When Clara Hamilton Kaufmann was born in Victoria in 1867, her immigrant parents were so connected to their home in Australia that they used the place of her birth as her middle name.
Her father, Louis Kaufmann, was born in Hanover, Germany, and left his homeland when he was twenty in 1857. He first moved to England and emigrated to Australia a few years later. Here, he married Susannah Thomas, a woman of Welsh heritage, and they had four children together. On 20 March 1865, at age twenty-eight, Louis became a naturalised citizen of Australia. In the sixty-odd years before his death in Australia, Louis served his community as a Justice of the Peace and Councillor of the Mount Rouse Council for twenty years; he ran a butchery; built a very successful wool buying and exporting business, with his product receiving top dollar in London; owned significant land holdings in the Dunkeld area; sponsored prizes at local fairs; and was responsible for introducing localised refrigeration for storage of meat products.
On 25 April 1885, an article appeared in the Australasian supplement by a journalist who visited Dunkeld. He spent some time with Louis, and his impression was as follows: “Mr Louis Kaufmann, wool buyer and scourer, a German gentleman long settled here, as true an Australian as you will find anywhere. He is sound on all national questions. I gladly welcome such citizens who come out of the bondage of Bismarck to help forward the Australian race.”
But not everyone was fully accepting of Australia’s immigrants from Germany, especially once Australia was at war. On 18 August 1916 (two years into WWI), Louis’ name appeared in a newspaper article titled Eliminating the Alien—which asked local councils to ‘urge the State government to take action to disqualify Germans from holding seats as councillors or justices of the peace.’ Louis’ name appeared in a list of all German-born people who served on local councils. Louis retired from council on his own terms, and was the subject of further racism during this time, but it’s hard to imagine the impact Australia going to war against the Germans would have had on him and his family.
Clara was Louis’ second of three daughters (plus there was a son). She married Charles Camp in 1891, the son of a successful carriage builder in Geelong, when she was twenty-four and together they had two children: a son, Cyril Kaufmann Camp in 1892 and a daughter, Dorothea Claire Kaufmann Camp in 1894.
Australia became involved in the First World War on 4 August 1914. Clara wrote to a friend—one mother to another—on 14 May 1915, expressing her fears and ‘deep regret and sorrow’ at hearing that her friend’s son had been wounded. Three months later, exactly one year to the day Australia joined WWI, Clara’s own son would enlist—to fight her father’s homeland.
Cyril was allocated to the 24th Battalion (11th Reinforcement) and proceeded to England where he undertook the ‘First Rifle Course’ held at the School of Musketry, Tidworth from 18 July to 9 August 1916.
He then travelled to France on 16 September 1916. The following month, while serving in Belgium, he was promoted to Acting Sergeant, then to Lance Corporal a month later, then promoted during battle to Temporary Corporal on 11 November 1916 in France. Two days later, on the battlefields of the Somme, Cyril’s war would be over.
From Museums Victoria: ‘Tanks wallowed about in the mud, pack horses and mules laden with shells trailed across the fields, and the guns boomed and flashed all night.’ Sergeant W.J. Harvey, 24th Battalion AIF, November 1916.
The lead-up to winter in the autumn of October – November 1916 in the battlefields and trenches around the Somme was one of the worst times of the war for Victoria’s 24th Battalion, AIF. Along with Australia’s other military units, the Battalion’s situation on the Western Front changed dramatically, from bad to worse. The cold and increasingly muddy conditions added to the chaos and hardship of army life, for an already exhausted group of men.
The 24th Battalion was raised in Victoria, Australia, and formed a quarter of the 6th Brigade. Three brigades formed a division, and as part of the 2nd Division the 24th Battalion fought in Australia’s major engagements of the Somme Offensive. Their losses were particularly high in ferocious engagements at Pozières and Mouquet Farm, where the 2nd Division suffered 6,848 casualties in just over a week of fighting. While the territory around Pozières and Mouquet Farm was considered strategically essential, the battles were hard-won. Given the catastrophic losses of life, the number of wounded and missing, and the years of ongoing strain to the living, some would argue that there were no winners in this chapter of World War I.
Below is a photograph taken by Lieut. John Warwick Brooke at the Somme on 13 November 1916–the day Cyril was killed. In it, a soldier is showing his damaged helmet to another, after receiving treatment for his wounds. These were the lucky ones that day. (Image from the Ministry of Information First World War Official Collection)
Cyril was buried at the Warlencourt British Cemetery as detailed in a letter dated 8 September 1925 to his father, Charles Camp (nine long years after Cyril’s death).
Or was he? It is unclear whether the below document pre- or post-dated the letter regarding the Warlencourt British Cemetery burial. However, it is specific in stating that “this man [Cyril Camp] is not buried in Warlencourt New British Military Cemetery”, rather he is buried amongst “isolated graves about 3.5 miles S.W. of Bapaume”. Although, in another record, a photograph of his grave was sent to his next of kin on 16 July 1920 (a copy of the photograph isn’t included in Cyril’s service file). Perhaps it was a photograph of his ‘isolated grave’ and he was re-buried five years later to Warlencourt?
Cyril’s mother, Clara, wrote to the Army in August 1917, then his father, Charles, wrote a month later, seeking “some word about his personal effects which would be upon him when he fell in November last.” Cyril’s very few remaining effects were eventually shipped to Australia via the SS Toromeo and returned to his father. His very few effects makes for sad reading.
Cyril was a month shy of his twenty-fourth birthday when he was killed. As a child, he attended Geelong Grammar School and participated in the Cadet program for six years. Upon leaving school, he became an accountant by trade and worked with the Bank of Victoria before he enlisted in the AIF. He never married. It is difficult to imagine the pain of loss suffered by his family, and perhaps even more so, given he was killed by his grandfather’s former countrymen. His grandfather, Louis, died five years later perhaps never knowing where his grandson was buried. His father lived another nineteen years, his mother a further thirty-four—a heavy burden to carry over such a long time.
Cyril and a few other fallen soldiers were remembered in a memoriam placed in the Argus on 8 November 1917. It concluded with:
Soldiers yes, and heroes too
They have played a man’s part, through and through
Their actions speak, though their voices are still
Mary Ellen Walsh was born in Youghal, County Cork on 27 November 1837 and transported to Australia in 1850 on the ship Earl Grey as a convict.
During Mary Ellen Walsh’s lifetime, she was abandoned by her family as a child. She was arrested and gaoled twice, and was forced to leave her home country. In her teenage years, she resisted authority, often paying a heavy price. With so much against her, Mary was determined to create a life for herself. She looked for opportunity; marrying twice and delivering twelve children—sadly burying three of them. At times, she struggled to feed her children, being forced to give some of them up. Later, with her husband away for long periods of time, and despite constantly having children hanging onto her skirts, Mary ran a business in Campbell Town and became a popular figure in the village. In time, Mary achieved the life she wanted and knew prosperity.
Mary was a survivor. This is her story.
An act of desperation – Part I
How does a family make the decision to sell their child into service then leave the country? What impact does that have on the child being abandoned?
When over a million people are dying of starvation, and around two million more flee, it contextualises decisions made by desperate people. It might provide some insight into how a young girl could be traded for cash by her family, to work as her aunt’s servant, to fund their escape to Nova Scotia. Sacrifice one to save the many, perhaps?
Those who lived in the south and west of Ireland suffered the most in the Great Famine, and the disaster was felt even more keenly for native Irish-speaking Roman Catholics[i]. Mary Ellen Walsh and her family were unfortunate enough to be all three: Irish-speaking, Roman Catholic southerners from Cork[ii]. But they had an opportunity. Provide Mary to her Aunt Cath Walsh as a servant, in return for the means to essentially save the family by escaping the Great Famine of Ireland.
The worst year of the Great Famine of Ireland occurred in 1847 when Mary was ten. But we are soon to see how Mary felt about her situation. On 24 April 1849, Mary appeared at the Waterford County Court and convicted of stealing £11 from her aunt. Her sentence, seven years’ transportation[iii].
What was Mary’s state of mind, having been abandoned by her family to work as a servant? Perhaps her aunt, having already given funds to her family for Mary’s services, refused to pay anything further? Whatever the reason for Mary’s theft, this twelve-year-old would now be incarcerated for the next eight months awaiting her departure from Dublin to Van Diemen’s Land. Mary’s world was to be turned upside down once again.
The nightmare continued
On 17 December 1849, in the biting cold of Dublin’s winter, Mary was shepherded onto the convict transport Earl Grey with two hundred and thirty-five other women[iv].
The women would have had little to keep them warm, but when they arrived in Hobart, five months later on 9 May 1850, it would have been a relief to be greeted by mild autumnal weather.
In processing Mary when she stepped off the Earl Grey, they could not find her Gaol Report. We know of Mary’s indictment because of what she told authorities: “Stealing £11 from my Aunt Cath Walsh.”
Her formal report described her as: Height: 5′ 2″ Complexion: Fair freckles. Head: Oval medium size. Hair: Sandy. Visage: Oval full. Forehead: low. Eyebrows: Sandy. Eyes: Blue. Nose: Medium. Mouth: wide. Chin: medium. Native Place: County Cork. Marks: Small mole on upper lip. The surgeon’s report indicated her health was ‘good’.[v]
A teenage rebel
Within a year of her arrival, Mary was sent to The Ross Female Factory, one of four such places built in Van Diemen’s Land. Between 1847 and 1854 it operated as a probation station for female convicts and their babies. Mary was sorted into one of the three classes in the factory—Punishment Class, Crime Class, or Hiring Class[vi]—and allocated a bunk in the Crime Class Ward. Here, she shared a room with several other women, and they were taught how to sew, clean, cook, launder and care for their children[vii].
In April 1851, thirteen-year-old Mary got herself in trouble, and as a result ordered to be moved from her bunk in the Crime Class Ward to a cell, a bleak prospect. The Ross factory had six narrow solitary cells, used for punishment of misdemeanours. The cells were located on the west side of the factory, with a narrow exercise yard attached[viii]. The cramped conditions and isolation from the rest of the community didn’t appeal to Mary and she refused to go. For her obstinance, she was punished with three months hard labour[ix].
One month into her ‘hard labour’ sentence, she was written up for ‘idleness’, on 10 May 1851, and punished with a further two months hard labour—but to be cumulative with her previous sentence[x].
Then, another month later, Mary had had enough. On 7 June 1851, she was written up for ‘insubordination’, and punished with another eighteen months of hard labour, to which Mary responded by breaking some windows. As a result, Mary was required to pay £0.6.8 to cover the cost of the broken windows, before she would ever receive her Ticket of Leave[xi].
One week later, Mary was written up for ‘assault’—was she being taunted or was she defending herself, it is unknown, but it resulted in her having to spend another twenty-one days in the cells[xii].
Her misdemeanours over the past three months show us how thirteen-year-old Mary coped with her new reality—having her liberty withdrawn, isolation from her family, and being thrown in with women of all ages and walks of life. It must have been extremely difficult for her at this young age.
Freedom of sorts
Mary started to learn important lessons about accepting her situation. On 20 September 1852, Mary, now fourteen and with her attitude apparently more controlled, was assigned as a servant to Anglican Reverend Mr Trollope at Oatlands[xiii].
Oatlands is located on the shores of Lake Dulverton about half way between Hobart and Launceston. The reverend was a difficult character. Despite him just founding a school at Oatlands—in the striking two storey stucco Georgian house built around 1840[xiv]—he was under a lot of pressure from journalists. He was considered as “semi-political” and someone who brought “disgrace upon the Church of England” and also “made himself very unpopular by preaching about the chronic state of Sabbath day drunkenness in Green Ponds.”[xv] Many “pray(ed) for his removal.”[xvi] Mary stayed with the reverend until December 1852, when she was re-assigned to Mr R. Harrison in Woodbury (15 kms north of Oatlands)[xvii]. She remained there for a month, when she was re-assigned on 24 January 1853 to Mr J. Dougherty in Oatlands[xviii].
Things take a turn
Fifteen-year-old Mary, seemed to have reverted to her old ways when barely a month into her assignment with Mr Dougherty she was found “having a quantity of apparel in her possession for which she cannot satisfactorily account.” She was returned to The Ross Female Factory and punished with nine months of hard labour[xix]. The bare details of recorded facts don’t give us a sense of whether Mary was justly dealt with, so from this vast distance we can’t begin to judge her actions.
By 20 July 1853, she was assigned to a Mr Roberts, but absconded. She was reissued with four months of hard labour, and returned to The Ross Female Factory[xx].
At the end of her four months hard labour sentence, they assigned Mary to a Mr Clarke, but on 16 November 1853 she was cited for ‘refusing to work’[xxi]. One can’t help wishing to reach back through history to the young Mary to counsel her to keep her head down. They punished Mary with five days in the Ross Female Factory cells[xxii].
A married woman
Mary’s rebellious ways seem to settle after she meets convict John Alcock (who arrived in Van Diemen’s Land aboard the ‘Palmyra’ in 1846[xxiii]). Their application for marriage was approved and they married at the Anglican St Luke’s Church, Campbell Town on 21 February 1854; Mary was sixteen and John, twenty-six[xxiv].
Her situation further improved when, six months later, her Ticket of Leave was approved providing she paid the outstanding money owed for breaking the windows. The outstanding amount was paid, and her Ticket of Leave was granted on 29 August 1854[xxv].
