Frank Moyes - the update to "The Marigold"

 Many months ago, I wrote up "The Marigold" - a blogpost where I solved the mystery of why my great-great-grandmother Eliza Louisa Hibbert had no birth certificate. I posed an unanswered question at the end of it: as well as my wondering if she ever knew her parents were actually her grandparents, I also wondered what became of her half-brother, Francis.

It seems I have now solved that mystery. Francis Louis Townsend Moyes was the sole beneficiary in his father's will when Robert Gibson Moyes passed away in 1911. Given his (and Eliza's) mother Sarah Avis had passed away in 1890, this technically made him an orphan at the age of 26. 

Frank, like Eliza, was born under rather "interesting" circumstances. For starters, though he was the son of Robert, he was born in 1885 when his mother Sarah was still technically married to her second husband, William Townsend, which is how he initially had Townsend in his name. Sarah married Robert when William died in 1890, yet sadly, only lived for another couple of months. Robert, who had the exceptionally cool occupation of being a "billiard maker", outlived her by two decades, never remarried, nor had any other children, and they are interred together in Melbourne General Cemetery. Sarah appears to have led a short, and rather rough, life, but it's clear that at the end, she found herself a devoted companion. 

Try as I might though, apart from finding Robert's will and therefore knowing that he outlived his father, my trail for Francis ran cold. No marriage or death certificates could be found on the system, regardless of whether I searched under Moyes or Townsend. It wasn't until Ancestry notified me that they had a new "hint" available for Francis that I solved it all.

My family has a tendency to use nicknames or familiar names, or even alias, rather than a person's actual name. Therefore obviously Francis became "Frank", and that was what he was known as. It was also what he officially seemed to use, because the hint ancestry sent me were his World War I service papers. 

Frank Moyes joined the allied forces in 1915, when he was a 30 year old man. From there, he served in the 9th, and then the 59th Battalion. Frank was critically injured in the Battle of Amiens in 1918 and sadly succumbed to his injuries a couple of days later. I therefore could not find a death certificate in Victoria because Frank is buried over in the Vignacourt cemetery, his service number and rank of Private listed on his headstone.

Frank never married, nor had any children. His military service papers, however, also answered another couple of questions for me.

Sadly, when Frank died, I do not believe that he knew he had a living older half-sister. He had no next-of-kin listed on his records, both parents were dead, and correspondence from a Mrs Annie Pearce to the Australian Army indicates that he was a friend of hers who had been lodging at her place when he enlisted. Annie was an older woman - I believe a widow - and it took her several letters to the military in order to gain his personal effects so he was remembered. To do this, Annie Pearce also had to state that Frank had no next-of-kin, and the military then had to establish this as fact. It appears they did establish it because the final piece of correspondence to Annie Pearce from the Army indicates that she received his effects, and that she had to ensure they had not been tampered with in their journey to her.

Annie Pearce herself died only a couple of years later, and sadly, this most likely means that Frank's treasures, memories, and medals are lost to time. It means something else too though: had it been known Frank had a living older half-sister, then these goods would have instead gone to Eliza Louisa Hibbert McVeigh, as Frank had no living parents, and his other two half-siblings had passed away in infancy. It is therefore my belief that he never knew the truth.

This doesn't cancel out the fact that maybe Eliza did know the truth. But she never herself entered into correspondence with the army for his effects. This story of a WW1 family member soldier dying on the field has also not been passed down the generations. The expert in my family on military service is my uncle - a Vietnam Veteran who has been active in the RSL for decades - and this story was news to him. I think, therefore, the most logical conclusion becomes that Eliza did believe she was his aunty rather than his sister - her upbringing ensured that. Had her busy-body great-great-granddaughter not started turning over some rocks over a hundred years later, all this probably would have remained unknown.

My uncle is looking into pursuing this with the RSL, so perhaps one day Frank's medals will return to his living next-of-kin. Perhaps they won't though, and therefore, if I ever go to France, I will make sure I take the time to sit by his graveside, and let him know that his great-great-grandniece has finally found him. Until then, rest peacefully, Private Moyes.

Retiring from rallies (for now)

 This year's Invasion Day rally in Naarm has made me have to stop, and take stock. And I am not talking on a broader scale, where the prospect of gathering is terrifying because some alleged terrorist bombed the Boorloo rally. This is more personal.

