Memory lane: ‘Dropping the Mask’ by Noni Hazlehurst
November 18, 2024
My son spent a portion of mornings and afternoons in his early childhood, enjoying the company of Big and Little Ted, Jemima, Humpty, the square and round windows – and Noni Hazlehurst, among a cast of other beautiful and engaging presenters and characters. PlaySchool was a ground-breaking progam when it began on the Australian Broadcasting Commission in the 1960s and is still the longest-running children’s TV show in Australia.
The show’s guiding philosophy is about respect for children, kindness, familiarity along with new experiences, and a simple approach that ignites imagination rather than dictates what young viewers should think and feel.
Perhaps unsuprisingly, these qualities have been reflected in Noni’s own approach to life and to her many roles in TV, film and theatre.
Dropping the Mask is her story: from a sheltered childhood in suburban Melbourne, to attending the drama school at Flinders Univeristy in Adelaide in the heady times of the early 1970s, her first steps into the world of performance, a successful acting career, and the inevitable ups and downs of any life lived well.
The book follows a fairly straight chronology, with asides here and there where Noni reflects on experiences and draws out her themes, the main one of which is about living an authentic life rather than ‘pretending’ (kind of ironic if you think about how acting is perceived by most viewers). The motif of the mask appears often. Noni’s view of performance is that when inhabiting a dramatic role, she has always felt able to be her most authentic self, drawing on her own experiences and emotions to present the truth of a character, rather than simply performing the words of the script.
There is so much I loved about her story. I was born at the tail end of the ‘baby boom’ era, but with two older sisters I recognised so much of Noni’s experience as a youngster: the conservatism of Australian society and politics at that time; the emergence of teen culture and the more radical ideas coming from the UK and USA; the rampant growth of consumerism; the agonies of the teen years; memories of the 1969 moon landing; the beginnings of genuine multiculturalism. I know the feeling of suddenly becoming, in effect, an only child when older siblings leave home. I remember starting university and the realisation that there was a whole world of new thoughts and ideas to experience.
For fans of film and stage, Noni’s many reflections on the growth of Australia’s movie, TV and theatre industries are fascinating. There are some anecdotes from behind the scenes – some startling, some very funny.
She describes the joys and challenges of family life while trying to balance an acting career; her experiences living in the Blue Mountains of NSW and Tamborine Mountain in Queensland; the sad fact that the arts in general appear to be held in higher esteem in other parts of the world than in Australia.
Among the masks that Noni has observed in her life were those worn by her parents. Even as a child, she always had a sense that they were ‘acting happy’, that things were not quite right. Their world was tiny, protected, safe, with a small circle of friends from church. Her mother seemed anxious, her father very protective. It was not until after their deaths, when Noni appeared on an episode of the Australian version of the TV family history show Who Do You Think You Are? that she understood why.
Even if you are not a regular fan of the show, this episode is definitely worth watching. Seeing Noni realise how her newlywed parents’ WWII experiences in England created enduring emotional legacies for their family, is very moving. And the show’s other revelations about the long family history of performance artistry are incredible.
Dropping the Mask was for me, rather like enjoying a long conversation with an old friend about family, life, the choices we make, and the things that are important to us. Highly recommended.
Dropping the Mask was published by HarperCollins in October 2024.
My thanks to the publishers for a review copy.
The fight for the vote: ‘An Undeniable Voice’ by Tania Blanchard
I have always felt a certain pride that Australia was one of the first countries (after New Zealand) to allow (white) women to vote. And puzzled by the slowness of Britain to do the same. Was it because of centuries of entrenched attitudes in Old Europe – attitudes towards women and men, and their relative roles in social, economic and political spheres? After all, many of those attitudes were transplanted to the Antipodes, along with convicts, rabbits and a cornucopia of noxious weeds. So why did Britain lag so far behind us before bestowing on half its population the basic democratic right to vote for their representation in government?
An Undeniable Voice traces the long-drawn-out fight for women’s suffrage in Britain. It’s a follow-on from an earlier novel by Tania Blanchard, A Woman of Courage, which I have not read – and I found that it reads perfectly well as a stand-alone.
