The Apology - 17th anniversary

 17th anniversary of the Apology.

I acknowledge my great-uncle whose song about his own experiences as a stolen kid became an anthem for Stolen Gens mob, nationwide - https://youtu.be/v3ytJioxKzI?si=Or-y9Ws6kkjccU7n

I acknowledge my grandmother, whose story as a stolen kid at The Bungalow and Jay Creek was preserved in the Between Two Worlds exhibition - https://territorystories.nt.gov.au/10070/702243

I acknowledge my great-grandmother Alice, who fought hard to keep the connections of family alive by riding her camel hundreds of kms to see her stolen kids - https://alicespringsnews.com.au/.../31/bungalow-days-matter/

I acknowledge my grandfather, his siblings, my dad, uncles and aunties, and their cousins, who were all born under the NT wardship acts and thus had their movements. marriages and dwellings controlled and documented by the state. Not officially "stolen" per se, but the reality is that because they were all wards, there was little real choice people had but to adhere to what the authorities were imposing on them.

Finally though, I acknowledge my great-grandmother Mary, her mother Alethe (Alice, Angelina) and the fact that these two were essentially "ground zero" for studies that became the basis of stolen generation policy due to my now known great-great-grandfather's research work with Baldwin Spencer. Even in 2025, how does one grapple with that legacy? I'd argue that claiming it proudly and uncritically while erasing these two Arrernte women is not the answer - https://blackfeministranter.blogspot.com/.../the-question...

Always remember, so it never happens again.

Learning about colonisation - a long way to go. - Supplementary part to my family tree research

 "You should be thanking your lucky stars that it was the English who colonised you, and not the Dutch/Portuguese/Chinese/insert other group here. You'd all be dead if that were the case".

If I had a dollar... well, let's just say that reparations would no longer be necessary because my dream industrial warehouse convert in the inner north would be fully realised, and I could hire someone who can actually use a stove so I would never have to eat one of my own meals again. Anyway...

All Aboriginal people have heard this claim. Some racist has spat it at us, as a form of defence when we positively assert our identities, in a way of derailing our arguments. It's a lazy way of pointing at some "other", in a classic racist Australian tactic, in a bid to get us to shut up.

As it has turned out though, my family tree research has uncovered that I am the product of two different colonial products. I exist due to the British colonisation of Australia, as well as the Dutch colonisation of Sri Lanka. For all intents and purposes, because my life has been shaped by the former - from racist school yard taunts to becoming involved in the Indigenous sovereignty movement - I am reasonably across how it works to this day. I am the descendant of two people impacted by the wardship policies, three people who were "taken" by welfare due to this, and now, also, anthropologists and the protectorate system. My Arrernte heritage is why I have been othered my entire life, and fighting for pride in this when Australia remains so damn ignorant of its legacy is why I am who I am today. 

But now, I also am a member of the famous Ondaatje family. And as such, this taunt that racists have flung at me so many times over the years has been cast into sharp relief. Suddenly, I have been found myself needing to know more about the Dutch history of colonisation. My knowledge on this front, not unlike those who have throw this feckless taunt my way, is woefully lacking. And so beginneth another research journey for one who is, frankly, addicted to knowing everything she can.

There is no question that Dutch colonisation has been fucked. That it has led to pain, suffering, death, apartheid, and so many other things over the centuries. HOWEVER, what is inescapable about my Ondaatje line is that they are "Burgher" peoples, and that in contrast to the situation here in Australia, the Burghers are a distinct ethnic group that formed due to the intermarriage of colonials and locals. No such distinct ethnic group here, with its own customs and traditions, has formed due to intermarriage of Aboriginal people and colonisers. We are either "Black" or "White", and the act of positively identifying as Aboriginal is a form of resistance in the face of genocide, assimilation policies, and ongoing colonial agendas. In short, they tried to wipe us out, so it has set up a binary and a need to reinforce our Indigenous heritage in the face of erasure.

So what then is the difference between these colonial processes that has led to a different ethnic group versus an ongoing attempted annihilation? One night, I was drinking at a favourite dive bar in Adelaide, and I hit a fellow Aboriginal mate who knew more than I did up with this question. In a very surface level response, this friend stated that one of the key differences was, very simply, the motive for colonisation. In the case of the Brits here, the motive was the formation of a prison colony so they could shove society's undesirables elsewhere. In the case of the Dutch in Sri Lanka though, as well as religion, it was the spice trade.