A year later, on 15 August 1855, Mary delivered her first child, a son, John, and by 12 April 1856[xxvi], Mary’s seven-year sentence expired; she was reclassified as ‘Free by Servitude’. Then, Mary delivered a succession of children in each of the three following years to John in Campbell Town: Martha (7 February 1857), Johanna (21 May 1858) and Mary Ellen (31 December 1859)[xxvii].
With her youngest just eighteen months old, Mary delivered another daughter, Matilda, on 22 July 1861—she now had five children under the age of six[xxviii].
Another conviction
Eight years into their marriage, the police came knocking at John and Mary Alcock’s door. The police were there to arrest them on the charge of ‘receiving’. They were both tried at the Supreme Court Oatlands on 27 December 1861; John was found guilty and sentenced to four years gaol at Port Arthur[xxix]. Mary was acquitted as being ‘coerced’, and returned home to her children[xxx].
An act of desperation – Part II
Once John was found guilty, his property was seized and sold for a fine of £50 imposed under the Sheep Stealing Prevention Act. This left Mary without ‘means’, and with Matilda as an infant, she was unable to go into service[xxxi]. Mary was in a desperate situation as to how to feed her family and needed to find a solution to their very survival—reminiscent of her own parent’s situation fifteen years ago. There was a solution available to her that many families in her situation used. If her own parents could leave her behind for the greater good, could she do the same with her own children? On 6 January, 1862, with Matilda in her arms, and the other children trailing behind her, Mary went to the Campbell Town Police Office and applied for the four older children to be admitted to the Queen’s Orphan School[xxxii]. The children were accepted, and Mary left her children, aged six, four, three and two and returned home with just Matilda in her arms. One can only imagine how the children reacted to their mother leaving them behind—and how Mary felt.
But things went from bad to worse for Mary. Not long after, baby Matilda perished before her first birthday[xxxiii]. Mary was on her own.
Queen’s Orphan School
The Queen’s Orphan School facility was located in New Town, Hobart, over 130 kms away from Campbell Town. It took in mostly convicts’ children, who were not released until their parent/s had their Tickets of Leave and could care for their children. Many were never released to their parents and were apprenticed out until they were eighteen years of age. And like Mary’s children, most of them were not orphans bereft of both parents.
A report on the Queen’s Orphan School in 1864, when Mary’s children had been there for two years, listed 463 children at the institution, of whom 411 were the children of convicts and seven were Aboriginal[xxxiv]. Other reports indicated that conditions within the school were harsh: the buildings were sparsely furnished and cold; food was often in short supply; and many of those responsible for caring for the children treated them harshly[xxxv]. Mary’s six year old son, John, was separated from his sisters, and placed in the boys’ ‘school’, her daughters, Martha (aged four), Johanna (three), and Mary Ellen (two), were placed in the girls’ ‘school’.
Mary secures her future
While John Alcock continued to serve his sentence in Port Arthur and their children remained at Queens, Mary needed a plan to secure her future. Fourteen months after she placed the children in the orphanage, Mary became pregnant to local trader (emancipated ex-convict) Jabez Bartlett. She delivered another baby girl on 16 November 1863, named Emma Bartlett Alcock[xxxvi]. This child sadly survived only sixteen months and died on 4 March 1865[xxxvii].
Two weeks later, John Alcock was released from Port Arthur[xxxviii]. But by this time, Mary was already three months pregnant with her seventh child, and delivered a son, James Francis Xavier Bartlett on 14 September 1865[xxxix]. It is unclear what John Alcock made of his wife’s new life with Jabez Bartlett, but he didn’t remain in the Campbell Town area.
With Mary now running a haberdashery business at 84 High Street, Campbell Town, and Jabez successfully peddling goods through the Fingal Valley, particularly Mathinna, and purchasing skins and hides, Mary found stability and purpose. She turned her back on her husband, who could not provide the life Mary needed, and instead chose Jabez, who had begun to buy property. Despite now having ‘means’, neither Mary nor her husband John retrieved the children from the orphanage.
Mary and Jabez continued to expand their family on 13 September 1867 when she delivered another daughter, Elizabeth Imelda Bartlett in Campbell Town.
The children and Mary are released
On 16 April 1870, Martha Alcock (who had been at the orphanage for eight years and had now turned thirteen) was discharged from the Queen’s Orphan School to the servitude of Mrs C. Anderson (in New Town) where she stayed until 28 June 1872[xl], when she was readmitted to the orphanage by Mrs Anderson on the grounds of “insolence, neglect of duty, and positive refusal to do her work”—sounds so much like her mother. The Members of the Board of Guardians were of the opinion that the girl’s conduct can be traced to the improper interference of her mother and a change of service is desirable for the parties involved.
When Johanna turned thirteen, in 1871, she was discharged to the service of Mr Henry Hanton[xli], but the arrangement became unsuitable and, like her sister, she was readmitted to the orphanage[xlii].
While her daughters were experiencing life on the outside, albeit for short stints, Mary had her hands full, giving birth on 14 September 1871 to a son they called William Nicholas Bartlett[xliii].
Then, on 2 September 1872, Martha was finally released from Queen’s Orphanage to the servitude of Mrs Shelverton (in Green Ponds)[xliv] and was at least in her service on 4 December 1873, when Martha became involved in a turkey stealing incident, in which she was required to give evidence[xlv]. She was never charged. Martha eventually moved to Bendigo[xlvi] and died at age eighty-five. She didn’t appear to marry.
The orphanage records show that Mary’s son, John, was also released from the orphanage, but a date is not recorded, nor to whom he was apprenticed. Ancestry records show that John married Margaret Neil and they had at least four children. He potentially changed his name from John Alcock to John Jones, and he died in Berrigan, New South Wales on 22 August 1896, aged forty-one.
It wasn’t only Mary’s children who were experiencing some freedom that year. On 2 June 1872, Mary’s husband, John Alcock died (aged forty-five) at St Helens[xlvii] (about 120 kms north-east of Campbell Town) officially making Mary a widow. But she didn’t rush to marry Jabez, instead delivered another baby: on 12 April 1873, their son Jabez was born[xlviii].
With Martha freed from the orphanage, it was now her sister, Mary Ellen Alcock’s turn. Fifteen-year-old Mary Ellen was discharged from Queen’s Orphan’s School on 9 March 1874 to the servitude of Mary Lewis, but was re-admitted back to the orphanage after a short time[xlix]. A month later, on 24 April, she was released again, for a final time, to her mother[l] (who needed help with her four Bartlett children aged between nine and one). Mary Ellen Alcock was a bright girl, having won an arithmetic prize in 1872 and a writing prize in 1873[li]. She married Alexander MacDonald when she was nineteen[lii], but sadly died in Victoria seven years later.
Mary and Jabez make it official
On 13 February 1875, Mary (three months pregnant and listed as age thirty-eight, but she was actually thirty-seven) and Jabez (forty-six) married[liii]. On their marriage certificate they were listed as Mary Ellen Alcock (spinster—she was actually a widow) and Jabez Bartlett, General Dealer (bachelor). They married in the presence of Thomas and Jane Smith, in the Anglican Church of St George.
A week later, Johanna received her second chance at freedom and was discharged from the Queen’s Orphanage School to live with Mary and Jabez, like her sister Mary Ellen, but this arrangement lasted only a short time, before Johanna again returned to the orphanage. But by 16 June 1875, Johanna was released for the last time to the servitude of Joseph Scanlan, who was reported to have abused her[liv]. Johanna subsequently left Van Diemen’s Land and went to Melbourne, where she married (Thomas Smithwick and George Wight) and had eleven children[lv]. She died at Ascot Vale aged seventy.
Six months after Mary and Jabez were married, another son, Charles Edwin Bartlett was born on 10 August 1875[lvi], but the happiness of that year was not to last, as three months later, on 8 November 1875, their two-year-old son, Jabez, died[lvii].
Finally, when Mary was forty-two, perhaps believing her baby production days were over (with her youngest child, Charles now five), she became pregnant one last time. On 7 June 1880, she delivered her last baby, a daughter, Alicia Maud Bartlett[lviii].
A life-changing accident
It is family legend that Jabez Bartlett’s mother, Elizabeth Bartlett, was a court harpist, and Jabez insisted his children learn to play music. This was to be a particularly special gift to his son, Charles, who in 1883 at age eight was blinded in an accident.
Jabez and Mary sent him to the Royal Victorian Institute for the Blind and Deaf, where he received a sound education and became an accomplished flautist and singer. In 1892, as a seventeen-year-old, he was chosen to be a member of a concert party for the blind and toured country towns in Victoria. His brother, William, became the band’s manager and toured with them, creating a lucrative business.
Shame for the family
Whilst his brothers, Charles and William, were building a successful business in the entertainment industry, James Francis Xavier Bartlett, had moved to Beechworth, Victoria, at least as early as December 1890, where he was presenting false cheques[lix].
At his conviction hearing, James admitted to presenting fourteen fraudulent cheques and said “He was glad to have been arrested as he wished to lead a better life in future.” The judge commented that “the scheme by which he obtained the goods and money was a very cleverly constructed one.” He was found guilty of two charges of false pretences on 8 February 1893 and sentenced to 12 months’ imprisonment with hard labour in each case (sentences to be concurrent).[lx].
On 16 February 1893, James faced three cases of forgery and uttery and was convicted of another two counts of fraud (the third was dropped) in the Bendigo Assize Court, and was sentenced to three years hard labour with solitary confinement[lxi]. The judge commented that “the prisoner had evidently determined to set the law at defiance and it would be necessary for a somewhat severe sentence to be passed on him.”
He faced the Supreme Court, Melbourne on 26 July 1893 for Shop-breaking and was sentenced to four years hard labour with periods of solitary confinement.
Four years later, on 9 December 1897, James appeared at the Wangaratta General Sessions charged with breaking into a counting house (Bethanga Post Office) and stealing, with an accomplice, Samuel Butt[lxii]. A witness described he knew “Bartlett as the advance agent for the blind troupe.” The pair apparently created an explosion which blew off the Post Office door. After the robbery, the pair escaped on a bike (one riding, one standing on pegs). Butt caught a train for Warrnambool, Bartlett returned to the Oriental Coffee Palace North Melbourne (his place of residence) and needed a rag to tie up his hand as he had hurt it falling from a bicycle. Both men were convicted and received a sentence of eight years hard labour. The judge said that “with the assistance of a bike (it) placed great power in the hand of the burglar” and added they were “clever criminals.”
James died unmarried at Gordon House (subsidised housing) on 16 September 1926 (aged sixty-one)[lxiii].
Getting affairs in order
In 1895, when Jabez was sixty-seven, the hawker and dealer formalised his will. With James in gaol and Charles blinded, Jabez turned to his remaining son, William, to act as co-executor[lxiv].
When Jabez died at the age of seventy-two, despite not mentioning Mary in his will, his death notice mentioned he was the ‘beloved husband of Mary Bartlett.’ His obituary noted that the deceased “was widely known and respected throughout the whole colony, [who] died after a very short illness at Mathinna on Tuesday last. He leaves a widow, at present dangerously ill, and three sons and two daughters.”[lxv]
Mathinna was part of Jabez’s trading route, some 90 kms away from their home in Campbell Town. His sons, William and Charles, were away touring and returned only in time to bury their father. Mary’s poor health is mentioned in the obituary, but she survived Jabez for another twelve years. Perhaps Jabez considered that his elderly wife would not have needed her own assets, as he expected that her children would care for her in her dotage?
Mary died at age seventy-six on 15 March 1912 at the home of her daughter (Alicia) Mrs M Bendall, 263 Charles Street, Campbell Town[lxvi]. After all of Mary’s marriages in Anglican churches, her faith was recognised in her burial service, which was held at St Michael’s Roman Catholic Church, Campbell Town, and she’s buried at St Michael’s Roman Catholic Cemetery. Her grave is marked by a large stone cross, which is relieved with a ship’s anchor, to symbolise her steadfast faith.
In the end, a comfortable life
A review of Jabez Bartlett’s will sheds light on how successful his and Mary’s businesses were, which provided them with many assets and security. From nothing, they created a comfortable life for themselves through hard work and perseverance. While the Bartlett children benefitted from this success, it is not obvious whether Mary’s children with John Alcock received any support.
The Bartlett assets
Jabez Bartlett bequeathed his horses, carts, harnesses and all other his personal estate and effects which may belong to him at the time of his death to his son, William[lxvii], as well as an allotment of land containing eighteen perches, together with the four roomed house and stables in Campbell Town at the corner of Bridge and King Streets, and an allotment of land containing one rood and thirty nine and one half perches situate in Campbell Town fronting on King and Glenelg Streets.
To his son, James, he bequeathed his four acre land in Campbell Town fronting onto Forster and Torlesse Streets.
He directed that his home should not be sold until Alice[lxviii] reached the age of twenty-one, died or married, whichever came first (she was twenty when he died and married the next year).
To his son, Charles[lxix], he bequeathed an allotment of land situate on Bridge Street in Campbell Town containing twenty one perches together with a brick cottage.
To his married daughter, Elizabeth Kennedy[lxx], an allotment of land containing eleven and one half perches in Campbell Town fronting on the esplanade together with a four roomed cottage.
