Observation by another
Finding whiskers wanting
Stones in glass houses!
Why am I bothered?
Widow tells tale of
Bride’s imbibe bribe
Forever begone the beard shed
Then wed; to an early grave led?
Rather than hark and heed
Is it not better to
Know and love thyself first?
I can’t remember how I came to the conclusion my paternal great grandmother’s surname was Walton. Maybe the assumption was due to COVID delirium and wishful thinking. After all living in Shropshire, there was a fair chance distant relatives may have been from neighbouring Wales. I was certainly pleased when I identified Martha’s mother had Welsh ancestry.
After receiving my DNA results, I excitedly used the above assumption to label mother and father influences.
Recent mixed emotions have negatively impacted my motivation for researching the family tree. I was pleased about unknowingly visiting places my ancestors had lived and disillusioned, I was making little progress in identifying potential Scottish, Dutch, and Danish heritage.
Then a few hints from other family trees suggested Martha’s surname was Adams with ancestors solidly from Shropshire not Wales. Hm, maybe I have my parentage confused, I thought.
Checking in on a second and third cousins’s DNA results, whom I’ve never met, revealed the maternal line is rich in family from. Welsh, Scottish, Dutch, and Danish regions. I switched the parental influences and explored a strong tie to Yorkshire and generations of Turpins. This surname has Danish heritage.
In the ‘80s, I was thrilled to visit the newly opened Jorvik Viking Center, depicting imagined tenth century scenes of York during the time of the Vikings.
Perhaps my granddad’s middle name of Havelock had been a clue all along. It has Scandinavian, Danish, and Old Norse origins.
I find it amusing the path our lives take, in my case largely unconsciously. A benefit of aging is being able to review and share threads of the journey.
On this Thursday commute, I’m listening to the original 1979 Broadway cast recording of Stephen Sondheim’s musical adaptation of Christopher Bond’s play Sweeney Todd on Spotify. Len Cariou and Angela Lansbury star as lead characters Benjamin Barker and Mrs Lovett.
My fascination with the darkness of humanity as described in books began as soon as I was old enough to venture to a public library, unaccompanied by an adult. My junior years were spent engrossed in tales of Egyptian reincarnation, vampires, hauntings, ghosts, the supernatural, and witchcraft.
I fondly remember multiple borrowings of the above hardback, The Dracula Myth by Gabriel Ronay, 1972* from Harborne Library. It introduced me to 15th century, Vlad III (Dracul), ruler of Wallachia, in modern day Romania. He ordered two Turkish envoys be impaled because they refused to remove their turbans, and 16th century, Hungarian Countess Elizabeth Báthory who bathed in the blood of virgins to keep her youthful looks.
In the ‘70s, whilst holidaying with my family in the Channel Islands, I devoured the contents of the above paperback, a memoir of ‘Edward Paisnel, a predatory paedophile nicknamed the Beast of Jersey, who was convicted in 1971 for an 11-year reign of terror. Paisnel believed himself to be the reincarnation of Gilles de Rais, and committed his crimes in the bizarre outfit depicted on the cover of this 1972 biography by his wife Joan’**.
In 1984, after completing four years at college in Worcester and Blackpool, I returned home to Droitwich Spa, completely disillusioned by the prospect of a career working in hotels. I was successful in gaining retail employment at Russell and Bromley in Worcester. It was here, I met my dear singer friend, Georg.
By then Sweeney Todd had opened in London. Georg sat me down to watch a video of this performance. I was absolutely entranced by it. I still have a CD of the original cast recording from Broadway.
My husband and I have thoroughly enjoyed seeing Sweeney Todd a couple of times at the Sydney Opera House. We also enjoyed the movie version with Johnny Depp as Sweeney and Helena Bonham-Carter as Mrs Lovett.
For me, the staged production of Sondheim’s version of this melodramatic gothic thriller will never lose its appeal.
*picture and description sourced from AbeBooks website https://www.abebooks.com/book-search/title/dracula-myth/author/gabriel-ronay/
**picture and description sourced from Good Reads website https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/3149803-the-beast-of-jersey
For the last countless weeks we have been selling off and donating our chattels so that we can scale down our footprint from 116 m2 (on a block of 686 m2) to 85 m2 on the ninth floor of an apartment building among city lights.
Our two year retreat in the country is drawing to a close. An immersion in nature especially in being adopted by magpies have helped us to heal our hellish experience of life in a townhouse development.
Today our house goes to market with the first open inspection on 10 May 2025.