What does this ultimately mean? In the case of the Brits, they were expanding their empire, and their goals meant that they were not reliant on the locals to do so, regardless of any sentiments expressed by the Crown. They wanted the space, they needed the land, and so they set out getting it by any means possible. There was no need to learn the local language. As long as Aboriginal people were dying around them and they were still safe, there was also no need to establish trade partnerships. There was some need to enslave locals and put them to work in order to make these ventures successful, but this was done by force and people were compelled to adhere as their homes were starved of resources required to rear non-native animals and crops.

Conversely, when trade is the driving reason for colonisation as what the case was in Sri Lanka, there is a compulsion for colonisers to build up relationships. To integrate into existing communities. My ancestor Quint Ondaatje was noted as being able to speak five different languages proficiently, and certainly, in both the case of Sri Lanka and Indonesia, Dutch colonisers are noted as learning the local language as a way of strengthening trade partnerships. Quint's (and my) ancestor Ondaatchi - the Tamil physician - was celebrated for his knowledge, was integral in providing health care to the colonisers, and he himself converted to Lutherism and adopted the names Michael and Jurgen. In short, in order to succeed in his career, he needed to walk in these two communities, and so too did his employer, the governor. So as such, because trade formed the basis of colonisation, it meant colonisers were more likely to learn the languages and customs, foster positive relationships, and marry in. Force could not be the (sole) basis of the exchange because had it been, the Dutch East India Company would have never have got off the ground. And so from this, a distinct ethnic group that remains as a remnant of that history exists, and I am a descendant of this legacy.

There's one further part to this: those who make the header jibe seemingly forget that the Dutch actually did come to this land before the Brits did. And while there was no active colonisation here by the Dutch, the tale of the Batavia shipwreck states that not only did the people onboard spent more time killing each other than any locals, but that also two mutineers were left on the mainland, where it is thought by some that they survived by marrying into the local communities.

Colonisation has devastated the world. It has led to genocide, enslavement, entitlement, and white surpremacy. The Israel-Palestine conflict exists to this day because colonial powers took it upon themselves to carve up lands that weren't theirs, in a bid to maintain allyships, access to resources, and wallpaper over their own genocidal ambitions. Globally, colonisation is directly responsible for the wealth and health disparaties between the global north and south. But if I have learnt anything from all this, it is that not all colonisation has operated the same.

I recently, truthfully, stated in a public speech that I believe "full decolonisation is not possible", and perhaps this was an individual rather than broader Indigenous community reflection. I think instead, we are in a point in history where we grapple with this legacy while also finding ways to protect land, culture, family, and history, and this comes about via a formal treaty agreement. But as well as me being at peace with the fact that I am the biggest city Black ever created, I now also know that I am the product of two colonial processes. My heritage is complex, and untangling it all when it makes up my very fibres is, in essence, near impossible. It raises other questions too, particularly with regards to how these forebears interacted with the White Australia Policy, and whether this colonial Dutch heritage was erased due to colonial British projects. But I am also thankful that, via knowing more about my roots, I have come to understand more about colonisation globally. As a knowledge-seeker dedicated to lifelong learning, I will always be thankful for that opportunity. 

Dearly Beloved - part 8 in a series

 As I have stated, when I have been walking around the cemeteries, in the majority of cases, my people do not have headstones. A couple have the surname engraved at the front of the grave, but even those who have a defined resting spot are in the minority. Most of them don't. They simply lie, under the dirt, with nothing stating who they are. 

I don't know why. I think in the case of Elizabeth Croker Waldron, perhaps there was once a marker, but given the history of Coburg Pine Ridge Cemetery, constant flooding has washed it all away. I wonder if, perhaps in the case of others, people just never got around to marking it. Or they simply did not have the money, as the only member of my family who did have some finances behind him was James George Waller. It is also likely that others intended on having a stone placed once they had themselves been interred in these resting spaces, but this didn't end up happening. Regardless, it's a good thing I do like walking around cemeteries, reading the stories of others, because certainly, there has been little in the case of stories recorded on my family members' graves.

A notable point of difference has been my great-great-grandfather, John Henry Robinson, and my great-great-grandmother Charlotte Amor. They are co-interred in one of the most stunning cemeteries in Melbourne (Booroondara), with a clearly marked grave, and spectacular old-school headstone. My great-grandmother Bertha was their 7th-born child, immediately after her twin brother Albert. They are the only set of twins I have found in my family tree - I do have twin cousins, but that's different to descending from a twin. There were also some fantastic photos of Albert available. What can I say, the dude looked like a movie star. He had soulful eyes and cheekbones to die for, and it was the latter that gave me some historical echoes, as I also have prominent and high cheekbones.