To his daughter, Alice, an allotment of land containing one rood thirty nine and one half perches in Campbell Town, corner of Queen and Glenelg Streets. Plus land two roods thirty two poles purchased in the name of Alice (as an infant) and that she was entitled to the same in fee simple.
The residue of his real estate was to be divided to his said children in equal shares.
Of Mary’s nine children who made it into adulthood, only one, William, chose to make a life in Tasmania and continued to live there all of his life.
An enduring image
The sole photograph we have of Mary as an adult shows little of the eleven-year-old convict girl who landed on the shores of Van Diemen’s Land in 1850 as a waif with nothing to her name. In the image, Mary wears a fitted hat, trimmed in velvet and embellished with ribbon and possibly flowers, and her burgundy satin gown has a detailed bodice and sleeves, lace collar and cuffs and a gold brooch at her throat. Her hands are clasped together as she leans on the arm of an upholstered sofa. But it is her eyes which give a hint of her history. Her steel blue gaze is direct and unwavering.
During her lifetime, she was abandoned by her family as a child. She was arrested and gaoled twice, and was forced to leave her home country. In her teenage years, she resisted authority, often paying a heavy price. With so much against her, Mary was determined to create a life for herself. She looked for opportunity, marrying twice and delivering twelve children—sadly burying three of them. At times, she struggled to feed her children, being forced to give some of them up. Later, with her husband away for long periods of time, and despite constantly having children hanging onto her skirts, Mary ran a business in Campbell Town and became a popular figure in the village. In time, Mary achieved the life she wanted and knew prosperity. Mary was a survivor.
[iv] Bateson, Charles & Library of Australian History (1983). The convict ships, 1787-1868 (Australian ed). Library of Australian History, Sydney : pp.370-371, 394 and Tasmanian Archive and Heritage Office (TAHO) : CON15-1-6, pp.102-167
[xliv] Ibid. Note also, Libraries Tasmania. Item # SWD32/1/1. Copy # Z731. Register of Children Apprenticed from the Asylum (SWD32) Page 2 has a date for Martha’s apprenticeship to Mrs Shelverton of 10 January 1875, which conflicts with their own records, and does not align with newspaper reports
[xlv] The Mercury, Hobart Tas. Thursday, 4 December 1873. ‘Supreme Court, Criminal Sessions / Charge of Perjury’
[xlvi] Ancestry.com: Victoria Australia, Death Index 1836-1988
[lxvii] William Bartlett married Mary Foster and had ten children. He died aged seventy-one at Bridge Street, Campbell Town.
[lxviii] Alice Bartlett married Thomas Bendall and had ten children. She died aged seventy-three in Essendon.
[lxix] Charles Bartlett married Elizabeth Williams and had eight children. He died aged fifty-five in Melbourne.
[lxx] Elizabeth Bartlett married Alexander Kennedy, David Patterson and Reginald Webb, and had at least one child. She died aged seventy-nine in Coburg.
In support of NSW History Week 2022, I will share five stories that formed the basis of my research for my novel More Than I Ever Had. This book is based on the true story of Theophilus Feutrill, who enlisted in the New South Wales Corps in 1789 in Birmingham.
British settlement of Sydney Cove was eighteen months old, when Private Theo Feutrill, member of the newly formed New South Wales Corps, arrived in Port Jackson on the Neptune as part of the Second Fleet. At the time, Sydney Cove had a settler population of just over 1,000 people (including 736 convicts). When the six ships of the Second Fleet arrived in June 1790, the passengers (including the military and convicts) more than doubled the population number.
But before Theo arrived on the Neptune, the settlers, which arrived in 1788 (eighteen months earlier) had long been expecting to receive supplies from Great Britain. A great deal of frustration and anxiety was felt in the growing absence of ships, as supplies dwindled and precious food rations were reduced. Upon sighting the first ship to arrive since the First Fleet, on 3 June 1790, Lieutenant-Colonel David Collins wrote it was “to the inexpressible satisfaction of every heart in the settlement (that) the long-looked-for signal was made for a ship at the South Head. Every countenance was instantly cheered, and wore the lively expressions of eagerness, joy and anxiety.”
Captain Watkin Tench went a bit further in his journal: “At length the clouds of misfortune began to separate, and on the evening of the 3rd of June, the joyful cry of “the flag’s up,” resounded in every direction. I was sitting in my hut, musing on our fate, when a confused clamour in the street drew my attention. I opened my door, and saw several women with children in their arms running to and fro with distracted looks, congratulating each other, and kissing their infants with the most passionate and extravagant marks of fondness. I needed no more; but instantly started out, and ran to a hill, where, by the assistance of a pocket glass, my hopes were realized. My next door neighbour, a brother-officer, was with me; but we could not speak; we wrung each other by the hand, with eyes and hearts overflowing.”
Their joy was to be short-lived, however, to be replaced with “wonder and mortification” that the ship they saw (the Lady Juliana) contained not livestock and supplies as they had been expecting, but female convicts. The colonists soon learnt the sorry tale that a supply ship had been sent earlier, but had struck an iceberg just off the coast of South Africa. Three days after the sighting of the Lady Juliana near South Head in New South Wales, the passengers disembarked and it was “a little mortifying to find on board the first ship that arrived, a cargo so unnecessary and unprofitable as two hundred and twenty-two females, instead of a cargo of provisions.” When the women landed “many of them appeared to be loaded with the infirmities incident to old age, and to be very improper subjects for any of the purposes of an infant colony.” And “instead of being capable of labour” they appeared to be “never likely to be any other than a burthen to the settlement.”
However, the situation appeared to improve somewhat on the 20th when, at last, a storeship came in sight. The Justinian was the second ship in the Second Fleet to arrive, and it was greeted with great joy, but this welcome news was tempered as the colonists learnt “that three transports might be hourly expected, having on board (one) thousand convicts …. together with detachments of a corps raised for the service of this country.”
After the Justinian arrived, the full food ration was reinstated to be “issued weekly”, and “the drum for labour was to beat as usual in the afternoons at one o’clock.” With replenished stores, Lt.-Col. David Collins wrote: “How general was the wish that no future necessity might ever occasion another reduction of the ration, or an alteration in the labour of the people.” With our telescope looking back through the years, knowing what is ahead for these people, we realise it is a futile wish.
Nearly three weeks later, the transport ships Surpize,Neptune (with Theo Feutrill onboard) and Scarborough arrived and from that point onward, the Second Fleet was to be forever known as the worst fleet ever to arrive in Australia—and the Neptune was regarded as the worst ship of them all. As the colonists gathered to watch passengers and convicts disembarking they were in a for a shock. Lt.-Col. David Collins wrote that two hundred people arrived sick, but Capt. Watkin Tench had the number closer to five hundred. As the condition of the passengers and convicts became obvious, Lt.-Col. David Collins wrote “the west side (of Sydney Cove) afforded a scene truly distressing and miserable; upwards of thirty tents were pitched in front of the hospital (the portable one not being yet put up); all of which, as well as the adjacent huts, were filled with people, many of whom were labouring under the complicated diseases of scurvy and the dysentery, and others in the last stage of either of those terrible disorders, or yielding to the attacks of an infectious fever.”
As months passed, the devasting numbers of deaths became known. History records show if you measure passenger survival of those who sailed on the Second Fleet from the time they left England and to within eight months of arrival in Sydney, the convict mortality rate was around a shocking 40 per cent. Much outrage was expressed to the Home Secretary back in Great Britain, and contracts for convict transportation were immediately changed. The story of the Second Fleet is the subject of my blog The Scandal of the Second Fleet, which can be found on my website.
Despite the horrors passengers and convicts experienced sailing to New Holland on the Neptune, the landing of this notorious ship in Sydney Cove on 28 June 1790, began Private Theo Feutrill’s association with the land to become known as Australia. His efforts, and those who came out on the First, Second and subsequent fleets, forged a country which has been home to at least eight generations of his family.
The novel, based on Theo Feutrill’s life called More Than I Ever Had, is available from independent booksellers in Sydney and also from Amazon (link to Amazon Australia site here.)
In 1796, Theophilus Feutrill’s name appeared on an arrest warrant issued by the Governor of New South Wales. If found guilty, Theo could be executed. But will it be Theo or the Governor whose life is on the line?
**
What you need to know is that civil and military tensions in the new penal colony of New South Wales were high from the outset—right from the first days of Europeans arriving in 1788.
In those days, the key players were Governor Arthur Phillip on the ‘civil’ side—charged with responsibility for the new settlement—and Major Robert Ross on the ‘military’ side—who was appointed lieutenant-governor of New South Wales in 1786. Phillip and Ross arrived in Sydney Cove together in January 1788 on the First Fleet.
With Phillip making all the decisions about the location of settlement and the rules governing the new colony, Major Ross was responsible for the New South Marines under his command.
Think for a moment. You are located in unfamiliar bushland, in a far-away foreign country, with no buildings or crops, and only the livestock and supplies brought with you on the ship to sustain you. Someone else is responsible for deciding where you’ll live. How things will run. Another supply ship is not due for maybe over a year away. It would take enormous confidence in that person to blindly submit to all their decisions. Your life is certainly in their hands. Major Robert Ross with his military experience was not that person to put his life in another’s hands. Almost immediately, Phillip and Ross clashed. Historians note Ross’s long and detailed criticisms of Phillip’s decisions and his government. Amongst other grievances, such as settlement location, Ross opposed Phillip’s schemes for organizing the convicts and refused to allow the military officers to help supervise the prisoners.
Ross began to actively work against Governor Phillip, making his administration task more difficult. Phillip endured this for over two years, but in March 1790, he saw an opportunity to remove the key source of friction from Sydney Cove, and sent Ross to take charge of Norfolk Island. Whilst this finally gave Phillip some breathing space, the British government had already decided to recall the fractious Major Ross and his New South Wales Marines, and a replacement military presence was already on its way—the New South Wales Corps—which included Private Theophilus Feutrill as part of the Second Fleet.
A double-edged sword
Governor Phillip must have welcomed Major Ross’s replacement, Major Francis Grose, and the New South Wales Corps with a high level of optimism. Certainly, Grose was reported to have been unassertive and easy-going, and appeared to give Phillip little cause for complaint.
However, Governor Phillip had to return to Britain in December 1792 to receive medical treatment and never saw Sydney Cove again. In his absence, Major Grose assumed control of New South Wales. The military was now in charge of the new colony.
Upon assuming command, Grose, amongst other things, replaced civil magistrates with military officers and appointed Lieutenant John Macarthur inspector of public works. The steps he took appear designed to reduce his own burdens and align his supporters more closely with the administration of the settlement. Some historians have suggested that at this time Macarthur became the de facto ruler of New South Wales, such was his influence with the governor.
Under Grose, the lot of the military improved, with increased rations, improved housing and land grants, with convicts paid by the government to work ‘private’ land. Grose encouraged officer farmer pursuits, contravening orders from Britain that the land holders had to pay for convicts working their land.
Soon, many of the civil and military staff directed more of their efforts to improving their personal gains at the expense of their duties. Trade, especially in liquor which became like a currency, became substantial, and Grose’s policies enabled the military to secure a hold over the colony, to exploit it for their own interests.
But then, Grose returned to England in December 1794. It was at a time when New South Wales was still importing essential requirements, but the colony was more sustainable and the spectre of famine no longer hung over the settlement. With Grose’s policies improving the quality of the settlement, Captain William Paterson—who assumed the role of administrator—maintained the status quo until Governor John Hunter arrived (he assumed office in September 1795). By this time, policies entrenched from military rule, which were impacting on the Treasury’s purse back in London, were going to be difficult to wind back.
Governor Hunter had a job ahead of him if he was to bring the military to heel—and to protect settlers from exorbitant prices charged by officers for goods. Hunter didn’t have a loyal public service. He didn’t have an obedient military. Orders arriving from London were erratic and some could take over a year to receive and implement.
Hunter also had other forces working against him. In the absence of a free press, Hunter’s superior, the Duke of Portland (one of three secretaries of state in London), relied not only on Hunter’s reports, but correspondence from residents in the colony, such as those from Lieutenant John Macarthur, who had his own agenda. Macarthur, as inspector of public works, and as a recipient of significant land grants, was in a position of influence. While Macarthur had the governor’s ear, the supply of convicts to officer farmers on the government’s purse continued, as Hunter became convinced that government farming was wasteful and inefficient. But Hunter soon realised Macarthur’s ambitions and later told the Duke of Portland that ‘nothing short of the full power of the Governor’ would satisfy the man.
Despite steps taken by Governor Hunter and with the constant communication from John Macarthur, the Duke of Portland continued to be unimpressed by his performance, but it is Hunter’s handling of the ‘Baughan affair’ which sets the tone for the rest of his career—and Theophilus Feutrill is right in the thick of this.
A “most violent and outrageous” conduct
It all started from a long-running feud between two ex-convicts: John Baughan, carpenter by trade and millwright, and an un-named man, carpenter-turned soldier, who were both being transported to America on the Mercury when it was overtaken by a convict mutiny. They were both re-captured, and sent to Australia onboard the Friendship as part of the First Fleet. Baughan was described as ‘an ingenious man’ who built two fully functioning mills, which helped feed the colony. He was rewarded through a grant of a small lease near Dawes Point, and given the role of Foreman of carpenters. He was also described as being ‘sullen and vindictive.’
