I have been quiet on here for some time, as life events and health challenges have got in the way, but I have been quietly working on the family history front too.
I have just completed writing my second family and local history book, Work of Heart. As I write, the book is in the process of being set-up and shortly I will have the final quotes and then the book will be in print and ready for distribution! This project has taken many years, and has been a ‘work of heart’ for myself to see it finally completed.
Meet Jane Norgate, later Preshaw (1839-1926); my 3 x great grandmother:
Jane Preshaw(née Norgate) 1839 – 1926
For those of you who have followed my blog for some time, Jane was the grandmother of Henry David Evans (1886-1922) of Reefton, who married Eva Lillian Lawn (1887-1976) of Blacks Point in 1907.
Eva Evans (née Lawn) and Henry David (‘Harry’) Evans with their three eldest children, Edith, Jennifer and Henry jnr.
Jane was born in a tiny village in Norfolk, went to Norwich as a child and on to London. She travelled to Australia (alone) while still in her teens, and several years later arrived on the West Coast of New Zealand with her young daughter Alice.
But Jane, a stalwart of the Reefton community as the first Matron of the Reefton Hospital, had some secrets that she never revealed during her life, just as the men in her life had past lives that were not all that they seemed, and which are now uncovered and told in my story spanning several generations and following connected family lines.
Work of Heart
A Life of courage, determination and compassion
Jane Preshaw née Norgate 1839-1926
Her family, the men in her life and her
legacy as matron for the first thirty years at Reefton Hospital.
This book builds on my earlier (much smaller) 2013 booklet called Jane Norgate: a life revealed. Since then I have made a lot of discoveries, corrected errors and completed further research, helped by many connections we have made, including my DNA cousins. I couldn’t have done this without your support!
Work of Heartfollows the true story of Jane Preshaw as the central unifying character and brings together her relationships with other key individuals:
The life of Jane’s father Henry Norgate of Norfolk and his first family born in Norfolk and his second family born in London.
Jane’s years in Melbourne, her marriages and relationships there and the birth of her daughter Alice Smith.
The life of Alice’s father Henry Smith and the Smith family from Derbyshire to the Hunter Valley NSW and then his final years in Sydney, including the lives of his illegitimate daughters born in the UK.
Jane and Alice’s arrival in New Zealand and coming to Reefton, along with David Preshaw‘s previous life and family,
How Jane and David Preshaw together ran the Reefton Hospital from its beginnings, its organisation and development
Other people involved in Reefton Hospital either as nurses and doctors and how the town of Reefton grew at the same time.
Henry Evans, his real name and life in Brighton, Sussex, his parents and sisters and Henry’s time in New Zealand before meeting Alice Smith.
Following Alice and Henry Evans marriage in 1877, Henry Evans working life prospecting, gold mining and timber, as well as their farm at Burkes Creek and raising a family.
The Evans children through into the 20th century just prior to WWII, including memories of grandchildren.
Finally the second part of the book gives some genealogies of the Norgate, Smith, Hole and Preshaw families and some unexpected relatives: the Shardlow, Stubbins and Secretan families.
Like my 2016 book To Live a Long and Prosperous Life, on the life of Dinah Hart and the Lawn family, I have woven these stories with the social and historical contexts of the times and illustrated them with maps, diagrams and lots of photographs.
At this point Work of Heart is looking like it will be close to 400 pages once images and the index are added and will be a single print run. As with my previous book there will also be copies in libraries, so will be available to future researchers; do let me know if you have a local library you think would be interested in a copy.
For expressions of interest please use the form found here: Contact
Make sure that you subscribe to my blog [see end of the post] in order to hear first about new posts and updates on Work of Heart or follow the page on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/inkandstonewriting
Over the coming weeks I will be adding family trees and other information about the families covered in this new book.
As a follow-on from my last post, where I wrote about my investigation into my own home, I would like you to consider what you might leave behind.
I don’t mean the precious objects you bequeath to family: perhaps artworks, jewellery or photographs but the everyday objects you misplace and forget; the marks and symbols that you leave in your house and property that give clues to who and what you are.
I was inspired to create this post by the random discovery we had yesterday while gardening; as I weeded and hoed, my husband was shoveling nicely matured compost from the bin to be layered under pea straw. I looked up when he called – had I lost an egg-cup? There, discarded into the compost was a stainless steel egg-cup, accidentally scooped up and scraped into the compost bin with the egg-shells after a lunch last year. We had a laugh – I hadn’t missed it at all. And isn’t that often the case when you lose something – trying to remember where you last had it? Sometimes its years later and you are thinking I used to have such-and-such – whatever happened to that?
As adults with things occupying our minds and distractions that we lose stuff: I have lost more earrings than I care to remember, and even precious rings, but that is another story. Particularly as children we leave things behind and lose things we shouldn’t – (a new jersey left down at the swings, our homework book left at school – who hasn’t?). Some time ago my mother reminisced back to her early childhood and how she had lost some favourite dollies:
Noeline’s lost dolls
Down [the] track which went past the back of the house – it went down beside the fence-line (which was barberries and further along was covered with blackberries) and on the other side of the track were the broom bushes that used to come up. I used to love it to go and sit in under there when the sun was hot and I would play there. As I got a bit older I sort of would play round further and further. Oh it was lovely – there were bits of moss and lichen and it smelled all nice and sort of that mossy sort of a smell that you get. There was little ferns growing here and there. The broom must have been growing there uncut for years because some of it was quite tall – you could just walk in (or crawl in ) around under it.
I found a stump – a stump of a tree that had been cut down and it was in sort of a grassy bit and it had all the little lichen , the one that we used to call the ‘match-stick lichen’ because the fruiting bodies came up like a little wax match-head. There was an opening in one side (probably just where it had rotted a bit) and I would put my little bits and pieces that I was playing with there. I used to take my dolls (I had all sorts of little dolls that various members [of family] had given me) I’d go down there and play, then Mum would call out that dinner was ready and I would have to gather up my stuff and come back.
When I had just got over whooping cough and one thing and another Dad went off to Christchurch and he came home and he brought me a beautiful black rabbit and he brought me a pair of Mabel Lucie Atwell dollies. He said they were ‘dollies’ and I always called them ‘The Dollies’. One was red, and one was blue – they were celluloid dolls. They had articulated arms and legs and they were like baby dolls with these round pink Mabel Lucy Atwell faces and in little hooded suits, like simulated knitted suits.
I loved those two little dolls! They were only about that big – I suppose about 10 inches at the most – and I could hold them so nicely and I used to play with them down there [at the stump]. They went missing – I missed them when we went to Kumara: I didn’t have the dolls. I wondered, I always wondered what had happened to them. It wasn’t until years later, I dreamt about playing down by the stump with these dolls and I can recall that I tucked them inside there and I must have left them there. Being a kid, you forget things for a time and go and play with other things and never sort of thought of them again.
NR McCaughan 2010
artefact noun an object made by a human being, typically one of cultural or historical interest.
So where do these things turn up? It is quite common to find old newspapers in drawers or cupboards, or even ceilings. Mantelpieces hide hold photographs, tickets, invitations and letters that have slipped down the gap between the back and the wall. Gaps in the floorboard can hide buttons, beads, hairpins or hatpins. Under houses; either the crawl-space or basement were where people put stuff and forgot about it, kids crawl under houses, decks and verandahs to play. Shrubbery hides balls and toys. Garden sheds and garages typically acquire over several generations of inhabitants a number of odd things; bottles, jars, tins and tools stored up high but forgotten. More rarely, something is deliberately hidden; to be retrieved later, or for someone else to find.
In earlier, less environmentally conscious times, people discarded their rubbish that could not be recycled into middens: pits (or old wells or long-drop toilets) which they threw broken crockery, tins, bones and bottles. If you find a midden it can be possible to date it by the markings on china and glass. If your house or land is quite old and the midden has a lot of intact items, it is worth contacting your local museum or historical society for advice before disturbing too much. Up until the 1970s many people happily burnt their rubbish at home, either in a destructor, a little coal fired stove in the kitchen, or outside in the back yard in an incinerator.
One thing to look out for in an old house where there was a growing family is evidence of children’s heights being recorded on a doorpost, that and the odd bit of subversive (or blatant) graffiti. I marked my children’s heights at my two previous houses – I even transferred the results to a long sheet of paper when we moved. At one of my former homes, the previous owner was projectionist at the Majestic Theatre – when we demolished the outside toilet, we discovered the inside was lined with the long banner movie posters printed on heavy card that used to be displayed over the entrance doors at the Movie Theatre.
The most common thing to find in the garden of a house is lost toys; the very first find I have is from a house we lived in in Pleasant Point in the mid-1960s. I often wondered about the rest of the tea set and if a little girl mourned the loss of her jug.
c1940s toy china milk jug with transfer print approx 1 cm high. Probably part of a dolls’ tea-set. Found: Dug up in garden, Pleasant Point c1966
The next items are from the first home I owned, an Edwardian villa in Church Street, Timaru from 1983-1996. The first, a tiny dolls head was from an area in the back lawn that had a lot of broken crockery and glass; probably the site of the household midden. Very cheaply mass produced, probably using an old mould which has lost detail. These heads were sold in a range of sizes to be made up at home with a cloth body. This one would be for a dolls house.
c1900-1910 glazed china doll’s head, hand painted. Approx 1.5cm high. Found: dug up in back lawn, c1985
Not associated with a house but I cant help including this little beauty. Not long after I found the head (above) I found another tiny doll, this time on a grassy area by the beach on Caroline Bay. These dolls were produced for over 60 years, the hairstyle suggests towards the end of the second decade of the 20th Century. These would likely have been sold on the Bay along with other toys to holidaymakers during the summer. No doubt somebody’s day turned to tears when it was discovered to have slipped from a little hand.
c1920s “Frozen Charlotte” Glazed china doll. Hand painted. 2cm high. Found grass area above beach. c1985.