Anyway, on shifting through Ancestry, and then downloading some certificates, I realised that what had been recorded about John Henry Robinson was incorrect. He was not, as others had recorded, from Wiltshire, rather he was a Dubliner. Though he was known as "John" quite often, his name was actually "John Henry", and he preferred to be addressed as such because his father's name was John. His mother, on his marriage certificate, was listed as Mary Farrell. Beyond these two, I have not been able to find much in the way of information. So I make the assumption that they too were Dubliners.

Another interesting thing about John Henry is that he came to Melbourne on the Leonides from NZ, having spent 7 months living there. I am unsure if his intended destination was always Melbourne, or if he had moved to NZ and then simply decided he wanted to move on. Either way, it's fortuitous that he did come here, because if he hadn't, then I wouldn't exist.

Charlotte was 19 when she married John Henry, her sister Letitia acting as her witness. Charlotte had come to Melbourne with her parents and her two surviving sisters - Louisa being the eldest and the other one. Her parents Henry and Elizabeth, like so many other of my ancestors, had so many children that didn't survive infancy, that I cannot help but think they moved here in the hope of a better life and to escape some pain. The trouble is, it didn't work out for them. Within a couple of years, the Amor sisters were orphaned, their parents buried in an unmarked grave in St Kilda, and Louisa marrying and seemingly acting as the parent figure until her sisters were old enough. I cannot imagine how terrifying this would have been for them.

On flicking through the records of John Henry and Charlotte, one thing becomes crystal clear - these two were utterly adored. John Henry, following his death at 64 years old from heart disease and pneumonia was, every year without fail, honoured by "in memoriam" notices by his wife and many children and their partners. Almost always, these loving notices contained a poem, or some skillful prose. It was amongst these notices actually that I first got the indication my great-grandmother's husband Cyril Purser Tuttleby was sometimes fondly known as "Purse" - he had signed one of these notices as such. But yes, I think it speaks a lot for John Henry that on his death, so many members of his family kept his memory alive.

I believe John Henry worked in industrial labouring, but that he was a tram "grip man", and so transported materials across sites and what-not. He apparently worked for the same people for over 40 years.

When John Henry died, Charlotte continued to live in their home at 61 Easey St (worth 250 pounds at the time) with her daughter Grace, who didn't marry until later in life. Due to this, Charlotte made special provisions in her will for Grace, leaving her furniture and household effects, then from there, dividing up her house and estate equally between all her children. Her executors were her son Henry, and her son-in-law Samuel. Charlotte's death was also marked by numerous loving messages in the classifieds. Despite her incredibly rough start, she died at 73 years old.

I wish I had photos of John Henry and Charlotte, and some more information, because truly, they seemed to be a deeply loving and devoted couple who fostered that same love in their own children. Of their daughter Bertha, I have few photos. There is one though of her standing in a wheat field next to a woman who, thanks to those tell-tale cheekbones, has to be another family member. She was a striking woman, not a traditional "beauty", per se, but with incredibly strong features that made her stand out.

Anyway, of all my ancestors, with the exception of James George Waller possibly who seemed similarly adored, it is clear John Henry and Charlotte fostered love and happiness, and in their grave, their children have let subsequent generations know just how much they thought of their parents.

"Can't swing a cat without hitting a Liddle" - part 7 in a series

 As mentioned, apart from getting a definitive answer to a couple of questions on my Liddle side, I have not ended up doing much research on that side. The Liddles are a big, Aboriginal family from Central Australia, and as such, just carrying that surname due to patriarchal social norms, as well as coming from a second well-known Central Australian Aboriginal family in the Perkinses through my grandmother, placed me in ways I have never known on the non-Indigenous side. There had also been other family members on that side who had already undertaken the research on the Liddle lines, so I was thankful for that work done, really. It was simple: the Liddles came over here from the Orkney Islands in Scotland where they mainly worked sheep. Thomas Drever Liddle and Mary Hercus landed in South Australia with their children, my lot descend from their son Thomas Foster Liddle and his second wife, Matilda Hurle. Their son, William Hurle Liddle went from Angaston, SA, up to Central Australia, got a pastoral lease. And therefore the "Central Australian Liddles" descend from William and his acknowledged Arrernte wife Mary Earwaaker. William had additional children to other women on the cattle station, and as such, surnames like Randall, Forrester, etc are also part of our immediate family. 