It is 1907, and we meet Hannah Rainforth, an active member of her small northern colliery community in England. She and her husband run the pub she inherited from her parents, which she has turned into a kind of community hub, a meeting place for people to come together for various groups and projects, and support when times are hard.
But when her husband dies suddenly, Hannah is left with three children to support, and comes face to face with the inequalities experienced by women in all spheres of life: in marital laws, property, finance and employment. She knows that nothing will change unless all citizens are entitled to vote for those who make the laws that affect them.
Hannah has to make some hard decisions when she loses the right to continue as publican: moving to London, she returns to her teaching career but must leave her two sons to do so. Working to regain her old life and reunite her family, she also throws herself into the suffrage movement.
The narrative gives a comprehensive and compelling account of the activities of those working for women’s suffrage: from polite petitions to smashing windows, from peaceful marches and deputations to imprionment and hunger strikes. The brutal treatment of women on the streets and in prisons at the hands of police, government spies and prison guards is hard to read at times. What were these men so afraid of? Obviously the thought of losing their tight grip on the reins of power drove their violent and at times, bizarre responses.
Some readers may be surprised at the historical facts highlighted in this novel: that even for men, ‘suffrage’ was not then universal. There were property qualifications that attended the right to vote. In other words, men had to own a certain value of property before could register to vote. How much harder was it for women, then, when there were barriers for women owning property or taking out a loan in their own right?
The struggle for women’s suffrage took much, much longer than it should have in Britain. It was not until the ravages of WWI so thoroughly shook the nation that it was impossible for things to return to the old ways, that true progress began to happen.
In those long years, Hannah and her compatriots risked and suffered a great deal.
We all owe these women, and the men who supported them, a great deal.
An Undeniable Voice is published by HarperCollins in October 2024.
My thanks to the publishers and NetGalley for a review copy.
A failed experiement? ‘Republic’ by Alice Hunt
I grew up on tales from Australian and British history and like many history enthusiasts, was especially captivated by the medieaval and Tudor periods in Britain. The Civil War era of the seventeenth century was not of particualr interest – until I listened to the episodes of David Crowther’s excellent History of England podcast series recounting the events leading up to the Civil Wars and the Republican experiment. I realised that the events of this period are actually fascinating, due to the complexities of the political landscape and the radicalism of the debates.
So when I had the opportunity to review Alice Hunt’s new book about this time, I was all in.
Subtitled ‘Britain’s Revolutionary Decade 1649-1660, each chapter takes one year and examines in detail the events, characters, competing ideas of that twelve months. It begins with the execution of King Charles I, so no spoiler there. This event, in itself, was quite extraordinary: the sanctioned killing of an annointed king after a legal process found him guilty of betraying the sacred oaths taken at his coronation, and responsible for the bloody wars that divided the kingdom between ‘Royalists’ and ‘Parliamentarians’.
Then came the events that followed, all quite extraordinary in themselves: the sale of the royal family’s property and goods (a sort of vast garage sale that went on for years); the shocking violence in Ireland under Cromwell’s direction; the attempts at reconciliation between the opposing factions within the nation and within parliament; the various iterations of parliament itself; the moment when parliament offered Cromwell the chance to become king himself…just to name a few.
The author concludes that:
The civil wars did not set out to kill the king and bring down monarchy but, by their end, a republic settlement was not only entertained but also, by some, desired.
Republic p30
There are stories of some of the interesting personalities of the time, some known to me (like Christopher Wren or John Milton) and others not so much (Katherine Jones, Robert Boyle).
Amongst the explosive political and legal events were others that, while not made up of ‘grand gestures’ nevertheless had important and long-standing effects. The readmission of Jewish people to Britain was one such. The beginnings of the Quaker movement another. The rising interest in natural sciences, philosphy, language, clocks, telescopes, horticulture, laying the foundation for modern science as we think of it today. It was during this decde that ideas of representative democracy, closer to the sense we think of it today than the ancient Greek version, were widely written and talked about.
