Thursday, March 15, 2012

FIJI 1870’S PT 1. MARIE LOUISE HOBART TO FIJI

LIFE & TIMES OF THE MARIE LOUISE

It’s no surprise that the two men most important in Grandmother Maggie’s life arrived in Levuka by ship.  After all the first, her father, arrived sometime in the early 1870’s, the other her husband to be from America  around 1897.  No air travel in those days.

Both arrived clouded in mystery, both married their wives in Fiji, and neither left behind an easy trail to trace.

Fiji – Levuka unmarked on the island of Ovalau
William and Geraldine, my great-Grandparents, were two most unlikely marriage partners. A Scots sailor washed up on the shores of rough and ready Levuka and a tall young woman from Sussex who, on the basis of photographs, admittedly taken in her older years, appeared dour and cheerless .
There are mysteries galore with both my American grandfather and his father in law, my Scots great-Grandfather, and they all have a great deal to do with the sea and the ships they sailed on.
If only those ships could talk, what stories they could tell..
_______
THE MARIE LOUISE

Of all the vessels, big and small, that carried mine and my husband’s ancestors across the seas to the south Pacific, none captivated me as much as the little 23 ton topsail schooner, the Marie Louise.

No, not the ship in the middle, the one to the left. Art Gallery of Tasmania
Her history reads like a paperback novel.  In turn she was a rich man’s pleasure palace, then a work horse carrying cargoes of fragrant sandalwood  and reeking guano; one moment rigged with flying pennants, the next wrecked on a Pacific reef.
This little ship started life back in 1864 in a shipbuilding yard in Hobart, Tasmania’s capital.  The Marie Louise, together with a larger Scottish barque, Sapphire (pictured above) were owned by a wealthy and controversial Netherlands born businessman living in Tasmania, Dr W.L. Crowther.  Both vessels were used initially throughout the equatorial Pacific islands both as whalers and in the guano and timber trade.
The Marie Louise, described in a newspaper article as a pretty little ship, was named after Dr Crowther’s daughter, Victoire Marie Louise, who was born in 1845.
 (Coincidentally years later, about the same time the little schooner Marie Louise is being bartered in Fiji by a blackbirder to a larcenous island chief, Dr Crowther’s daughter Marie Louise back in sedate Tasmania is marrying the Mayor of suburban Congleton in a glitzy society wedding.)
But back to 1865;  Crowther sends his ships throughout the south Pacific searching for lucrative guano deposits, placing leases on Lady Elliott Island, Bird Island and Wreck Reef, all in the Coral Sea off the coast of Queensland.  The following year the vessel is reported under  Captain Pie, out of Hobart, visiting Christmas Island for the guano trade.
Before too long the guano gathering enterprise is found unproductive, newspapers report Crowther transferring his guano interests in the Anglo Australian Guano Company and in 1869 the business is sold. 
But the transaction is not as shipshape nor as above board as it seemed.  The allegedly ‘otherwise honourable’ Dr Crowther has apparently sold guano leases on islands in the Pacific that didn’t even exist, his crime is uncovered and urgent communiqués fly between Government officials.
At the same time the highly reputable Mr Henry Hopkins, also of Hobart is listed as Chairman of the Anglo-Australian Guano Company, but it seemed he too has been duped by the good Doctor. However Mr Hopkins appears to have clawed back some recompense from the Guano Company debacle.   A change in the ownership of the schooner Marie Louise for instance indicates  Dr Crowther has ‘sold’ the vessel to Hopkins.
Hopkins is a wealthy man and enjoys a busy social life.  He’s rather taken with the stylish ‘Marie Louise’, flaunting her at regattas and touring aboard her with his family through the many rivers and estuaries of New Zealand.  A far cry from the guano cargo she previously carried.
But the fickle Mr Hopkins intends replacing her with a newer model.