A huge part of my experience therefore have been people coming across random Liddles, via the public sphere, the media, politics, community, etc and going "hey, are you related to...". This happens all the time, and I am sure other Liddles get asked it in relation to me. In short though, the most common ones I get (relationship, in white ways of knowing, expressed in brackets) are: Lorraine (first cousin, once removed), Kerrynne (first cousin), Ryan (second cousin), Catherine (second cousin), Helen & Zane (aunties), Leanne (first cousin), Johnny (first cousin, once removed), Bob (first cousin, once removed), and Allan (dad). Just to cover it 😉

So it's due to this network, this already done research, and the many trips up and back from Mparntwe in my life, that digging deeper didn't really happen. I thought I knew the story there.

A trip to Fawkner Cemetery to visit the resting spots of my mum's family changed that perception. And in all places it could change, the "Pioneer Section" was probably the least likely. But here we are.

The Pioneer section is on "third avenue", and to get to my nanna Lorna's wall niche, I walk straight through it. As I was doing so, the above headstone caught my eye for obvious reasons, so I took a photo and looked up the names when I got home. I didn't assume a relationship, it was simply interesting that there was a Liddle in this section.

What did I find out? Well, firstly, Peter Liddle was from the Orkney Islands as well, and indeed, from Kirkwall, which was where Thomas Foster Liddle was born before his parents relocated to SA. Secondly, Christina was also from this area. Thirdly, we were related to both of them, as Peter's grandmother was a Drever, Christina's mother was a Drever, both of them had siblings married in with the Hercuses - which we also were, and so forth. 

I will be straight up: the Orkneys are isolated, and as such, there was a lot of intermarriage going on between the families. So much so, that what I saw was an intricate network of various family names, and therefore, quite trackable. Though I am yet to find out exactly how my lot are linked to both Peter and Christina, but when I can give it some real time, I will be able to figure it out quite easily.

I also found out that Peter was here for the goldmining. He died a few years down the track up in the QLD goldfields, of all places. There was another part to this though. Next to this grave was another grave for the Miller family (as I have since found out, more correctly "Millar", but spelling is not always consistent. Such is also the case with Hercus/Harcus). I found out that these graves are a pair, and were originally surrounded by a wrought iron barrier. The Millers were also from the Orkneys, and were, in fact, Peter's maternal uncle and his wife and children. We have links with the Orkney Millers as well, and as such, are related to this lot too. 

So in effect, I was not just looking at a Liddle relation who had, somehow, landed in Victoria before my Liddles made it to SA. I was looking at an entire family group of ours who came to Australia earlier. As such, I am fascinated.

I am yet to work out the exact degree of relationship between us and these family members, but thanks to a wonderful website on the Orkney families by another descendant of these families, I am looking into it now. Hopefully, I figure it all out soon!

Creeping around cemeteries - a supplement to the family history series

Even before I started picking apart the family tree, I have spent a lot of time creeping around cemeteries. It was a part of the ritual every time I would hit the homelands - going to the Alice Springs Garden and General cemeteries, calling in on the family, and reflecting on the times I got to spend with each of them. It's actually generally one of the first things I do when I touchdown in the homelands, and am heading into town.

The same didn't happen for my maternal side. In truth, not knowing an awful lot about them, and having not met the majority of them, the connection wasn't there. We also don't have a resting spot for my "Cocky" (pop) Ernest. A tragic turn of events means that the urn containing his ashes was stolen in a house robbery and the contents disposed of in ways unknown. As I have constructed the branches of the family tree, I have placed so many people from my mother's childhood who she remembers clearly, but had no idea where family members. Those familial ties were not necessarily constructed for her in the mix that was the Clifton Hill/Collingwood area in the 1950s, even though it seems she grew up surrounded by family. I have postulated that this is probably a little due to privilege - my Arrernte family, in the face of legislation, has had to fight just that much harder to keep together, and so knowing who was who became infinitely more important.

I have been trouping around my local cemetery for years. It is very close to my place, and due to it being teeming with rabbits, it's an excellent place to walk my Jack Russell x Kelpie. She's never allowed off the lead - I would lose her down a warren within seconds. The local cemetery historical society has marked out some key graves of community figures, complete with a storyboard, so it has become to me a place of stories. I walk through, reading the headstones and seeing how people have reflected on their loved ones. Hagiography is obviously a thing - I am yet to come across a headstone that says "the dude was a bastard and I am glad he's no longer tormenting anyone" - but everywhere you look, you see vignettes of lives lived. 