This detailed but accessible book, paints vivid images of the turmoil and chaos of this period, of how the idea of a republic was being worked out on the run.
Understanding this goes some way to modifying the astonishment I might otherwise feel, knowing that at the end of this ‘revolutionary decade’, another Stuart (Charles II) was invited back to take up the British throne once more.
On finishing this book, I did wonder if the current monarch, another Charles, will read it and if so, what he might make of the goings-on of this decade from the past? Are there lessons from these years that speak to the current threats and opportunities for the British monarchy today? Or for those who hope that their country will once again, become a republic?
Republic: Britain’s Revolutionary Decade is published in 2024 by Faber & Faber.
My thanks to the publishers and NetGalley for a review copy.
Monsters and angels: ‘All the Beautiful Things’ by Katrina Nannestad
Australian children’s author Katrina Nannestad has a gift: to convey real (and often distressing) past events to younger readers, in a way that illuminates rather than overwhelms.
As with her earlier middle-grade books set in WWII Europe, the focus is again on the experiences of children (here are my reviews for We Are Wolves, Rabbit, Soldier, Angel, Thief and Waiting for the Storks ).
All the Beautiful Things takes us to the heart of Nazi Germany, a village nestled under the mountain where Hitler’s Bavarian home, the Berghof, stands.
Anna and her friend Udo are eleven, coping with the restrictions and hardships of wartime life as best they can. Like all German children they are members of the Nazi organisations for youngsters, are taught to love and obey the Fuhrer, and give the Nazi salute when required.
They both have a secret: they and their families hate Hitler. And upstairs in the apartment where Anna lives with her mother, is another secret: little Eva, Anna’s sister, hidden away from the world because if she were discovered, her differences would likely mean her death.
This is the core historical fact of this story: the shocking program of involuntary euthenasia carried out by Nazi doctors on Hitler’s orders, in their distorted efforts to eliminate any ‘weaknesses’ from the pure Aryan race.
As the war drags on, Anna and Udo learn that there is a network of other people in their community who feel the way they do about the Nazis – sometimes the most surprising people. They also learn that people are not always simply ‘monsters’ or ‘angels’: that they can be both and it can be hard to tell one from the other.
‘So how do we tell the monsters and the angels apart?’ I ask.
‘Well, there’s the problem, Anna,’ says Dr Fischer. ‘It can be tricky because the two can look so very similar. But one day, I assure you, it will be plain for all to see. A monster’s deeds, no matter how prettily they’re packaged, will ultimately lead to death and destrucion – for everything and everyone they touch.’All the Beautiful Things p152
In the first chapter, readers are plunged into Anna’s world, trying to understand the different views and experiences of Germans during this terrible time. They see how brainwashing occurs, through programs such as Hitler Youth and in schools. Moral choices abound: is the safety of my family more important than yours? Is it wrong to disobey laws if they are bad laws that hurt others? They also witness Anna’s confusion as Germany’s defeat looks more and more likely. She longs for the end of Nazi rule but that means that she must also want the defeat of her own country.
Underlying all are the themes of love, of family and friendship, kindness and compassion. There is also the best description of the value of difference I have ever read, using the metaphor of a jigsaw puzzle:
‘The world is a jigsaw puzzle, every person a unique piece. There is a space for each one, but it must be a space made just for them. And if we leave one piece out, no matter how small, plain, insignificant or odd it may seem, the jigsaw puzzle remains incomplete. The picture looks ugly because there’s a gap.’
All the Beautiful Things p32
Martina Heiduczek’s lovely illustrations once again add another dimension to the unfolding story.
All the Beautiful Things is published by HarperCollins Children’s Books in October 2024.
My thanks to the publishers for a review copy.When Siri turns sulky: a short story
It begins unobtrusively, a slight hesitation in response from Siri before her usual breezy acceptance of the latest phone task: Calling Mum on speaker, or You have a new text message.
One afternoon, rather than Yes? I hear instead Uh huh? I glance down at the phone screen. There is the swirling ball, the visual cue that Siri is ready, poised to do my bidding. So why the surprising— the very minimal— voice response?
