encountered when searching for her birth. Looking at the names of my ancestors, I felt a rush of elation as I suspected I may have found the origin of my olive skin which tans very easily.  In Summer when very brown I have been asked by many people if I have Italian ancestry. Seeing such names of my ancestors  as Alicia, Lucia and Gulielmi, excited me into believing that I had made an exciting discovery. Surely I had found Italian or Spanish or some other unanticipated and exotic ancestry?

Marriage record for Gulielmi Collingwood and Maria Richardson

I became even more animated as I read the names of children from two earlier marriages of Gulielmi Collingwood. By wife Isabella he had a son Johannes and by his first wife Anna, Gulielmi had two daughters named Maria and Sara. Collingwood was obviously not an Italian surname, however, I became convinced that somewhere in the ancestry of this family was an intriguing lineage.

When I found the marriage record for Gulielmi Collingwood and Maria, I was surprised to find that her surname was Richardson. Somewhere in their background though, I was convinced I would still discover the exotic ancestry that I was now expecting.

 After a long night of searching Lincolnshire records and quite energised by my find, I finally fell asleep amidst thoughts of possibly one of my most exciting family history finds.  In the middle of the night, awakened by a barking dog, however, a revelation struck me heavily, like a brick from my genealogical wall. Instantly and almost certainly, my optimism about my having glamorously unexpected ancestry evaporated, as it occurred to me that the records I had found could very well have been written in Latin. This would explain the English surnames of Collingwood and Richardson coupled with Italian sounding names such as Lucia and Gulielmi. 

A search first thing the next morning confirmed my devastating suspicion. The names Maria, Gulielmi/Gulielmus, Alicia, Lucia and Elizabetha were exact matches for the Latin equivalent of English names. Further research into English church practices, revealed that until 1733 most English Church baptism, marriage and burial records, including those of the Anglican Church, were written in Latin. 

In my excitement I had overlooked also, a marriage record for Alice Collingwood's parents in the Lincolnshire, England, Extracted Parish Records. This record corroborated my fading hopes of discovering romantic and foreign origins. The marriage record showed the couples' names to be William Collingwood and Mary Richardson. Their children were therefore named Alice, Mary, Lucy and Elizabeth. Definitely no Italian there!

Lincolnshire register of Marriages, 1538-1837.

So as it turns out my Collingwood family from Lincolnshire, England were English. There was not one exotic Italian or Spanish ancestor lurking in the Wolds of Lincolnshire. On the bright side I have added a 7 times great grandfather to my tree and learned something about English Church records. Of course, the puzzle of my olive skin still remains to be solved. Perhaps in my ancient Scottish ancestry there is a Roman somewhere. And I still haven't ruled out a Norman connection. I will keep searching.......

52 Weeks of Abundant Genealogy - Cemeteries

Cemeteries

Kilmuir Cemetery Isle of Skye where many MacDonald ancestors lie.

A Short History Of Burials and Cemeteries

Burial places, practises, and monuments are an important resource for family historians and historians alike. From an archaeological perspective, they provide us with a great deal of insight  into social history and the way in which our ancestors lived. Whether our ancestors were ancient Celts, Vikings, Romans, Christians, Buddhist, Hindu, or Muslim their burial customs all involved some type of religious ceremony, rituals or rites and were a memorial or tribute to the dead. Vikings, for example believed that after death they joined the gods in a life similar to the one existing. They prepared the dead for the afterlife by burying them with all of the things they would require, including the tools of their trade, food, pottery, jewellery and clothing. Stone markers were placed in a ring shaped to resemble a boat, which was believed to be the way the Vikings envisioned that the dead travelled to the afterlife. Much significant information regarding the way in which the Vikings lived has been determined from their grave sites.

A Viking Burial Site in Sweden. Stone Markers resemble a Boat.