It was very recently that I found out that this local cemetery was not just a convenient dog-walking park for me. Rather, it contains part of my story. There is an unmarked grave in the south-western section of the cemetery that contains my great-great-great-grandmother Elizabeth Croker Waldron, together with one of her sons. Buried under the name of "Elizabeth Jenkins", Elizabeth arrived in Australia in 1863. She first married a John Sanders, and their oldest daughter Amelia is who I descend from via her marriage to James Emanuel Waller. Following his death, Elizabeth married a man named Henry Jenkins and had a further child, living to the nice old age of 89 years old. She died in 1925. 

This particular section of the cemetery is full of damaged and unmarked graves. Apparently, over the decades, it has been prone to flooding, therefore making the ground unstable. Locating Elizabeth has really just been guess work - I believe I have marked out where she is, and I have used a couple of cemetery vases to highlight the area. I have contacted the cemetery trust with regards to putting a marker up, have found out that Elizabeth is still listed as the owner of the plot, and therefore by descent, I potentially do have the right to claim ownership of the site and put a marker up. The problem is proving this - from her to me inclusive, there are six generations. Therefore, I am but one of quite a number of potential claimants, and I am certainly not a senior claimant. The rules of the cemetery trusts, I will return to shortly after this next story, but here's a photo of how I first marked Elizabeth's spot.

The second story I have is of my great-great-great-grandfather James George Waller. As previously mentioned, researching this line gave me a lot of joy as it was via this that I found out that my maternal side was not completely white, and that I was the direct descendant of a Dutch-Burgher revolutionary. James becomes an example of someone who was legally a British subject, but who was actually a non-white migrant who got into this country prior to the White Australia Policy and my theory here is that this history was allowed to be forgotten so as not to inconvenience family members during decades of racist policies.

James George Waller was listed as "unknown" regarding his burial site on findagrave. He also didn't appear in the cemetery trust search engines. I didn't see how this could be the case - he died in Melbourne and it was likely he was buried here. I tried a different tack - I searched my great-great-great-grandmother Caroline Waller (Hodges). I came across a gravesite at St Kilda cemetery from the correct death year, and then did a further search on this cemetery for the name "Waller". In the same grave, I realised that a man listed as "John George Waller" was interred. I immediately shot the cemetery trust an email listing a potential error, while a friend did a reconnaissance job for me on the site. He found it to be marked out, but in disrepair and with no headstone confirming the identity of the inhabitants.

The cemetery trust officer was lovely and helpful. She informed me that there was a third occupant of this site - an Elsie Coventry. Through my research, I was able to quickly identify Elsie as their infant granddaughter via James and Caroline's daughter Hariet and her husband, Ebenezer Coventry. From there, I obtained a copy of James' death certificate to confirm his death date and resting site details, sent it to the trust, and after 115 years of incorrect records, we finally had a resting site for James - the grandson of Quint Ondaatje. 

It was when I enquired about placing a monument to mark this spot for other descendants after so long that I hit a road block. According to, at least, the two main cemetery trusts of Melbourne, all burials are conducted "in perpetuity". In addition to this, all burial sites are also purchased "in perpetuity". So the person who owns a grave site can be completely different to the person who is buried in a site. This was the case for James and Caroline - the site remains the property of Ebenezer Coventry as he purchased it, and he retains this ownership despite dying in 1935. Despite me being a direct descendant of two of the interred people, I have no claim to this site as I am not a descendant of Ebenezer. I could get the site ownership transferred to me, but to do so, I would have to find a legal beneficiary of Ebenezer alive today, get them to prove their right to claim the site, AND then get them to also transfer their right of ownership over to me. In other words, I have buckley's. We're talking hundreds of people, countless legal wills, and so forth. 

There is no flexibility in these rules, even this many generations down the track, and no common sense allowances. I did write to my local MP outlining what I saw as a problem, and his office was incredibly helpful. Unfortunately though, they passed me to the Ministry of Health, and all I got there was a woman from the office repeating everything to me I already knew, and completely missing the point of why I contacted in the first place. I was not looking for an individual path of what I "might" be able to do, I was looking for governments to consider revisiting cemetery trust legislation in a bid to give some common sense allowances so a direct descendant, after a certain passing of time, may have some ability to claim a site and mark it. One remedy she offered included asking the trust if I could spend the money to put a temporary monument on the site with the understanding that if an owner does eventually claim the site, I would remove it. In the end, I just got frustrated with this woman and said "perhaps I can just put a makeshift wooden cross on these sites with the names on it like I have seen others have". She said "that would be illegal", to which I replied "yes, and that's my entire point for contacting, here".