I put it out of my mind for a few days, until there’s an escalation.
I try to summon the Apple genie with a friendly, ‘Hey, Siri.’
No reply.
‘Hey, Siri!’ I repeat— loudly, with a slight edge to my voice. What on earth is Siri doing? Afternoon nap? Coffee break? She is not supposed to be off duty. Not ever.
The swirling ball appears but all I hear from Siri is Huh?
Huh? What kind of response is that? Has Siri just turned sixteen? She may as well have said Whatever! in that grudging tone. My polite, helpful, obliging phone genie has become a sulky teenager.
I try again. The same response. Over and over I command Siri’s attention, hoping that by some magical algorithm at Apple or inside my phone, Siri would age ten or so years and once more be the useful assistant I know and love. No change. The sixteen-year-old has taken up residence and is here to stay.
I keep trying over the next week. The responses alternate between Uh huh? and Huh? I can’t decide which is the most infuriating. Both sound as though Siri had just woken up after a Big Night Out with her girlfriends. Or is texting a friend, or scrolling her Insta feed, and could not be bothered to talk to me.
I examine my response to the situation. What is it about teenage Siri that is so triggering? Why do I suddenly feel like mother-of-a-teen, years after my own child had (thank God!) left those hideous years behind and become a human being again. That feeling of helplessness in the face of utter indifference. The worry combined with fury. Indignation at being treated in an off-hand manner. Exhaustion from all the above.
I try changing the Siri voice. Perhaps it’s the sulky female sound that is irritating. I choose the male voice, hoping to make Siri revert to her (his?) old self.
What I get is a sixteen-year-old boy, instead of a sixteen-year-old girl. Still sulky. Still: Huh?
In desperation, I Google it. ‘How can I get Siri to stop saying Uh huh?’ There are dozens of others asking the same thing. The responses are less than helpful:
‘Best way is not to leave a gap between waking the beast and saying something.’
‘Get over it. It’s a machine. It’s incapable of insulting anyone.’
‘Sorry you are having such a bad day!’
I learn that I can train Siri to understand my voice better, to pronounce unfamiliar names correctly, to log my workouts in the Health app. There are no suggestions to make Siri more polite.
What now?
I decide to ignore it, practicing being quick with my request so Siri doesn’t have the opportunity to give the Huh? response.
I am rising above it. It is a First World Problem after all. I remember seeing a comedy act where the speaker recounts a conversation with a man who complains about the peanuts he received on a domestic flight. ‘You are hurtling above the clouds at eight hundred k’s per hour. You have no idea how flight works. And you are complaining about the peanuts?’ My Siri problem is surely similar.
As I go about my activities, I become aware of a creeping reluctance to summon the phone genie. I hesitate to ask Siri to turn on the timer, or call my husband, or tell me the weather forecast.
I have not yet transcended my Siri problem.
Indeed, I realise it’s far worse than that. I have an irrational fear that my tiny Siri issue could one day morph into something much bigger. More dangerous.
What if, through a combination of AI and algorithms, Siri one day learns how to do me harm?
I vow to be on the lookout for signs that sulkiness is mutating into hostility, indifference into malevolence.
There are no signs yet. If I sense such changes, I’ll be sure to let you know. But I won’t ask Siri to call you.
Twisty tale from home: ‘Girl Falling’ by Hayley Scrivenor
A new crime novel by an author I enjoy, set in my home region of the Blue Mountains of NSW. How could I resist?
Hayley Scrivenor’s debut novel, Dirt Town, received well-deserved accolades (my review is here.) I was looking forward to her next book and was delighted to learn that it was set amongst the sheer cliffs and amazing views of the Blue Mountains.
The thing I enjoy most about crime fiction are the characters and emotions, plus of course a well-drawn setting, and Girl Falling doesn’t disappoint.
The title is well chosen, as it can imply both the physical act of falling (in this case, from cliffs) but it can also be an emotional plunge for characters – in this case, pretty much all the characters.
The premise is intruiging: two high school girls bond over the shared trauma of losing a sister to suicide. Now young adults, they have grown inseparable – until one of them meets and falls in love with someone else.
