Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Writing the Family History Scene

I'm currently enrolled in an online family history writing course, Writing the Family History Scene, run by Lynn Palermo, The Armchair Genealogist

Our first assignment is to write a brief summary of a scene we plan to write, explaining our main protagonist and ancestor.

Here is the scene I plan to write with a brief lead in, explaining the what happened before the scene.

PREVIOUSLY ...

The protagonist is Bede, a 29 year old Australian dentist and bachelor, who has recently arrived in Toronto, Canada. Bede has travelled there to take a postgraduate Doctorate of Dentistry degree at the University of Toronto along with several other Australians, taking the same course. He intends to return to Australia after his one-year course of studies, to resume his career as a dentist. However in the previous month, September 1939, on the ship crossing the Pacific they received news that war had broken out.

SCENE title: In the mood
The scene takes place at a party on campus of the University of Toronto in early October 1939. The party is being held to welcome the new students. Bede is in the company of an Australian dentist friend Denny, and the two crack a few jokes and enjoy the local rye whiskey. There's a Canadian girl at the party, Marjorie, a dental nurse, who has brought along some of her girlfriends. Across the room, Bede recognises Marjorie talking to an attractive young woman and he decides go and introduce himself. Marjorie's friend is named Marg. The band starts playing a Glenn Miller big band number, In the mood and Bede asks Marg to dance. They share some jokes and he's quite impressed with her and wants to see her again. Not only is Marg attractive, but she's smart and funny. Bede is a born-leader, used to being in control. He's the oldest son in the family of five and everyone looks up to him, but Marg is able to match him in wit. Bede has left behind a girlfriend in Australia, but with the war on anything could happen. The scene ends with Bede chatting to Denny again. He doesn't know it yet, but there are several areas of potential conflict looming with Marg: social status (Marg is from a well-to-do family), different national allegiances and different religion.



And here's a happy photo of Bede and his new wife Marg, taken sometime in early 1943, when she was expecting their first child.

Bede and Marg Smith in Ontario in 1943

Saturday, March 18, 2017

Lessons learned

Me with my little sister Cathy in Toronto 1953
The following piece of my memoir writing appeared in the Katharine Susannah Prichard Past Tense Anthology in June 2016

Lessons Learned

It was a day of firsts – the first snowfall of winter, my first experience of snow, and my first day of school in Canada. I was only five and a half in that winter of 1953. My Canadian mother had brought us all the way from our home in Sydney, Australia to spend nine months with our Nana Mollie in Toronto. My mother had married an Australian and she left Canada to move to Sydney, in 1946. She always felt guilty about leaving her newly-bereaved mother behind and when Nana sent the money for the ocean voyage across the Pacific, she jumped at the opportunity. Dad had to remain behind in Sydney, because of his work. I would be attending the local school in Toronto over the winter term with my older sister Pat.

Lambton Park Primary School was within walking distance from Nana's house, but mother decided to drive us on our first day. I climbed into the back seat of the Austin, rugged up like a rolly-polly doll with my nose pressed to the frosty window. The neighbourhood gardens were covered in snow, like a dusting of fine icing sugar.

'Do you think we'll be playing in the snow Mummy?'
'Yes darling, most probably.'
'Will I make new friends there?'
'Yes of course, you'll be fine.' She reassured us.

Mother dropped us off at the front entrance of the school. I stepped out of the car and anxiously scanned the scene. A long path led up to the front portico of the two-storey brick building. On either side of the path, groups of boys lurked behind the trees. I swung back to the road to call for my mother, but her car had already moved away.

Pat held out a confident hand and we hoisted our school cases and marched at a steady pace towards the front entrance. We were half way down the path when I noticed a boy's head dart out from behind the trees. Then snowballs started flying. I moved behind Pat, but a something like a hard rock hit my arm with a painful whack.

'Ouch!'
A blonde boy laughed. 'Gotcha!'
I bent down to grab a handful of snow, but Pat yanked on my arm. 'No time! Quick, make a run for it!'