Sometimes precious objects are broken and discarded, but how this broken vase ended up in the hedge at Church Street is a mystery; perhaps it was knocked from a windowsill (only a couple of metres away?).
c1950s-1970s. Blown glass controlled bubble ball, base of a bud vase (stem broken off). Approx 6 cm diameter. Found: inside hedge on boundary.
Everyday items were sometimes kept for further use – storage of anything from screws to pieces of string were kept in a handy wee jar:
c1920-1950 White glass, metal and paper. English made Marmite Jar. 6 cm high. Found: on floor beam in basement under the house with other jars and beer bottles.
c1920s Pack of playing cards. Lithographed. Found: crawl space under the house scattered on the ground
Perhaps surplice to requirements, stored then forgotten, these lightweight chairs were very popular for many years. The styling went out-of-date after the 1920s when angular lines, uncluttered detail and cream and green painted furniture became more favoured in the kitchen.
c 1890-1910 One of two Bentwood kitchen chairs. Oak with stamped laminated seat. Evidence that the seat originally had holes for a rush seat, possibly replaced with laminated seat from another chair. Found: basement under the house.
Now into the 20th Century. All of the following items (plus some others: marbles, plastic dolls’ cup, untold tennis and bouncy balls) we have found in the last few years at our Grants Road house, and all but one are toys: this points to the young occupants encouraged to use the garden and woodland extensively as their playground (their tree house was featured in my last post).
The first item is a piece of tableware but may have been used as a toy – it is a very old fashioned style for the 1970s and 80s and may have been given to a child to dig with. However, it may also have a remnant of the earlier occupants of the site, perhaps an accidental addition to a midden?
c1900-1920 EPNS (Electro plated nickle silver) dessert spoon. Found buried deep in soil under deck when a drain was dug, 2018.
The next three items all date from around the same era and after 30 odd years in the undergrowth after a wash are remarkably intact. Children in the 1980s owned a lot more toys than previous generations, with quality falling in favour of cheap production methods. Many branded toys were marketed to promote films, as spin offs from television shows, and “collections” including for fast food companies.
c1989 Plastic Batman mask, with loops for elastic. 15cm wide. This very lightweight mask for a small child was either a party favour or a promotional give-away. Found: in back garden undergrowth, 2016.
1980s Moulded soft plastic toy army truck. Wire axles. Hand painted in camouflage colours, probably by the owner. Of very lightweight construction, cheaply mass-produced, often bought in a bag of several. Found in back garden undergrowth, 2017.
1980s Orange plastic Frisbee with paper label of chicken character. Possibly a promotional give-away, 25 cm. Found: in back garden undergrowth, 2015
1980s Moulded plastic baseball “Stars” character face with painted features. Found: in back garden undergrowth, 2015.
So, what have you lost? and what have you found? What do the objects tell you about the people who lived in your house?
Take any of these humble objects and you could write a story of what they started life as and what they became, their trajectory from precious to mundane. Who owned them, when they were bought, what they were used for and how they became lost. Who forgot about them, who mourned their loss? And how long did they remain hidden before being found again?
Do you know anything more about the objects I found? If so leave me a message!
I have lived in Timaru most of my life. I worked in education for over 25 years and have been interested history since a young child, particularly the ordinary and everyday lives of people and their communities.
My first Timaru Project aged 12
I learned a lot about local history during my time working as the first Heritage Educator at South Canterbury Museum, where I had to research and create and teach programmes and resources for students of all ages.
Dressing up and telling stories at the Museum
I was asked recently to contribute to a local website that encourages people find fun locally, the latest theme to research their own home. As many people at time of writing are in lock-down due to the Covid -19 virus pandemic, I thought that sharing my research might inspire you to do similar for your own home. While the information here is how I researched specific to where I live, I am sure that similar sites are available wherever you are; start with your local District or City Council. Use Facebook to find local interest groups. Connect with local historians. Have fun! I would be interested to hear from those who manage to research their own house or want some help, either in comments here or on my Facebook page!
Much of my research involves starting with individuals and trying to find where they lived, although starting with a house and working backwards follows a similar process. Many of the places I have researched no-longer exist; some seem to disappear before we realize. This is what happened in the Christchurch earthquakes; when vacant spaces appeared it was hard to remember what had been there before. So a lot of wider background reading and research is needed to understand the context of history and the community to keep memory alive: we don’t know what we have lost until it is gone.
In order to build a picture it is vital to understand the historic and cultural reasons people lived and worked where they did, although we must not assume people always had choice. Those who are well-off have better choices, while some people, like today, make-do with what they can afford in their circumstances. Houses are not always owned; people live with family, others rent, some are even homeless.
Places, houses and buildings are assigned meaning by the people who live and work in them. These places can come to life when we learn about the intersection of people, their homes and local history. Few ‘ordinary’ houses are thoroughly documented; just like ‘ordinary’ people, they tend to slip under the radar of official history, all the more reason that we should record and celebrate the commonplace.
Our place
We bought 74 Grants Road, Timaru in 2004. This is the third property in Timaru I have owned, but I have lived in seven houses altogether in Timaru since 1966 when we came to town[1].
Our home is an unremarkable bungalow, coloured concrete block, iron roof, over a basement and garage at the back. The windows are aluminium, and it has a wooden deck, and on the east side, a wooden and glass conservatory.
The house rarely features in photographs, occasionally we see glimpses behind family gatherings.
Because it is built over a slope, the east and south sides of the house are elevated. Originally we could see the sea but that only happens in winter when the leaves on the trees are gone, but I love looking out directly into the branches of huge trees.
SANYO DIGITAL CAMERA
This house is built on a large back section with mature trees, sloping to the south and backs onto Dunkirk Street. The trees, in what we call our woodland, are mature oaks, ash, lime, walnut and plums with also a totara, lacebark and several cabbage trees and pittosporums. These attract a lot of bird life; fantails, waxeyes, grey warbler, thrush, blackbirds, swallows, the odd bell bird, kingfisher while white heron, paradise ducks, black back and grey gulls, geese and ducks often fly over. We have free range chickens which enjoy the undergrowth too. The trees were one reason we bought the house, however, they date well before the 1970s.
Looking south over Marchwiel from our back door
Our house was built 1975 by builder Dave DeJoux [2] for his young family: three children grew up here (and left their mark!). Dave and his daughters visited last year just before he passed away and I learnt a bit more about our house.
Graffiti in the basement from the Dejoux children when they were moving out.
There is a tree house in the garden that Dave built which is still standing.
The Tree Hut on our 10th Wedding Anniversary, with Alex (and Pickle the cat flying in)
Dave had a carpentry workshop under the house which has since been divided into two rooms which we use as art studios. The house inside has changed a little; a hallway and front door were removed to enlarge the lounge, the door to one of the bedrooms also moved. Inside the built-in wardrobes are the remains of the original funky 70s wallpaper.
1970s wallpaper inside a wardrobe
The bluestone wall in our front garden was built with stone salvaged from the widening of the bridge on Old North Road, and the wooden beams which the back garden is terraced with were from another bridge on Taitarakihi creek at Smithfield.
Bluestone blocks were once part of a bridge on old North Road
Finding out more about our place
When we bought our house, information that came with the report from the council included a plan of when the section was first sub-divided, dated 1955 which included the big house at 82 Grants Road, called “Wichenford”. Who owned this land?
74 Grants Road – Pt Lot 9.5
I decided to follow some research about this estate, to confirm what I had investigated when I worked at SC Museum. Following my usual approach of searching ‘wide’ then narrowing my focus, I decided I wanted to find more about the area before my house was built. Just like researching families, it pays to look at what the neighbours are up to and to understand the local community.
Firstly I checked out the local area of Grantlea / Marchwiel and Grants Road. I looked up my copy of The Streets of Timaru (1975, reprinted 2011), and also searched for (Grants Road+Timaru) on-line. This area was associated with the Grant family of Elloughton Grange, there is a lot about them on-line. South Canterbury Genweb has interesting local information. This site has a large number of pictures including aerial shots of the general area including the big house Wichenford on Grants Road.
Elloughton Grange in the foreground, looking east over Marchwiel state houses, taken by Whites Aviation c1956. Wichenford is in the group of trees among houses on far top left.
Most of the area on the south of our property was built as state housing after WWII while houses to the north are from the late 1950s-1970s. Many of these families had young children, so Grantlea School was built in 1959. A large local employer was the Smithfield Freezing works, within walking or cycle distance. There were grocery and butcher shops at the bottom of Grants Road and at Marchwiel Park. Houses had large sections for growing vegetables. State houses didn’t have garages as buses were plentiful.
Googling (Wichenford) I found that it is a town in Worcestershire and the Washbourne family have been written about in a book. Googling (Wichenford +Timaru) gave me a real estate page which described the setting for the house as Hidden in a woodland […] boasting mature natives and exotic trees, including a kauri, totara, oaks – so this indicated that perhaps the original Wichenford owner also planted the trees on our section. Further down the same page of Google results was a link to Papers Past which showed a marriage: of Harry Waine, elder son of .Mr and. Mrs F. I. Washbourn, “Wichenford’, Timaru.
I then went directly to Papers Past to search. I started with Newspapers, view date 1900- 1950, unchecked the tick box ‘select all’ then selected the region (Canterbury) and toggled so I could sort by date, 100 items per page and show preview. Searching for both Wichenford and FI Washbourn gave me most of the information on the Washbourn family and Wichenford that I needed. (Remember starting ‘wide’ and then narrowing your search will give best results).
I still didn’t have Mr Washbourn’s full name so I hopped onto New Zealand Births Deaths and Marriages on-line and searched for the name, I quickly found that he was Francis Irvine Washbourn (1877-1951). Francis (Frank) married Lucy in 1905 and had three children, a daughter Mary (Molly) and two sons, Gordon and Harry, these are the names on the original subdivision in 1955!
