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

Separated

Miles Street, Kirra
looking towards Tweed Heads, April 2020
family photographer

One hundred and one years ago, in the summer of 1919, a global pandemic made its mark on the border towns of Tweed Heads and Coolangatta. The border fence, which had long been in place, took prominence again. 


The state known as Queensland was once merely the northern extent of New South Wales. It came into being in 1859 when Queen Victoria signed the separation papers, 20 years after the state became convict free. For several years, there was much discussion about where to draw the dotted line in "the best interests of Moreton Bay". 
  

THE NORTH AUSTRALIAN. IPSWICH, TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1857. (1857, November 10). 

The North Australian, Ipswich and General Advertiser (Ipswich, Qld. : 1856 - 1862), p. 3. 

http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article7884948

One of the "Coloured Shell Series, Queensland Views" circa 1910

[This particular photo seems unusual for the series, because of the hand-on-hip pose of the woman in black. Perhaps she was just lifting her skirts out of the mud?] 

As soon as the influenza outbreak was confirmed, the border gates were closed, and the existing No Man's Land demarcation between two fences made sure that the illness could not be spread while in close proximity to the fence. 

Alsa-Fame Local Views, 1943

View from Razorback (NSW) to Greenmount (Qld), circa 1960
family photographer

On the Coolangatta side quarantine camps were set up for Queensland travellers returning from New South Wales. This was necessary because people refused to travel according to government guidelines: 

"This route home should never have been permitted by the New South Wales authorities, as the best and fastest way to get the Queensland people home was by direct boat from Sydney to Brisbane."  

(Thank goodness the Kirra cruise liner terminal was scuppered.) 

Even after 101 years, Australians will still be Australians:

"... but after all personal inconvenience is not to be considered in a case like this when so many lives and so much else depends on the strict maintenance in quarantine."

CURRENT TOPICS. (1919, March 5). 

Tweed Daily (Murwillumbah, NSW : 1914 - 1949), p. 2. 

http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article192254053

Just like in today's quarantine hotels, albeit more poetically, there were complaints about the food;

'Flu Waves. (1919, June 26). 
Tweed Daily (Murwillumbah, NSW : 1914 - 1949), p. 2.
http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article192260872

"PATHOS AND BATHOS." (1919, February 15). 

Tweed Daily (Murwillumbah, NSW : 1914 - 1949), p.7 

http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article192261677

and just like today, there were concerns about the duration of the pandemic.




There was one significant difference however. An inoculation was available

Advertising (1919, February 15). 
Tweed Daily (Murwillumbah, NSW : 1914 - 1949), p. 1.
http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article192261608

 

No police necessary
Base of souvenir glass dish, circa 1940s 

Even after the epidemic was over, the gates remained poised for action until 1957, causing traffic jams, but no doubt providing a useful source of employment including for tourism photographers. 

Unknown tourist

The crossing itself was certainly better corralled than in the summer of 2020:

Heading towards Coolangatta
looking over from New South Wales, April 2020
family photographer

plastic bollards cross the northern end of Bay Street, Tweed Heads, NSW
looking over from Queensland, April 2020
The trees on the left hide the stalwart Tweed Heads Primary School
family photographer

Ceramic dish commemorating the Point Danger Light
 which has straddled the border since 1970.
Despite the label, the beachball girl is standing in NSW.

The locals have lived with one foot on each side of the crossing since 1859, and will resume that natural inclination to ignore the border. This year, unfortunately, the commemorations will be a little less-lighthearted. 

musical memory

Learning about the historical events of a community is expected at a local history seminar, but finding out more about personal history was a bonus recently. I was thrilled to hear about my hometown, and further questions revealed a shared memory of primary school.

A gypsy chorus girl, Tweed Heads Primary School, 1969

I always remembered this photograph of myself in a "gypsy" costume, because it was one of the first I have in colour. Looking closely, I recall my mother's pink shawl, the apron made in sewing class, the curtain ring 'earrings', and a love of beads. It is probably the only photo with all my adult teeth, some painfully extracted at a later age. I remember the make-up being applied with my mother in attendance, on the landing at the top of the stairs leading to the main Primary School Hall. 