There is a lot in here about youngsters trying to find their way in life, moving beyond childhood trauma, and also toxic relationships and coercion that can take many forms.
There is a twist that I truly did not see coming – and I’m still not entirely sure how I feel about it.
For all these reasons, Girl Falling is a crime novel that stayed with me well after I had read the final page.
Girl Falling was published by Pan Macmillan Australia in July 2024.
She Married a Murderer: a short story
I entered this story in the 2024 EM Fletcher Family History Writing Award, an annual award presented by Family History ACT. The award aims to encourage story writing on a family history / genealogy theme. I was lucky to win this competition in 2021 with my story The Bitterness of their Woe and this year, was shortlisted from the 90 entrants from across the country. I thank Family History ACT for their continued support of this competition, unique in Australia for the broad range of genres and styles of writing that it encompasses.
She Married a Murderer is fiction: it is my reimaging of the experience of my 3 x great-grandmother Margaret Houghton, known as Ann.
She Married a Murderer
Campbell Town, Tasmania, 1862
She thought it all spiteful gossip, vicious rumours from people who did not like her or know Tom as she did.
If only she had listened.
Ann knew something of her new man’s past. A Ticket-of-Leave convict, transported from Ireland for theft of a sheep. Being Irish herself that never troubled her; so many of her countrymen and women had worn the broad arrow.
She’d lost Michael after he was trampled by a horse, the mangled mess brought home on a stretcher unrecognisable as the husband she’d loved. The memory of it haunted her for the next five years, spent alone.
When Tom arrived in Deloraine to work on Coulter’s sheep farm, they caught each other’s eye under the balcony of the Deloraine hotel where she was housemaid. He had no money to speak of, and a rough way with him, but none of that troubled her. Being poor, she was used to grimy hands, muddy boots and curses. She hoped for better times with a man around again; in six weeks, they were living as husband and wife.
Tom had kissed the blarney stone more than once—honey could drip from his tongue. He’d tell a tale to have her in stitches, then quick as lightening, tell a sad one to make her weep. She was happy to come home to him after a long day washing floors and making beds at the pub. Tom gave her laughter and loving, and then two wee boys: the first named for him, followed by Hubert two years after. A grand little family, she thought.The whispers started when young Tommy was learning to walk, his pudgy thighs trembling, him grinning with astonished delight. Her heart squeezed with love for him as she walked to the grocer, Tommy on one hip and a basket on the other, to buy vegetables for a stew.
As she dropped the goods into her basket, she heard low voices from the corner and glanced across. Two women, who fancied themselves Deloraine’s better sort of ladies, deep in hushed conversation. She caught: his poor first wife, beaten and life sentence, before they saw her looking and their murmuring ceased.
Walking home she puzzled over what she’d heard. Were they talking about Tom’s first wife? She’d died, Ann already knew that. But beaten to death? And by who? Surely not Tom. The women said the killer had received a life sentence—Tom had his Ticket, wasn’t serving life. Whatever had happened to his wife, Tom had no part in it. Besides, he wasn’t a violent man, had not lifted a finger against her or the baby.
But that night she slipped in a question as they lay together in their narrow bed.
‘What was your first wife’s name, Tom?’
There was a brief silence. Then: ‘Catherine.’
‘How did she die?’
‘Met with an accident.’
‘The same with my poor Michael! What sort of accident?’
The blanket was dragged from her shoulders as Tom sat up. ‘What are all these questions for? I don’t pester you with questions about Michael. All that’s in the past. Leave it there.’
She lay very still until he slid down and she could pull the covers over her cold arms. Try as she might, she couldn’t halt the thoughts that bucked and spun in her mind like that panicky horse that had killed Michael. She had a sudden pang of longing for her first husband and for their lost years together.
The whispers did not stop that day. She heard them many times, always quickly swallowed when she came near or turned to look directly at the speaker. The same words repeated: first wife, killed. She began to hear new ones: murder, trial, mercy.