On one hand, these laws are great. They mean folks won't just be exhumed when the cemetery feels like it. On the other hand, they are ridiculous. More people are undertaking family research than ever before due to the availability of technology, and there is no way for us to ensure our forebears are remembered, and others who come to this spaces can see these people existed.

Finally though, yesterday, quite by accident, I came across an anomaly. I visited many family burial sites in Fawkner cemetery, and the majority of these sites were unmarked. In my great-grandfather, Cyril Purser Tuttleby's, resting site, he lies with an infant son named Raymond, and...a complete and utter mystery woman who appears to be of no relation at all. I have contacted the cemetery for clarification here, as this woman's death certificate gave no insight at all as to why she would be connected enough with my family to have access to be buried here, 30 years after Cyril's death. Perhaps they will have something for me, but if not, what this means is that while I may not have the right to claim Cyril's site and erect a headstone on it, a cemetery may have the right to inter a random person in a burial site. I await their information eagerly...

The tale of Avis McVeigh - part 6 of a series

When I set out to look into the genealogy, it was confirming or denying something on the Arrernte (paternal) side of my family that was the driving reason. I obviously ended up confirming it, and doing so via a second family line, thus making it incontravertible. Yet as I kept researching, my maternal side ended up taking all my time. It was like I had solved the "one mystery" on one side, then discovered the other side was just non-stop mystery that needed to be found out. I hope to return to the paternal side research soon, though when I do, I will be focussing on the women in it. Nearly all the work thus far has been on the men, and mainly the white men at that, so a black and feminist lens will give more scope.

My maternal nanna's mother, Avis McVeigh, kind of ended up being the hero I didn't realise I needed. Yet, I wouldn't have realised just how much if Avis had lived in a time following the passing of no-fault divorce legislation. Don't get me wrong, no-fault divorce is essential, and no couple wishing to go their separate ways should have to lay all the sordid details on the table for the legal system to consider as grounds. It was a sick practice, and it's none of the government's business. But if these old school divorce papers hadn't existed when my great-grandparents were going their separate ways, I may never have known the strong-willed and independent woman whose mitochondrial DNA I carry.

To go back a bit though, Avis was born to John McVeigh and Eliza Louisa Hibbert in 1902. She was the third of four children, and their only daughter. I have already introduced these two, but to recap, John McVeigh was a bootmaker. He had been born in Surry Hills, NSW, his father's name was William, and on researching to the best of my ability, I believe his mother's maiden name was Mary Murphy. I also believe he may have had a sister named Margaret, and that his parents were both illiterate which is why tracking their details has been difficult. William came from Belfast and died in Australia a mere 12 years after he got here.

Eliza Louisa Hibbert's parents were Joseph Hibbert and Eliza Sarah Kipps from Panton Hill, Vic, according to both her marriage and death certificates. Yet as I have stated, I am yet to find a birth certificate for Eliza Louisa. Her mother was having children well into her 40s, including two brothers who were younger than Eliza, and would have been 46 when Eliza was born, but I can't confirm any of this via the registry. I therefore need to solve a mystery here, because in my view, she was either simply not registered by her parents (rare in Vic, but it did happen), she was adopted, or she may have been the daughter of one of her older sisters, born out of wedlock, hidden amongst the family structure. Certainly, she had sisters old enough to have been her mother. Any intel here would be gratefully received because, as I also stated in an earlier entry, she had an older sister with a similar name, and other descendants constructing the family tree have gotten these two girls mixed up even though there was about a 17 year age gap between them, and they married different men. Anyway...

"Avis", not unlike "Mina" in the Waller/Ondaatje line, is a name that was passed down the generations, and the first Avis I can find was via Eliza Kipps' line, going back to 1780. At least one girl per generation got the name Avis as a first or middle name, and this has continued all the way down to my generation, with one of my sisters scoring it. It means "bird", and in the case of Avis McVeigh, it was probably the most suitable name for her, because the woman did not like cages. 

There was a rumour in the family that my great-grandparents Avis and Harold Waller were not actually married, yet when I started digging, it was clear this was not correct. The marriage certificate and divorce papers laid waste to that theory quickly. What did become apparent is that they may as well have never married, as the two of them were lucky if they managed to spend a good 12 months under the same roof. They quarrelled, then Avis would shoot through back to her parents' place leaving Harold to do the same.