I then went to Ancestry.com to search for more information, checking the box ‘collection focus’ to New Zealand. I have a sub and can search family trees, so was able to find a tree with a picture of Frank and his parents. (Without a sub you can also search Ancestry Library Edition with your library card during lock-down. You usually have to go into the library to do so). I found postal directories and electoral rolls for Frank and his family that helped pinpoint where he lived and when (you can normally search these at the Museum Archives reading room too).
Dentist, milkman and farmer
Frank Washbourn 1877-1951
Frank and Lucy Washbourn married in Nelson; where they both grew up. They came to Timaru not long afterwards. About 1906 Frank Washbourn set up a dentistry practice in Bruce’s buildings in Beswick Street. They lived at Beverley Road up until the late 1920s. Possibly around 1912, Washbourn had purchased farm land that ran along Grants Road[3].
Map c1912 showing land on the lower half of Grants Road offered for sale by auction.
Here were planted apple trees (as well as the many other trees, some of which still grace our property) and a herd of pedigree Jersey cattle produced milk.
1906
1923
1931
Washbourn belonged to the A & P association, the North End Ratepayers and was at one time president of the Rotary Club. At the end of the 1920s the double-storied brick house Wichenford was built and the family, then quite wealthy, often entertained guests and even rented their house out for the summer while they ‘motored’ to Nelson[4].
Your research:
To find out more about your property Google: go to maps, and then satellite. By looking at satellite view you can see other large properties nearby, of which your section may be one part of a sub-division, like mine. You can also identify natural features such as where streams may have been; many are now culverted in Timaru. On Google maps you can put a destination in directions so you can see how far it is to places you know; friends’ houses, work, school, the park or beach. Check the date on the bottom of the image to see how recent it was. Google Street View is good if you are on a street, but our house is down a driveway hidden from view. In Street View your property number shows in a black box. At the bottom of the box is a clock symbol with an arrow, click on that and you can see the street images at earlier dates. However, Timaru District Council Property Search is much clearer for satellite and aerial views, with a step back through time along the bottom. I got back to the 1930s with mine, just after Wichenford was built and before Dunkirk and Forth Streets and Goulds Road and Grantlea Drive existed.
Grants Road with Wichenford at the centre, c1935, 20 years before number 74 was sub-divided
Numbering is a little ‘out’ on this map, red out line is 74
Recent aerial view of our house – this is a couple of years old as I can see a tree on our driveway that we have removed
If you want to know details about when your house was last bought or sold and for how much, you can also see a bit for free on QV, the national property valuation website. You also to see when other nearby properties were built. You can see historical values from 1927-2020 by using an on-line tool.
Googling your address will bring up real estate pages of houses for sale which are quite interesting as you get to nosy in other houses to see if your house is similar. Sometimes several houses were built in similar style, often by the same builder.
Speak to older neighbours and family. Ask them what they know and remember. Record your findings and don’t forget to add the name and date of your informant.
REMEMBER: Act like an historian!
Always make a note of where and when you find information.
Just a few on-line resources for Timaru/ South Canterbury Research:
Make a plan of your house. Are there additions or extensions? Can you discover old paint colours or paper? (look inside cupboards and wardrobes). What do you love about your house? What would you change if you could?
Map your garden. Personalise it by adding things like sheds, the chicken run or dog kennel, best spot for sun, special trees or plants, swings, hidey holes, where the cat likes to sleep.
Map your neighbourhood. Draw things that interest you. Measure how many paces to favourite features, eg crooked tree, funny letterbox, bridge where you see the ducks, playground, school. Mark where things happened (“Fell off my bike here”): See similar maps online (Google these: Wind in the Willows map, Milly Molly Mandy Village)[5].
I created this version of Wind in the Willows map for a school project c1974
Create a timeline for your house. What was happening in local, national and global history at the same time?
Research the original owner and write up a history folder, or share a post on-line (eg Face Book group, Timaru History and Memories). If your house has been in the family a long time, you might want to start a page or group on Facebook for other family members to contribute to.
Frame photos of your house or the original owner and display in your home:
Make a painting or drawing of your house
Make a time capsule and hide it (under the floor, in a cupboard or in the ceiling for future owners)
Paint (build or add to) your letterbox to reflect your house and its occupants.
A neighbour’s letterbox recently restored
Footnotes:
[1] I was born in Wyndham, Southland, moved to Tripp Settlement Road, Geraldine in 1963, then to Pleasant Point in 1965. Both my other houses were character Bay Villas. How did I end up in a block box? It is private, warm, and full of light, plus room for studio space. I do miss having a wide hallway and wall-space to display art though.
Earlier I have written about how my great great grandfather James Lawn and his brothers were double cousins with Thomas and Edmund Lawn – related through their mother and father. Here is the story of another cousin, a Lawn descendant who also became New Zealand immigrant in the 19th Century – but with a twist: she returned to England.
Timothy and Grace Lawn had at least 10 children, although not all survived to adulthood. Of Grace and Timothy’s children, not all are traceable with certainty. James Lawn, b 1812, (father of my great great grandfather James and his brothers John and Henry Lawn) and John Lawn, b 1813, (father of Thomas and Edmund Lawn), had a sister: Elizabeth Lawn, baptised in September 1818. Elizabeth had married Richard Hand, a miner, on the 14 January 1838 in Redruth, Cornwall. In 1851 Richard was described on the census as an Agent for a Copper Mine, and the family was living at South Down, Redruth.
A Cornish Cousin
Richard and Elizabeth Hand had seven children between 1840 and 1854 (Susan, Eliza, Elizabeth, John, Julia, Caroline and Alma), before Richard died in 1860. As a widow, Elizabeth was to become a servant and eventually shifted to Dalton in Furness where her youngest daughter and son-in-law lived. Not all of Elizabeth and Richard’s children have been traced, but their fifth child, Julia Hand, born 17 March 1849 was to come to New Zealand.
Julia Hand later Wills, another cousin to the Lawn brothers and cousins
Julia Hand was ten when her father died, and still at school on the 1861 census. Her mother was described as ‘Fund holder’ indicating that at least for a while there was some sort of annuity or pension for her after Richard’s death.
It is quite well-known that there was a huge number of people – a ‘diaspora’ – who left Cornwall following the fall in the price of Copper and the failure of mining – the principal employment for thousands and thousands of Cornish folk. Many young men, like the Lawn brothers and cousins sought mining work around the world – in gold and another metals, or even coal mining. Some went north into the iron mining industries, while others travelled to the colonies: Australia, New Zealand, Canada. What is also apparent is that many young women also left and looked for work too. Julia Hand was one of these, travelling to a position in service, nearly four hundred miles away from her birthplace.
By the 1871 census Julia, then aged 22, was working as a housemaid for a hotel keeper in Harrogate, Yorkshire. Harrogate was a lively and fashionable spa resort, with plenty of tourists coming to ‘take the waters’ (and suck on a Harrogate toffee to take away the horrid taste afterwards) so it is not surprising the there was opportunity for employment for a young woman, but one does wonder how it was she got all the way from Cornwall to Yorkshire. She wasn’t however, far from family: Her sister Eliza had married Samuel Clark, a carpenter and joiner in 1865. By 1871 Eliza and Samuel were living in Worksop, Nottinghamshire with their firstborn, Samuel junior. In Dalton on Furness was John Hand, age 24, living alone and working as an Iron ore miner.
Whatever the means for Julia journeying to Yorkshire, the reasons were to make a better life for herself, and it soon became apparent that she had ambitions for a better life on the other side of the world. Perhaps after a final trip home to farewell her mother and friends from home, Julia departed for New Zealand. She almost certainly knew of her cousins who had come out over a decade earlier, chasing the bright fine gold, but it is not known whether there were contact made before she came, or once she had settled.
The first record of Julia’s life in New Zealand is her marriage; which took place in Port Chalmers, near Dunedin. She married Robert John Wills, a blacksmith, on the 19 February 1876 at the residence of Mrs Attwood, Harrington Street, Port Chalmers. Julia was a month shy of 27, her husband was five years younger, aged 22. Julia was recorded as a general servant, and three witnesses were Annie Attwood, Rebecca Stone – and John Hand,Quarryman, Port Chalmers: it seems that Julia’s brother had also immigrated, although after this record I have yet to trace him with certainty in New Zealand.
Julia and Robert Wills
Robert Wills was from Portland, Dorset, the eldest of large family. In 1871 he was working as a Smith’s Striker for his father, a blacksmith. When he was 20 he had emigrated to New Zealand on the Assaye, leaving London on the 1 September 1874 and arrived on 26 December 1874 in Auckland.
A tall, slender young woman, Julia obviously had the same tenacity and hard-working ethic of her Cornish cousins, and applied that to her new life in the colony. Julia probably had not been long in New Zealand when she began her new life as a wife and, soon, mother to a growing brood of children. Robert’s trade as a blacksmith would find ready work. He was last recorded living up the hill in Maclaggan Street, Dunedin, in 1890. Now developed with retail warehouses, one building remains on this street from the late 19th Century close to where the Wills family lived: Wright Stephenson & Co Wool, Horse and Grain Sale Yard was an ideal place to situate a nearby blacksmithing business.
Maclaggan Street, Dunedin. ( image Google Street View)
Robert and Julia had nine children in quick succession: Robert 1877, Elizabeth (Bessie) 1878, William 1879, Thomas 1881 (who lived three weeks), twins Fanny and Harriet 1882, Jessie 1884, Mabel in 1887 and Richard in 1890. It seems that the last child was born in Wellington, so they may have left Dunedin around 1890.
But tragedy wasn’t far away – first one of the twins, Fanny, died aged just six months in January 1883, followed by their eldest child Robert Richard four months later, in May 1883, aged just six years old. Two years later the family mourned again as another infant daughter, Jessie, just over 15 months old, was buried in May 1885, almost two years to the day from when her eldest brother was laid to rest. The three siblings lie in a neatly concreted plot, but with no headstone in the Southern Cemetery, Dunedin.