In many cultures, the poor, who were unable to afford a proper burial, were interred in mass graves however these burials still embraced rituals such as mourning, wakes and ceremonies. Many of our modern burial customs originate from ancient and Pagan times, rites which stemmed from fear of retribution from the ancient gods. Many burial places and monuments are a testament to the position a person occupied society.  The Egyptians, for example, built great pyramids to honour their kings. These monuments are a record of cultural practises as well as changes in societal beliefs and are an invaluable record of our past. Many of the artifacts which have been discovered in ancient burial places are now housed in museums as a tangible reminder of our past. 

Egyptian Pyramid

Early Christians were buried for the most part, in unmarked graves. After the 15th century a demand emerged in England, for holy burial in Churchyard Graves. These were generally small and soon became crowded and resulted in the practise of burying the dead upon the dead. The 17th  century witnessed a shift in focus to the 'individual' as well as a trend towards the desire to preserve and protect the memory of a person deceased. In the 17th and 18th centuries, originating in Italy, France and Sweden, it became the practise to bury the dead in 'burial places', 'graveyards or as they were once known, 'bone yards'. These graveyards eventually became referred to as 'cemeteries', a word derived from a Greek word for 'sleeping place'. Early graveyards were situated in a place central to communities. In the early 19th century a move towards new and more commercial and larger burial places emerged.  Cemeteries were built in large park like locations on the periphery of towns and cities and with them emerged a trend towards more elaborate tombstones. Whilst many of the poor, still continued to be buried in unmarked graves, tombstones or headstones, began to hold inscriptions. Some were simple reminders of a person's name and the age when they died, whilst others carried extravagant inscriptions or epitaphs as well as decorative symbols such as a dove or a wreath.

Headstones in the Churchyard of St Mary's Islington where my 4 times g Grandfather is buried.

Relevance of Cemeteries Today

Humour on a Headstone.

The  cemeteries with which we are familiar today, can be regarded as  museums, which hold a wealth of information for family historians. As well as being an historical record of religious practises and  architectural and sculptural styles and trends, cemeteries are a treasure trove of information about communities and cultures. Importantly for the Family Historian, many headstones are the key to significant details about the lives of individuals. In some graves there are several generations of families buried. Inscriptions on headstones range from names and dates, to humorous stories, photographs and sometimes, detailed anecdotes about the deceased. Each and every headstone and grave in a cemetery has a story to tell, through its symbolism and inscription, its cultural significance, its simple design or elaborateness. even by its telltale absence.  It is those stories which are so poignant to family historians and which make cemeteries a compelling source of fascinating information about family members as well as the communities they were a part of.

Matthew Bowden's Tombstone in Tasmania is  a Family Historian's dream.

A Cemetery which has Personal Meaning to Me

Cooroy Cemetery 

Over the years, as a Family Historian, I have wandered through many cemeteries in search of my ancestors. I have also wandered through cemeteries just reading the headstones of other people's family members. Without exception, I always experience a quiet 'at peace' moment when I discover the grave of an ancestor. Even before I take in the information provided on a headstone, there is a moment of 'connection' and in that moment my ancestor feels very real to me. At the graveside, I feel that I am in the presence of my ancestor.  Every grave tells a story. When I found the grave sites of my  paternal great grandparents, John and Elizabeth McDade and discovered with disappointment that they had no headstone or marker of any kind, I felt saddened. Then I realised that when they both die within several years of each other in the early 1930's, that their deaths had occurred during the depression years. There was probably little money in a working class family for such luxuries as an inscribed headstone. This is something that family members are now setting about to rectify.

My favourite cemetery to visit is the Cooroy Cemetery where lies the grave of my great great grandparents John and Hannah (Gair) Morrison. John Morrison is an ancestor who I have put much effort into researching. I recently wrote about his 'wealth for toil' in the Twigs of Yore, Australia Day Blogging Challenge. In John Morrison, I had discovered a hard working man who built up great wealth and who through no fault of his own had lost almost everything. He had moved his family from Sydney where he had been a prominant builder and rail carriage contractor and after working as a rail carriage foreman for 10 years in Ipswich, had spent the last 7 years of his life quietly living in the town of Cooroy, inland from Noosa in Queensland. John and Hannah Morrison both died in 1927. I knew from a cousin who had visited Cooroy some years previously, and who had removed many weeds from their grave, that both John and Hannah were buried in the Cooroy Cemetery. 

