I posted a while ago about how I have become hooked on
family history. I continue to make
discoveries both great and small: finding
an envelope in an old box of photographs containing three pages of
reminiscences written in a shaky hand by my grandmother recalling her early
life in Newtown, tracking down through birth announcements, school records and
newspaper stories that my second cousin once removed was a champion footballer
who won three ‘best and fairest’ player medals and had a Prussian army captain for a grandfather, learning that
one of my great grand aunts became the single
mother of two young girls quite unceremoniously when her husband was arrested
for producing and passing forged £1.00 notes and deported to Noumea.
It seems possible that my paternal line is traceable back to
Switzerland in 1200 AD, but investigating that is just too mind boggling given
that I am challenged enough fleshing out the past four generations in Australia!
With the help of a first and a second cousin and various databases, I have been
able to piece together quite a lot of my family members’ lives and
stories. Now that I have ‘gone bush’ I
can’t easily visit the record repositories, museums and cemeteries that are the
haunt of ‘genies’ but it is amazing how much is available online and it is heart-warming
how generous other family history buffs
and volunteers at local historical societies can be. I am as excited now at the arrival of a
package of photocopies of documents and pictures as I used to be at
the arrival of bric-a-brac I had bought on eBay!
But I have to remark on one complication that hampers my
research. I kept my so-called maiden
name i.e. the surname I was born with, both for ideological and practical
reasons, when I married back in the 80s.
I had not been bitten by the genealogy bug back then and it never
occurred to me that continuity of identity had implications beyond feminist
principles and avoiding the mess of changing bank accounts, electoral roll
listings etc. It wasn’t until I saw Armandine
Garnay disappear to be replaced by Mrs R. L. Thornber and Regina Louise Pittard
morph first into Mrs Charles Norett, re-emerge temporarily as Mrs Regina Norett
(widow), only to be subsumed by the moniker Mrs J. B. Wallis (one of three succeeding
women to be known by that name) and then to surface briefly as Mrs R.L. Wallis
(widow) in the last few years of her life, that I realised how difficult the
custom of assuming one’s husband’s name makes family research. Add to this non-standardised spelling,
'Noirette' for 'Norett' and 'Wallace' for 'Wallis', and it can take a lot of detective
work and guesswork to track down female relatives.
Another challenge is what the papers considered newsworthy
in past eras. Business ventures and sporting achievements often got a mention
so I stumbled upon (male) entrepreneurs, cricketers and footballers in the family
quite quickly. Female golfers and bowls players
occasionally made it into the papers’ columns but a single initial and surname
are hard to verify as the particular ancestor you’re seeking. Marriages, births and deaths, assuming the family
had the price and presence of mind to post a notice, can be depended upon to an
extent. The first two usually reveal the bride’s/mother’s former identity. I remember
the first time I heard the term ‘nee’ referring to a woman’s surname prior to marriage.
It was on the saucy sit com ‘George and Mildred’ when Mildred was referred to
as Mildred Roper (nee Trembler). Boom tish! Incidentally, the Newcastle region leads the pack in their enthusiasm for
printing wedding photographs, their local papers, in my experience, had by
far the richest source of blurry black and white pictures of newly hitched
couples back in the 1940s and 50s.
Unless they moved in exalted social circles (none of my
forebears really did) or were conspicuously active in the Country Women’s Association
(Armandine Thornber nee Garnay was forever demonstrating her spinning or
judging at rural shows) not many women featured in the newspapers. Of course women
who held important positions as matrons
or headmistresses got some coverage, but shopkeepers, seamstresses, laundresses
and those discharging ‘home duties’ (the term the census used) like my lot, only featured in the paper if
they took out a classified ad selling a pony or a sewing machine. Nowadays the likes of the Trading Post online and Gumtree and
the explosion of social media have made both ‘For Sale’ notices and wedding coverage
in newspapers redundant, but they helped to bulk up copy until about the 1980s.
My great grandmother was selling a pony and sulky in 1912. |
So large chunks of women’s lives were not revealed in the media and, to my frustration, my female antecedents go ‘off the radar’ for years at a time especially if they weren’t reproducing during that period. Like the veiled mothers in Victorian photographs you may sense their outlines behind their more prominent offspring. Later their attire at their progenies' weddings might attract a few words in a newspaper but not for them election as aldermen, retirement send offs or visits to court to recoup debts or declare bankruptcy. Even the ratio of industrial accidents and driving offences is firmly weighted along gender lines. While male relatives have had trees fall on them at work, lost fingers on the production line, been pulled over for faulty headlights or charged with indecent language, I have only been able to trace one female in our tree being fined for driving under the influence and she is only a relative by marriage!
A Victorian 'hidden mother' photograph - she's there to keep the children from wriggling but why disguise her? |
Thank goodness for Trove (the National Library’s collection
database) I have discovered so much trawling through it. Some of my ancestors got more than their 15
minutes of fame – if they served their country, opened a successful emporium or
played a pretty classy game of football – but the women got disproportionate
obscurity, some not even accorded their own ‘real’ names in their death notices.
My
greatest satisfaction and ongoing quest is to talk to those family members
still around today who can throw a light on the shadows they inhabit.