On 4 February 1796, the carpenter-turned-soldier in the feud with Baughan was on sentinel duty at a storehouse near where Baughan was working. The soldier set down his arms against the wall of the store and left his post, to speak with a man he knew outside of the building in which Baughan was working. Much abuse was said about Baughan, intentionally loud enough for him to hear. Baughan slipped away unseen to where the soldier was meant to be on duty, and found his abandoned musket. Baughan took this to the guard-house, delivering it to the sergeant of the guard. The soldier was arrested and relieved of duty as a result.
Baughan’s action caused an outrage with the military, and it was determined to exact its revenge. The next day, a large group of military members stormed John Baughan’s neat, well tendered cottage and the mob broke gates, doors, windows, entered his house, chopped the corner posts off it, broke his bedsteads, bedding, chairs, window frames, drawers, chests…demolished everything. Members grabbed Baughan and threw him down with his face to the ground, whilst one held an axe over his neck and swore if he offered to stir he would chop the head from his body. At the end of the rampage, the soldiers went off cheering, as if something ‘meritorious had been effected’ and marched in a body cross the parade before their commanding officer’s house.
While David Collins noted in his diary that mostly ex-convicts-turned-soldiers were involved in the mob, Governor Hunter wrote to the Duke of Portland that it was ‘all off-duty members’. Hunter considered from the military’s actions that they were in a state of mutiny, and issued in Public Orders the paper no. 2. In the paper, the governor hopes to have found men amongst them who would have pride enough to have stood forward and pointed out the ringleaders of so mutinous conduct, for in no other light can it be considered than that of mutiny when the military assemble in such numbers unknown to their officers and by their bringing forward the ringleaders or advisers of this disgraceful conduct, in order that the stigma may be wiped away by such worthless characters being brought to trial for this shameful conduct.
As a smart man, John Baughan just wanted the affair over, and refused to identify the perpetrators. His wife, who witnessed the destruction, was fearful for her husband’s life should he pursue it.
Perhaps if it ended there…
As magistrate, Dr William Balmain visited the Baughans when he heard of the rampage. He threatened John Baughan with ‘obstruction of justice’ charges if he didn’t pursue the matter, and offered protection to him should he give evidence. After some days, four names were eventually given up. When the governor issued the arrest warrants, the military was further enraged at Balmain’s shamefully malevolent interference in the affairs of the Corps. One of the warrants was for the arrest of Theophilus Feutrill.
As the military were responsible for the enacting of arrest warrants, Lieutenant John Macarthur approached the governor and stalled the process. Thus began a test of strength between the civil and military authorities. As Theophilus fretted over his fate—he was facing potential execution if found guilty—a series of letters was exchanged between Judge Advocate Balmain (representing the civil authority) and Lieutenant John Macarthur (representing the military). Tempers frayed and insults given to the point that Balmain told Macarthur he was a base rascal and an atrocious liar and villain. Balmain then challenged Macarthur to a duel.
Who would prevail, and will John Baughan persist with the charges? What of Theo’s fate? What does Governor Hunter do that has the Duke of Portland reaching for his quill to issue new orders?
**
Learn the outcome of the 1796 arm wrestle between the civil and military authorities. More Than I Ever Had is a novel based on a true story by Rae Blair, and is available world-wide on Amazon Kindle in eBook and paperback formats.
Image: Joseph Millson as Major Robert Ross in Banished TV-series
So much is known about the First Fleet that sailed to Botany Bay in 1788. But, less is known about the Second Fleet that followed it two-and-a-half-years later. My novel More than I ever had, tells the real life story of Theo Feutrill, a young Englishman who enlists in the New South Wales Corps in Birmingham, and is allocated a berth onboard the Neptune to sail to Sydney Cove as part of the Second Fleet. The Second Fleet became notorious for a reason, and when Theo steps onboard has no idea what’s ahead of him.
*
Why was there even a First Fleet?
When America said a polite ‘no thank you, not any more’ to the British, refusing to take further convicts on their shores (I think the American War of Independence had something to do with it) Britain ceased transportation of its convicts from 1776 to 1788. As a result, the prison population in Britain swelled. Rather than overhaul the crime and punishment system, authorities made the disastrous decision to house prisoners in ship hulks anchored in rivers and along sheltered coastlines. Disease was rampant, and conditions so bad, about a third of the prisoners died. Something had to be done.
In 1783, the idea of using Botany Bay as the new penal colony was proposed, and by May 1787 a fleet of ships, the First Fleet, led by Governor Arthur Phillip, sailed from Portsmouth and arrived in Botany Bay on 18 January 1788. This fleet of eleven ships contained six convict transports carrying 751 convicts—but unfortunately it did little to alleviate the over-crowded conditions on the prison hulks.
Once word was received from Governor Phillip that the First Fleet arrived and a colony was in the process of being established, the decision was made to send a Second Fleet.
While the First Fleet had a low mortality rate (5.4%), it was very expensive at £55,000. The ships contractor, William Richards, was a humanitarian and devout Christian, so he ensured the ships stopped often and were well supplied. To make savings for the Second Fleet, the government put the contract out to tender for three ships to transport prisoners to Sydney Cove. After the bidding process, the lowest bid was accepted (less than half of the cost of the First Fleet). William Richards was unsuccessful in his bid, instead the contract was awarded to Camden, Calvert & King—the largest company in London involved in the slave trade. What could go wrong?
Camden, Calvert & King were contracted to supply three ships (Scarborough, Suprize, and Neptune) and would receive £17.7.6 for each convict embarked. They also had the ability to sell any left-over provisions at Sydney Cove. Also, in the contract, the ship’s captains had full control over their ships, the doling out of provisions, and the treatment of the convicts. Perhaps in the hands of a different contractor, this contract could have worked to the benefit of all. But the masters on these ships were later described as: low-lifed and barbarous.
Through a dispute with the military onboard the Neptune, its master was replaced before the ship even left English waters, and in his stead was a man later described as a demented sadist and by Elizabeth Macarthur as a perfect sea-monster.
To make up the Second Fleet, the three Camden, Calvert & King prisoner transport ships were joined by Justinian (storeship), naval warship Guardian (primarily transporting stores but scuttled by an iceberg near South Africa) and Lady Juliana (contracted by William Richards, which transported exclusively female convicts).
A naval agent was appointed to monitor the captain and crew of contracted ships, but the one appointed to monitor Camden, Calvert & King’s ships did a questionable job. The master of the Guardian wrote later:
…if ever the navy make another contract like that of the last three ships they ought be shot, and as for their agent Mr Shapcote he behaved here just as foolishly as a man could well do.
Captain William Hill who travelled on Suprize with half of his men (the other half were on Neptune) wrote after his voyage:
The slave trade is merciful compared with what I have seen in this fleet.
So, we have ship masters of dubious character who have full control over provisions and how the convicts are treated. The contracting company is paid a set fee whether the convicts arrive alive or not, and there’s an incentive to not only withhold supplies from both convicts and passengers but to have less mouths to feed, as the captain and crew were set for financial gain by selling the left-over provisions when they arrived at the new colony.
Of the nearly 1,000 convicts onboard the Second Fleet, 261 male and 16 female convicts died on the voyage (plus four children) and another 150 convicts were dead within months of their arrival in the colony. In other words, if you measure survival within eight months of arrival in Sydney, the mortality rate of Second Fleet convicts was around 40 per cent. Compare the death rates by ship:
Lady Juliana (5 women, 2 children)
Suprize (42 men)
Scarborough (68 men)
Neptune (151 men, 11 women and 2 children)
The shocking mortality rate of the Second Fleet was nearly ten times that of the First Fleet voyage, and Theo Feutrill—the main protagonist in my book—is right in the thick of it as a passenger onboard the Neptune.
Following the outrage that occurred after the Second Fleet ships landed at Sydney Cove, the British government changed the way it contracted transport ships in the future. Amongst other things, contractors were paid for each convict that arrived in Sydney Cove alive.
*
More than I ever hadMore Than I Ever Had is a novel based on a true story by Rae Blair, and is available world-wide on Amazon Kindle in eBook and paperback formats.
I think 2020 has taught us a lot about resilience and flexibility. Here, on the Northern Beaches of Sydney, our growth as humans continue to be challenged, as we face potential restrictions around Christmas celebrations this year. Already, our plans to be in Melbourne to celebrate with family have been dashed. I dislike the hackneyed word ‘pivot’, so instead I’ll use ‘pirouette’ to describe the fancy footwork we’ve all needed to learn to negotiate our forward planning.
One good thing about being ‘locked down’ for a few days, is that it’s given me time to finish the editing of the early chapters of my draft manuscript, which is based on the life of ancestor Theophilus Feutrill. This historical fiction* is tentatively called More than I ever had, and tells the story of his journey to New South Wales as a soldier with the New South Wales Corps in 1790, and the next 30 years of his life.
Using feedback from writers’ groups and some early readers of my manuscript, I’ve been able to enrich the way the story is told. As so many of you, who are following my (ahem, irregular) blogs, have expressed a desire to read the manuscript, I’d like to now share the first three chapters with you. Hope you enjoy the writing, and feel free to share with me thoughts and comments after you’ve read the chapters.
My aim for the rest of the year is to complete the editing of the entire manuscript, and start 2021 seeking an agent or a publisher, so I can share Theo’s story with a wider audience.
Below is the ‘back cover’ blurb for the manuscript, and links you need to access the first two chapters. Happy reading, and hope you all have a safe and happy festive season.
*While the book is a work of fiction, it is based very closely on the facts of the life of Theophilus Feutrill, set within real events in Australian colonial history. Feutrill family historians will notice that Ann Short’s name has been changed to Ellen Short to avoid reader confusion.
Blurb for More than I ever had by Rae Blair
Faced with limited options in working class 18th century England, will leaving behind everything he ever knew give Theo the life and happiness he’s been long denied?
After a fire destroys 18-year-old Theophilus Feutrill’s employment prospects, and running from gambling debts, he enlists with the New South Wales Corps in Birmingham in 1789. He sails to the new penal colony on the worst ship in the worst fleet ever to reach Sydney Cove.
Theo contributes to the establishment of the colony, and falls in love with Irish convict, Ellen Short. Together, they deal with the struggles of a penal colony and fledgling country, facing famine and hardship. Theo is challenged with a devastating loss, before his duty takes him to establish northern Van Diemen’s Land.
Despite long periods of famine, his family grows, as does his reputation for the capture of bushrangers, which leads him to an encounter with the notorious Michael Howe.
Then Theo must make a choice between his son and his family, and the path he chooses forces him to confront his most heartbreaking loss of all.
This story is based on the real life of Theophilus Feutrill, a rank-and-file soldier with the British military, who came to New South Wales on the Second Fleet. As a soldier, his tale is unique and breathes new life into the colonial Australian story and encourages us to consider the true cost of loyalty, family and duty.
I’ve often wondered why some people—me for instance—become obsessed with tracing their family tree, and other people have zero interest. Take my brother, for example. I’ll unearth some tantalising snippet about our family tree and send out a group message to our family. Some members of my family will share my excitement, but for my brother, it won’t raise a skerrick of curiosity.
He says, “What difference does knowing all of that make to my life right now?”
I understand this position—unless I dig up a long lost wealthy relative who’s looking to leave their money to a family member.
But I view it a different way. I believe that who we are is a combination of nurture and nature.
Regarding ‘nurture’—in your Genealogical Tree are the names of every one of your ancestors who had a child, who had a child, etc. that led to you. It is not unreasonable to suggest that every decision made by these ancestors contributed to who you are today.
Regarding ‘nature’—it is less clear whether a particular ancestor in your Genealogical Tree has any biological contribution to you (or what the extent of their influence is), because of the random nature of DNA inheritance—though some geneticists suggest that there is a very high likelihood that you will have inherited some DNA from ancestors 9 x removed from you. That’s an enticing thought. At this stage, however, it is not possible to map your Genetic Tree to know for sure who is in it, but it is only a matter of time.
A few years ago, one of my husband’s aunts showed me a thick book with a red cover and gold embossed title. This tome chronicled the details of the life and offspring of Theophilus Fewtrell—my husband’s 4x great-grandfather, and by extension, my sons’ and grandson’s 5x and 6x great-grandfather. Whilst the research was impressive and the details extensive, there were many questions unanswered; for example, why did he make the decisions he made–which impacted on his family and his descendants’ lives? If I was to gain a sense of what the details of Theophilus Fewtrell’s life might mean to my family, I needed to understand him on a deeper level.
His story, as laid out in The Feutrill Saga book, and later confirmed by my research, hooked me. Here was an 18-year-old English boy, orphaned from age 3, who signs up to be a member of the New South Wales Corps in 1789 and sails to the other side of the world. Theo’s enlistment sees him serving in three continents and thrusts him amongst the struggles of a fledgling country, dealing with famine and other hardships. His is a story of love and loss and an impossible decision that leads to devastating consequences.
Theo’s life details are compelling, but a hypothesis was needed for his motivations and decisions, in the context of early Australia and the British military in the late 18th/early 19th centuries.
This was my inspiration to finally write a novel–to create a work of fiction based on facts and really get to the bottom of Theo’s story. In March 2019, I set down my first words.
Having worked in marketing, corporate communications and editing, gave me the confidence to start the manuscript, but it was soon apparent that corporate and creative writing are different disciplines. If the story was to be told well, I had to gain new skills.