The Cooroy Cemetery is situated on a hill on the outskirts of the town of Cooroy, in a most pretty location, surrounded by trees. The entrance to this cemetery, appears to have once been situated at the bottom of the hill and is now at the uppermost part of the hill. From what looks like the original entrance the grave certainly would have been located in a prominent position, however where it lies now, it is downhill from the present entrance to the cemetery. As I walked from grave to grave on a very hot day, I almost gave up hope of finding the Morrison grave. So many graves were missing headstones, some were unmarked and others I noticed were in such a state of disrepair that an inscription was difficult or impossible to read. Finally, I came across a very large double grave with a headstone which was almost indecipherable. Despite many years accumulation of lichen on the headstone, as I closely scrutinised it, I found I could just make out the word Hannah and Morrison. My excitement grew as I read the faint name Tait after Hannah's name. My great great grandmother's maiden name was Hannah Tait Gair. Tait was the surname of her maternal grandmother Elizabeth Tait, from Cramlington in Northumberland where Hannah was born. I knew immediately that I had found the Morrison grave. 

I could just make out the word Hannah and Morrison

There was much significance in the finding of this grave. As a Queenslander living in Sydney, I had felt little connection to the state of NSW for most of my married life. Finding that my 2 times great grandfather, John Morrison, a Scotsman by birth had immigrated to Sydney from Northumberland with his wife Hannah and settled in Strathfield, Sydney delighted me. That their daughter, Florence, my great grandmother, was born there, endowed me with, an immediate connection with the city that I  live in. I visited the beautiful buildings in Sydney that John Morrison built and has he has left as his legacy, including Chapter House at St Andrew's Cathedral,  Gothic Style Churches and Strathfield Council Chambers. To be standing before his grave and that of his wife Hannah, who's name one of my daughters bears as a middle name was quite emotional.

My husband and I spent some time quietly weeding the grave which was bigger and more substantial than I had expected. I felt pleasantly relieved that someone had afforded them such a lovely resting place. Unexpectedly, my husband, David announced that he would like to clean the headstone. With his expertise as a heritage Architect, he felt that the stone beneath the lichen was Granite. I was surprised at his suggestion as we had not arrived at the cemetery dressed suitably to undertake such a task. I quickly became enthusiastic and  undeterred by the hot weather and growing lateness of day, we drove to the local hardware store in Cooroy, in search of  the appropriate cleaning products to attempt to restore the headstone. Once back at the grave site, David set to work with my help.

As the years of grime and lichen gradually washed away from the headstone, we were truly speechless. Slowly, before us, what had appeared to be a plain dirty headstone with the appearance of grubby concrete,was transforming into a beautifully  black granite headstone engraved with the shape of a Bible or book. I cannot begin to describe my emotions as the intricately detailed tassel, pictured below, began to appear in the middle of the shape of the book.

Inscriptions appearing on the Headstone 

The Headstone with lichen removed.

Unfortunately we ran out of daylight to clean more than the front of the headstone, however, we were able to clean enough of the stone on which it rested, to ascertain that it was made of red granite.

Headstone on the Grave after cleaning.

The final touches to the grave of John and Hannah Morrison

Since my husband and I cleaned the headstone on John and Hannah Morrison's grave, I have returned three times to visit the Cooroy Cemetery in Queensland.  I feel privileged to be the keeper of the grave of my great great grandparents as there are no family members in Cooroy to care for the grave. I have come to 'know'  my ancestors not only through my research, but more significantly through lovingly taking care of their resting place, nestled on the side of a hill amongst the trees in Cooroy Cemetery.  Along with my husband David, visiting and caring for the grave on our annual holiday is now one of our favourite holiday outings.