1870: The Flying Squadron, taken at the annual Hobart regatta; The Marie Louise is the schooner middle left flying a multitude of pennants.
The Tasmanian Mercury reported the following in the Shipping Intelligence section of June 27, 1871...
 ‘For several years past the Marie Louise has been owned by Mr Hopkins who employed her as a pleasure yacht, a purpose for which she is in all respects admirably adapted.  Mr Hopkins has recently entered into a contract with Mr James Mackay shipwright, Battery Point for a large schooner yacht which when completed will be used to circumnavigate the globe on a three year cruise.  Under these circumstances he will no longer require the smaller craft, and hence, we learn he intends to dispose of her in the Fiji’s where small craft are in good request.’
I wonder what the little ship thought of that.

_____

MARIE LOUISE WRECKED FIJI
As reported in the Mercury’s shipping intelligence columns, the vessel did leave Hobart for Levuka on the 27th June 1871, however it did not arrive at its destination.   Well not exactly in one piece.
When the Marie Louise departed Hobart it carried four crew under the command of Captain E.J. Ledwall, with one Edward Atkinson as super-numerary cargo plus a sack full of unspecified mail destined for the Fiji Islands.

...the sea mountainous high.
We can thank Mr Atkinson for his description of what happened next.
‘The voyage was marked by strong winds increasing to gales and squalls as we neared  journeys end, Levuka on the west coast of Ovalau.    The ship sustained damage and it was necessary to heave to and set about repairing  before proceeding further.  The wind raged and the sea ran mountainous high but the Marie Louise though only 23 tons behaved wonderfully well, she proved a splendid sea boat.
Next day we continued on our course but when only about 50 miles from Levuka the ship ran on to the Nukulau reef.’
The crew took to the lifeboat and made their way to the island of Ovalau where Mr Atkinson then went on to describe their frosty reception by the British Consul and their further adventures with Fijian tribes and the sighting of their ‘cannibal ovens’.    Mr Atkinson was not impressed with the Fiji’s, ending his report to the Mercury with the advice... ‘of all the places I have hitherto had the fortune to visit, the Fiji Islands would be recommended last as places of immigration or settlement’.
A small item two months later in the Mercury  advises that the wrecked Marie Louise late of Hobart Town has been sold in the Fiji’s for the grand sum of £51.
A bargain sale,  but who bought the wreck?
_________
VARYING STORIES
Over the years I questioned Gran and my cousins, close and distant about their Fiji heritage.  Two I met in Suva in the late 60’s were Andrew McGowan’s daughters Lorna McGowan and Doris Leys.

Laura McGowan and her sister Doris Leys with their aunt Maggie, my grandmother.