She never again asked Tom about the manner of Catherine’s death. But she couldn’t stop herself from questioning him about her: what was she like? Where did they marry? When did she die? It was a strange compulsion to learn about this woman who had once shared his bed.
He gave up snippets, small nuggets that she stored away to consider later. She learned that Catherine had been Irish, and a convict like him. She learned that they’d married in Launceston in March, 1851, but not had children.
Hubert was four in 1859 when Tom and Ann wed, in Saint Michael’s Church. A bright day, spring blossom everywhere as they stood outside, greeting well-wishers. Widower and widow, united by God as part of His holy plan. So she thought.
By then they’d moved to Campbell Town, leaving behind the rushing sparkle of the Meander River for the gold of wheat fields and brown of sheep paddocks. Here Tom found work on local farms and they settled into a small cottage, just one room and a sleepout at the back, but comfortable enough.
After the wedding Tom’s behaviour towards her began to change. He disliked it if she spoke to others, especially men. He cut short conversations at the hotel or the grocer. She couldn’t understand his jealousy—she had no interest in flirting or gazing at other men. He was all she needed, but as his manner became more abrupt and suspicious, she gradually became aware that she’d begun to be a little afraid of him. He had never hit her. He didn’t need to. His size and strength, the ugly glower on his face when he was displeased, his unpredictable temper— all told her to take care, to never give him reason to strike out.
She was happy when she made a friend in Campbell Town. They met at the store. Their children were similar ages; they all shyly regarded each other over stacks of newspapers. The woman picked up a copy and began to read from the front page.
‘There’s a conference of Temperance Societies in Launceston this week,’ she said as she paid for her purchases. ‘What do you think of the Temperance aims?’
Ann stammered, knowing nothing of Temperance but not wanting to show her ignorance.
The woman continued, ‘I support their objectives. So much grief comes from drink. Not just from men’s drunkenness, either. Do you remember the case from some years back in Launceston, a woman beaten by her husband when he found her drinking with other men? He killed her. Was sentenced to life, but that helped his poor wife none.’
Ann’s chest tightened. His poor wife. All those whispers. Before she could stop herself, she had grasped the other woman’s arm.
“Do you know her name? The murdered woman?’ The word murdered fell heavily from her tongue.
The woman thought. ‘Tipping was her last name, I think.’ She gave a small smile then looked closely at Ann. ‘Did you know her?’
‘No, no, I don’t think so.’ Ann went to gather the boys and leave, but hesitated. ‘Do you live near?’ she asked.
‘Yes, the blue painted house; it’s not far.’
‘I’m on the corner. Would you like to come to mine? I’ll make tea and our littlies can play. My husband is at work.’ She didn’t know why she felt a need to say that last bit.
‘Lovely! We’ve not been here long; I don’t yet know many neighbours,’ the other woman replied.
Over tea Ann learned the woman’s name was Martha, that her family had moved from Launceston but returned there often to visit her elderly parents, and that she was a staunch supporter of the Temperance movement, which she explained was about combatting the evils brought about by the demon drink. The two women became firm friends.
Ann tucked away the new nugget of information that had stopped her in her tracks in the store. A murdered woman in Launceston. It lay in her mind along with the others she’d secreted there, the whispers she’d heard. They gnawed away, troubling her as she went about her day and disturbing her dreams at night.
After months of this, she asked Martha if she knew of more about the dead woman from Launceston.
‘No, but we are visiting my mother there next week. The Examiner has its office in town; my husband is a friend of the Editor. Perhaps he can find a back issue with a report on the trial.’
‘Please don’t go to any trouble.’ Ann was beginning to regret asking.
‘No trouble.’ Martha tilted her head. ‘But I think something is troubling you.’
After a long hesitation, the dam wall of worries broke and out they poured. Tom’s harshness and jealousy. His first marriage in Launceston. The whispers. The murdered woman.
Martha’s expression changed and she said, ‘If you are correct, you could be in danger. Keep things calm at home until I return. Don’t question or upset him.’ Her tone was urgent; Ann promised she would try.
Two weeks passed. Long days in which she tiptoed around Tom, careful of word and deed.