Sources:

Cooroy-Noosa Genealogical and Family History Research Group
The Oxford Companion to Family and Local History  edited by David Hey
Gravely Tasmanian: A friendly guide to Tasmanian graveyards Vol. 11 By Joan and Buck Emberg
Monuments and Memorials edited by Beryl Henderson
www.digitalhistory.uh.edu/do_history/graveyards/index.cfm
www.lore-and-saga-.co.uk/html/vikings_buriels.html
www.wyfda.org/basics_2.html [History of Funeral Customs]

When a Name is Not Enough.

 Our Ancestors' Lives in Context

Every family historian delights in the finding and adding of names of ancestors to the family tree. The significance of genealogy, however, lies not only in expanding branches and extending roots. The importance of investigating the historical context of the lives of ancestors cannot be underestimated. History unfolds before our eyes, is transformed, and shifts towards a more personalized perspective when we view it through the lives of our forebears. This is the first of a series of blogs I am writing where I examine how it helps to understand our ancestor's lives in their historical context.

Scottish Ancestors in Historical Context

The massacre of Glencoe in Scotland on February 13, 1692

For me, ( and for many others) being a family historian has always implied considerably more than just names and dates. I appreciate family history as a part of its wider context. In addition to its relevance to the background of our families, family history IS HISTORY. As each family historian compiles data about his or her individual family tree, collectively, we are recording the history of our world. Genealogy is much more than names and dates of births, deaths and marriages. When we record the lives of ancestors we are also recording their lives within the social, economic and political context in which they lived. Our ancestors fought in wars and took part in revolutions. They lived through through great famines and plagues. Ancestors were members of nobility, and royalty and many lived privileged lives. Predecessors suffered the indignation of poverty and social injustices. They saw innovation and great changes throughout the times in which they lived. Our forebears witnessed political unrest, economic growth and depressions. Industrial changes transformed the the world in which they lived and inevitably bore consequences for them personally. Ancestors committed crimes, performed noteworthy deeds, observed great art movements and diversity in architecture.  Many had occupations that have names foreign to us and that no longer exist today but which offer us an unparalleled window through which to glimpse the past. Frequently, the  social. economic or political conditions at the time of their lives were the reasons why our ancestors emigrated or were displaced. Our ancestors were eye witnesses to world events and their lives reflect the world's transition through time. Through the personal stories of our ancestors we are privileged to glimpse a personal perspective of history which refines and clarifies our understanding of our own historical background.

Scottish Highlanders going into Battle

Scotland's early recorded history is abundant with violence. Between the years 1688 and 1746 great Britain experience a wave of insurgence intended to restore King James VII of Scotland and II of England and his House of Stuart descendants to the throne.  Amongst the ruthless feuds, battles and acts of treachery, one incident, which is possibly still today, most passionate in the minds of Scottish clans, was the Massacre of Glencoe on February 13, 1692. This treacherous event took place as a consequence of the Jacobite Uprising of 1689 and the failure of the Catholic Scottish MacDonald Highland Clans to pledge their support to the Protestant Monarchs of Britain, William and Mary. In August of 1691, King William III extended an offer of pardon to the Highland Clans providing they pledged their support to him before the end of that year and advised of inexorable consequences for failure to comply. The Clan Chiefs wrote to King James requesting his permission to register their allegiance to King William. With the bitter reality of defeat upon him, King James acceded. The winter of 1691 was especially harsh, however, and word of the King James' waive did not reach the isolated Highlands until mid - December, whereupon, the chiefs promptly set off to comply with the King William's request.

