Coming to our census

One of the few enjoyable pastimes insisted on by government is completing the personal response to the quinquennial national census. 

In 2016, I was able to fill out two forms: one while visiting the Isle of Man and later in that year, the Australian one. I was keen to let the Reiltys Ellan Vannin know that I was there on an important date. In fact I had to remind the hotel we were staying in to give me the form, but it encouraged them to hand it to other visitors. In this pandemic year, they don't have to bother. Nevertheless the Isle of Man does have a good track record in sharing the results of its census every 10 years.

Our national census is always of interest to genealogists. The import of some of the questions in this year's census, especially those where every possible answer is not given with the question, are scrutinised. The uptake of DNA testing in the last five years by those with a genealogical interest creates a quandary. Where the country of origin of our earliest migrating ancestors may not have been previously known, many of us are now more informed. Just a spit or a swab and some dollars reveal all.

While those of us who have been researching their family history for a long time won't be caught short for an answer, there may a noticeable change in the statistics. Although not granular in the Census questions, level of Aboriginality for example, may be better understood if a DNA test has been undertaken. But perhaps the change won't be statistically significant?  

The census instructions don't define 'ancestry' but it could be inferred from two prior questions about  the birthplaces of self and parents. If you and your parents were all born in Australia, doesn't that automatically make you Australian? Which leaves scope for acknowledging those ancestors who weren't born here no matter when they migrated to Australia. 

The wealth of knowledge, understanding of identity, and record of environmental influences stored in other countries' census results are hugely rewarding when shared. Thankfully, the same commitment to future genealogical research has been made in recent Australian censuses. It is an extraordinary  opportunity to show our place in society. Make sure to choose 'Yes' when answering Question 65.

 

To Australia, with love

Although I started reading Mills & Boon romances during the 1970s and 1980s as a teenager, I left them behind for decades until recently. Indulging in them now makes me chuckle, recognising some of the wishfulness which does not turn into reality. 

It didn't take long to realise how different they were from current "granny lit" - plot development for a start had to be much more detailed, given that all the body-to-body action doesn't have to occur until the last page or two. An exception may be made if marriage happened earlier in the book. 

There is also social history commentary of the time, as the primary occupations of women slowly changed into more diverse roles; single parentage through circumstances other than widowhood; taking on responsibility for large corporations and so on. 

But what I didn't expect in these little capsules of escapism was a tribute to my country. Although the intensity of one writer's work stayed with me - Lucy Walker's - it was thrilling to find that other authors found my home region to be a worthy backdrop to romantic drama.

Lindsay Armstrong

"I have friends who have a holiday home at Cabarita, but they've gone to America for three months and let me with a key and an open invitation to use it whenever I like. [p.128]

"Tallitha looked at the house, at the marvellous aspect - the beach below was white and clean and went for miles in both directions. Then they went up to the village - it was little more than that, a few shops and a pub - and laid in supplies. [p.129]

"Many months later she could still remember every detail of that holiday in Cabarita, and knew that it would probably be impossible to forget, even when she was very old. How could one forget? How could you ever forget the way the sun shone the day after they arrived and how the sea glittered and danced beneath a blue, blue sky. [p.130] 

Standing on the outside, 1986 

Ann Charlton

Although not named, this is reminiscent of Kingscliff or even Fingal Head. 

" Sorry to frighten you darling - but I couldn't have you screaming, now could I? With your projections, you'd be heard in Tweed Heads. [p.3]

"The beach was empty but the row of tracks across it remained evidence of the visits of holidaymakers from the next cove. People rarely drove on to the beach because of the unsealed road and the swampy creek beside it." [pp.25-26]

"What about this place? I don't think I could bear to see a club and carpark over there changing everything. Let's wait and see. It could take years." [p.185]

The Driftwood Dragon, 1985

Lucy Walker

Lucy Walker's stories focused on "The Outback" in regional Western Australia. Her books were renowned in England for their expositions of "the Australian way of life", and serialised in their ubiquitous Woman's Weekly. 

All of the women who married the strong, almost prenaturally silent, station owners must have been widowed at an early age, given the frequency of smoking, but it's not difficult to understand where strength in times of hardship was forged.   

"Have you got a mouth of cast iron, Mick? Kate asked. "Nope," he said, wiping the back of his hand across it. "I guess I learned that from the old-timers on the inland cattle routes. A man wasn't fit to drove cattle if he couldn't drink tea boiling ... along the Canning route anyways." [p.96]

The one who kisses, 1954

This was an area I didn't visit until almost sixty years after the book was written, so learning about its magic was an unexpected pleasure. It's not an easy route to traverse, but it's easy to see how such details captivated an audience so far away. And the illustrations in these serialisations may have helped, even when they were a plot misdirection. 

Home at sundown, first published in Woman's Weekly, December 1967 - January 1968. 
Illustration from the 30 December 1967 issue by Peter Gibson