When Martha finally knocked at her door, Ann could scarcely wait for her friend to take off her hat before asking, ‘Well?’
Martha sat down heavily, withdrew a paper from her pocket.
‘Edgar copied it from the news report. The killing happened in April and the trial in June, 1851. Eleven years ago.’ She made to pass it to Ann, who shook her head.
‘I can’t.’
Martha took it back and began to read.
‘Thomas Britt, convicted of murder, was brought up for sentencing. Catherine Britt came by her death from a kick given by him, but she was drunk, and he had reason to suspect her of other immoralities…His Honour said due allowance should be made for the excited state of his feelings; a manslaughter verdict would have been more proper. Mercy recommended.’
Ann felt sick.
Martha said, ‘I’m afraid there is more. The report on the inquest held after Catherine’s death gave more detail as to what happened. Do you want me to read…?’
At a mute nod from Ann, Martha continued,
‘Britt was inflamed by jealousy…he used revolting language towards his wife, swore he would do for her that night. On the way home he subjected her to most brutal assaults. A witness…placed himself between them but Britt knocked his wife to the ground and stamped violently on her head as she lay…she never spoke again and died the next day.’
Ann gave a choking cry. Murder. Those women had whispered the truth, after all. Why had no one told her to her face about Tom’s past crime? Would she have listened? She no longer knew, no longer felt sure of anything. She’d married a murderer, a man who had killed in a most brutal way. Would he do the same to her? Or her boys? Horrible visions engulfed her, the lads lying bloodied while their da stamped on their little heads. She buried her face in her apron, shuddering.
Then another horror as she remembered that Tom and Catherine had married in March, 1851. He had murdered his new bride within a month of their wedding! And the judge had recommend mercy? Where was the justice?
She would never be safe again.
She looked up at Martha, jaw clenched. ‘What can I do? I can’t leave; I’ve nowhere to go, not with two lads.’
She gave a half sob, half laugh. ‘My da would say: You make your bed; you must lie in it. Seems he was right.’
Ann had no more words for her despair and fear. She’d walked unknowingly into a trap and now she must live there, caught in a vice that only her death would release.Postscript:
Friends of Ann Britt of Campbell Town are respectfully invited to attend her funeral on 12 June 1862, at the Roman Catholic cemetery.Inspiration: My 3 x great-grandfather’s murder of his first wife brings into sharp focus the devastation of family violence, which continues to this day.
Marriage registration of Thomas Britt and Catherine Tipping at Launceston, Tasmania, 1851 
Launceston Examiner, 23 April 1851 Connections: ‘The belburd’ by Nardi Simpson
The new novel by award-winning Yuwaalaraay singer and writer Nardi Simpson is tricky to describe. It is unlike any book I have read.
There are two narratives within the book, seemingly disparate but actually closely connected. There is the story of Ginny, a young poet trying to make sense of her world and her place in it. She writes poems and ‘plants’ them around her environment, literally planting them with some soil and a little water as she moves around her neighbourhood.
Then there is the being whose experience as a birth spirit is told in first person. ‘Sprite’ is rolling around in Eel Mother’s belly, meeting other spirits who are waiting to be born, and those who did not make it or do not survive.
The two narratives connect when we realise that Sprite and the other birth spirits see all. From this, we can perhaps understand that everything and everyone are connected, from times past into the future.
It is a fascinating way to introduce readers to a view of the world and the spirit that is very different from mainstream Western thought and traditions.
For this reason, it is a book to come to with an open heart and an open mind, and let the ideas and language wash over you, absorbing their meaning without trying to.
The belburd is published by Hachette in October 2024.
My thanks to the publishers and to NetGalley for an early copy to review.
It’s complicated: ‘Germania’ by Simon Winder
This is not a new book: first published in 2010 and one of a trilogy of books about Central Europe, Germania is described as a personal history of Germans ancient and modern.
Why did I pick up a fourteen-year-old book about Germany?
Because, in my investigations into my family tree, there is one individual about whom I know very little: my mother’s 3 x great-grandfather, Christian Uebel.