Alastair MacIain, Chief of the MacDonalds of Glencoe arrived at Fort William on December 31, 1691, to pledge his support for King William. Given a letter of protection which affirmed that he had arrived before the deadline he then headed to Inveraray to swear his oath before Sir Colin Campbell, the Sheriff of Argyll. In a plot hatched by English military commanders, whose animosity towards the highlanders was well known, several military companies led by Captain Robert Campbell were sent to Glencoe, welcomed and even billeted with Alastair McIain and the Glencoe MacDonalds. After a night of generous hospitality, on the part of the MacDonald Clan, the Campbells were ordered to 'fall upon the rebels'. The unsuspecting MacDonalds were attacked at 5 am on February 13, 1692. This bloodbath resulted in the slaughter of many MacDonalds, including Robert Campbell's own niece and her family. For Captain Robert Campbell. this was bitter sweet revenge for the 1689 plundering of his own lands at Glenlyon by the Glengarry and Glencoe MacDonalds. The Mort Ghlinne Comhann  or murder of Glen Coe has had a very personal implication in both my husband's and my own backgrounds since we discovered that it was my very own Campbell ancestors, who 'fell upon' and treacherously killed his unsuspecting his MacDonald relatives. 

Captain Colin Campbell's orders to 'fall upon' the MacDonald Clan

Explaining the treachery on the part of my Campbell ancestors requires some understanding of the political situation in the Scottish Highlands in the 17th century and even earlier as well as some knowledge of the Highland Clan system. Until 1493, the MacDonald Lords of the Isles were the greatest land and sea power in Britain after the Kings of England and Scotland. When King James VI forfeited their lands, he created a political void which the Campbell Clan quickly filled. They received Royal authority to accumulate land and to have legal rights to the lands belonging to other clans. The Campbells, especially the Earls of Argyll, became powerful Feudal Lords. For many centuries in the Scottish Highlands the basic system of society was the clan or clann which in Gaelic translates as 'children'. Contrary to popular belief, not every member of a clan was related to its chief. Many of the members were, however, there were also other ordinary people who relied upon the chief for protection. The clan system originated in early Celtic and feudal ideas where power depended upon land ownership and the size of the clan's manpower to fight battles. The Campbell's increased their power and influence in the Highland society until the 17th century when the Clan Donalds amongst other Clans joined the Royalist campaign. With the Campbells supporting the Parliamentarians, the MacDonalds saw this as a means of winning their lands back from the Campbells. Lawlessness reigned supreme in the Highlands and events attests to a violent history of feuds and battles between rival clans.

The Campbells of Argylle in Battle 1689

Alexander MacDonald of Drimindarach, 6 times great grandfather to my children was forced to forfeit his ancestral lands following the Rising of 1745 when he, as head of his Clan MacDonald of Sleat, supported Bonnie Prince Charlie. His son Charles MacDonald also lost his lands, which adjoined the property of the Earl of Moray in Invernesshire, when he played a leading role in the famous Battle of Culloden which took place on April 16,1746. Charles MacDonald, is reported to have single handedly smashed the gates of the Castle Carlisle and won it for the Highlanders. The battle of Culloden was the final battle in the Jacobite uprisings. This battle, fought on Drumossie Moor to the north east of Inverness, saw the final defeat of the Jacobite supporters and their attempt to restore the House of Stuart to the Throne of England. The Highland heroine, Flora MacDonald, who famously assisted Bonnie Prince Charlie to escape from The Isle of Uist to Skye, also sits illustriously on the family tree as documentation of family but significantly as illustration of history. I am pleased that my children can proudly relate the tale of the bravery of their 5 times great grandfather, Charles MacDonald at Carlisle Castle and that their own relative, Flora MacDonald  dressed Prince Charles Stuart in women's clothing and sent him 'Over the Sea to Skye'. It is a lessor boasted, but just as treasured tale, that my own Clan Davidson and Clan Chattan ancestors became very drunk during the night preceding the famous Culloden Battle and contributed significantly to the loss of this great final clash between the French supported Jacobites and the Hanoverian British Government.

The battle of Culloden

Flora MacDonald depicted with Bonnie Prince Charlie [Painting by G.W. Joy]

Family History furnishes History with personal relativity. Understanding the history of battles between the Scottish Clans and the English Monarchy  provided me with an historical backdrop against which I could sympathetically interpret our family history. Recorded historical chronicles of battles fought by the Scottish Highland Clans explained why a later ancestor and progenitor of Clan MacDonald, Alexander MacDonald, a qualified medical practitioner known as ' An Dotair Ruadh' (the red doctor) was living on rented lands at Gillin Farm in Sleat prior to and after, 1798 when he fought with the Glengarry Fencibles, and not as might be expected, on the ancestral MacDonald lands of Kilmalew and Drimindarach.