The stairs leading to the School Hall in 2019

Until this year, I didn't remember the name of the musical or how it came to be. That's where the seminar provided an amazing connection - the teacher who had been tasked with organising the musical also attended. Yvonne, a Tweed Shire local, returned for a two-year teaching stint at Tweed Heads Primary School. She was asked to arrange a musical in both 1969 and 1970.

Her first choice was "The Gypsy Gay", the lead character "Romany Rof". Trove reveals that this musical was a stalwart of school productions for many years in many Australian states. 

Did participation also bestow a love of musicals and being part of them? Certainly I tried in high school, but never made it past the chorus line. 

communing cousins

I remember the delight of Christmas Day when many of the Judd family cousins visited their grandparents at Piggabeen, at about the time the exhaustion of the day set in for their parents. We sat on both sides of the hallway, eating home-grown watermelon in large chunks.

After a long gap of several decades while busy establishing their own family branches and professions, the cousins have started a tradition of meeting at Easter every three years or so. And now there are two or three new generations of cousins, some meeting each other for the first time. But it's also an opportunity to go back in time and look for resemblances amongst the twigs. 

Here are the antecedents for those twigs.

Marie, John, Esma, Amy, Joe, Oswald, Jim, Olga and Pauline circa 1952

Esma, Olga, Marie,
Jim, Joe, Pauline

Esma, Pauline, Jim (in car), Olga, Marie

Marriage of Amy Esma Parkins and Oswald Joseph Judd 13 June 1928

Amy Esma Parkins 1906 - 1994 Doris Parkins 

Parkins family wedding, Amy Parkins seated on the floor

Parkins family, Amy Parkins seated on right

Amy Parkins, seated, frowning at the camera, circa 1907 
(On reverse: aged 12 months)

Elizabeth Prisk 1861 - 1940 Samuel James Parkins 1856-1922 

Joseph Judd 1861 - 1946 Ida May Judd 1874 - 1949

Oswald Joseph Judd 1903 - 1979

Alwyn Judd, Oswald Joseph Judd 1903 - 1979

Ida May Adams 1874-1949

Joseph Judd 1861 - 1946

looking for May

Harold Dion Slocombe was known as Dion, from the time of his birth on 28 March 1914. With such a distinctive name, learning about his exploits should be easy, but he stepped lightly until Sunday 19 May 1963. His ashes reside at 131 Brooklyn Road, Brooklyn, close to where he was killed by a car on the low level railway crossing while walking to the station.

Dion was born in Auburn and went to school in Manly. He worked for his father after leaving school, and spent time as a military volunteer during the 1930s [1] before the family moved to Wollongong. World War II was the impetus for another move, to Cowra, but Dion decided to take advantage of the free flow of people and went to Darwin. 

On his return, he was once more absorbed into family life, using family members as subjects for his amateur photography and filming. But on his return to Sydney-side where he lived in Hewlett Street, Bronte, someone else caught his interest. Previously married and with two daughters, May  - or Mavis - became a close friend. 

Dion Slocombe and May

The Leicagraph Co. Pty. Ltd, 
5 Strand Arcade, Sydney

"My mother at 31. Slick chick eh what?
An Identity study 

The Leicagraph Co. Pty. Ltd,
5 Strand Arcade, Sydney

That they were close is evidenced by the photographs Dion kept and which still reside in the Slocombe family archive. But what happened to May? We'd still like to know. 

"Mum" on right
59 Strand Arcade, 1st floor. E.S. Smith Box 17, Bondi Beach

Advertising (1943, March 16). The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 - 1954), p. 1. http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article17840570

[1] The National Archives making a rare transcription error, labelling him Harold Don...

Slocombe, Harold "Don", 23 October 1934, National Archive of Australia B4747

down to earth

The building which houses the National Library of Australia commemorates 50 years today, although the mission was established as part of the 1901 Constitution. It's an inverted iceberg, with more storeys above ground than below. 