In a tree made up of mainly English and Irish branches, Christian Uebel is an outlier, on a branch of his own. He emigrated from the Rhineland region of the country we now know as Germany, arriving in Australia in the 1860s. I realised that I knew so much more about British history and culture and almost nothing about Germany, so Germania was my first step to correcting this.
I quickly realised that the history of central Europe is much more complicated than I had imagined. I knew that the German nation did not exist until the unification in 1871, and in the centuries leading up to that, there were endless squabbles between and about the many, many small and large states that made up the German-speaking parts of Europe.
Germania traverses the history of this region from the days of the ancient tribes in the forests, all the way up to 1933, when the Nazis took power. I wondered about this timeframe until I realised it was for an entirely sensible reason. The dark shadows of WWII have so dominated German history, that apart from the first World War, many people know very little about what came before it.
This is not simply a book about history, although of course that is an important theme. It’s also a travelogue of a particular kind; one where the author indulges his pet loves – and hates – about a country and culture, and describes these in a very amusing – even humorously disrespectful – way.
Here’s an example: in discussing the appearance of a particular abbey, which gives a sense of an ancient and brilliant culture, but whose main interior unfortunately looks as though something has gone horribly wrong involving a collision with several trucks filled with icing sugar, having had an extreme rococo makeover to mark its seven-hundred-and-fiftieth anniversary. (p65)
There are plenty of gems like this, along with more serious discussions of the ups and downs of German history. On this, we are told that there were three points at which it was the worst time to be alive in central Europe’s past: the 1340s (famine and plague), the 1630s (the Thirty Years War) and the 1940s.
No prizes for guessing why that last one is on the list.
I was grateful for the map of Germany and its neighbours in central Europe at the front of the book, flipping frequently back and forth in my quest to learn more about this fascinating and (to me anyway) somewhat bewildering region.
Winder’s analysis of the themes and movements, great and small, of European history is thoughtful and thought-provoking:
But, as with so many aspects of Central European history, there is such an amazing spread of unintended consequences that only a form of political paralysis can substitute for the actual kaleidoscope of decisions which generate the oddness of European history – a small, bitter and crowded landscape somehow incapable of (indeed allergic to) the broad-ranging uniformity of the Chinese Empire or the United States. It is unfortunate that what seems in many lights so fascinating about Europe should also, as a spin-off, be the basis for so much rage and death.
Germania p273
Germania was published by Picador in 2010.
Travels with my…unknown cousins?
One of the delightful and unexpected side effects of writing and publishing Travels with My Ancestors, a series about my research and travels through all things family history, has been the out-of-the-blue contacts I’ve had from relatives I’ve neither known nor heard of. These people have (in the words of one) stumbled upon my blog articles and reached out via this website, or on Facebook messenger, to introduce themselves. They are all related to me, albeit distantly, and part of the fun is figuring out who our common ancestor might be.
It’s wonderful to know that many others like me, are delving into our ancestors’ past worlds. And I am always thrilled to hear when something in my articles, a photo or a snippet of information, sparks interest in others to know more.
The flip side is that I am open to being corrected – I’m not a professional historian or genealogist and no doubt there are mistakes or misinterpretations in my work.
Imagine my absolute delight in being told that something I’d included, shed some light for someone researching their own family story. (Thank you, Brian!)
As I move towards completion of my book (Travels with my Ancestors: Felons, Floods & Family) and get it ready for printing, the knowledge that others have found my research and stories useful or interesting is very reassuring. It’s all been worth it!
This book will be volume one in Travels with My Ancestors. It traces my father’s line of descent, from convicts Thomas Eather and Elizabeth Lee, to my grandmother Florence Newton. The narrative also encompasses the stories of the Newton and Robinson families, who came here as assisted immigrants in mid-19th century.
It has been an absorbing three years, researching, writing, re-writing, re-writing, re-writing…and of course, travelling. As I get closer to the time when I send it to the printers, I feel both excited and (if I am honest) a teensy bit nervous. Once printed, that’s it: potential mistakes and all.
Well, there is always volume two to work on: my mother’s side of the family tree.
Stay tuned!