Perhaps these tragedies, although not unusual for the times, made the distance from ‘home’ more acute. Perhaps it was the perishing cold Dunedin winters, or perhaps Julia’s health was not the best. Whatever the reason, something seems to have ended the family’s life in New Zealand and about 1895 they had returned to England, where they were found in 1901 at 26 Ventor Road, Portland, Dorset, with Robert working as a general labourer and just the youngest three children, Harriet, Mabel and Richard still at home. Bessie had married in 1900, and she was living not far away. William is harder to trace – some researchers believe he was in the Navy.
Her mother Elizabeth Hand, neé Lawn, died two years later, in January 1904. She was buried in Worksop, Nottinghamshire.
After Julia’s death, her husband Robert Wills remarried, and he ventured in a new career as a licensed victualler – he was now running the Sailor’s Return Inn in Castletown [street] on the seafront, Portland. (Portland is actually a tied island on the English Channel, and is sometimes refered to as the Isle of Portland, it is also very close to Weymouth). The Inn was just a couple of doors away from where Robert grew up and learned his trade.
Sailors Return, Castletown, Portland.
The 1911 census is the most interesting of UK census as the forms retained are not transcriptions but the individual household forms completed by head of house, so not only do we see their handwriting, but also the information as they wrote it. However it was not Robert, but an Edward Lillywhite who filled out the form. He got a bit carried away and had to cross out and re-record details. Robert’s age as 53, then amended to 57, his wife Mary (a widow, who brought two children to the marriage) was 52. Living in the blended household were three of Robert and Julia’s now adult children: Richard, 21, mariner employed by the Admiralty, (his birthplace was recorded as Wellington, New Zealand) Harriet aged 28 – single (no occupation recorded) and Mabel, 21 also single (no occupation recorded). All three are carefully recorded as British subjects by parents birth. Mary’s daughters Florence (20) and Alice (18) Turner, and a couple of boarders Thomas Perrin, 15, a boy mariner and James Male, a retired seaman completed the occupants.
A New Zealand cousin
Mabel Annie Wills was born at 25 Maclaggan Street, Dunedin on the 25 February 1887. She was the eight child of Robert and Julia Wills, but with the death of her five older siblings she became the third eldest. Not long after the 1911 census WWI loomed large on the horizon, especially for the port towns in the southern counties. As young men either signed up or were called up to do their bit, young women found themselves also drawn into the war effort, taking over the jobs young men did in the farms and factories, as well as becoming part of the war effort itself: working as nurses, mechanics, and drivers alongside the military in their many UK bases. Young women who weren’t otherwise gainfully employed also played a vital part in the moral of troops by manning tea and refreshment stalls and hosting dinners, dances and socials for those on leave or recuperating from wounds or illness. Pouring in from overseas to train in camps before being sent to the front, and then returning for rest and short amounts of leave were countless young, homesick lads, who welcomed the distraction of the company of young women; many forged friendships and relationships blossomed into proposals and marriage.
Thus it was that Mabel Wills married Robert Highet on December 12, 1918, in the Brackenbury Church, Fortuneswell, when she was 31 years old. Fourtuneswell is the neighbourhood where the Wills lived in 1901. Robert was a Kiwi soldier, who was serving in the New Zealand Army. He was born on the August 15, 1886, in Wellington, New Zealand. Robert had signed up in 1914 in the 12th (Nelson) Company, 1st Battalion, Canterbury Infantry Regiment.
Robert Highet during active service
Robert’s address at their marriage was given as ‘No. 1 Camp, Sling, Burford’ while Mabel listed her address as the Sailors Return Inn. Witnesses were F.W.G Dodd, R.J. Wills (Mabel’s father) and A. Turner (Alice; Mabel’s stepsister). Despite the armistice ending the war in November 1918 Robert was still on active duty, so Mabel was duly entered as next of kin on Robert’s army file with her address at the Sailors Inn and she went back home to await the end of the mopping up operations.
Robert was discharged 20 Aug 1919 with the rank of Warrant Officer. He had served in Gallipoli, Egypt, and France, a total of 4 years and 281 days. Robert and Mabel returned to New Zealand to begin their new life, firstly living at Stoke, with Robert returning to farming and then becoming an orchardist and later moving into Nelson.
The couple had two children; Robert and Keith, born 1920 and 1921. By 1946 they had sold their orchard and were living at 15 Brougham Street, Nelson. Robert was working as a storeman at the Nelson Wharf, and was in the Home Guard during WWII.
15 Brougham Street, Nelson
Mabel Highet née Wills
Mabel died on September 22, 1957, in Nelson, at the age of 70, and Robert died in 1968. both are buried at Marsden Valley Cemetery – Plot 048, Block 02A.
Acknowledgements: The information and images in this post were kindly shared by Mabel’s grandson Wayne Highet of Auckland, from the Highet Family Tree on Ancestry. Wayne is my 4th cousin once removed as we share common 4th great grandparents Timothy Lawn and Grace Whitburn. Without Wayne’s work in recording and sharing family photographs and certificates I would not have discovered the new link of New Zealand Lawn descendants.
Photographs of family – we are fortunate to have them, but sometimes identifying them can be problematic as over time they get labelled, lost, re-labelled and mis-interpreted. I have already written about another photograph that was attributed to family member of the same name but a couple of generations apart. Can we say with exactitude exactly who these people are? Some of these pictures in this post I have doubts about. The historian in me means I tend to use ‘may’ ‘might’ and ‘possibly’ when describing who the subjects may be.
Another privately published book written about the Lawns (Copper to Quartz, 1999) included a photograph of a Lawn family friend – included because there was a name ‘James Lawn’ written on the back (p52). This photograph came from the collection of a descendant of John Lawn living in Australia. Ironically, as soon as I saw the portrait I immediately identified it as the step-son of my third great grandmother Jane Preshaw, who also lived in the small community of Reefton, New Zealand∗. The photograph – a wedding portrait of Charles Makinson Preshaw and his wife Maria Eliza Coombe (née Kittelty), taken in 1909 – was written on the back ‘James Lawn’ because that is who it was to be sent to. A lesson for amatuer genealogists (which I learnt from making a similar mistake in another family history) is to always research your images!
Friends – not family? Charlie Preshaw and Maria, Reefton 1909. Copper to Quartz incorrectly supposed that the gentleman, if not James Lawn was ‘George’ Preshaw. Photograph original from E. Torney.
Tempting though it is to see a resemblance, one must look for clues and balance with the documentary evidence to establish whether an image is possibly who it is supposed to be, and if it cannot be extablished with certainty, err on the side of caution.
James Lawn, my great great grandfather and his brothers John, George and Henry Lawn were the sons of James Lawn (1812 – 1884) and Jenifer Webster (1817- 1887). The brothers all came to New Zealand, although George returned to England. James senior and Jenifer married in 1836 in the mining township of Lanner, Cornwall. James (snr) was in turn the son of Timothy Lawn (c1780- 1835) and Grace Whitburn (1780-1852).
There are a couple of pictures supposedly of Grace and one of Timothy (and other family), which should be relatively straight forward to confirm – however, these images have passed to me through the hands of Helen Lawn who was given them by another family member, Ena Boyce. Ena was born Ena Gertrude Lawn, (1909-1977), the grandaughter of Henry Lawn. Ena gave several pictures to Helen and they remain in the Helen Lawn Research (HLR) archive which I digitised. They all appear to be reprints of earlier photographs, judging firstly by the death dates of the subjects, and also by the back-stamp of the photographer, which can be dated.
Photography was invented but not available to the general public mostly until after 1840, so this helps us date the images, which are actually later reprints onto the popular carte-de-visite, probably ordered by Henry Lawn before he left home. James was the first to leave home, to travel to Australian goldfields and then the New Zealand goldfields. He returned to Cornwall at least once, more than likely twice, and again came to New Zealand with his younger brothers and cousins. Henry was recorded at Gwennap in the 1861 census, and he married Harriet Richards in 1868. He then went to work in the mines in Dalton on Furness where his first son Charles was born.
Lawn researcher Andrew Saunders writes: “Henry (1845) arrived in Melbourne from Plymouth on 18 August, 1870 in the vessel “Hampshire”, and relocated to NZ in January, 1871 in the “Omeo”. On 14 July, 1873 his wife, Harriet E, and son, Charles H, arrived in Wellington, NZ in the vessel “Halcione” –their name shown as “Laun”. Harriet had been living with her brother in Cornwall in the 1871 English census: William Richards and his wife Rosina were also on the Halcione. Henry and Harriet lived at Blackspoint 1873, then Capelston before finally settling at Te Aroha in the North Island. The reprints of family photographs brought to New Zealand were therefore probably made sometime between 1867 and 1873.
The first image is of Timothy Lawn. Timothy was baptised in Gwennap in May 1780 (he may have been born before this) and was buried in November 1835. This is before civil registration, (July 1837) so all verifying documentation relies on parish records, or legal documents such wills or court records.
Is this “Timothy” Lawn or “William”?
Helen Lawn wrote the details on the back. You can see that someone originally labelled this ‘William’ in pencil. William Lawn was Timothy’s father, and died in 1811 so this cannot possibly be William Lawn. HLR
The next image is supposed to be Timothy’s wife, Grace Lawn née Whitburn (1780-1852). Unfortunately the large cloak swathing the woman in this and the next image obscures the most accurate dating device, her clothing: necklines, sleeves and waist-lines are quite useful to pin-point dates within a couple of years. The coal-scuttle bonnet with its tight frill inside the brim worn here is an old-fashioned style which was out of fashion in the big cities, but still favoured by women in Cornwall in the mid-19th Century. Certainly, in both images there are similar styles evident: bonnet, leather gloves, cloak, as well as the subject’s piercing blue eyes. But are they the same person?