Their parents Andrew and Ella McGowan in garden of his Suva home
Their memories and those of other Foreman cousins I spoke to about the Marie Louise and about William McGowan,  were wildly out of kilter. 
They firmly believed the Marie Louise for instance was owned and sailed by our Scots great Grandfather purely for the sandalwood trade.   None were all too sure about his old country heritage and nearly all had vastly different ideas about his standing in society and even his actual name;  James and Thomas were favourites.  Their Captain McGowan, they confidently claimed was master in command of a much larger vessel, came from gentry stock in Scotland where he married Geraldine and then took a leisurely honeymoon voyage to Fiji in the Marie Louise.  All pure fiction!
Mind you, Andrew McGowan, father of two of those cousins, was only two years old when his father died, so no doubt they at least can be forgiven... and the Foreman cousins of course, offspring of Robert Foreman,  Geraldine’s second husband, were connected only to Geraldine.
Nevertheless all the cousins were in for a surprise.
________
ADRIFT IN THE SOUTH PACIFIC
It’s all very well knowing a country of origin and departure, it would be a whole lot easier to have the port, ship and date of arrival as well. Would save a heck of a lot of hard slog.  Grandpa ChasBert of the dubious past continually haunts me with his particular arrival in Levuka, but that is another adventure I will relate later.
In William McGowan’s case I really can’t go past the merchant ship Winged Arrow in 1861 out of Glasgow destination New Zealand, carrying a cargo of prime Leicester sheep.  The ship made its journey by way of Australia, a country that would have a great deal of influence on his later life.
William was 23 years old back then when he and four shipmates deserted the ship in Port Chalmers and was never heard of again.  Not in NZ anyway. After all being a deserter he obviously wouldn’t want to be found, would he? I might add hundreds if not thousands of seamen were deserting ship at that time, all racing off to the gold fields leaving stranded vessels behind.
But without a friendly chatty little ship to tell me how William got from A to B,  I relied on newspaper archives and state library records to provide sparse and vague clues.   Predictably they didn’t turn up in chronological order.
For instance new genealogy ‘cousin’ Kim Fleming in London uncovered William’s earliest Fiji job commanding the ketch Mabel from Levuka to the Yasawas in October of 1871. That’s ten years of wandering to uncover.
Later I found that  William had been apprenticed to the sea as a 12 year old and by the age of 18 had acquired his masters papers.
 Then in a later newspaper archives trawl on the internet I found mention of William McGowan in 1868 returning on a coastal steamer from North Queensland to southern ports of Australia in company with a fellow sailor whose family my Great Grandmother’s sister later married into.  I couldn’t discount this obscure clue, the surname, Nickless was after all most unusual.
All tiny but fruitful parts of a giant jigsaw.
_____
Up to this point I was wondering if McGowan could perhaps have made the voyage from Hobart to Fiji on the Marie Louise as one of the unnamed four man crew. He may even have been a seaman on the vessel during it’s early guano cargo days with Captain Pie.
The date provided for the Mabel fits in nicely with the date McGowan was in Australia, allowing William and Geraldine to get together at just the right time to conceive their first child. 
If that is how it all started.
You see my mind had already been whirling with thoughts of just how and why  the young Sussex born Geraldine Sweeny gave birth to an illegitimate son in the Australian mining town of Ballarat in 1872, and soon after makes her way to remote Fiji of all places. She and He and fate were obviously brought together in the same place at exactly the right moment... or had their meeting in Levuka been prearranged?
Meanwhile, continually dancing in and around all these unanswered questions about family was the obvious ‘life after death’ question of the wrecked Tasmanian schooner, the  Marie Louise.
____
Were it not for the precise record keeping of the Fiji Government of 1873,  and more importantly the diligent staff of Fiji’s present Government Archives I would have continued on with my family research none the wiser about the rumpus my Great Grandmother caused on the 6th February 1873...
It appears certain correspondence has been received by a Government department, but who actually wrote the letter?
________

Next : Fiji 1870’s Pt 2 –Discord aboard the Marie Louise
Robyn Mortimer ©2012




COMING SOON – MARIE LOUISE UPDATE


Family history demands constant updating. Months, years of research can pass before some new obscure little clue emerges from the mists of time, a small piece of information to fill a yawning gap.

In this case, I’ve come across new snippets about the Marie Louise, one of the island vessels my great grandfather back in the 1870’s sailed around the many islands that make up the South Pacific country of Fiji...

To tell this new version of the Marie Louise story I will very soon delete the January 2012 original story entitled ‘IF SHIPS COULD TALK’ and republish with a three part replacement ‘FIJI 1870’S the MARIE LOUISE’.  

Part 1 – HOBART TO FIJI- THE MARIE LOUISE...
Part2 –  DISCORD ABOARD THE MARIE LOUISE
Part 3 -  DODGY DEALINGS –THE MARIE LOUISE

The 1870’s when my great grandparents married and raised their family in Fiji, were both exciting and worrying times. The islands were emerging from their cannibal past with, for the most part European and Australian settlers striving to imprint their Victorian era standards upon a nation just beginning to recognize its potential worth.  It would be an interesting tussle of ideals.

 The islands history is rich with stories about the men and women who lived there then.

My great grandparents, Geraldine and William McGowan’s story and that of the Marie Louise is only one of many.

____

Robyn Mortimer -  March 2012

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

...AND THE RAINS KEEP COMING –MARCH 2012

MATESHIP
Photo by Gary Ramage
Is it ever going to stop?  Right now the east coast of Australia from Queensland down is absolutely drenched...it’s hard to believe barely a few short years back the entire country was suffering deep  despairing drought.
Friends from Straddie who set out just last week, in different directions,  for caravan trips around the country now find themselves stranded in places like Tiaro  up north, and  thousands of miles away to the south, near Wagga Wagga. 