Gillin Farm in Sleat, which Alexander MacDonald leased.

Mathew MacDonald, grandson of Alexander and great great grandfather of my husband was born in around 1812, in the house at Gillin farm, pictured above. Mathew arrived in Australia in 1837 on board the William Nichol , the first of the ships to bring Scottish Highlanders to Australia as part of the Dunmore Lang Scheme. Reverend John Dunmore Lang, a young Scottish missionary, and later an ordained Minister,  began an immigration scheme in NSW in 1837, through which he was instrumental in bringing many new colonists to Australia. His vision was twofold. Not only did Lang see his scheme as a way to offer hope for a better life for immigrants, but he viewed his immigration scheme as a plan to rectify what was in his opinion, a moral plight, in the Colony. Since a vast number of convicts in Australia were Catholic Irish, Lang's concept was to balance the  inequity between Catholic and Protestant settlers by populating the rural areas of the colony with Protestant farmers, thereby expanding the number of Presbyterian Churches as well as prospective Ministers for the church.

Reverend John Dunmore Lang

To understand why Mathew MacDonald and his wife Mary McPherson along with many other Scottish Highlanders chose to leave the kinship of the home they knew so well, requires a review of the economic circumstances in Scotland in the 1830's. In the early part of that decade, Scotland was in the midst of a surge of industrial and commercial enterprise, which in addition to a significant population increase, had a disastrous effect on the living conditions for the essentially agricultural and isolated highlands. Large scale emigration from the Scottish Highlands was predominantly the consequence of destitution forced upon the farm workers.


Mathew MacDonald ( born c 1812) as the first born son of  Charles MacDonald, Tacksman* of Ord, a substantial landowner and progenitor of the Clan MacDonald of Sleat does not appear to meet the criteria for the Reverend Lang's immigration scheme as neither a destitute farm worker, nor a Protestant. As the title, Family History would suggest, fundamentals of family must unavoidably be taken into account, alongside evidence of history. According to Scottish naming patterns observed traditionally and strictly by Scottish Clan Progenitors, Mathew, as the first male child of Charles MacDonald of Ord, should have inherited his grandfather's name of Alexander, a name later given to the first son of Charles of Ord by his wife Anne Mcleod whom he married in 1828.  Mathew's family circumstances -  the identity of his mother is unknown, he was not afforded the traditional family name,  augmented by historical evidence - Scottish marriage traditions, lead to the conclusion that he was most likely, the child of a handfast marriage, which although recognised at the time in Scotland was probably not acknowledged by the family. Traditional European handfasting, or marriage by mutual consent, was commonly performed by the binding or exchanging of rings, and was a particularly popular custom in the Hebrides and especially on the Isle of Skye.  Although not recognised by the Church, handfasting was known to be practised on the Ise of Skye into the 19th century. Handfasting is mentioned by a number of authors with reference to The Isle of Skye, including Walter Scott [The Monastery]. Mathew was never destined to  inherit the progenitorship of the Clan MacDonald of Sleat, nor it appears to be well educated as were his younger half siblings. His occupation, confirmed on the passenger list of the William Nichol, was that of a shepherd.
 * a tacksman is a leaseholder, especially in Skye, who sublets to tenants.

Family anecdotes portray Mathew's decision to leave the Isle of Skye as the result of his father not approving of his marriage to Mary McPherson, nanny to Mathew's half siblings. That Mathew never again spoke to his father, supports the family anecdote , however,  there is little doubt that Mathew and Mary MacDonald were part of a mass wave of emigration from the poverty stricken agricultural highlands. 

Ord House, home of Charles MacDonald, Mathew's father.