Harold filed for the divorce, 9 years after they separated, on the grounds of "abandonment". There was no opposing statement from Avis - she was more than happy to cop the "fault" and move onwards with her life. Avis had, nine years prior, packed up her belongings and those of my grandmother Lorna's, and shot through back to her parents' place. Why? It was simple really: Harold suggested that Avis should quit her job at the shoe factory, and be a stay-at-home mother. Avis wasn't having it.

Perhaps it's because I am a feminist reading these papers 90 years on from when they were filed, but unfortunately for Harold, I found the entire situation rather amusing. In his claims, he not only recounted that he got home one day to find the house untended and no evening meal prepared, but he details several times trying to reconcile only to have Avis stand her ground and refuse to be a housewife. If that wasn't bad enough, Harold worked with Avis' father John, and on the day she shot through for good, John informed Harold on the factory floor that "I wouldn't bother going home, mate" - I mean, kudos to John for backing in his daughter. There are other parts in this comedy of errors, but one part really stood out - from the beginning, Avis continually refused spousal support on the basis that she was an "independent woman who made her own money", and Harold was only ever expected to assist with the costs of raising his daughter, which he did. 

Harold was, by no means, some conservative old dude who felt women needed to stay in their "place". Indeed, when it comes to the accounts I have heard of his second wife, she too was a rather independent and strong-willed woman, so if anything, the bloke had a type. He was though a man building his life and family in the 1920s, and Avis was ahead of her time. The accounts of Harold was that he was dashing, that he was musically talented, and that a couple of whiskeys down and he would be enthralling the house guests with the best of vaudeville performances. Perhaps what really happened here is that two charismatic young people met, had a whirlwind romance, then married, tried to slot into their expected roles, and found they were utterly unsuited for them? By the time they divorced, they had both met their future second spouses, and so at the end of the day, the paperwork was a mere formality.

Anyway, when it comes to Avis, what becomes clear when reading her paperwork is that the woman had some pretty clear feminist principles, even if, at the time, she may not have labelled them that herself. She fiercely guarded her independence. She worked at that shoe factory on the machines until she retired, and she even took work home with her to finish. She got a lot of pride out of her work, and this pride in making items to embellish the appearance of others translated to what she wore herself - she was known to always be immaculately put together, and turned out in well-made coats and clothing items. She smoked cigarettes using an elegant hold. All purchased with her own money, and proudly so.

The next bit of paperwork I found with regards to Avis relates to her second husband Norman, and his divorce papers from his previous marriage. Avis and Norman had been carrying on an affair while he was still married, and while his claim against his wife Thelma was eerily similar to Harold's (he claimed that his wife had refused to quit her job - I couldn't help but think he used the example to just have something to throw on the table), her account was harrowing. In short, she detailed some abuse, finding out about the affair, a bit of gaslighting, and being left financially hamstrung. Rather than hide the affair, it seemed Norman may have flaunted it. The two women ended up getting to know each other quite well, and there was one rather harrowing experience they shared which I will not detail. In short, unlike Harold's account of his marriage to Avis, there was nothing to like or find amusing in this divorce-fault proceeding between Norm and Thelma. 

That said, there was one thing Thelma did detail which really struck me. An encounter happened between the women where Avis found out that Norman had not been providing Thelma with child support for their son, and this infuriated Avis. She ended up giving Thelma money from her own coffers to cover that child support, and ensuring that this did not happen again. That this was acknowledged in the divorce suit says that there was, at least, some amount of begrudging respect and solidarity between the women regardless of the awfulness of the rest of it all, and I had to admire this.

The final bit of paperwork I found related to Avis was her will. As mentioned, Avis purchased 19 Parslow St, Clifton Hill off her daughter's in-laws, and did so as a sole owner. Her and Norman lived there together, but it was her house. Avis clearly did her will a few years prior to her passing, and at a time when Norman was still alive, so she made provisions in her will that included him. These provisions were, however, just brilliant.

Firstly, on her death, she named her daughter as her sole heir and beneficiary, and therefore the owner of this property, along with all her other worldly goods. Fine, that's not abnormal, but had she died before Norman, according to her will, Norman was allowed to live in the house only as long as he paid the council rates, and took care of any bills and maintenance needs. If he didn't, his step-daughter, as the property owner, was entitled to turf him out. Avis' final statement to the world was to ensure not only the financial independence of the women who followed her, but also to ensure that they were never in a position of subservience to a man. It was magnificent.

There are a lot of restless and headstrong women that reside within this side of the family, myself being one of them. Women who are not terribly good at being told their place, and instead try to carve out their own ways. It is therefore rather lovely to find out that in my great-grandmother Avis, we have an example of such a woman who was doing this long before it was the done thing, and managing to thrive while she did.