Coincidently, today, Saturday, 3 May 2025, Australia votes. Temporary polling stations across the country, emblazoned with party colours welcome some whilst worrying others. The reward of a Democracy Sausage, biscuit or cake afterwards turns the experience into an Aussie outing.
Here, it is against the law if you do not vote without a valid reason for being unable to do so. There is an admin fee of $20 to pay plus if you end up in court, a fine if convicted, and responsibility for the Australian Electoral Commission’s costs too.
The DNA results are in with reassuring and surprising results.
Knowing my maternal ancestors hailed from the Midlands, specifically Staffordshire, it was likely there would be a family connection to neighbouring Warwickshire.
With a maternal and paternal surname of Jones, I was thrilled to learn of Welsh roots. My father’s paternal family lived in Shropshire bordering Wales whilst his mother’s family lived in south east England, Kent.
Surprisingly, I have higher percentages of Scottish, Danish, and Netherlands heritages than Welsh.
As a toddler, I had platinum curly locks. Over time they straightened and darkened to mid/dark brown. I wonder if this is the Danish and Dutch influence.
Using the results, I experimented with AI image generators: Show me what a brown eyed, 61 year old male might look like with the following DNA: 73% England and northwestern Europe, 16% Scotland, 5% Denmark, 4% The Netherlands, 2% Wales. He is 1.7m tall and 10kg overweight.
This final image is the closest to my appearance, spooky!
I find it strange, as a youngster, we only seemed to spend time with my grandparents, and Mom’s brother and his children. I assumed we were from a small family. From researching the family tree, I have found many relatives lived locally in Birmingham, UK and farther afield.
When Mom met Dad in Bridgnorth, Shropshire she was working in the office of Tangyes Ltd., a company making hydraulic and general engines. Dad learned his trade as a tool-maker through an apprenticeship. He went on to learn gas fitting and central heating installation. I guess travelling around may have been how he met his second partner.
Mom told me she got together with my stepdad because he was nice and she was in financial dire straits. I believe he did his best, having a wife packaged with two step sons.
I remember one payday, after my stepfather had gambled most of his cash pay packet away on the horses at the smoke filled bookies, also known as the betting shop and turf accountant, he drank the remainder at the Monarch pub before returning home.
My mother’s protestations were met by his fists causing her to fall down a flight of stairs. A catalyst for Reverend Kerr of Saint Boniface Church to arrange for our escape to a battered wives home in Sparkbrook.
I came across the following newspaper report while researching Mom’s maternal family. It is transcribed from the Birmingham Gazette, Birmingham, West Midlands, England. Monday 06 October 1913
SMASHED WINDOWS.
WOMAN’S PROTEST AGAINST A PUBLICAN’S ACTION.
At the Birmingham Police Court on Saturday a married woman named Mary Ann Edmonds, aged 34, living at 65., Birchall Street, was charged with wilfully breaking two plate-glass windows, of the value £3 10s., at the Horse and Groom public-house, Digbeth.
William ‘Henry Phipps, the licence-holder, said that at six o’clock on Friday night, just after he went into the bar, defendant’s husband came in and called for half a pint of beer. ” He was practically ‘ sober, ” said witness, ” so I served him with half a pint of beer. “
Immediately he was served, witness continued, defendant caused an obstruction outside, causing a crowd to assemble. Witness went out with the intention of getting her away, and immediately after she threw two half-bricks, one at each window.
Defendant in the dock admitted that she did the damage, but said she was driven to desperation. Her husband spent all his wages at this house. They served him until be could not stand, and then had practically to carry him from the house.
On Friday night, as soon as her husband enteral the house, she asked the landlord not to serve him, and said, ” You see the condition he is in.”
Phipps, defendant said, ordered her out of the house as they did not want her there.
Defendant added that she knew she did wrong, but she had four little children starving at home, and in her madness she did not know what she did.
Mr. Hobbis (chairman), recalling Phipps, asked him what he meant by saying defendant’s husband was ” practically ” sober.
Witness: He might have had a little, but he was not drunk.
The Chairman: When yon speak of a man as sober we understand he is sober, but when you say practically sober it is a different thing, and we want to know what you mean exactly. Was he under the influence of drink?
Phipps: None whatever. He walked straight into the house, as if he had come straight from work.
The Bench came to the conclusion that the defendant had cause for great exasperation.
They believed her story, but that did not excuse her for breaking windows. They had come to the conclusion that the case would be met be imprisoning her for one day, which meant that she would be at once discharged.