For my friends touring round the country the floods are just a nuisance, causing a mere hiatus to their travel plans.  For the people whose lives are again disrupted by floodwater, some for the fourth and fifth time in a matter of a few years the inundation is heart breaking.

I’ve plucked a few photos from our daily newspapers to show the human, and animal aspect of a country covered by the rushing, destructive  torrents of water.  Many thanks to the photographers who caught the moment.

                                                                       Photo by Stuart McEvoy
 Down south the Melbourne to Sydney Express races above the flooded Murrumbidgee River, from this angle the train looking like a kids ‘push me pull me’ toy.

Photo by Megan Slade.
 While thousands of miles further north Swedish tourists, Mia and Maria  find themselves stranded on Queensland’s Bruce Highway near Curra. 

Somewhere in that bank up of cars and trucks our friends Phil and Jenny are waiting for the water to subside, reasonably comfortable in their caravan. 

(Mind you while they’re enjoying themselves on holiday, my Reluctant Traveller and I are back home on Straddie  babysitting their three chooks.)
______

A CASE OF ALL HANDS TO THE PUMP


                           Photos Andrew Meares
Down south with the threat of even more rain to come it’s a case of all hands to the sandbags.  It’s back breaking work but its always amazing to see how many people, mostly strangers to each other, rush to help.

It’s moments like these when you’re facing repeat flooding, when you’re dreading the thought of cleaning mud and debris out of your home yet again, when you’re hoping like mad the levee around the town holds, praying the waters will start to  drop, that you recognize the true meaning of the word mateship.
________

Across the border in Victoria, Bob and Lucas Hughes raced home from their jobs in Melbourne, borrowed a friend’s excavator and spent 14 hours creating a 1.5 metre levee bank around their mother’s rural property at Nathalia.  With the tinny ready and primed to go they reckon they’ve got the flood licked.

Photo Chris Scott
 
While just a few miles to the east the floods have reached the  town of Numurkah. A newspaper photographer has caught the moment as Greg Mason leads a few more of his sixteen horses to safety.  


Photos Chris Scott
 It’s wonderful to see the trust these animals have in their owner, only the two front horses are being led by rope, the others placidly following.
 _____


This is the town of Wagga Wagga in New South Wales. almost due west of the nation’s capital Canberra.  The town’s inhabitants are on high alert as the Murrumbidgee River continues to rise.  The area is prime sheep country.

 
Anyone who has ever worked with sheep know its not an easy job herding a mob of sheep, a job made even harder when they’re immersed in flood water.  It's no small task heaving a water logged sheep into a dinghy.

But these sheep are their owner’s livelihood, and if saving them means bringing the mob into the house, then so be it...


                   Preceding photos all by Stuart McEvoy

______

Today before I finally post this story I’ve checked the weather forecast for Wagga Wagga.  Mostly sunny. Maybe the deluge has finally stopped, then again they are forecasting showers for later in the week.

The trouble is even though the sun is shining today the flood waters are still racing and tumbling down from the river’s headwaters, maybe hundreds of miles away.  For some towns further along, the river has yet to peak. The danger is ongoing.

But that’s Australia all over, our country is one of extremes, and we’re all mighty proud of the way we all pull together in times of trouble.  Neighbours, strangers, dogs, horses, sheep - it’s called mateship.

________

Robyn Mortimer 2012

Saturday, March 3, 2012

BACK THEN – PT 3


BOX BROWNIES, BUDGETS AND TWO BAPTISMS

A QUIET SPOT IN SYDNEY – OBSERVATORY HILL
 
For all its size and density the throbbing busy metropolis of Sydney still has many surprisingly quiet little pockets where weary wanderers can bide a while and take in the view.  A view that nearly always includes the city’s famous coat hanger, the iconic Harbour Bridge...

It’s a far cry from the bush and kookaburra cry that greeted my convict ancestors of 1797...