“Grace Lawn” nee Whitburn taken after 1840 (original may have been a Daguerrotype). If this is Grace (who was born in 1780) she would have been aged around 60 years in 1840; this image looks to be of a younger woman. HLR
Rear of the early image of Grace, showing the backstamp dates after 1867, and Helen’s notes in ballpoint pen. Note the question mark – this photograph may not be who it seems.
“Grace Lawn” nee Whitburn 1780 – 1852. This image is more likely to be accurately labeled, although like the one above it has been reprinted as a carte-de-visite and dates from after 1867. The plinth looks to be similar – but not exactly the same as in the previous photograph. HLR
Identical backstamp shows these two images were almost certainly printed at the same time.
So if these two women are not the same, who might they be? Grace and Timothy had a daughter, also Grace, born in 1805, who married Benjamin Smith in 1828 so they may be mother and daughter – this does not explain why the younger version was reprinted and came to New Zealand in the 1870s.
The next image is supposed of James Lawn (senior) (1812-1884) – but even this is possibly not correct – note the pencil underneath Helen’s ballpoint, and compare to later images.
‘James Lawn’ 1812-1884. HLR
Note ‘Timothy’ written in pencil underneath ‘James Lawn’ HLR
Now we look at James’ wife, Jenifer Ann (1817-1877) (Baptised and in 1881 census as “Jenifer” but married and in all other census as “Jane”). Here we can date her photograph from her dress to about 1869-1870, although older women did not always wear up-to-date fashion.
‘Jennifer Ann Webster’. HLR
But then, let us compare this ‘James’ and ‘Jennifer’ with another photograph, this time from the collection of Peter Lawn in Reefton, son of the late Bob and Lawn and great-grandson of John Lawn (1840 – 1905). This is supposed to be a marriage portrait, but as the couple married in 1836, predating photography, it was taken later. This photograph is interesting for a couple of reasons: the long exposure time of the early photographs can be seen because James moved his hand and gave himself extra fingers! He also seems to be wearing an oddly fitting jacket, with the sleeves too long. Both seem to be wearing their ‘Sunday best’, if not new clothes. Although it is documented that photographers sometimes had a wardrobe of clothing for sitters to wear in the studio, there can be no knowing if this was the case in this isnstance.
James and Jenifer Lawn, c1840-1850. Original held by Peter Lawn
Here are the two James together: The ‘younger’ James, on the right has drooping eyelids, which the ‘older’ James on the left, does not and the younger James mouth seems to be wider – or perhaps it is just the lighting in the studio? Other features to compare/contrast in identifying portraits are: length of top lip, distance between irises, length and breadth of nose, size and shape of ears (obscured here), eyebrows, hairline, jawline. The nose and ears actually continue to grow over time, so must be considered carefully. These two are similar enough to be related, but maybe not enough to be the same person.
Another image, a family group, which was taken before 1879 is of James and Jenifer, and their two youngest children: Arthur (1857-1879) and Sarah Ann (1862-1951). Did James grow a long beard between 1879 and the photograph above left taken before his death in April 1884?
Lawn Family, before April 1879. HLR.
Looking, and the more you look the more you see. I always remember meeting a Lawn cousin for the first time – looking across a room and seeing a familiar face although we had never met, and that jolt of knowing long before I made my way around the room and read the name-tag. We search photographs for those same familiar traits and feel triumphant when we identify something we can call ‘ours’ – ‘family’.
But always be aware of what you want to see. It is a human trait to seek familiar recognition in the patterns around us, so much so that we see ‘human’ features in clouds and cracks in the pavement, even cast in stone!
And dont always believe what is written on the back of photographs, particularly in ballpoint pen!
∗There is a connection to the Lawn family of the people in this photograph in the convoluted nature of small West Coast communities where everyone knew, was related to, or married everyone else:
the grandson of Jane Preshaw, my great grandfather Henry David Evans married Eva Lillian Lawn in 1907, and
her brother Herbert Lawn married Maria’s niece, Alice Kittelty in 1915.
Maria Eliza Coombe, née Kittelty’s first husband Joseph Knight Coombe was the brother of Mary Elizabeth Coombe, who married John Lawn in Australia in 1873.
The role that photographs play in fixing people in our minds eye is vital for a family historian. Photographs of forebears are pored over, with each feature compared to those in other photos, to other family members, and to yourself – seeking recognition, belonging, a likeness – and memory, for those recently departed. How often were these photographs clasped close and studied by family shortly after they were taken, as they were, unexpectedly, the last of loved ones?
I have written about my great, great-grandmother, Rachel Lawn née Hart as if I knew her, but of course I was born long after she died – even my own grandmother was too little to remember her as she was under two when Rachel died. All I know of what Rachel was like is from a handful of six or seven photographs that I had been given copies of from across the family, mostly formal family groups and a few stories second and third-hand. Trying to select images for the book, and the requirements of publishing means that a lot of details (and colour and tone) are lost, so when new photos turn up, it is exciting to share them in this medium.
It is now just over a hundred years since Rachel Lawn, née Hart died, aged 57, less than a year after her son Ben was killed in WWI. I now have been given access to several more photographs¹ – most tiny ( 5cm x 3cm ) reprints off scratched negatives and in poor condition. I have edited the images to enhance and repair obvious cracks and stains. These ‘new’ images add a further dimension to what little we know of Rachel – but more importantly these images that were taken in a the space of a year: just before Ben was killed, and just after, and trace the grief that family said broke her heart and sent her to an early grave.
This studio image (which appeared in my book) was taken in Reefton on Ben’s final leave before embarkation and brought together almost all of the Lawn family (except Charlie and George). Along with this original image I also had various group poses: Dinah, Ben and Jim; Ben and John; James and his sons. I was startled to find that there was another portrait – Rachel with her two daughters Eva and Dinah. It seemed that ‘just the women’ were not as valued as the pictures of the ‘boys’ in uniform which several different family members had copies of.
Lawn Family, Reefton, July 1916: Back Left to Right: Dinah McIvor (née Lawn), Ben, Herbert, James, John. Front L to R: Dorothy McIvor b 26 Nov 1913, Edith Evans, Eva Evans (née Lawn) with baby Eva (b 1 Dec 1915), James ‘Jack’ Lawn, with Henry ‘Harry’ Evans, Jennifer ‘Jean’ Evans, Rachel Lawn. absent: George Lawn. Charlie Lawn [Rachel wears a shawl brought back from probably Egypt or Gallipoli by John]
In this portrait of mother and daughters it appears that Dinah is wearing one of Ben’s collar badges (with ‘XIII’ in the centre) at the throat of her blouse, and Rachel too is possibly wearing one of John’s cap badges, it is unclear in both photos whether the flowers on Eva’s blouse are also pinned by a badge.
Mother and daughters: Rachel, Dinah and Eva, 1916
Previously I had only seen one informal photograph of Rachel – this somewhat blurry snapshot taken about 1910 in Blacks Point:
Jim, Rachel, Dinah and Ben, outside their house at Blacks Point
Now another small image taken in summer time – of Rachel and James Lawn with a young woman has come to hand – I am not positive, but judging by the shape of her jaw, this may be Eva Evans née Lawn; I would be interested to hear what others think. How lovely to see Rachel in a relaxed and happy mood, James dapper in his car coat: a vingette of before.
James and Rachel and possibly Eva Evans
The next image I had used in my book was what I thought of as ‘Rachel’s last photo’. In To Live a Long and Prosperous Life, I wrote that this was taken on a visit to see her new grandson. James and Rachel had travelled to Woodville in the North Island for an extended stay² with George and Doll and their children, the little boy ‘named after his late uncle’ Benjamin. Rachel here is smiling, but looked tired. Her dress, as usual, is dark, but the dull crepe and the complete lack of lace at her throat and her hair pulled back a little more severely suggests that she was wearing mourning clothes: it is likely that the visit was arranged to help Rachel in her deep grief.
James and Rachel with George and Doll, Olive, Benjamin and Evelyn, 1917
Another photograph – a portrait of Rachel – had been taken around this time (her bow brooch doesnt have the chain in the photo above so possibly not the same day). Is it my imagination, or does she look resigned – a sadness in her eyes? Perhaps just a result of the poor photographic print, her colour looks high. Blood pressure elevated, overweight, suffering from grief and depression, a few weeks after this on their journey home Rachel was overwhelmed by a stroke which killed her.
Rachel, 1917
Another candid shot – possibly as James and Rachel were about to depart on their homeward journey:
James and Rachel Lawn, Woodville, 1917
Rachel fell ill on the overnight Wellington to Lyttelton ferry and upon berthing she was taken to Lyttelton hospital where she lingered for three days before she died. Family, including her mother Dinah Hansen raced from the Coast to be by her side and others came from afar for her funeral and burial at Lyttelton cemetery.
Greymouth Evening Star, 24 August 1917 courtesy Papers Past
George and his family must have travelled down for her funeral and then visited the Coast, because the next snapshot is of James with his grandchildren, possibly at the Evans farm at Waitahu, near Reefton. He holds baby Ben on his lap, on his right is Edith Evans and on his left Jean Lawn. Sitting on two little chairs are George’s daughters Olive and Evelyn Lawn and on the grass at the front are Harry Evans and the only possibility for the curly-haired toddler in the centre is my Nana, Eva Evans (born December 1915).
James Lawn and grandchildren, 1917
The final snap was one that appeared in my book, but I have included here again as it is easier to see (somewhat blurry) detail in this format. I believe that this is taken at George Lawn’s home in Christchurch, where he and his family shifted in the early 1920s. James went to live with them there at Slater Street, Richmond until he died in 1928, and was buried with Rachel in Lyttelton. George’s daughter Olive was living there in the 1960s when I visited and stayed there as a child.