We are extremely happy to be home with no damage. Previously, we sat in the house anxiously watching as the local creek water gauge rose up above 3m.
At 4m our house is inundated with 0.5-1.0m of water. A 1 in 1000 year risk, it happened in 2015 and again in 2022.
The forecast on Friday last week was for worse flooding than 2022. This time rather than waiting to be told to go to an evacuation centre that would not take Stan, we lifted as much as we could off the ground, turned the power and water off and left. We resigned ourselves that if it flooded we are insured with 40 weeks’ temporary accommodation covered.
Our fantastic friend in Brisbane put us up for three nights in his one bedroom apartment, he slept on the floor on sofa cushions.
Unfortunately, while we escaped the worst of the rain, to the south, the Gold Coast lost metres of sand from the beach, sustained flooding, and lost power for days.
A week after Alfred, the creek is at 1.5m.
Last night we saw the 2010 movie of the same name starring Cher, Christina Aguilera, Eric Dane, Cam Gogandet, Stanley Tucci, Alan Cumming, and Kristen Bell. Its rich dark moody basement club and apartment scenes evoked the feeling of bygone speakeasies, jazz clubs, and Liza Minnelli in the film Cabaret.
I was reminded of awe inspiring evenings in the back bar of the Imperial Hotel, Erskineville, Sydney in this century’s noughties and teenies. We were delighted by the performance of Mitzi Macintosh reenacting the Rocky Horror Show, The Sound of Music, and Little Shop of Horrors.
In other venues in Newtown, Kings Cross, and Darlinghurst we were wowed by the antics of Miss Effervescence (Effie to her friends), Verushka Darling, Tess Tickle, Chelsea Buns, Fahrenheit, Joyce Mange, Vanessa Wagner, Portia Turbo, Miss 3D, Simone Troy, Robyn Lee, Clair de Lune, Atlanta Georgia, Monique Kelly, and Polly Petrie.
Now that we live in Queensland we get our occasional drag queen fix at the Wickham Hotel, and Cloudland in Brisbane’s Fortitude Valley.
As I am working on a concept for an abstract watercolour earth element painting, carrying on from last week, I decided to share a couple more primary school reports.
I have no recollection of class 2.
From the above, it appears class 3 was split into two terms. The first was taught by Mrs Elway whom I adored. Mrs Elway played the upright piano in the school hall. It had an elaborately embroidered drop cloth affixed to the back of it.
My technicolor memory of Mrs Elway merges with the black and white film ones of English actress Margaret Rutherford. They both appeared to be nurturing, driven, crone spirits.
There were no excellent scores in class 1. At 6 3/4 my performance had markedly improved.
I don’t know why I missed 43 days of school other than having measles, chicken pox, and debilitating bouts of tonsillitis culminating in having them removed at the grand terracotta brick Ear Nose and Throat Hospital, junction of Edmund and Barwick streets, Birmingham.
After getting over the pain of healing wounds, I loved being in hospital. I have vivid memories of the late Victorian ward with beds either side of a central aisle with a table in the middle for meals. I loved the jelly and ice cream they served post op. Eventually, I was allowed to eat cornflakes although they had to be scratchy.
Good for P.E. Games? Perhaps due to it consisting of musical statues, throwing beanbags, maypole dancing, and running around.
Note, needlework was now added to the curriculum. Mrs Box taught us to hand stitch, embroider, and use a sewing machine.
Mrs Elway kindly reports I ‘tried very hard, particularly with reading and writing. Particularly good at collecting nature specimens.’ I admit to proactively contributing to the nature tables in most classes. Perhaps I could have been a botanist. Excellent for art and handiwork encourages my current endeavours.
My grades slipped significantly under the tuition of A.M. Lloyd, of whom I have no recollection. Maybe due to my father ‘running off to be with that Walker woman’ as my mother frequently shrilled whenever my five year old brother and I needed to hear it. Dad left us the day before my eighth birthday. I don’t remember whose choice it was. I know my Mom would not have been able to silently endure adultery. At least during this time I had a flair for ‘oral work’.
The formidable jacket and skirt suited headmistress E Lyon would have been sporting a French pleated hairdo while signing off on this report.
I met my future husband in 1993. In October of that the year I turned 30, and he reached 31 years of age in December.
On my 61st birthday this year, I realised I had lived with my partner, best friend, and soulmate for longer than I had without him.
Over the last 31 years we have visited 10 countries and moved home 10 times including from the UK to Australia – New South Wales then to Queensland.
We are already planning for our next home when I retire in a couple of years……..