_________

PHOTOGRAPHIC MEMORIES

1930’s Scene Sydney Railway Square – unknown photographer
I possess an extraordinary number of photographs; my own collection put together since my children were babies, plus albums passed on from my parents and my grandparents.  Many are duplicated, a colossal number are frankly either under or over exposed, but I can’t bear to throw any of them away.  To me old photos, like the loved ones they portray, are precious.

Back in my parents day a camera was a luxury and I’m frankly surprised they managed to amass the number of images they did, but not all in my hand me down collections were happy snaps taken by the family.

A lot were the work of Sydney’s then roaming professionals, their business details stamped on the back of each photo...for instance Memory Photos, Shop 10, Royal Arcade or Fifth Avenue Snaps, 12 Her Majesty’s Arcade.

_____

At some time, an uncle or cousin must have acquired a standard box brownie but back then, during the war years at least, no one in our family owned a camera.  Instead, street photographers were kept very busy conducting an extremely lucrative business in various parts of Sydney’s inner city... and at times on the various beaches as well.

Looking back through the old photographs provided a great chance to observe the changing fashions.  The perky hats, rising hemlines and the change from gloves to bare hands.

 
Photographers set themselves up at key points in the city centre; on the concourse leading up from the bus stops at Central Station to the railway departure hall; outside Circular Quay; along Pitt Street and Martin Place; or near the Archibald Fountains in Hyde Park.  All over town, there was a busy, smiling, cajoling army of photographers, camera always at the ready.  It was hard to avoid them.

A snap quickly taken, smiles frozen in time, a ticket handed over and next day you could pick up a black and white five by two from one of the photographic kiosks that dotted the city arcades.

Sydney’s army of photographers wandered far and wide.  No park or beach escaped their attention.  This collage of beach snaps featured both my mother and Aunt Viti, and cousins from Newcastle.  The Beach Inspectors with me were friends of the family so we little Brown-Parkers always felt safe in the surf.
 
Not all the photos in my album were happy snaps though.  Some marked moments of sickness and loss.  They’re the photos without smiles.
 
Through these images taken by street photographers over a period of about fifteen years I can follow my Grandmother Maggie’s recovery from a stroke; my Dad’s consultation with doctors in Sydney’s Macquarie street; a visit back to Sydney when neither my mother nor I looked particularly happy;  and at Circular Quay the glum expressions on my Gran, Aunt May and Mother’s face while cousin Barry and little me snuggle together; that’s the year Grandfather died.
____
 
WHEN A BROWN MARRIES A BROWN

 Before Rewa my mother  married Dad she worked in Fosters Shoe Shop in the heart of Sydney on the corner of Liverpool and Castlereagh Streets.  This was deep in the Haymarket section of the city.  That’s the shop in the photo below.
Unknown Photographer – Historic Homes Trust
 
Rewa was the baby of the Brown-Parker family and no doubt accustomed to getting her own way.  Guy, my Dad was virtually the boy next door when both families lived not far from each other in Sydney’s western suburbs.
Rewa and Guy in their courting days.
 Rewa’s ‘hen’s party’ 1937.

My parents were a curious mix.  Dad’s family were practicing Catholics, while Mum’s American kin, way back, were staunch Quakers, though at the time of the wedding were of no defining religion at all.  When my parents married,  the officiating priest could have seriously asked if anyone had reason to question their union.  Both parties were after all named Brown.

Signing her surname as Mother had done all her life as Rewa Brown-Parker would only have added another dimension to the situation. You see,  I doubt my American grandfather Chas ever got round to legally changing his name from plain Brown to the contrived double barrelled one, Brown-Parker.

But all this was a possibility I’m sure never entered her head or the priest’s, nor  any of the guests.  For that matter Dad’s Brown family in turn may not have known anything of Chas Bertie’s double and at times dubious life.

My father, Guy Francis Aloysius Brown was a good-looking man, dark hair, brown eyes, and cheeky grin. He was 25 when he married my mother on December 18 1937, she was 18.  They made a handsome couple. Dad wore clothes well and faced cameras with grinning self-confidence. 