The next 18 months saw my immersion in learning the creative writing discipline. Apart from a creative writing course and joining a Writers’ Guild run by a successful US novelist, I read blogs about structure, dialogue, character development and the business of publishing, and downloaded writers’ resources. The back catalogue of a writer’s podcast ran in my car. The local writer’s group accepted my membership, and I’m soon to start group coaching with a UK-based historical writer’s organisation.
To connect further with the writer and reader communities, I established my ‘writer’s’ website (www.raeblair.com) and online presence on Instagram (RaeJBlairWriter) and Twitter (@RaeJBlairWriter).
Running alongside all of this was the research, which formed the backbone of my hypotheses regarding Theo’s life decisions. Accessing journals of people who passed Theo in the street or who were passengers on the same ship over from England, and even letters written by people in Theo’s regiments, brought his world to life. There were academic theses about bushrangers and Australia’s security, and diaries of doctors who treated illnesses of the era, which added context, and these were just a few of the sources that contributed to my understanding.
And each day, the learning and the research fuelled the words that formed the story.
After 18 months, the novel has a beginning, a middle and an end, and is (from my viewpoint) a cohesive work of fiction. It has the working title of ‘More than I ever had’. The manuscript is now being read by a handful of people from diverse backgrounds who will provide me with critical feedback. This input will help take the novel to the next level, when it should be ready then to submit to potential publishers.
If this is the first of my posts you are reading, then I suggest you go back to Part I and read the posts in sequence.
Introduction
Up to this point of my family history research, I’d travelled as far as to Perth to uncover information about my 2x Great-grandfather, John Willington Jackson (JWJ). Sitting at my desk interrogating the internet provided the bulk of my research results. Now I knew where JWJ was born and who his parents were, I was keen to delve deeper. We were fortunate to plan a trip to the UK and Ireland in 2017, so I developed an itinerary around searching for my ancestors.
Before we travelled to Ireland, I used information from William Jackson’s Will and his Marriage Record, to ramp up my research. I wanted to know as much as I could about the Jackson and Willington families before we left. See the footnotes for the resources used in my research.
You’ll often hear someone with Irish heritage say, “My ancestors lived in a castle.” So much so, that you’d expect to see castles everywhere in Ireland. Well, there are a lot of castles in Ireland, as we discovered. But some of my Irish ancestors really did live in castles, and to my surprise had influence and wealth.
I hoped to gain a deeper sense of family roots whilst in Ireland, and our visit did not disappoint. A few of the family homes remain standing, and our visit revealed broader family connections. Whilst many records of Irish ancestors have been destroyed, so much remains to be discovered in Ireland. It is a stunning country with a difficult history. My family of Anglo-Irish origin was right in the middle of it all, making Ireland their home for hundreds of years.
Our trip turned out to be a roller-coaster of emotion, a history lesson and one providing deep connection. Some questions remain unanswered, but I learnt things I didn’t expect. I hope you enjoy the following, but drop me a line if you have any questions, or want to provide me with any corrections!
What I learnt about John Willington Jackson’s family before our trip
The Jacksons
John Willington Jackson (JWJ), an only child, was born into a lengthy line of landholders and farmers[1]—with significant long-term leaseholds in the premier agricultural area of Tipperary. It is considered that Tipperary is desirable for its superior rich soils and its proximity to Clonmel, the export hub. It attracted the wealthy class of landholders with farms averaging about 50-60 acres, though sometimes, as with the Jackson family, more.
JWJ’s 2x great-grandfather was born in Tipperary (first name unknown—born abt. 1686), but we know at least his great-grandfather George Jackson, farmed a long-term leasehold called Mount Pleasant[2], 448 acres in the northern part of Tipperary near the so-called ‘pan handle’ of County Offaly. Wheat being the dominant crop. George married Anne Minchin, and together they had three sons and two daughters; one son, Minchin Jackson, is JWJ’s grandfather and heir to Mount Pleasant. Minchin had three sons; two of which, George and William, took landholdings nearby (his third son, Minchin, emigrated to Canada with his wife and children)[3]. Eldest son, George, who held the rank of Major in the military, inherited Mount Pleasant upon his father’s death. The Jackson boys all received an excellent English education[4] and most likely were boarders at a school at Usher’s Quay in Dublin.[5]
JWJ’s father William, being the younger son, took two other properties nearby Mount Pleasant during his adulthood: Hermitage[6] and Camira[7].
The home on the property at Mount Pleasant is recorded as being a ‘handsome mansion pleasantly situated’[8], but no longer stands. Whilst Hermitage remains standing today, both homes on the properties Camira[9] and Hermitage[10] were substantial. The Willington family owned all the leaseholds.
Camira, recorded as the home of William Jackson in the 1850s and at the time of his death in 1867. This image taken circa 1911 (unknown person standing).
Hermitage. William Jackson’s home in 1837[11]. This property stands today.
JWJ’s father, William Jackson, married the landlord’s daughter, Charlotte Willington, in January 1826 at the St Mary’s Church of Ireland in Dublin[12]. Despite living in Tipperary, Charlotte was a member of this Parish Church; William was a member of the local church in Ballymackey[13].
Thirteen members of JWJ’s family are buried at the Ballymackey Church graveyard.[14] The earliest grave is of JWJ’s great-grandfather, who died in 1770, and the most recent is of a cousin buried in 1951. Neither William or Charlotte’s remains are there. Buried in the group are the family members belonging to JWJ’s uncle, George.
John Willington Jackson (JWJ) emigrated to Australia around 1852[15] or 1853. Shipping records show two men called John Jackson aged 23/24 arrived in Australia in 1853. One, of Irish nationality, arrived on the Miles Barton, another via New York (from Canada) arrived on the Scargo. By the time JWJ arrived in Australia, Ireland’s potato crop had just recovered, and over 1 million Irish had emigrated to escape the Great Famine. Tensions continued between Anglo-Irish Protestant landowners and Irish-native Catholic workers and, by 1831, Protestants comprised only 6% of the population in Nenagh (North Tipperary). The small middle-class in North Tipperary had begun to wither away, leaving the area even more polarised. By 1840, the need for the impoverished minor gentry to eject tenants, as they reverted their land to demesne pasture, made Tipperary the second worst county in Ireland for ejections.
Eight hundred Protestant families emigrated from Tipperary to Canada over the period 1818 to 1860, and the largest outflow of Protestant emigrants in a five year period were in the years 1830/34. Catholic emancipation in 1829 had contributed to this. After the mid-1850s, Protestant emigration from North Tipperary to Canada fell, and the direction changed to Australia and New Zealand.[16]
Perhaps JWJ could not see a future for himself in Ireland? His Uncle Minchin’s successful emigration might also have contributed to his decision to leave his homeland. In any respect, JWJ’s crystal ball was working well that day.
The Willingtons
The Willington family owned most of the land in northern Tipperary, including the land leased by the Jackson family[17][18]. They were landlords and farmers and people with significant connections.
JWJ’s mother Charlotte Willington was born to John and Jane (Going) Willington[19] at Castle Willington (around 1800). However, she wasn’t born in the original Castle Willington (although the decayed structure remains on the property. See Appendix I for detail of the original castle). In about 1730, they built another Castle Willington building on the property[20], and it was in this building Charlotte was born.
Charlotte’s father, John, was the third son (sixth child) born to Jonathon and Mary (Drought) Willington in 1755 and was also born at Castle Willington. He inherited the estate after his elder brothers died without issue.
John’s father, Jonathon, was the third son born to James and Mary (Carden) Willington in 1691, and he was born at Killoskehane Castle. The eldest son inherited Killoskehane, the next son, James, gained a property at Newhouse, and Jonathon acquired Castle Willington.
Jonathon’s father, James, was born to John Willington (mother’s name not known yet) around 1646 in Warwickshire, England. By the age of 20, James was living at Killoskehane Castle in Tipperary (a few years after Cromwell’s conquest of Ireland, where land was taken and redistributed.)
The Castle Willington property. The original castle (in the background) (above mage); Castle Willington built in 1730 (below image)
Killoskehane Castle
Killoskehane Castle—the home of the Willington family since ~1666—was built in 1580 by Theobald Walter Butler of Kilkenny’s powerful Butler clan (see Appendix II). The oldest part—a fortified tower block house with six-foot-thick walls—was completed in 1600 and the rest of the building finished around 1730[21]. In the 1800s, Killoskehane Castle was described as being located amongst ‘very fine pasturage’ and with ‘plenty of good limestone.’ The castle itself was situated in ‘a well-planted demesne and includes part of the ancient castle in the modern mansion.’[22]
The Willington family has a family burial plot at the Templemore Old Church in Templemore where 13 members of the family are buried. Another six family members are buried in the front graveyard area of the church, including JWJ’s grandparents, John and Jane Willington[23].
A family tree of the Jackson and Willington families is below:
The Jackson and Willington families (abridged for clarity)
George Jackson b 1706 at Mt Pleasant m Anne Minchin
1. George b 1761 at Mt Pleasant m Eliza?
2. Minchin b 1765 at Mt Pleasantm Mary Anne?
2.1 George b 1786 at Mt Pleasantm Anne Nesbit Anderson, then Letitia Herbert
2.2 William b 1798 at Mt Pleasantm Charlotte Willington
2.2.1 John Willington Jackson b 1829 at Hermitage m Mary Ellen McIntyre
2.3 Minchin b 1810 at Mt Pleasant m Frances Errington
James Willington m unknown
1. James b 1646 in Warwickshire m Mary Carden
1.3. Jonathan b 1691 at Killoskehane Castlem Mary Drought
1.3.6 John b 1755 at Castle Willingtonm Jane Going
1.3.6.1 Charlotte b abt. 1800 at Castle Willingtonm William Jackson
1.3.6.1.1 John Willington Jackson b 1829 at Hermitage m Mary Ellen McIntyre
Our trip to Ireland—further discoveries!
In planning our trip to Ireland, I now knew about John Willington Jackson’s family. I plotted out driving distances between the family properties and recorded geographic locations. I’d seen photos of the properties but now wanted to see the locations. I had many questions that I could not resolve through online searching and hoped for further understanding.
Sitting in the plane heading to Ireland, I had no idea that the properties I had already discovered, impressive though they were, were humble compared to what I would uncover during our trip.
After two days in Dublin, and a night in Kilkenny, we arrived in Cashel, Tipperary on 28 July. We spent the rest of the day wandering The Rock of Cashel, which was memorable, and learning some Irish folklore of the area, including about the Devil’s Bit Mountain, which we could see in the distance (so-called because it looks like a bite was taken from it ‘by the Devil’ who flew over the mountain and dropped the bit onto the site where the Rock of Cashel now stands). The Devil’s Bit Mountain looms over land occupied by the Willington and Jackson families.
I had allocated the next day, 29 July, to drive past the family properties and visit the graves of Jackson and Willington family members. I scheduled the day after that for a countryside walk, then checking out on the 31st to leave the Tipperary area.
Killoskehane Castle (Willington)—part I
Like every day we were in Ireland, a light drizzle greeted our morning on the 29th, and it was still raining by the time we reached the bottom of the Devil’s Bit Mountain. Sitting in the car with the windscreen wipers going, we decided against a walk up the mountain, so headed to KilloskehaneCastle. The weather had cleared by the time we reached its locked wrought-iron gates. In the distance was a building at the end of a long driveway. Someone cared for the property, but it didn’t appear anyone was there. It frustrated me I could not get closer to my ancestors’ home, or even just wander the grounds. The thought flitted through my mind to jump the low(ish) bluestone wall, but common sense prevailed (that is, my husband talked me out of it) and we remained sensibly on the outside. Getting back into the warmth of our hire car, I dove back onto the internet and searched for any information about the current ownership of Killoskehane. I found the name of the person who had purchased the property in 2015. But how to contact him? Did he still own it? Assuming he was a professional person, I took a chance that he might be on Linked-in, and there appeared a person with the same name. I dashed off a message and hoped it was him and that he would respond. We left Killoskehane with the hope we could return.
Camira, Castle Willington, Hermitage and Mt Pleasant (Jackson)
We then drove about 25 minutes through lush countryside, down narrow roads with high hedgerows either side. Twice we had to stop and back-up to avoid trucks that were pruning the hedges. Bike riders also appeared out of nowhere, speeding towards us around blind bends. Close now to Camira, our car travelled along a stretch of road, perhaps 300 metres where leafy trees on either side of the road grew up and reached over as if to link hands with each other, to create a tunnel through which dappled light decorated the road. Foliage grew thick on both sides of the road and consumed even the power poles.
With a constant check on our GPS, I didn’t realise I was holding my breath until we arrived at a sweeping entrance of old handmade bricks holding two locked rusted gates. All around the gates and beyond nature has reclaimed the land. There is not much to see of Camira with the home gone. An old open shed stood in the distance. Standing in the driveway I imagined William and Charlotte returning home and going through these very gates.
We then headed to Hermitage, which was about a 10 minute drive from Camira. In contrast, the property Hermitage is habitable. The (ubiquitous) locked wrought-iron gates were in good repair, painted black with gold tips, but the Gate House was in original condition and was being subsumed in nature. Beyond, the driveway wound around out of sight—the tall trees which lined the road obscured the building. The satellite view of the property on Google Maps shows the house tucked behind the trees, overlooking the Ollatrim River and surrounded by acres of pasture. As I didn’t find out who owned this property, and as I am not one for arriving at someone’s home unannounced, I didn’t ring the gate buzzer.
