Closer than I imagined

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks (2020)

Week 7 | Favourite Discovery

Visiting the Colin Thiele monument in Eudunda
(South Australia) in 2013

My favourite author features in my post this week about my favourite discovery during my family history research.  And there have been many but Amy’s suggestion was to think about something you’ve found out that still makes you smile.

So, Colin Thiele. My all-time favourite author.  Introduced to me by my Dad.  I still treasure and re-read copies of his books that I was given as a child and continue to add to my collection of his works and read ones I have somehow missed.  I doubly treasure the one he autographed for me when I was 11 years old and my grandma took me to a signing.

Not only is he a great storyteller, but a master of the written word.  Colin was born in Eudunda, South Australia in 1920 to a family of German descent. He was educated at Kapunda High School; the same school my grandmother attended, although a few years after her.  He then taught in high schools and colleges in Adelaide and served in the RAAF in World War II.  As I read his biography Can I call you Colin? there were so many parallels to my paternal grandparents’ family history that I couldn’t help wondering if they had ever crossed paths or known each other. 

Some years ago, I was leafing through a copy of a family history that had been compiled about one of the branches of my paternal grandfather’s family.  In the interests of full disclosure, I’ll admit that my perusing was accompanied by some opinions on the merits of the work.  Then all of a sudden, a name caught my eye!  Wait!  Did I see Colin Thiele’s name in my family tree?  The Colin Thiele. Flipping back a few pages and reading carefully, sure enough, there it was. 

Okay. So not actually related to us by blood. But his wife Rhonda was a second cousin to my paternal grandfather.  Did they know each other?  Had they been at the same family gatherings in their youth?  They grew up in similar parts of Adelaide so it’s possible.  Sadly, I didn’t get a chance to ask any of the parties who may have had the answer, as my grandfather died in 1958 and I, busy with family life, work and study, I didn’t find the time to track down Rhonda before she passed away, although she lived only an hour from me.

Nonetheless, it is a discovery that never ceases to bring me a warm glow that not only did Colin’s life parallel that of my grandparents, he did actually marry into our family. Even in my wildest speculations about possible connections, I hadn't imagined that.

A life lived in 5km

52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks (2020)

Week 4 | Close to Home

A short and poignant response to this week’s theme that tells the story of Annie Davey, sister of my maternal grandfather and niece of Susan Betts, the subject of last week’s post. 

The only surviving photo of Annie Davey, circa 1960

As a toddler, Annie lived with her parents Henry and Elizabeth (nee Betts) and older brother, Ernest Frank, on Ada Street, in the Stoneleigh Estate in Lutwyche where Henry had purchased two lots in 1891.  As she neared the end of her school days, the family moved to King Street, Lutwyche (now Maygar Street, Windsor), a distance of only about 500 metres from the home on Ada Street.  Annie and her parents lived in this home until the end of World War I, when they moved to Union Street, Nundah, about 5km away.

It is likely that Annie attended Bowen Bridge school, but this has not been confirmed.  Social life for the family appear to have centred on the activities of the Independent Order of Rechabites, a temperance organisation of which Henry was a member and which had a junior group and possibly the Salvation Army.

Annie came of age during the turbulent years of the First World War.  At a time when her thoughts would likely have been turning to courtship and marriage, life would instead have been a series of farewells as her brother and other young men in her social circle enlisted in the AIF and left Australia to fight in the Middle East and Europe; her daily routine punctuated with the appearance of familiar names in casualty lists in the daily newspapers.

As for numerous women of this generation, Annie did not marry.  For many it was because they lost a beau in the war; for others it was the simple (and sad) fact that the war significantly reduced the number of eligible men.   There is family folklore that Annie lost a beau, however, no evidence has been found (yet) to confirm that this is the reason she didn’t marry or who the young man might have been.

Instead, continued to live at home with her parents, Henry and Elizabeth (nee Betts) Davey.  After her mother passed away in 1926, she continued to care for her father until his death in 1945.   A few years before Henry’s death, Henry and Annie made one last move, to 52 Buckland Road, Nundah, again a move of less than 500 metres (and still within 5km of her first home on Ada Street).

Upon Henry’s death, Annie inherited the home and lived there for almost another 40 years.  In her last few years, she moved into a nursing home, across the river in the Redland Shire, the biggest move she had made in the 90 odd years of her life.  She died in the Princess Alexandra Hospital in July 1985, aged 92 years and was cremated at Mt Thompson. 

The Davey home at 52 Buckland Road, Nundah, Qld

Although she remained physically close to home (in fact, in a series of family homes within a 5km circle) for the majority of her life, she unfortunately did not remain emotionally close to home. A connection to her surviving family members, the children of her brother, was largely lost and her nieces and nephews did not become aware of her passing until well after the funeral and were unable to mark the occasion.  As a consequence, she bequeathed her home (and estate) to Annie’s “dear friend Edna Irene Brumpton … in appreciation and grateful thanks for all the kindness and help she has bestowed on me during our years of Happy Friendship”.  Edna sold the home to developers and it has long since been replaced by a ubiquitous brick ‘six-pack’ unit block.  A sad ending both for this home and for my great-aunt Annie, whose life had stayed close to it (and its predecessors) for so many years.