We ducked and weaved between the icy missiles, our shoes slipping in the snow, eyes fixed on the entrance up ahead. Other children fled, screeching with us, until we reached the safety of the front door and threw ourselves inside.

The rest of that first day is a blur to me now and it probably passed uneventfully. We had learned our first lesson of survival in the Canadian winter schoolyard. There was a trick to making snowballs and if you didn't know how, you'd better duck for cover. Over that winter we worked hard at perfecting our snowball skills. Although we tried, adding layer upon layer, until the snow turned to ice in our bare hands, we could never quite match it with the local children.

We had other adventures and mishaps in those months in Canada. One bitterly cold day, Pat and I went skating on a makeshift outdoor ice pond at the school. We had been dropped off and were to walk home, a distance of a half mile or so. Later, our hands blue with cold, we could not untie our skates and were alone in the darkening gloom of the afternoon. The other children had somehow vanished. We had to clomp down the street with in our skates still on our feet, and clamber up the stairs of a stranger's house to call for help. It was a moment of lasting embarrassment for my responsible older sister – and another lesson in winter survival.

Before long, we were on the ship sailing across the Pacific, back home to Sydney. Dad was waiting on the wharf to welcome us with big hugs. The summer heat blazed through the car window on the hot drive home through the western suburbs. When we arrived we were greeted by a deafening buzz coming from the backyard trees. The local boys were up there, perched on a branch, collecting cicadas. How did they manage that feat? Our next lesson awaited us. In due course, the dreams of ice and snow melted away.

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

Leaving Newfoundland

 

The following piece is an excerpt from Chapter Two of my forthcoming book:

Pack your Baggs: a family's journey from Newfoundland to Australia


Conception Bay, Newfoundland 1874



Carbonear jetty buzzed with activity this morning, as the crew prepared the weekly steamboat for departure. Edward Baggs was on board, leaning over the rails to observe the goings-on below. Two men were struggling to push a large wooden crate up the gangplank. With every step upward, they slipped back, straining under the load. Edward's meagre possessions were already on board. He had only one bag, suggesting scant material gains for his 26 years in Newfoundland.


At the sound of a small voice, Edward turned around to see his little brother Allan, standing back frowning.
'Why so glum? Come and join me,' Edward said.
He grabbed Allan by the hand and helped him to the rail.
'When will we get to Saint John's?' Allan said.
'Sometime this evening, I think,' Edward said.
'Are we going to come back to Newfoundland?' asked Allan.
Edward shook his head.
'But what about my friends?'
'You'll soon make new school friends in Toronto. Don't worry.'
Edward wrapped his long arms around his little brother.
'But when will we get to Toronto?'
'Father said it will be more than a week. We have a few boat trips ahead of us, before we board the steam train for Toronto. A ride on the new railroad, imagine that!'

The rest of the family ventured out on deck to join them. By now many locals had disembarked and a party of friends and relatives had gathered on the dock to see them off. It wasn't every day that such a large group left the shores of Newfoundland. Edward's mother struggled to remain calm and some of those in the group below had already dissolved into tears.

All at once they heard a snarl from the horn – then a final warning shout.
'All those not travelling must leave the boat now!'

The steamer's smoke stack belched out an acrid-smelling cloud, showering Edward with spots of black soot. After several attempts, the men below managed to remove the hemp ropes. Free from its harness, the boat began to pull away from the jetty. Within minutes the boat had gathered a head of steam and was making its way into the deeper waters of Conception Bay. Fishermen were already out this morning and Edward recognised some of the faces of those leaning over the side of the dory hauling in cod. This was the life he was leaving behind. He moved to the stern of the boat as they pointed east. The familiar homeland was diminishing before his eyes into a blur of small coves. All he could make out were the ochre-coloured specs of settlements dotted around the bay and the white church on the rise. A swell came up when they left the protection of the headland and the wind bared its teeth. Far to the north a giant iceberg floated, white as a ghost ship. Edward shivered. It was time to join his family inside, where they had kept a spot for him on the wooden benches, surrounded by their belongings.