Back in the car, a quick drive took us to Castle Willington, also near the Ollatrim River. Again, we stood at locked wrought-iron gates. But this time, we could see the property. Curtains hung in the windows, and the sweeping lawn was bordered with a well-attended garden. We walked around the perimeter of the property to gain a better view of the original castle structure. Ivy had wound its way throughout the remains. I couldn’t find out who the current owners were, so we jumped back in the car and drove to Mount Pleasant.
Mount Pleasant, the seat of the Jackson family, is about a seven-minute drive from Castle Willington, and Hermitage is about the same distance ‘as the crow flies’. A low white painted brick fence borders one edge of the property and a long driveway splits the land. Beyond the vast pasture, the driveway leads to some buildings; but I couldn’t find any records that confirm that the original home remains. Like Hermitage, many acres of farmland surround this property. Standing by the entrance to the property, it occurred to me it might be where the murder of JWJ’s first cousin, John Andrew Jackson, took place in 1863. The murder believed to be part of the violent agrarian movement of the time[24]. John Andrew Jackson had inherited Mount Pleasant from his father (JWJ’s uncle) George who had died the year before.
Jackson family graves
A brief drive took us then to the Ballymackey Church of Ireland, where many Jackson family members are buried. The church, a beautiful structure though derelict, no longer has a roof, and the interior has gone, although some wall plaques remained. It was a surprise to see these wall plaques commemorated five members of the Going family. I recalled the surname, so checked my paperwork to find the Going name mentioned twice. First, Jane Going was Charlotte Willington’s mother, and second that the Rector of Ballymackey was Robert Going[25]—Charlotte Willington’s grandfather (JWJ’s great-grandfather). The plaques commemorated Robert’s son, Thomas, his wife and children. Also, in the front part of the church we found two graves belonging to Willington family members. This church had been an important focal point for my ancestors.
We wandered around the thick grass of the graveyard until we found the group of Jackson graves, with 13 family members commemorated on four headstones. The inscriptions were almost legible, but as a local historical society[26] had transcribed them, I could work out the inscriptions.
At least 13 Jackson family members are here; the oldest being JWJ’s great-grandfather (my 5x great-grandfather) George Jackson (d. 1770), and the most recent being for JWJ’s cousin Mary Jackson (d. 1951). All the Jackson family buried here belong to JWJ’s uncle, George’s family.
It was moving to be standing at the grave of my 5x great-grandfather, George, who died 250 years ago, and to place wildflowers on his grave.
Templemore
The market village of Templemore is a 30 minute drive from Ballymackey, and we headed there to visit the Templemore Old Church, in Templemore Park, to see the burial plot of the Willington family.
The Willington burial plot is on the north side of the ruins of the Templemore Old Church. We had entered Templemore Park at the end furthest away from the church, so we enjoyed a walk amongst the forested park, along meandering paths including a fairy trail, then down the tree-covered promenade past the lake.
The ruins of the old church are just east of the ‘pitch and put’ golf course. On the other side are some open playing fields. We walked through the graves on the south side of the church around to the northern side where we found the Willington burial plot.
Many tombs crowd the plot, and it was disappointing to see them damaged. The plot appears to be an area where young people congregate, as there were a few discarded empty drink cans scattered around. The inscriptions on the tombs were difficult to read. I fussed over one tomb, which had big clumps of dirt on top, trying to clean up the tomb as best I could and to decipher the inscription. I glanced up to see a red-haired gentleman walking towards us with two children in tow holding golf clubs. He asked if we needed help.
We introduced ourselves and said why we were visiting. Upon learning that we were from Sydney, he brightened up. “How about the start of the Sydney Swans season then?!” he said, referring to the Australian AFL team. It transpired that a local Templemore boy had signed up to play with the Sydney Swans but had yet to make it to the first grade. The locals were avid watchers of the Swans’ games to support him. My only disappointment is that of all of my immediate family, I was the last one you want to talk to about AFL. The rest of the family are ‘dyed in the wool’ Sydney Swans fans, which stemmed from the club’s origins being from South Melbourne. When JWJ came to Australia, his family lived in South Melbourne and stayed there for many generations.
The gentleman who came to speak to us was an active member of the local historical society. He suggested we go over to the Templemore Library as “Willie Hayes” had transcribed the tombs and his book was there. But he also told us about the park’s origins, and that it was originally the home of the Carden family. The Carden burial plot was the one next to the Willington one.
My ears pricked up. Mary Carden was JWJ’s 2x great-grandmother, and she married Jonathon Willington. I had not researched her family. Could she be part of this Templemore family? He confirmed that she was.
After he left, we headed over to the Templemore Library for a copy of the Willie Hayes book, but their copy was out.[27]
As soon as we arrived back at our hotel, I dove into researching the Cardens (and continued my research back in Australia). I learnt that Mary’s father was John Carden, whose father came from Cheshire in the wake of the Cromwellian settlement of the 17th century. He purchased land from the Butlers (~2,500 acres) and lived in the Butler Castle in the park (built circa 1450). Renamed Templemore Castle, fire destroyed it around 1740. It was here that Mary was born.
The Templemore Castle ruins, known as the Black Castle, remain. The Cardens then lived in a house called The Priory. About 1856 building works took place on The Priory and renamed to Templemore Abbey. The Cardens laid out the park with its artificial lake and developed a market town around it. Generations later, they abandoned the Abbey when a marriage ended through an act of infidelity by the last head of the Templemore branch of the Cardens. Revolutionary forces destroyed[28] the extensive neo-Gothic mansion during the Irish War of Independence in 1921, and the expansive grounds are now the public Templemore Park.
Templemore Abbey—the Carden family seat from 1698 to 1902. Now that’s some family home!
Killoskehane—part II
By the next day, 30 July, I had heard from the owner of Killoskehane. He regretted that he was out of the country and that perhaps “another time” might be suitable for our visit. It was deflating news. Time was running out for me as we were leaving the area the next day. The owner kindly took my phone calls and after a bit of back and forth, he organised for the groundskeeper to let us to come onto the property.
Rushing back to Killoskehane, we met the groundskeeper who unlocked the gates. As we drove through along the driveway, the castle filled our windscreen before we pulled up at the ‘back’ entrance. The groundskeeper walked us around the property and filled us in on what developments the owners had planned. I felt full of gratitude to see someone spending the funds required to care for my ancestral home. I peered through the front windows into the dining and sitting rooms, through glass warped with age. Bright sunlight broke through the clouds and showed us Killoskehane at her best.
As we walked back around to the cars, the groundskeeper said, “I have a surprise, I’m allowed to let you in.”
Before we knew it, he’d unlocked the door and we stepped inside. He showed us the kitchen, hallways and through to the dining and sitting rooms. As a heritage-listed building, they can change very little about the property, so it was amazing to see original pieces in situ.
It was incredible to be in the space. I stood on the stairs and placed my hand on the handrail, the same handrail JWJ’s 2x great-grandmother (my 6x great-grandmother) had placed her hand. Walking through the hallways, I could hear Oliver Cromwell’s boots echoing on the floorboards, from the time he commandeered the castle during his conquest of Ireland in 1649. The master bedroom also contains a secret escape hatch.
Ornate bedhead in the main bedroom of Killoskehane Castle
Killoskehane Castle interior
It was an unforgettable moment to spend that brief time in Killoskehane Castle, a property that has much significance for the Willington and Carden families, and I am grateful to its owner for his kindness.
In 1855, the Willington family sold part of the Killoskehane estate to the Carden family (who had an adjoining property in Barnane).
In 1862, John James Willington, the then owner of Killoskehane Castle, died unmarried. His brother, Jonathan, who had been an officer in the army, and a resident of the Richmond Lunatic Asylum in County Dublin had also died unmarried in 1870. Killoskehane passed into the hands of their widowed sister, Dublin-based Alicia Willington. Nine years later, John Rutter Carden[29] purchased Killoskehane and spent money on it before selling the entire 1,305 acres to Col. Albert Fytche for £53,000 (but subject to further work being completed by the Carden family).
They sold the property with all of its furniture and fittings (including crockery) intact, and most of these remain in the house today. Today, the current owner makes the property available for hire through AirBnB, in an endeavour to recoup some funds they’ve had to spend on it.
I provide more information on Killoskehane Castle in Appendix III.
St Mary’s Church—Dublin
When we arrived in Dublin, the top-of-the-list thing for us to do was to visit St Mary’s Church—the place where William Jackson married Charlotte Willington. I was curious as to why Charlotte’s family would worship here, rather than at their local church.
The church opened in the late 17th century and was deconsecrated in 1986. It now operates as a bar and restaurant called The Church. We booked in for dinner, but arrived early to look around.
The downstairs floor area is clear of pews etc., and now features a central bar, around which are tables and chairs. Guests can also dine on the first floor mezzanine level (where we sat) which overlooks the ground floor. Stunning stained glass windows illuminate the church, and original memorial plaques adorn the walls. Down one end, opposite the stained glass windows, is the church organ, upon which Handel played his first public performance in Dublin of Messiah.
On the ground level we found a memorial plaque dedicated to the Marquis and Dowager Marchioness of Ormonde and members of their family (the Butler family) who are interred in a vault under the church. A leaflet on the history of the church also informed us of other notable parishioners who attended the church.
It now made sense why the Willington family would be parishioners here. It would have been advantageous for them to worship amongst the wealthy and powerful and it appears to have paid off, at least with the marriage of Bridget Butler in 1785 into the Willington family (her remains are in the Willington burial plot at Templemore).
As we ate our dinner, I looked down to the place where the altar would have been, and imagined JWJ’s mother (my 3x great-grandmother) Charlotte Willington walking down the aisle to marry William Jackson in the middle of winter in 1826. I imagined the guests all dressed up for this ‘society wedding’ and the pride of his father, Minchin, and mother, Mary Anne, that their son was marrying so well, and formalising the connection between the Jackson and Willington families. At least, I hope that was the case.
Charlotte’s father had already died at the time of her marriage, but her 60-year-old mother Jane (Going) Willington would have most likely been there. Charlotte had one older brother living, James (who had inherited Castle Willington), and he might well have been the one to have given her away (he named one of his daughters after her).
William and Charlotte Jackson
Following their marriage they would have lived at Hermitage, the property near to Charlotte’s mother and brother at Castle Willington.
Three years later, they had a son named John Willington Jackson (named after Charlotte’s father).
We know by the 1850s through to 1867 that William lived at Camira, most probably alone and with the help of a servant[30], given that his son had emigrated ~1853.
When William wrote his will in 1867, there is no mention of Charlotte, and his primary beneficiary is his “kind and affectionate sister-in-law Eliza Willington.”[31] It is unknown where Eliza lived during the 1850s.
I have not been able to locate the burial place of William or his father and mother. They are not buried at the local church like William’s grandfather, brother and his brother’s family. Perhaps they are buried at Mount Pleasant?
I also have not been able to find where Charlotte and Eliza are buried, or any records of Charlotte’s death. It is tempting to believe she died in childbirth, given that they only had the one child. Also, given that Camira was Willington-owned land, but leased by the Jackson family, perhaps William and Charlotte are buried together there?
Charlotte’s sister, Eliza, never married, but she was “kind and affectionate” to William, so read into that as you will. William didn’t re-marry. It is possible that Eliza stepped into the mothering role for John, and William had the female company he needed. We can only speculate.
Eliza died on 5 April 1869, two years after William. She was living at Hermitage with her nephew, Robert Willington, who was at the time preparing for his marriage (which took place 15 days later).
Other family lines
The more you learn about a branch of your tree, the more branches make themselves available to you. For example, Charlotte’s mother’s family—the Going family branch—has given me the Maunsell and the Waller family branches. And from these, I find more families. There are many rabbit holes to explore, but for now, I’ve only researched the Going, Maunsell and Waller families. A summary for each follows. For those who are interested, I will populate my ancestry.com family tree with specific details, or contact me for further information.
Going family
JWJ’s grandmother, Jane (Going) Willington, was the daughter of Robert Going, Rector of Ballymackey Church and Margaret (Maunsell) Going. Her grandfather, Robert Going (born at Birdhill Tipperary, 1667) made his will at Rathurles Castle in 1732, which is about 5 kms east of Mount Pleasant, about 25m north of the Ollatrim River and south of Rathurles rath[32] and ancient church. Jane (Going) Willington was born at Traverston[33], the seat of the Going family in the 18th and 19th centuries. In 1840, the Ordnance Survey Name Books describe it as “a splendid residence”. Going family members continued to live in the property and the last family member to live in it was Ann Norris (circa 1910). This house no longer exists.
Jane’s uncle, Major Richard Going, was High Sheriff of County Limerick, and murdered[34] in 1821 because of his police activities against the Whiteboys[35]. Several men ambushed him near Rathkeale and shot him from cover of a hedge as he read letters while leading his horse. A neighbour found him still alive, but he died shortly after. His brother, John, was also murdered for his vigoroush attempts to collect his Tithes.[36]
Maunsell family
JWJ’s great-grandmother Margaret Maunsell descended from an ancient and eminent family from the period of the Conquest. We can trace this lineage back to the 16th century with links to the original forebear from the 11th century. A book published in the 19th century contains a piece of ancient local poetry written in the time of Charles I on the Poetical History of the Family of Maunsell, which provides additional information about the family.