I worked in the building for more than half of its life, a milestone which will cease in five years' time. It wasn't and isn't uncommon for staff to exhibit this loyalty, not just because the place represented a career pinnacle, but because it underpinned commitment to the belief that the National Library, like all other libraries, was an essential service to the public. I remember making the decision 10 years in, when asked by a more senior colleague, "are you a stayer?" after a large project failed. By that time the Library and I had invested significantly in each other, so I stayed.

The original concept drawings showed the possibility of three separate buildings, later reduced to one to save money. That was enough in the early years, but with a relentlessly growing collection, the Library is now utilising a third warehouse. Another construction cost-saving measure ensured that staff and researchers focus inwards - each long side was reduced by one column, effectively blocking the view from every window except for a narrow sliver.

My first visit there was as a university student in the late 1970s when the Main Reading Room on the ground floor was a very quiet place for contemplation, unlike the keyboard-punctuated silences now. 

When the building caught fire in 1985, bibliophiles and historians around the country looked towards Canberra in horror. They included a prospective Director-General, the late Warren Horton, who felt compelled to move interstate to assist in the Library's recovery.

The fire started on the fourth floor in the computer room. More damage was caused by water from fire hoses than actual burning, and when I started work at the Library the year following, thousands of books were still laid out on metal shelves along the long third floor lakeside corridor drying. This continued for several years. The computer mainframe which supported the national catalogue and bibliographic network was moved to a specially sealed room in the middle of the second floor, with collections further away. 

IT staff sat outside the computer room, in an area where air-conditioning controls had been set for the preservation of books. We were often plunged into extremes of preservation-friendly temperatures. For a while, the smaller programming team sat in the Amazon Room, named after a film poster on the wall showing "Amazonian" women. 

All of the windows in the Library were able to be opened with an allen key, and this proved useful when a large piece of mainframe had to be removed from the second floor through the Amazon Room. It was more efficient than trying to squeeze it around corridors. The scratch on the beautifully-veined marble lintel did cause some consternation. 

Some 10 years later, the windows in the fourth floor conference room had to be opened when a water pipe was broken in the ceiling and flooded the carpets at the front of the building. The hosepipes were thrown out to ground level. 

Ironically, contrary to expectation, almost all water damage seems to have come from within the building, fortunately infrequently. After three successive droughts in the early 2000s, the floor to ceiling windows next to the front door cracked - the result of a complete lack of moisture in the air. By that time, the glass airlock which surrounded the front doors had been removed - its double-sliding, painstakingly slow opening no longer necessary.

Before earning a job at the Library, in the early days of my genealogical passion I had to visit the first floor Petherick Reading Room, named for one of the Library's significant collection donors. It was sited in the middle of the building and closed off in its beautifully-panelled, glass-fronted and book-lined shelves to serious researchers using rare materials. The Room was moved to the ground floor, and a few years ago moved back to the first floor again. 

Eventually reference volumes made their way to LG (Lower Ground) 1, where they shared a space with newspapers from around the country. Despite being below ground, the light-filled lower Reading Room gave a generous view of the inside of the moat. 

Pippa and Dee fly handmade kites outside the National Library's moat, 18 July 2001

The Library sits on its own island. Now appreciated by amateur rockwall climbers, the moat was built to protect the collections from the one-in-100 year Molonglo River flood. Although that flood has not happened yet, the River has combined with occasional downpours to fill Lake Burley Griffin with dead trees.

A lot of paper rests behind the very effective moat, especially Australian monographs and journals. While most project records were stored electronically, some were kept on paper just in case. In 1997 I stood looking at the cold bare earth, beneath the LG2 floor, while filing the records. 

As projects finished I moved to other spaces, working on the first, second, third, and fourth floors. During downtimes, I enjoyed the rare privilege of browsing the bookshelves and cabinets below ground. The office I retired from was moved from the long side facing Parliament House to the lakeside. The floorspace has been given over to the collection. Much architectural change occurs on the inside, often hidden from the public, but the responsibility at the heart of this public-facing collecting institution is immutable.