Of course not all of our ancestors have illustrious lines which can be traced back to John, Lord of the Isles through both his wife Amy McRuari (a commoner) and Princess Margaret Stewart, daughter of King Robert 11 of Scotland.  My Campbell ancestors are understandably unpopular amongst this proud MacDonald family so when I announced my intention some years ago to name our baby, Campbell MacDonald White, my father in law declared vehemently that 'No grandchild of MINE will bear  the name of Campbell WITH MacDonald.'  Fortunately we had a daughter so the crisis was averted. Those MacDonald Clan members have long memories it seems! 

John, MacDonald Lord of the Isles

Mathew and Mary MacDonald 

On my family tree I have a Campbell who married a McDairmid, in Argyll. Their daughter, Sarah, was born in 1781 in  Greenock, Renfrewshire, the same parish in which she married James McDade.  Understanding  some of Scotland's history has enabled me to understand why these proud, traditional farming Highlanders moved from the lands of their fierce kinship to live in the lowlands, in the dense city of Glasgow. Around 1762, small highland farmers or crofters began to be  encouraged and often forcibly removed from the land to make way for larger and more profitable farming for wealthy land owners. Economic times were difficult and a succession of seasons of harsh weather and an increase in population, resulted in overcrowding and unprofitable agricultural use of highland farmland. Many people still view the Highland Clearances as having been an attempt to sever the power of the Clans. Historically, my McDairmid of Argyll ancestors were a part of the Highland Clearance and left the Scottish Highlands to live in Glasgow, where they and their descendants remained, working as coal miners.

James McDade, my fourth great grandfather was born in Ireland. He arrived in Scotland sometime in the 1790's, as part of an explosive wave of Irish immigration. Between 1790 and 1850 more than 300,000 Irish people arrived in Scotland from Ireland to find a better life. Most of these Irish migrants settled in Glasgow where, skilled in handloom weaving, they formed communities of independent cotton weavers in areas such as Bridgeton and Carlton. The influx of Irish weavers contributed significantly and positively towards the Scottish economy. Despite this, the Irish were generally not welcome in Scotland and the Catholic Irish migrants were especially unpopular. My ancestors were coal miners not weavers and they were Catholic, so it is entirely likely that they suffered discrimination and hardship because of this. The large number of Irish migrants arriving in Scotland caused serious housing and health problems in Glasgow in the early 1800's. From my knowledge of Scottish history during this period, I know that my McDade ancestors lived through serious typhus and cholera epidemics from 1817 onwards. 50% of deaths from these epidemics were children younger than 5 years of age. The relevance of this historical evidence for me personally is significant in that these epidemics almost certainly explain the deaths of all of James and Sarah McDade's children except for one. Their surviving son, James is my three times great grandfather. The death of one more child would have meant that I would not be here today. Placing my four times great grandparents, Sarah and James McDade within the historical context of their life, understanding the political, economic and social and circumstances of the world in which they lived, the events that they witnessed and the hardships they endured, has enabled me to understand more about them as real people.

Scottish Coal Miners

Amongst the ancestral names which I am researching in Scotland are, McDade, Campbell, McDairmid, Bonner, Gibson, Thompson, Rennie, MacDonald, McKinnon, McLeod, McPherson, MacAlister and McIntyre. The  people who accompany these surnames all have forenames and dates of births, deaths and marriages. They have offspring and children. Their names and details fill the spreading branches of my family tree. When I search beyond those names and dates, to understand the historical context of my ancestor's lives, the more real my ancestors become, and my research becomes much more rewarding and fulfilling. The longer I linger in this personalised perspective of history the more I feel a part of history.


Preview of Part 2: German Ancestors in Historical Context.

Recently whilst on a trip to Toowoomba in Queensland where my Prussian great great Grandfather, Gottlieb Nerger settled in 1852 and married German born Christiana Siegler who arrived in Qld in 1864, I came across a document which showed that he had contributed 1 Pound towards the construction of the first Lutheran Church in Toowoomba.

Gottlieb Neger's name 3rd from the top.