Following the Naarm rally, I went down with heat sickness for the first time in my entire life. For those who don't know me well, this was a real turn-up for the books because I, notoriously, have always coped well with hot weather. Indeed, I relish it, and when others are dropping around me, I am still going strong. What's more, it wasn't actually a "hot" day on the 26/1 - for the majority of the rally, the temperature stayed below 30 degrees. But one of my fellow organisers noticed me struggling at Flinders Street, and checked in with me later because they were worried. When I was incredibly ill the following day, I marvelled at their observation skills - they foresaw my situation well before I recognised it.

It was when, however, the symptoms of heat sickness dragged on for a week, and indeed, two, that I realised something else was going on. I dealing with continual waves of heat hitting my body, and knocking me around. I had never had a hot flush, so hence, didn't know that's what was hitting me. But there have been additional problems too. I've been struggling with anxiety and depression, getting tremors and pulpitations, and the neuropathy in my left foot/leg has simply exploded. No existing medications have been helping me.

To a degree, I could explain the anxiety and depression. After all, an old friend died prior to the rally, and I was trying to process this sad event while navigating racist Australia. But a certain amount of my symptoms were not remotely explainable.

There is footage of me reading out the statement from Warriors of the Aboriginal Resistance that was taken from Pedestrian TV. If you watch it closely, focussing on my hands, you can see that though my voice is mainly strong and full of conviction, my hands are shaking uncontrollably. Indeed, at one point, my shaking was so bad that I was actually unable to turn the pages and had to keep trying. 

I am an accomplished public speaker. Yes, I get nervous before I address a crowd, but I have never before experienced tremors like this. Ever. It took me nearly 30 minutes to get rid of them, so it wasn't as simple as nervousness - something else had tripped my system and physically, I was not coping.

These same tremors have occurred twice since then. The first time was when I was calmly sitting outside, waiting to go into my friend's funeral. The second was when I rode my bike home from Aldi with some groceries in the basket. In the case of the latter, I couldn't unpack my basket for a number of minutes, so lucky there wasn't icecream or similar amongst my haul. In all these instances, I felt like a beta-blocker wouldn't have gone astray because I had no control. When the tremors were also coupled with palpitations (outside the funeral), I actually got very scared for my health. 

These three tremor events have utterly nothing in common. Sure, each of them happened at a time of stress, but the types of stress tripping this reaction are starkly different (eg: grief versus physical exertion). I have had to take stock. In my reckoning, this reaction means that I am dealing with some deeply embedded physiological or psychological condition that gets triggered by the addition of some form of stress, and I am therefore needing to be more careful.

Then I looked at a calendar. Judging by what my "normal" has been since I was 13, around the date of Invasion Day, I was due to menstruate. Over two weeks later, I still haven't. It's not the first time I have ever skipped, but it's certainly been a unique experience this time around. I have actually had an increase in symptoms consistent with the onset of menopause. Doctor google confirmed for me that tremors, anxiety and neuropathy can all form part of this journey, and given I am also getting multiple hot flushes per day, I am recently certain my body is adjusting to the "end game" of this process. Also, I am 48 in two months, and I have had perimenopause symptoms for a few years now, so I think this is a reasonable conclusion for me to make.

It's not as simple as me just "pushing on". No medication I currently have is alleviating my symptoms. At best, painkillers and nerve blockers have merely taken the edge off. And my quality of life is suffering. If it's not a physical ailment, I am finding it harder to leave the house right now mentally. I therefore need to give myself the space to find support and remedies, so I can get some vitality and normal function back.

I have a doctor's appointment this week. I am hoping that, from there, we are able to build a plan going forward to make things better. For now though, I need the time and space to do as stated.

As such, I ask that people give me that time. Please don't ask me to speak at rallies, or even to attend them, until I can give notification that I can again. My body is in no state right now for me to be putting it on the line. Know that I stand strongly, and/or in solidarity, with mob, with Palestine, with renters, with immigrants, with the working class, and etc. Also know that I am doing everything I can to get myself back on deck, activism-wise. I will always be working behind the scenes regardless. It's just who I am.

Cheers!