Margaret’s father was Thomas Maunsell and the patriarchal line includes many men called Thomas Maunsell up to the 16th century. Many were Barristers-at-Law, as was her father who was also Kings Counsel and Counsel of the Commissioners of Customs. Her mother was Dorothy Waller[37], youngest daughter of Richard Waller, Esq of Castle Waller. Margaret’s grandfather was Richard Maunsell and his second marriage was to Jane Waller[38]—Dorothy’s sister. This made Jane her sister’s mother-in-law!
The first Maunsell to settle in Ireland, Thomas Maunsell, was in 1609[39]. For the family remaining in England, in 1622, John Maunsell gained the manor of Thorpe Malsor, a mile or so due west of Kettering, Northamptonshire. The impressive property continues to be occupied (see Appendix IV).
Waller family
JWJ’s 2x great-grandmother was Dorothy (or Dorothea) Waller. She was the daughter of Richard and Elizabeth (Redmond) Waller of Castle Waller. The Waller family is also one of great antiquity, being a branch of the Warrens of Poynton, co. Chester (circa 1300s). Burke[40] goes into detail about how the family goes from using the surname Warrenne/Warren to Waller. We can trace specific ancestors from early 1600s.
Dorothy Waller’s grandfather, Richard Waller, was a Lieutenant in the Cromwellian conquest of Ireland (1649-53), and had not received wages between 31 December 1649 and 13 July 1651. In 1666, when the lands given up by the conquest were redistributed, Richard received Castle Cully, originally owned by the Ryan (originally O’Mulrian) family, which was on the western slopes of Keeper Hill near Newport in southwestern Tipperary County, near Limerick. He also gained a substantial amount of land near the castle and elsewhere, totalling 1,195 acres. Richard Waller was a petitioner to the Council of Agents of the Army in 1655 on behalf of the regiments regarding the conditions of the lands they received in a grant from the government in recompense for service (transcribed in the notes of Dr William Petty in his notes from the Down Survey of 1655-56). These petitions show that Lieutenant Richard Warren Waller was acting on behalf of the English government in Ireland, and that his land was granted for his past and present duties.
Castle Cully was in ruins because of the war and Richard never lived in the castle; he purchased a house in South Ward near the present St John’s Square in Limerick City, using funds from his inheritance. Richard rebuilt Cully using stones from the original castle and renamed it Castle ‘Waller’. According to the 1860 Ordnance Survey letters of Co. Tipperary, its original walls were 38 by 32 and a half feet, six feet four inches thick, and fifty feet long. Richard’s son, Richard (Dorothy’s father), lived in the castle.
Dorothy’s brother William inherited the castle which then went to his eldest son Richard Waller. He married Elizabeth (daughter of Admiral Holland), and the castle passed to their second-eldest son, Richard, who married Anne, daughter of Kilner Brazier. The Castle Waller estate of William Henry Brazier Waller (who emigrated to America) assigned to William De Rythre was advertised for sale in June 1851 (during the famine). The Freeman’s Journal reported that Henry Hodson and John H. Going were among the purchasers.
From the records, Castle Waller was the seat of the Waller family in the 18th and first half of the 19th century, occupied by Richard Waller in 1814 and in 1837. In 1840 the Ordnance Survey Name Books reported that it was then uninhabited. Thomas Mullowney was the occupant at the time of Griffith’s Valuation when the buildings were valued at £17. The owners occupied Castle Waller for some time in the 1850s by William de Rythre who married Blanche Waller–the last of the Wallers to occupy the building. In the 1870s, Michael Moloney of Castle Waller owned 5 acres. The building was in ruins by the early 20th century, and the remains of the original Ryan stronghold (now Castle Waller) still stand.
APPENDICES
APPENDIX I
Description of the interior of the original Castle Willington
The original Castle Willington was a tower house[41] design of four storeys, but in the early 17th century the owners inserted an extra floor above the third floor hall. The remnants of the building stands to full height, and although the crenellations are fragmentary, many of the roof weepers[42] are visible. Ivy covers part of the castle and obscures much of the fenestration (the arrangement of windows).
A tower parapet with crenellation.
The pointed doorway in the west wall leads to a lobby, protected by a murder-hole[43]. To the south is a guardroom, and to the north is another lobby. From this inner lobby a pointed doorway leads to the ground floor room. A second pointed doorway from the lobby leads to the spiral stairway in the NW corner. The castle is vaulted above the second floor. At the second floor there is a two-light window in the east wall and single-light windows in the south and west walls. A doorway at the south side of the window embrasure[44] leads to a mural chamber[45].
There are many original floor beams at this level. There are round bartizans[46] at the NE and SW corners and a machicolation[47] in the west wall protects the doorway.
The castle was known as Killowney until the early 18th century, until the landlord, Wellington, built a house just to the SW. This became known as Castlewellington, later changed to Castle Willington, the name now applied to all the buildings on the site. This house, built circa 1730, is a three-storey three-bay structure. About 100 years after its construction, a projecting three-storey single-bay block was added at the west end. This is built in the tower-house style with crenellations, crenellated tourelles[48] at the corners and square hood-moulds over the windows.
APPENDIX II
The Butler family
The Butler family were landowners and for several centuries prominent administrators of Ireland. They were descendants of Anglo-Norman lords who took part in the Norman invasion of Ireland in the 12th Century. The family took the surname from the hereditary office of Butler of Ireland. Theobald Walter (d. 1205) held the ceremonial cup-bearer or butler position to Prince John, Lord of Ireland (during Henry II’s reign).
The Butler seat since 1391 was Kilkenny Castle and produced Earls, Marquesses and Dukes of Ormonde. The patrimony of the Butlers of Ormonde encompassed most of the modern counties of Tipperary, Kilkenny and parts of County Carlow.
The Butler family was the most influential family in Ireland.
APPENDIX III
History of Killoskehane Castle
Theobald Walter Butler (of the Butlers of Ormonde) built the castle in 1580. Like Nenagh Castle, it was part of the complex group of castles built by the Butlers, whose seat was in Kilkenny Castle. Killoskehane was of sufficient importance to attract Cromwell, who captured the castle for his own use. His escape tunnel is still visible in the bedroom he used.
During some 400 years of history, there have been many illustrious owners. Among them are the Willingtons, whose daughter married Canada’s Irish Governor-General. Later, Edward Downes-Martin owned it, and restored the castle in 1865. He is credited with the stables and the Victorian gatehouse. The infamous Sir John Carden bought Killoskehane during a sojourn in prison “for the abduction of Miss Arbuthnot of Clonmel”. During the next 100 years it fell in quiet disuse. When the Browne family bought it in 1977, they inhabited the castle only on rare occasions during the last 35 years. The Browne family took an enormous effort to restore the building. The roof and chimney stacks had suffered from neglect and needed a total rebuild. Plumbing, heating and electricity were not existent, so the house underwent restoration and renovation works to get it up-to-standard in the late 70s of the 20th century. The Browne family moved from London to Killoskehane Castle and started a whole new chapter of their lives in Ireland. They also completed six bedrooms and made them available to private guests, including a Mr and Mrs Broomall during the 1980s. During a stay with another American couple, the Broomalls and the couple bought Killoskehane Castle as a vacation home for the two families. After a few years the other couple backed out, but the Broomalls kept the place for about 30 years. They spent weeks of great summer vacations in the castle with their children.
In 2015, René Mogge bought Killoskehane Castle after a lengthy search for a period house in Belgium, France, Germany and Ireland. He fell in love with the castle the moment he went up the long driveway for the first time. He took it over a few months later. René and his partner Stephanie have been restoring the place step by step with the help of a great local craftsmen team since then. Five bedrooms and the principal areas have ben finished. More work on additional bedrooms, the original chapel and the lovely porter’s lodge at the entrance of the estate are to be undertaken.
APPENDIX IV
The Maunsell family home
Thorpe Malsor Hall c.1900
In 1622 John Maunsell acquired the manor of Thorpe Malsor, a mile or so due west of Kettering, Northamptonshire. The Jacobean manor house was ‘a development of the medieval H-plan with a central hall and two cross-wings.’[49] The home today looks very much as it did in the 17th century and in 2012 remained in the hands of Maunsell descendants.
The house and All Saints church compose a quintessential scene of parochial authority south of the lane which swings down into and up out of the tiny village of Thorpe Malsor. Unlike their aspirant neighbours on the other side of town, the Maunsells keep the classic profile of the ‘lesser gentry’ with a pedigree dotted with the respected professions (and an estate agent), the odd MP and serial inter-marriage with a few Northamptonshire families of similar standing.
The single significant ‘modernisation’ of the old manor has been that plain ashlar[50] south face. Dated 1817, this major modification happened during the shortest of all the Maunsell tenures, that of William, Archdeacon of Kildare (1815-18), who was sandwiched between two of the longest, Thomas Cecil (60+ years in residence) and Thomas Philip (48 yrs).
‘At the same time the interior was modernised, and there are very few remains of ancient work left inside,‘ noted one 1930s visitor.[51]‘But the house is full of old objects…many portraits by painters of renown some of which, with other things, came from Rushton, for the Maunsells intermarried with the Cokaynes of Rushton Hallmore than once.’
The unbroken run of male Maunsell heirs to the estate ended with the sudden death of Major Cecil John Cokayne Maunsell in 1948. The female line has since predominated and the Hall is home to the Holborows, the Major’s great-granddaughter and her husband (who ironically for a property last on the market in 1622 worked for premier estate agent Savills heading up the country house sales department)[52].
[1]History of the County of Middlesex, Canada (1889)
[6]A topographical dictionary of Ireland: Comprising the several counties, cities, boroughs, corporate, market and post towns, parishes and villages, with historical and statistical descriptions…, Volume 1. S. Lewis (1840).
[14]Gravestone inscriptions County Tipperary. Section B: Barony of Upper Ormond, Volume 8, Parish of Ballymackey (1984) The Ormond Historical Society (Denise Foukes).
[15] According to JWJ’s unreliable death certificate, he arrived in Australia in 1852.
[16]Irish migrants in the Canadas: a new approach. Elliott B.S. (2004)
[19] Many facts relating to the Willington family came from Genealogical & Heraldic History of the Landed Gentry of Great Britain and Ireland (Sir Bernard Burke, 1879)
[21]Lord of the Castle Irish, The Washington Post. Judie Burke Bredemeier. 19 December 1982.
[22]A topographical dictionary of Ireland…(S. Lewis) op.cit.
[23]The Old Church and Graveyard, Templemore in 1995. Hayes, William J.
[24] Between 1850 and 1870, Irish landlords extracted £340 million in rent—far exceeding tax receipts for the same period—of which only 4–5% was reinvested. This led tenants to regard landlords as non-productive parasites, even if they resided on their estate. Conflict between landlords and tenants arose from opposing viewpoints on such issues as land consolidation, security of tenure, transition from tillage to grazing, and the role of the market. The mutual animosity was exacerbated by religious and ethnic differences; the Irish nationalist politician Isaac Butt claimed that the fact that Catholic Irish were tenants to those they regarded as foreigners was worse than “the heaviest yoke of feudal servitude”.
[26]Gravestone inscriptions, County Tipperary, Section B: Barony of Upper Ormond, Volume 8. Parish of Ballymackey. Denise Foukes, The Ormond Historical Society (1984).
[27] The librarian of Templemore Library very kindly photocopied the relevant pages from The Old Church and Graveyard, Templemore in 1995. William J. Hayes, and forwarded these to me by email after we returned home.
[28]Cardens of Templemore, Carden, Arthur E. (2017)
[29] The lease was transferred to John Rutter Carden (“the Woodcock”) while he was incarcerated in Clonmel Goal, part way through his sentence for the attempted abduction of Eleanor Arbuthnot.
[35] The Whiteboys were a secret Irish agrarian organisation which used violent tactics to defend tenant farmer land rights for subsistence farming. Their name derives from the white smocks the members wore in their nightly raids.
[36] Rosemary ffolliott’s BMD’s on microfiche in Limerick County Library. (1750 to 1825 approx.)
[39] The Plantation of Ireland process began during the reign of Henry VIII and continued under Mary I and Elizabeth I. It was accelerated under James I (when the Plantation of Ulster took place on land handed over from those Gaelic chiefs who broke the terms of surrender and regrant), Charles I, and Oliver Cromwell.
[41] A tower house was all about defence and thus many of the features you will find inside have much to do with an expectation of attack and little to do with comfort. When the weapons of attack consisted of bows and arrows, swords and spears, and even muskets, the castle design worked. But as soon as cannon appeared on the scene the tower house was doomed – even its thick stone walls were no proof against such a bombardment.
[42] Holes for carrying off rain water from the wall-walk.
[43] Openings in the roofs of passageways through which missiles and liquids could be dropped onto attackers.
[44] Splayed opening in a wall or parapet. Arrow loops in the merlons (the ‘teeth’ of battlements, between the crenels or embrasures. High sections of battlements)
[45] Mural chambers are spaces within the walls and may have served a variety of purposes from storage to dressing.
[47] Openings in floor of projecting parapet or platform along wall or above archway, through which defenders could drop or shoot missiles vertically on attackers below. Murder holes.