James Lawn in a reflective mood
Peering at these new images, it brings home to me that we take for granted the ability we have today of taking endless digital images of our family, our homes and ourselves, yet we rarely think how they might be available for the future generations. Do you print out photographs? Do you edit or delete images that show the everyday interiors or awkward moments? The last photograph here is tantalising – if only it was a clear image and we could see more of what is in the background: what is in the picture frame above the fireplace? I have so many questions about the things in this photograph! Where did the shell come from? What are the porcelain animals? What time was it on the clock?
What matters is that someone thought to keep these pictures, and I hope that somewhere in your family pictures are safely stored (and named and dated!) for the future generations: to remember, lest we forget.
¹ Thanks to Mervyn Lawn for sharing these images.
² Little Benjamin was born 19 October 1916 just four days after the family learned of Ben’s death. In the group picture little Benjamin looks about six months old, and the photo taken after Rachel’s death he would have been 10 months, so if the George Lawn family picture was taken in Woodville James and Rachel were visiting there for several months.
. . .as we are the Thirteenth Reinforcements we are doubtless the unlucky ones, according to the superstitious “13”.
Just over a year ago, I travelled across the European farmland that had a hundred years previous reverberated with the sound of mortars and machine guns. I posted here about my great, great-uncle Benjamin Lawn, whose fate was to die and lie buried ‘somewhere’ on the Somme.
On my journey I carried with me a poppy – the symbol that has come to represent the bloodshed and remembrance of the fallen. We in New Zealand wear these on our Remembrance day – Anzac Day – which falls on the 25 April and commemorates our defining moment as a nation at Gallipoli alongside our Australian comrades, although now all battles, including the wars that have followed the Great War are remembered. I had kept this poppy for five months, and carried it across the world for Ben.
Poppy image: Royal British Legion
The poppy, a seemingly fragile flower, nevertheless persevered and came to be the first to bloom again in the mangled farmland: it is a fitting tribute to the fallen. Travelling by high-speed train from Paris to Amsterdam and watching the fields of towering ripe corn shoulder to shoulder in the achingly bright sunshine was surreal: a million light-years away from the horrors that happened here. Seated in plush comfort and sealed behind the train windows meant I could not let that single poppy float to the ground, nor place the poppy anywhere: I kept it safe until we arrived in London later that month, 100 years to the day that Ben was killed.
But what exactly had happened to Ben was something that always eluded me as I wrote To Live a Long and Prosperous Life. Many years ago my mother wrote to the New Zealand Defence Force, and enquired about what happened to Ben. I remember seeing the report, and the horror when I realised he had died in the Somme. Yet this report was somehow mislaid and although we both seemed to recall that he was shot, or struck in the head, and that after he was buried the continued bombardment of the area meant his grave was unable to be relocated as all identifying landmarks were obliterated, the frustrating lack of accurate reference material meant that I was unable to write with any accuracy on Ben’s death. Ben’s Army records, now with New Zealand Archives, like other records, does not provide much to confirm or elaborate on his fate.
Papers Past has now filled in the gaps, with further releases of digitised newspapers. For the following excerpts I owe a debt of gratitude to the sleuthing skills of my cousin Peter Walker for providing this information. Peter also contributed significantly to Live Long and Prosper with his research on Ben’s brother John Lawn’s WWI service at Gallipoli.
The first excerpt is from a letter printed in the Greymouth Evening Star on 5th October, 1916. The letter was written two months earlier by Ben on 5 August – he had died on the 27 September. Just one week after this letter appeared in print his parents received notification of his death on the evening of the 12 October and his name was published in the Roll of Honour on Saturday 14 October.
Here, then, is Ben’s final letter home captioned by the newspaper as “Salisbury Plain Camp – A Reefton Boy’s Experiences”:
We have been in this camp since Wednesday week. At Plymouth all the people belonging to the place were at the station to see us. They treated us well, giving buns and tea and plenty of it. The Mayor of Exeter sent us a big bag of cakes each, with a card on each, on which was his name, and wished us a safe return. We arrived at camp at about eight o’clock at night, and the first one that I met whom I knew was Andy McIvor. [Ben’s sister Dinah Lawn had married Sim McIvor, Andy’s younger brother, in 1912) When he saw me he said I had no right to be here. He has not been to France yet. I have been mess orderly and have not done any drill. I hope they won’t keep me back from Ralph and all the boys on account of not doing drill. We were supposed to have been off for the front seven days from when we landed, but owing to an outbreak of measles on our steamer, the Willochra we have been isolated for 16 days. We had about 150 cases, and as we are the Thirteenth Reinforcements we are doubtless the unlucky ones, according to the superstitious “13”. We get leave for three days and most of the boys are going to London. I will, I think go to Cornwall to see Dorothy. [Dorothy James (born 1894), Ben’s cousin, daughter of his aunt Sarah née Lawn] I expect to get there in about eight hours. The distance is about 400 miles, and the trains do go some. We travel at half rates.
We are not tied down so much here as we were at Trentham – we can go anywhere we like within a radius of five miles without a pass. We can travel by motor, but not by train. Ralph and I went for a walk and we got into some big fields and lost out bearings, and we did not arrive until ten o’clock at night. We had to be in not later than 9.30 so we had to go before the commanding officer. Nearly all my mates have joined the machine gun section. They wanted me to join, but I think the infantry will do me.
Alas, the Infantry was to well and truly ‘do’ for Ben.
It was not until many months later that word was received about his fate, underlining how the not knowing must have compounded the grief for family and friends back home and how it was that ‘private’ letters and scraps of information were shared by the publication in the newspapers of “OUR SOLDIERS LETTERS” – the collective noun emphasising the sense of the entire community – and country’s involvement in this Great War.
In the first week of January 1917 William Nicholas (14141), who had been a driver for a carter on Buller Road, Reefton when he enlisted, wrote to his sister, (Mrs Rix of Greymouth) from “Somewhere in France”. This was a welcome letter, received nearly two months later, as he had previously been reported killed, instead of just seriously wounded.
Our company came out of the trenches a couple of days before Christmas. We are billeted in a nice little town, and are having a good time. Our Christmas dinner was a good one. It consisted of roast pork, plenty of vegetables, and an ample supply of plum pudding. All the Reefton boys were together. Minehan, of Cobden, was with us. He was not hurt, as you suppose, but is still going strong. Among our company were Steve Hocking [Blacks Point neighbours of the Lawns, survived the war] and Pal McMasters. The former, having a job at headquarters, is done with fighting for a while. Anyhow, he deserves a spell. He has come right through the campaign without getting a smack. Pal McMasters is in the band. I have not met Jim Hannah, of Boddytown, but am on the lookout for him. Our brigade was relieved for Christmas and New Year holidays, after a long spell in the trenches, and it was up to us to enjoy ourselves a little.
Ben Lawn, of Black’s Point, was not with us. He, poor fellow, was killed while charging the enemy. A piece of shell struck him on the back of the neck. His death was sudden, but painless.
It is a terrible experience to be under continuous fire. Not much credence can be attached to the words of those who say they like it. Those who talk that way have not seen much fighting. I have been in No Man’s Land frequently, small companies having to lie down flat for six consecutive hours on the enemy’s wire entanglements, armed with revolvers, bayonets, and bombs; snow on the ground, and the night bitterly cold. At present we are in the rear seven miles from the front trenches, drilling and route marching all the time. There are many casualties from stray shells, but it is preferable to the front trenches. Building dug-outs, and other kinds of work also has to be done. Indeed, more men are hit in the fatigue parties than the front-line trench, but it is better for the reason that we can occasionally get to town at night. One of Fritz’s aeroplanes will come over and discover some working parties; Fritz receives the report, the result being that the big guns are put on the spot. Of course we do the same. The efforts of the Huns to bring down our aeroplanes are often watched by our men with hilarious laughter and shouts of derision. They will fire 200 shells without a hit. Sometimes we have some close shaves. Our chaps say, jokingly, that they would like to get a “blighty” – meaning a smack – just mild enough to be sent to England. But they cannot be taken seriously, if one is to judge by the manner in which they race for cover when the shells are falling.
We are holding a very quiet part of the line now. The Somme advance, made by our boys a while back, was a hell upon earth. The experience was a rough one. It was in the very place where we are now that the Australians got chopped up terribly. We relieved them when we took over these lines. They advanced and took Fritz’s two front lines. But Fritz was cunning. He let a big dam go in the vicinity, flooding the trenches just occupied by the Australians, and as they clamoured out like drowned rats, Fritz turned his machine guns and shrapnel on them. Even now dozens of them still lie out in No Man’s Land. We send out parties frequently. Forming one of these parties, I have had many peculiar encounters with Fritz. One night we dispatched two Germans sitting on their own wire. This was done through stealthily creeping along in the stillness of the night. Our retreat to our own lines was very hasty and accomplished before Fritz in the trenches had time to recover.
Our rations are good. Porridge in the morning and bacon; good stew for dinner, and bread and butter and cheese or jam for tea. In addition, if desired, plenty of tinned meat. In the trenches a pair of clean sox are issued to us every morning. In conclusion, I think we will all be home for next Xmas. The Germans are beaten. Lately the French have been giving them something to go with. I hope to get a look at Paris before my return. Reefton friends will excuse me for not having time to write.
(Greymouth Evening News, 3 March 1917)
Although Nicholas was nearly 10 years older than Ben it is clear that all the Reefton lads serving knew each other well, as later in the year he again touches on the death of Ben in one of his published letters home. (Nicholas survived the war and returned home in 1919, he died in Auckland in 1959).
Touching the death of Private Ben Lawn, a letter from Private Nicholas to his Greymouth relatives says he was talking to one who was near him when hit. It was during the advance at the Somme that Ben was hit. He dropped and never moved. The writer does not know whether he was hit with a bullet or a piece of shell, but he was killed outright. The boys were going to over to take a Hun trench, but on the way Ben was hit in the neck, and immediately sank. This would be about September 27th. . . Private Nicholas and his friends are still going strong, the latter wishing to be remembered to all friends.