19 Parslow Street, Clifton Hill - Part 5 of a series

 Digging through my mother's side of the family, and bringing certain things into light, one thing in particular has really struck me. In 1997, I moved to La Trobe University and lived on campus for three years, before ultimately settling in the northern suburbs of Melbourne (with a hiatis back in the south-east for as long as I could bear it). I have never lived on my Arrernte homelands, though they have formed a massive part of my life. Despite this, somehow, for the past 28 years, I have managed to lob myself in the middle of a number of family addresses related to my mum's side. Every day, I have been walking on streets they walked on, yet until I dug through their birth, death and marriage certificates, I had no idea this was the case.

Mum has mainly tied herself to Clifton Hill. This is where she spent her childhood, and where her grandparents lived. Yet there are numerous addresses in Collingwood, Northcote, Preston, Thornbury and Reservoir where her forebears lived. Indeed, with the exception of her Waller and Amor ancestors who were based around Prahran, every single other one of them lived in these suburbs at some point. They may have been born in Campbellfield, or Panton Hill, but they ended up here. And I have, in turn, lived in numerous rentals that have been a stone-throw away from some of these old addresses listed in the directories.

There is one address though that stands alone as a site of significance: 19 Parslow Street, Clifton Hill. This place saw more comings and goings of my mum's family than any other. It was a modest house, in a then-dodgy part of the suburb, yet it features continuously in multiple family records for about 60 years.

I have already introduced the first person I found linked to this address: my great-great-great grandmother Mary Purser died at 19 Parslow St, Clifton Hill, in 1915. I do not know when she moved there, though can hazard a guess: if you look at this property website, the house is listed as being built in 1910, so there's a good chance that's when she became an occupant. I know from her death certificate, that she was living with family, because her daughter-in-law Annie is listed as the witness to Mary's passing. Annie was married to Mary's son John, and John was interred with his mother and father at the Strathallen Cemetery - the old part of Preston General - when he himself passed away in 1947. Annie and John lived in nearby Walker Street, but digging around in the Sands and McDowell directory of 1910, I soon found out that the owner of 19 Parslow was Alfred Brown - Mary's youngest living son - and his wife Frances. 

19 Parslow Street was also the birthplace, and childhood home, of my grandfather Ernest, and his siblings. Ernie was born there a year after his great grandmother passed away, so some time in 1915 or 1916, the house changed hands from Alfred Brown, to his nephew (and my great-grandfather), Cyril Purser Tuttleby. Given Ernie was the youngest of four children, that means there was a four generation span moving under the same roof in short succession. 

When he married my grandmother Lorna in 1940, Ernest lived at 111 Westgarth Street in Northcote. Both his parents had passed away by that point, and I could not find who was in 19 Parslow following their deaths, so it would be reasonable to assume that the house had been sold and people had moved on. This wasn't the case - on grabbing the Sands and McDougall's Directory of 1945 and having a flick through, by then 19 Parslow Street was my grandfather Ern's listed address, and thus it was where my two uncles spent their early childhood years. I therefore believe it stayed in Brown-Tuttleby family hands in the intervening years.

Some time after my mother was born, the family had moved into a place in Spensley Street, Clifton Hill. On the selling of 19 Parslow Street, it could be assumed that this was the end of the line for five generations of my family in that one address. Instead though, an unusual twist happened. The next owner of this address was a Mrs Avis Turnbull, formerly Waller, born McVeigh - my great-grandmother - so the house changed hands to the in-laws. 

Despite being remarried, Avis was the sole owner of this property, and as stated, her life and antics were colourful enough that she is going to get her own entry. A key thing to note about Avis though was that she was fiercely independent. Her death certificate in 1969 lists this property as her address still at that time, her second husband had predeceased her, and given she only had one child, her sole inheritor of 19 Parslow Street was my grandmother Lorna. Avis' will though was, in short, a work of art, and will be examined later. Therefore, the final owner of 19 Parslow Street, after four generations, and a change-in-hands from one side of the family to the other, was the wife of the man who was born in it just over 50 years earlier. 

I am not sure when my grandmother Lorna finally sold this property and after such a long history with us lot, it moved on to house a new family. I do know that it would have been before 1976, according to the property history websites. The last time it was sold, this modest house, purchased on a single income, in a formerly undesirable factory-worker pocket of Clifton Hill, fetched over $2M. When I think of that, and the other places members of my family have lived in all over this rapidly gentrifying area, it does make me wish we had sat on even just one of these houses for a wee bit longer.