If this is the first of my posts you are reading, then I suggest you go back to Part I and read the posts in sequence.
A major roadblock stood in the way of my identifying the parents of my 2x Great-Grandfather, John Willington Jackson. I had his government-issued death certificate, which listed his parents as John Jackson and Elizabeth Willington. But a tip from a member of the Ancestry.com community pointed me to the Will* of an Irishman called William Jackson, whose son was John Willington Jackson (living in Melbourne, where my John Willington Jackson lived).
This set in motion many weeks of research to uncover who were the parents of my 2x Great-Grandfather. I couldn’t accept any of the information on face value. I needed supported facts as I didn’t want future hours of work built upon incorrect information. Below are two flow charts which summarise how I determined the true identity of John Willington Jackson’s parents. The flow charts are followed by dot points giving specific details of the research undertaken. I also consider the possibility of whether there might have been two men called John Willington Jackson, and what I do next.
Why would the information on John Willington Jackson’s death certificate be wrong?
Was it because the person who provided it didn’t know the information / or didn’t care if the information was correct?
We know he was living with his daughter, Elizabeth, and son-in-law, (Charles) Henry Marlow at the time of his death, so it is logical to assume it was either Elizabeth or Henry who provided the information. By determining who provided the information for the death certificate, we might be able to gain some insight as to why the information was wrong.
So, I am of the opinion that John Willington Jackson’s son-in-law provided the information for the death certificate and the information he provided was assumed and wrong. I’m also of the opinion that John Willington Jackson’s parents are William and Charlotte Jackson of Tipperary. Below are the specific steps I took to support my assumptions.
(1) Are John and Elizabeth (Willington) Jackson the parents?
1.1 Through a manual search of Irish and English records, I could not locate a John Jackson (born around 1800) marrying an Elizabeth Willington. There were plenty of men called John Jackson born around that time who married an Elizabeth, but none of these women were from the Willington family. I also found Elizabeth Willingtons in England, but none in Ireland.
1.2 I could not locate any death records for a John Jackson who was the husband of Elizabeth Willington, and vice versa, in England, Ireland or Australia.
1.3 John Willington Jackson’s occupation was an engineer. His occupation would have been the result of an excellent education, provided by a family with resources. Families with resources either owned or rented land for farming, and their details appeared in Tithe books. The name of John Jackson (Snr) doesn’t appear in the Tithe books.
1.4 I entered the names of John Jackson and Elizabeth Willington as John Willington Jackson’s parents into my Ancestry.com family tree. This data combination of parents and child did not return any records from the automatic cross-reference of the Ancestry.com databases.
(2) Establishing the source of John Willington Jackson’s death certificate information.
2.1 Census records show John Willington Jackson was living with his eldest daughter and husband in 1903—occupation listed as ‘Engineer’. The occupation detail aligns with information recorded on his son’s death certificate (William). If John was living with his daughter and son-in-law at the time of his death, then it is logical to assume that one of them provided the death certificate information, as his other children remained living in Victoria.
2.2 Karrakatta Cemetery in Perth is John Willington Jackson’s place of burial. Upon obtaining a copy of his burial record from the cemetery, I found this was arranged by his son-in-law, Charles Henry Pufflett Marlow—known as Henry. Therefore, it is probable that Henry took care of all the paperwork relating to John Willington Jackson’s death.
2.3 The name of John’s wife, Mary Ellen Mcintyre, is not recorded on his death certificate. If John’s daughter, Elizabeth, provided the information, this detail would have been included. This leads me to assume that Henry provided the information. (note: Elizabeth’s mother died three years before she married Henry Marlow.)
2.4 The ages of John’s children were recorded incorrectly on the death certificate, as was their age order. If John’s daughter, Elizabeth, provided the information, this detail would have been accurate. That the information was wrong, adds weight to my assumption that Henry completed the death certificate.
Why would Henry think John Willington Jackson’s parents were John and Elizabeth?
2.5 When John Willington Jackson died, he had been in Australia at least 51 years (based on the date of birth of his eldest child born in Australia; and the now unreliable death certificate information which indicates he had been in Australia for 56 years at the time of his death). No matter who were John’s parents, they would have been deceased by the time of John’s death. If William (for example) was John’s father, he would have pre-deceased John by 41 years: a long time for family connections to be lost. The loss of family history information is further compounded because John’s wife (Mary Ellen Mcintyre) had pre-deceased him by 30 years.
2.6 Let’s just suppose that Henry didn’t know who John’s parents were. He might have assumed that they named John after his father, and then John named his first born after his mother (hence John and Elizabeth fits as the parents). Unusually, the death certificate does not record middle names for the parents.
2.7 In delving deeper into Henry Marlow, I discovered an enlistment application for the Australian Imperial Force dated 19 March 1917 for Charles Henry Marlow. The address, occupation and next of kin (“Sharlot Elizabeth Marlow”) confirm this is an application for ‘my’ Henry Marlow. But there are errors on the attestation document: i) it lists his age as 49 years (when he was 57—too old to enlist); and ii) his wife’s name is misspelled. Henry was promoted to the rank of Sapper and assigned to the Tunnellers. Whether he confessed after facing the work in the tunnels, or was discovered, the army discharged him for “being over age” after 11 weeks’ service and for “making a false answer on the attestation document.” This is evidence that Henry was not respectful of facts on official documents.
All the above increased my doubt that John Jackson and Elizabeth Willington were the parents of John Willington Jackson.
(3) Are William Jackson and Charlotte Willington his parents?
3.1 According to the Ireland Civil Registration Deaths Index, William was about 69 when he died, meaning he was born about 1798. This makes him age-appropriate to be John Willington Jackson’s father (that is, he would have been around 31 when his son was born).
3.2 I discovered documents confirming that William lived all of his life in Tipperary and died in Nenagh, in the county of Tipperary as a farmer. He lived in a home called Camira; a residence befitting people with some status. John Willington Jackson was born in Tipperary.
3.3 William’s Will, dated 2 February 1866, includes the following extract:
“The interest accruing yearly upon said principal sum to be paid to my kind and affectionate sister-in-law Eliza Willington…… and at her demise to my son John Willington Jackson all principal sum or sums now suppose to be residing in Melbourne, from where his last letters home bore date.”
My 2x Great-Grandfather, John Willington Jackson, was living in Melbourne in 1866.
3.4 The St Mary’s Parish Church of Ireland records contain the marriage details of William Jackson and Charlotte Willington dated 30 January 1826. Charlotte had a sister called Eliza. William’s brother, Minchin, witnessed the marriage and his address is Usher’s Quay Dublin. Minchin would have been 16 at the time of the marriage and most likely boarding at the academy or boarding school at 28 Usher’s Quay.
3.5 William’s name, the names of his father and brother, and the name of his wife’s family, all appear in the Tipperary Tithe books as owners or renters of land. William had the resources to give his son an excellent education, leading to John Willington Jackson’s occupation as an engineer.
3.6 Let’s now consider John Willington Jackson’s name, and those of his children, and assume that William is his father.
– William was the second-born son of George Jackson (1761-1823). William’s brother (the first-born son) was called George II (1786-1862). George II named his first-born son George III (1820-1834), so by the time John Willington Jackson was born, he already had a cousin called George Jackson. However, Charlotte Willington’s father was called John Willington (1755-1819). So John Willington Jackson is most likely named after Charlotte’s father (his grandfather).
– John Willington Jackson’s first-born son was called William John Jackson (1863-1942). William John Jackson is most likely named after his father, and both grandfathers.
– John Willington Jackson’s eldest child was called Elizabeth Charlotte Jackson (1857-1935), but went by the name Charlotte, according to the name on her burial headstone. She is most likely named after John’s mother (and perhaps a nod also to Charlotte’s sister, Eliza).
(4) Could there be two John Willington Jacksons?
I cannot find records in Australia of two men called John Willington Jackson.
However, if John and Elizabeth (Willington) Jackson were the parents of John Willington Jackson, then we have to accept that there were two John Willington Jacksons. Two men, with the same names, who were born around the same time in Tipperary Ireland. One to John and Elizabeth (Willington) Jackson (people whom I can’t identify), and the other to William and Charlotte (Willington) Jackson (of whom records exist).
Also, we’d have to accept that both men, named the same, made the unusual decision to emigrate to Melbourne Australia (when so many people from Tipperary at the time emigrated to Canada and the US).
Academics# have noted that “While the destruction of records makes it impossible to trace each family back to its first appearance in North Tipperary…. it is certain that in many instances the bearers of a common surname must also share a common ancestor. This conclusion is supported by the manner in which many surnames localized within the region in the early nineteenth century.” This says that it is unlikely there were two separate Jackson and two separate Willington families in Tipperary around that time.
(5) A possible reason why John Jackson would chose Australia?
With the assumption that William and Charlotte are the parents: I discovered that John Willington Jackson’s first cousin, James Willington, emigrated to New South Wales between his marriage in England in April 1853 and the birth of his son in Sydney in January 1854. So there was at least one reason John Willington Jackson would come to Australia.
Based on the research, I cannot accept there were two John Willington Jacksons. All of the research points to the death certificate containing incorrect details, and that his parents were in fact William Jackson and Charlotte Willington.
Satisfied with my conclusion, I could now proceed to research the Jackson and Willington families in Tipperary—but I was tantalised by William Jackson’s reference in his Will to his ‘kind and affectionate sister-in-law Eliza Willington.’ What was that all about?
Building my Family Tree is rewarding and addictive. Whole new family groups, with unfamiliar surnames, are now connected to me and I’m discovering their stories.
In the early days, as branches emerged, I’d tell my sons of new family connections: “You’re related to the Balchins!”. They’d look up and say, “Oh, Balchin? Great!” But their eyes glazed over in case I might launch into further details. Undeterred, I’d return to the keyboard and dig deeper.
In assessing what I’d learnt, the superficial nature of the details bothered me. Whilst I uncovered names and some dates, I had no sense of who these people were. To maximise the time I spent on my research, I narrowed my focus to my father’s paternal line. I wanted a deeper understanding of these people including why they came to Australia.
Researching my paternal line, I established the name of my father’s Great-Grandfather as John Wellington Jackson. This detail came from the Victorian Death Index of my father’s Grandfather. In adding this new name to my online family tree, a record hint appeared for an Australian marriage between a John Willington Jackson and a Mary Ellen Mcintyre. The middle name, spelt Wellington on one record and Willington on the other, meant I needed another source to verify that the two Johns were the same person. So, I added this marriage to my online tree to generate further record hints.
Various record hints popped up with the births, deaths and marriages of the children of John Willington Jackson and Mary Ellen Mcintyre. These were names I already knew, so this information confirmed that John Willington Jackson (with Willington spelt with an ‘i’ and not an ‘e’) and Mary Ellen Mcintyre were the parents of my father’s Grandfather. This was my first lesson in not trusting ‘official’ information and also understanding that transcription errors occur.
Now I’ve confirmed my relationship to John Willington Jackson and Mary Ellen Mcintyre, I want to know who were John Willington Jackson’s parents? The Australian Death Index didn’t list his parent’s names, but showed he died in Perth, Western Australia; a detail that piqued my interest as all his family lived in Victoria. I logged onto the Western Australia Births, Deaths and Marriages site (www.bdm.justice.wa.gov.au), found John Willington Jackson’s death index record and ordered a copy of his death certificate.
Roadblock #1
John Willington Jackson’s death certificate listed his parents as John Jackson and Elizabeth Willington. The certificate also detailed his children’s names and ages, which confirmed I was looking at the death certificate of my John Willington Jackson. However, I noted that the details of his children’s ages were inconsistent with information I had confirmed from other sources. I added the names of John Willington Jackson’s parents to my online Family Tree and waited for more record hints to take me further on my journey. But nothing appeared!
I started a manual search for more information and took the following into account:
The death certificate listed John Willington Jackson’s place of birth as Tipperary, Ireland. This information aligned with my father’s understanding of where his family came.
He was 77 years old when he died (meaning he was most likely born in 1829).
I estimated his father was born around 1800 (plus or minus 10 years).
Did John Willington Jackson come to Australia with his parents or on his own?
When did he emigrate? As a child or an adult?
Searching the passenger lists of inbound ships proved to be a herculean task with ‘John’ and ‘Jackson’ being common names. I searched a wide, then narrow, spread of timelines. I uncovered no information that could be cross-referenced to ensure with certainty that it related to my John Willington Jackson.
I stopped searching passenger lists, only to pick it up again now and then hoping to find something I’d missed. I turned my focus onto finding more information on his parents using Australian and Irish sites, but could not find details that gave me confidence that they related to the people I was searching for. Stumped, and thinking I’d exhausted all avenues, I dropped my search into this line.
Roadblock #2 (but with a tantalising detour)
Sometime later, when my research interests were with another branch of the tree, a message appeared in my Inbox from an Ancestry.com user. His message read: “Unless there are 2 of them from Tipperary, I have the parents of John Willington Jackson for you. The information is in the (free) will of his father William Jackson….his mother is Charlotte Willington…..”
Wait, what?? How can William and Charlotte be John Willington Jackson’s parents? His death certificate stated that his parents are John Jackson and Elizabeth Willington. Could the information on John Willington Jackson’s Death certificate be wrong?
Next time, I uncover the truth about John Willington Jackson.
Rae Blair 