Looking at their photo as they swing happily along a city street you wouldn’t think they had a care in the world.  But the question of religion was apparently a thorny one. Their marriage alone was an example of a condoned catholic ceremony in the priest’s vestibule and not at the altar.

My father’s sisters, I’m told, later performed a cloaked in secrecy ‘do it themselves’ baptism complete with holy water on new born me in the hospital, unknown to my mother. Five years later when a prerequisite for my First Holy Communion required a Certificate of Baptism my father let the cat out of the bag about the first one.  My mother, Rewa was not amused.

_____

A HOUSEWIFE’S BUDGET
 
 Among my treasured photos I have a black and white snap showing me clutching a fluffy toy rabbit outside the kiosk at Central Station. Another of Mum and Aunt Viti striding arm in arm through the Haymarket, each clutching two items wrapped in brown paper bags, both smartly dressed and looking well pleased with themselves.

Yet another shows Grandmother and Grandfather outside the post office in Pitt Street. A group shot of cousin Barry, Mum, Grandmother, Aunt May and me at Circular Quay isn’t a particularly happy one but was  probably taken on an excursion to Taronga Park Zoo. I can imagine no other reason for being at Circular Quay where the tram line ended and the Harbour ferries began.

Not only did these street photographs leave behind a visual record of the Brown Parker clan they also gave me an insight into my mother’s household budget.

I don't know why, perhaps note paper like plumbers plungers had also been requisitioned for the war effort, but Mother used the backs of these snapshots to work out the weekly expenses or write a shopping list...  For instance, on the back of the snap of me looking like a stand in for Shirley Temple in frilly white organdie dress, matching hat, black patent leather shoes and the cuddly rabbit is a shopping list...

              Half dozen bon bons and serviettes
              Tinsel
              Floral dress
              Sashes
              Pants
              Slip


              Black and white shoes (crossed out and replaced with
              Navy shoes) 
                     And a reminder to lay-by bag.
Perhaps the items are preparations for Christmas, or maybe for a birthday party.   Behind another photo Mother has listed her expenditure in the currency of the day, pounds shillings and pence...

                 £1.13.0
                        3.2
                        3.0 
                 +   10.0       
                 £2.  6. 2

...which was then subtracted from £6.0.0 and rounded out to leave over £3.14.0;  Obviously a balancing act with the weekly budget.

Another photo of my smiling grandmother reveals a shopping list for:

                   Creams,
                   Robyn, (for what may I ask)
                   Buttons,
                   Lunch (all of two shillings),
                   Ribbon,
                   Beers (one shilling and sixpence!)
                   And ticket.

All this cost the grand sum of fifteen shillings, a massive difference from the budgets of millennium mothers. Another shows my mother’s weekly budget of rent, gas and groceries with one memorable deduction for my violin lessons.

_______

Of the entire family, I can recall only Grandmother being musically inclined.  She was a pianist but we never had a piano and the only time I ever saw her playing one was at Cousin Betty's wedding in the church hall at Woollahra. An occasion I vividly remember because Gran made me climb on a table when a promising scuffle broke out among the guests. All of them relations.

 No doubt, she was the moving force behind the plot to turn me into a violin virtuoso, but it must have been apparent to everyone including the neighbours next door that my early venture into a musical career was a very bad idea.

Needless to say and no doubt much to the relief of the nuns at St. Anne’s I never progressed past Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. 

________

The war continued, my parents health deteriorated and they made the move to the fresh clean air of country Warwick where I made friends with the Ambulance Superintendent’s daughter Betty Lefrancke.  A friendship we still share  nearly 70 years later.

Once again we were following in the footsteps of mother’s sister Aunt Viti and her new husband Erwin.  We were in Warwick when war in the Pacific ended and the town erupted in celebration.

But not in my Austrian Uncle Erwin’s second floor flat in Palmerin Street, where he must have heard the music and the singing and the cheering.  For the world the war was over, for the victims of the concentration camps and their surviving families their hell on earth had no end.
________




Robyn Mortimer ©2012