(Greymouth Evening Star, 28th June 1917)
In September 2016, on the periphery of Hyde Park, under some leafy trees just beginning to lose their leaves in the stifling heat of late summer we stumbled upon a memorial to all the animals who have died in British warfare: from pigeons, dogs, to horses and even elephants, here represented in sculpture by two bronze donkeys, labouring to a carry a small cannon and cases of ammunition. Hugely moving, this memorial signals that so many men relied on their beasts of burden, yet their vital role is often over-looked. I tucked what I had come to think of as ‘Ben’s poppy’ into bronze of one of the humble little donkeys, and left it there with the cacophony of the traffic wending its way around Hyde Park, and the hub-bub of shoppers pressing down near-by Oxford Street oblivious to the frozen tableau of the donkey, his shoulders straining forward, his head lifted, in eternaldetermination, as he steps up to serve.
An inscription on the wall reads:
“They had no choice”
UPDATE:
Recently I learned from a family member who visited that Ben’s medals are in the repository at The National Army Museum Te Mata Toa, at Waiouru.
Benjamin Webster Lawn’s medals. Image courtesy of National Army Museum (New Zealand)
I wrote to enquire about them, and the whereabouts of his ‘Dead Man’s Penny’ which was sent to the next-of-kin of fallen soldiers. I recieved this reply from them:
Dear Cynthia
The medals of Benjamin Webster Lawn are currently on display in our Medal Repository. He received the British War Medal and the Victory Medal. I have attached a photo. We do not have his Memorial Plaque, though.
The medals were donated in 1984 but I am afraid it is not our policy to release details regarding donors.
I would be intrigued to know if anyone knows who had the medals and subsequently donated them.
On the final day of our trip, we were due to fly home from Heathrow 9.30 pm. We had a whole day to fill before then, but of course had to check out of our accommodation first, and store our bags, before setting out to trace the final day of my 4 x great-grandfather Eleazer Hart, but in reverse.
From where were staying in Praed Street it was just a short walk to Edgeware Road Station, where we caught the tube to travel the six miles across to Whitechapel Station on the Hammersmith line. I had found using the tube in London was a great way to get around, although by the time we arrived at Whitechapel it was no longer the ‘underground’. Having experienced earthquakes in New Zealand the constant rumbles and vibrations of passing trains, even three floors up where we stayed was quite disconcerting. Another thing I wasn’t quite prepared for was trying to find your sense of direction after emerging from the underground. Not to be recommended in the dark as we found out too late in Madrid, but that is another story.
So when we emerged into the early morning autumn sunshine I headed confidently across the Whitechapel Road and then realised we actually should have stayed on the north side. There were stalls and awnings set up the length of Whitechapel Road, selling clothes, fruit and knickknacks, by this time we were by the Royal London Hospital. We had to risk our necks and dash across the road, then figure how to get through the stalls to the footpath beyond again.
Whitechapel Road looking north. ( credit: Google Street View)
We quickly realised that the area was now a Muslim neighborhood, women pushing prams wore headscarves and long skirts or traditional kabuli trousers; one or two in full burka. There seemed to be every skin-colour from milky coffee to ebony, representing a range of countries of origin for the forebears of these people: Morocco, Algeria, Nigeria, Egypt just some of the diversity. This was of course a transformation from what had once been the Jewish quarter, 150 years ago, full of long-established families and new immigrants, from across Europe: Germany, Poland (Prussia) Russia, Spain and Portugal. As Kiwis from a provincial town we felt just a tiny bit out-of-place; some people seemed to stare, but maybe they just thought we were lost tourists.
We were headed to Brady Street, where we had arranged to meet the caretaker of the cemetery where Eleazer Hart was buried. Brady Street was called North Street in the 1850s and before that Ducking Pond Lane. Goodness knows what sort of things used to go on in this area when it was just fields, lanes and trees in the Middlesex countryside; the original name hints of superstition and witchcraft.
Brady Street is a tiny, narrow street, the entrance from Whitechapel Road on one side is marked by a gleaming green glass multi-storied Idea store, and behind that, a Sainsburys supermarket, so incongruous to everything I had read about the historic Whitechapel. As we passed down the narrow street opposite the supermarket came the sounds of laughter as teenagers gathered at Swanlea Secondary School, girls giggling in headscarves and boys racing their friends into the glassed foyer of the school, tucking away their cell phones, late for classes. This link to another blog about Brady Street shows an old map of Whitechapel with a coal depot where the school now stands, another shows a manure works on the site.
The narrow street widens a little, and gives way to brick buildings; lovely old Victorian almshouses and more recent brick apartments overlook the quiet street lined with leafy trees. A high brick wall, with more green trees beyond, is the only sign of the cemetery, passing a more recently built brick apartment building, the passerby will see a driveway and metal gate (NO PARKING) beyond which are tall timber gates. A single gnarled and broken, but well-pruned oak tree has been allowed to remain at the kerb, neatly surrounded with a wooden planter, probably one of the original trees in the area.
Image from Google Street View of the entrance to the cemetery. ( credit: Google Street View)
A small plaque discreetly shows that this cemetery is still revered in the Jewish community. It has been a constant for over 250 years, unlike some of London’s other burial grounds that have been quietly reclaimed as prime building land. The cemetery here was originally supposed to close about the time of Eleazer’s death in 1857, but was given a royal reprieve from the Queen. Because of recent burials in the late 20 century the site is guaranteed to be preserved for at least another 100 years. The cemetery has some important graves including Nathan Mayer Rothschild (1771 – 1836) and his wife Hannah. Nathan Myer founded the British branch of the Rothschild banking dynasty. A list of internments can be found at Cemetery Scribes.
Stepping through the gates we were suddenly surrounded by hush: school was in and the shrieks and laughter subsided. Leaves were beginning to fall, but there were still shade cast by the trees. Blackbirds were singing high in the trees. Just inside the gate a low wall illustrates how in the mid-1850s an extra layer of earth was mounded in the centre of the burial ground, to allow more burials and raising the ground level by a metre or more.
I quickly found Eleazer’s grave – the cemetery was not large, but somehow I was drawn to the southern side and of course I had already seen photographs of the stone. I was startled to realise that Eleazer’s grave, dug when the extra mound had been added in the centre of the burial ground was actual on the lower, outer area. Was this because he was buried with his wife Sarah, who had died 17 years earlier?
Eleazer Hart’s headstone with the ‘Hands of Cohen’ symbol which shows he was from a male line of Cohanim; traditionally called the ‘priestly tribe’ of Levi. Researching this symbol and the associated blessing ‘Live long and Prosper’ gave me the title for my book: To live a Long and Prosperous Life
‘Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home. . .’
A beautiful, peaceful place, a little oasis of nature in the midst of one of the largest cities in the world, yet it was just us and the long-dead there. As I contemplated the headstone, I noticed a ladybird had alighted and trundled industriously across the pitted surface. ‘Fly away home’ I thought as she raised her scarlet wing-covers and extended her shiny black wings before zooming away – soon we would be flying home too. I felt a little sad remembering how Eleazer had been on his way home too when he died. A new book has just been published featuring beautiful images across the seasons of Brady Street cemetery and another old Jewish cemetery; Alderney Road: make sure you check out Louis Berk’s blog.
We then retraced our steps to Whitechapel Road and made our way through the quiet back streets towards the city, to find the former White Lion Street, now Folgate Street. This is about a mile away, an easy twenty-minute walk. As ever on this trip, I was astounded by how close everything was – somehow living in the Antipodes so far away from these historic places I have a sense of smallness – that somehow all these great places will be great in size as well – but they are quite compact, and the locals stroll about seemingly oblivious to the immense numbers of people in history that has passed the same way. The back streets are full of surprising and impressive street art, something that would have bemused the Victorians in their grimy, smog-laden slums.
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Folgate Street on the corner of Commercial Road: this was the addition to White Lion Street that was built to connect to Commercial Road. The Peabody Buildings in the background were designed as new housing to replace some of the slums that were notorious in the Spitalfields.
White Lion Street used to end where the white building meets the lane (once Wheeler Street, but now part of Lamb Street).
It was from Wheeler Street that Eleazer Hart had an entrance to his Rag Merchant business, with warehouses, access for horse and wagons and to the rear of his house which was at 20 White Lion Street. Folgate Street now has different numbers, so the Hart home was situated at about where 44 Folgate Street is today.
This was a strange experience, walking on the street where Eleazer and Sarah Hart had their family, where my great, great, great-grandfather, the elusive and enigmatic Nathaniel Hart had likely played as a child with his siblings, and where their mother Sarah had died.
Cobbles of the former Wheeler Street under my feet
Their house has gone, replaced with a brick and white plastered building, now probably exclusive and expensive apartments. But further down this little, very short street there are buildings that were there a hundred years before the Harts moved in: part of Spital Square, where Huguenot weavers plied their trade in silks and satins, including weaving of Queen Victoria’s coronation robes.
Weaver’s Houses Folgate Street
Folgate Street looking towards Commercial Road
The little pub once called the Pewter Platter (now the Water Poet) played host to rousing addresses given by Chartists: men who hoped to inspire the hundreds of workers who laboured in the Spitalfields to demand the right to vote, it also fed and ‘watered’ people tired and thirsty after a hard days work. It was scarcely lunchtime, but we were tired and thirsty so went in and availed ourselves of their custom, managing to knock back some good ale and good British pub grub: Steve had bangers and mash, and I finished with a Eton Mess.
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Towards London Town
Replete from our repast, we staggered onwards. At the end of Folgate Street you are confronted with vast towers of glass and steel, now standing in the place where Eleazer Hart first started his Rag Merchant business along with Joseph Lee in Primrose Street. Modern commerce and history clash. Turn left and walk down Norton Folgate (the A10) and the architecture is amazing; ‘the Gherkin’ (30 St Mary Axe) gleamed in the sun like a fabulous Arabian jewel. It was just another mile (1.6 km) to our destination. I was astonished to realise the heart of the City of London was closer than the distance of my home to downtown Timaru, an easy Saturday morning stroll for coffee.
The Gherkin from Norton Folgate
Further on down Bishopsgate we saw other distinctive buildings such as the ‘Cheesegrater’ and the ‘Walkie Talkie’ both designed with sloping faces to give unobstructed views to St Pauls Cathedral. I couldn’t help thinking what the former inhabitants of the area would have thought of these astounding constructions, the sheer enormity of them makes you feel very, very small.
‘Walkie Talkie’ building – designed not to obstruct classic views of Old St Pauls.
Once upon a time the spires and domes of the churches were landmarks from which Londoners took their bearings, the chimes of their bells marking the passage of the day. Now these massive glass and concrete buildings dwarf and hem in the modest stone and brick churches, their spires diminished in grandeur and their walls squeezed so close it seems sacreligious. We reached Gracechurch Street and a few steps later could see down Fish Street Hill to the monument to the Great Fire of London, once another tall landmark almost buried amidst the higher buildings that have sprung around it.
Monument to the Great Fire, the spire of St Magnus beyond.
Crossing Eastcheap we walked past the monument towards the Thames. It surprised me how high we had been, and that the descent was steep – to our right the approach to London Bridge was higher so that when we came out at Lower Thames Street you could see that we would need to climb higher to cross the bridge. Ahead of us was the church of St Magnus the Martyr, with its arched porch and clock. This small street was once large and the direct approach to the bridge. Pedestrians crossing the bridge passed through the archway on the church porch, avoiding the wheeled traffic grinding past. It was here that Eleazer’s body was laid and his inquest was held on the afternoon of his death.
St Magnus the Martyr. This was once the approach to London Bridge. Beyond is another new icon of London ‘The Shard’ which is in Southwark on the other side of the Thames
To get onto London Bridge we had to back-track past the monument, and soon found ourselves gazing into the river. The present-day London Bridge was built during the 1970s. The previous one was sold and shipped to America (they probably thought they had bought Tower Bridge). The stone-arched bridge that was there when Eleazer died had been built in 1825, and the remnants of the ‘original’ London bridge were still visible for some time.
Demolition of Old London Bridge in the 1830s looking towards St Magnus (the Great Fire Monument beyond), and the ‘new’ bridge to the left. (credit: Stephencdickson)
Access from the riverbank to the bridge was through three flights of steps, still in place for many years as can be seen in old photographs.
London Bridge in the 19th Century showing the steps alongside. (credit: Cornell University)
The steps were to be the death of Eleazer. Rushing to catch his train back to Portsea on the far side of the bridge, the climb up was too much, and he collapsed and died.
Details of his last moments were recorded by the coroner, with witness statements written in a form of shorthand. Luckily these documents are from just a handful of reports that survive today in the London Metropolitan Archives. These were kindly photographed for me in 2013 by a kind member of the online forum, British Jewry.
It took me a couple of weeks to transcribe the coroner’s shorthand:
Henry Huttle City Police Officer 577: about 5 minutes to 6 this morning I was in King William Station and I saw the deceased just by the top of the steps leading down to King Station on the lower side of the bridge. It appeared as if he had come to the top of the steps and he fell forward immediately. I saw 2 men lift him up and I went up to them they left him in my hands and I got a cab and took him to Dr Smiths in Fenchurch [?] Street he pronounced him dead. I saw him fall. No-one pushed him or knocked him down. I brought him for S Turks[?] of the church. When he was dis(covered?) he had 2 books on eating fish, and the basket a whiting [cod], he was carrying them
Henry Balls 26 George St, Kent. The cabman: I saw the deceased in the station and saw one person with him. I thought he was in a fit I took him to the doctors in my cab I then got him to the church entrance[?] I did not see him fall
Michael Hart, 112 Middlesex St, Whitechapel, Islington: The deceased was my brother. His name is Eleazer Hart. His age [ is] about 70. He was a gentleman. He lived at 47 St George Square, Portsea. He left me at 10 minutes upon 6 this morning at St-Mary-at Hill.I gave him one fish: his basket. He was in a great hurry to get to the 6 o’clock train at London Bridge to get him to Portsea. His health was good before this but he was taken occasionally with palpitations of the heart and gout.
[coroner?] The running up the steps caused apoplexy him. I have seen him. This is my [observation?] sub[sequent?] of struck first on his cheek bone from the fall. I show by this his death was probably natural [added note in pencil:he has been in town for the week.]
Sworn before H Payne coroner
So now I stood and looked at my feet as I stood on London Bridge and thought of Eleazer’s cheek meeting the ground as his breath left his body for the last time, and how he, a Jewish gentleman, was gathered up and laid out in a Christian church while the coroner recorded his final moments from the witnesses, including his brother Michael Hart. I thought too, how I had written about the end of Eleazer’s life in To Live a Long and Prosperous Life (p96-97) and had wanted to see for myself where he died alone, yet surrounded by hundreds of strangers on one of the busiest thoroughfares of London – and now I was finally here and it all seemed surreal.
standing on London Bridge
From London Bridge looking towards Tower Bridge. The metal structure in the foreground are the new spiral stairs installed in 2016 leading from the top of the bridge to the riverside path.
I was too late to walk the old stairs, demolished just a few months earlier. They suffered from ‘a poor environment which can cause which can cause antisocial behaviour issues’ according to a report of the openingand the actual river bank can no longer be reached either.
Under London Bridge looking up-river to the rail bridge. Beyond is the square brick tower of the Tate Modern – the former Bankside Power Station
Just a bit further along the bank, the old Billingsgate Fish Market, which once reeked of fish guts and blood, was now reincarnated as an elegant fish restaurant. In the outside eating area waiters in long black aprons were clearing away tables from the lunchtime service with crisp white tablecloths flapping in the breeze and seagulls hovering expectantly for scraps. This was where Eleazer had met his brother Michael that morning, to get a fish to take home for his supper.
What would they have made of the transformation of this area into genteel fine-dining and ambient strolling? The only thing unchanged (apart from the gulls) was the massive grey, oily Thames, silently roiling past us towards the sea, turning and glistening undercurrents gave an impression of animal strength – a living thing. The same river that had carried Eleazer’s son and daughter-in-law Nathaniel and Dinah and their young family when they sailed to New Zealand 152 years earlier, full of excitement for their new life – or aching for those familiar faces and places they were leaving behind. Their voyage took three months. We, too, were setting off to New Zealand later that night: it would take us less than thirty hours to complete our journey. My journey to walk in their footsteps had come to an end. Time to fly away home.
A short post to bring you the news that my book To Live a Long and Prosperous Life has won an award!
As a member of New Zealand Society of Genealogists I wanted to make sure that any future researcher has access to my book, so last year I donated a copy to the NZSG library. This meant I was eligible for an annual award which was announced at the NZSG Conference held in Auckland over Queens Birthday weekend at the beginning of June. I learnt of the award a few weeks ago, but I have just now got the certificate and official letter so I can now share with you.
“This book would have to be the best and the most comprehensive family history I have come across” – judge’s comment
As a family historian I have always realised that my book would perhaps have a limited audience and subsequently I have been a little surprised when people without any family connection have asked to buy my book. I was also a little wary of the fact that by self-publishing I ran risk of falling into the ‘vanity’ publication category where puffery and ‘hollow ego-tripping’.
I agonised over endless edits (when is too much information too much? should I have included the Lawn family stories? was adding small fictionalised passages a bit over the top?), and lost a lot of sleep on the indexing, map making, diagrams and laying out, not to mention the photo editing – all things that sensible authors pass over to qualified experts.
My main motivation was (apart from just getting the darn thing finally FINISHED) was to make as much of my research available to future researchers and family who had contributed to the book at a reasonable price – hence the DIY of the layout, publishing and promotion. I just about had heart-failure when I realised the publishers had mistakenly sent me the wrong quote, and the actual cost of the printing and binding was going to be just under the selling price I had set. After last-minute negotiations I was able to ensure that I did not need to ask all the people who had kindly pre-purchased to stump up more cash, however the end result has been a book largely created as a labour of love and with my costs only just covered.
Now, a year on since I published I am humbled and astounded to find that I have copies of my book in the UK, USA and Australia, as well as across New Zealand. Copies have been purchased and are available in Christchurch City Libraries, Timaru District Libraries, Grey District Library, Nelson Public Library, University of Otago, Hocken Collection, Alexander Turnbull library – National Library of New Zealand, National Library of New Zealand, Auckland Libraries and of course the New Zealand Society of Genealogists.
This award recognises not only the research and writing that I put into it, but the combined knowledge of several generations of extended family, the selfless work carried out by other researchers who I have only met on the internet, friends for reading the drafts and offering advise and last, but not least, the continued support of my own family and my husband Steve, who has stood by with strong coffee and chocolate at the ready, listened to my endless stories of my long-gone forebears, and the constant pounding of the keyboard, who has driven countless miles to archives and family sites, trudged around overgrown cemeteries with me, gazed at memorials and plaques and turned a blind eye to the cost of certificates and subscriptions that enlightened and confirmed the stories as I brought them to life.
Now with just a few copies from the original print-run left I am still getting queries about my book from interested people. Once these are gone I will still be able to order copies from the printer but these will be at an increased price. If you have been meaning to buy a copy, now is the time to do it! Full details are under the menu at the top right of this blog, or for purchasers from outside New Zealand the PayPal order option is at the bottom left (scroll down).
"1 Dish 4 The Road".. Fusing food writing with whatever else I find on the road - fiction, history, poetry, humour, diversity, family stories & London.
Written in Ink and Stone 
