Category Archives: music

An Almighty Juggling Act…Concert Pianist & Mother, Eunice Gardiner.

If you’ve been following Beyond the Flow for any length of time at all, you’ll know that I’m totally obsessed and absorbed in research. Indeed, I wrap myself up in all these stories like a thick fleecy blanket feeling so snug and cosy.

Yet, there’s also that frustration. The compulsion to keep on searching even though you know what you’re looking for isn’t out there, and you’re needing to go offline.

That’s where I was tonight.  I’m actually in the throws of researching my grandfather’s second cousin, Asher Hart, who was a champion swimmer who was struck down by polio in his teens, but went on to become a surf champion and saved four lives on Black Sunday 1938 when a mini tsunami hit a crowded Bondi Beach in Sydney. Given my own struggles with disability and muscle wastage, he’s been such an inspiration to me in recent years, even though I only stumbled across him five years ago while I was recovering from chemo.

Anyway, it was getting late by now and I was winding down while my last cup of tea was cooling down, and entered my grandfather’s name into the search engine for these old newspapers. You can tag the articles so I can easily spot the ones I’ve read and the ones I’ve missed. New newspapers are being uploaded so it can be very productive to revisit what really might seem like the end of the road. Indeed, my motto is: Never Give Up, which could be a bit of a problem when research isn’t supposed to be the centre of my universe. Or, as is often the case, it can easily become my universe. I can become incredibly focused.

So, here I am tinkering away with these old newspapers around midnight, when I strike gold. Indeed, tinkering right before bed can be quite a bad thing because that seems to be when I stumble across something I can’t put down. That I must explore immediately and there endeth a good night’s sleep.

Eunice with Bon in Backpack

Tonight, I stumbled across an article and photo of my grandmother, concert pianist Eunice Gardiner carrying my uncle in a back pack. I have never even seen this photo before, and I’m absolutely stoked. There she is not only photographed with him in the backpack, but she’s also talking about going shopping with the toddler on her back, the baby on the front while my grandfather was away with the army. Yet, not one to be conquered like us other mere mortals, she was also giving a Beethoven Concert at the   Sydney Conservatorium. Moreover, she discusses all of this as though everybody was doing it and there’s no talk at all about taking one small step for woman and an enormous leap for womenkind”. She was simply her own person. Mind you, that was also a bit of a luxury enabled by her mother, Mrs Ruby Gardiner, who steeped in and looked after the kids a long with household help. There was actually a migrant hostel at nearby with a source of willing labour. That’s not to belittle her extraordinary achievements, but I share this to console those of us battling to stay afloat in the real world. My two are just under two years apart, and I haven’t forgotten the difficulties of trying to get out the door with two little ones in tow. I also had backpacks, front packs but for getting to the shops, I had this extraordinary double pram contraption I’d picked up from the op shop with a toddler seat on the front. It was the size of a bus and really didn’t encourage going out. By the way, we also had a huge English Sheepdog who was tied to the pram on these walks. In hindsight, I don’t know how we survived. Rufus could well have bolted to the beach after a seagull despite the cumbersome attachments. He was that type of dog…a pure maniac.

Eunice 1948 USA

My Grandmother at the Australian Embassy in Washington, 1948. She had three children all back in Australia when this photo was taken, including my Dad. So hard to comprehend on so many, many levels.

Despite my grandmother having seven children, I never thought of her being loaded up to the hilt with kids like myself. While my youngest uncles are only ten and eleven years older than me, I still just think of her as MY GRANDMOTHER and given that I often went round and saw her on my own, that makes a lot of sense. Each of us has multiple roles and relationships to different people and we’re not as pigeon-holed as we often try to make out. Indeed, she was much more complex than her title: “Melba of the Piano” implied. She was a modern, Renaissance Woman.

I was so happy to find this article, that I decided to post it here where it’s easily accessible to the family and I can share it with you as well. It’s not like showing it on TV. My blog has more of an “intimate” audience.

I hope you enjoy reading it and might even feel a tad inspired, even if it is only to take yourself off for a walk.

Best wishes,

Rowena

I remember reading a story about your grandmother. I think it was about her trip to New York, if I’m not mistaken. She was quite the character, traveling alone to follow her passion.

Thanks for the comment, Rowena. Have a nice day. 🙂

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  1. Thank you, Varad. My grandmother has been this incredible mystery all my life and having all these old newspapers go online, has both illuminated and confused me. One of the things that really blew me away, was finding out there was a miniature grand piano on top of my grandparents’ wedding cake. My husband and I have both thought it was an acknowledgement that my grandfather was marrying her the piano and all that went with it. I’ve never seen a photo of the cake and would dearly love to and I only found out about it from the newspapers. It is very strange finding out such personal details about your own grandmother through old newspapers online. The other thing that I’ve come to realize is that her genes have been passed onto us. In the past, that was simply seen as whether or not we’d inherited her musical talent, and perhaps in the more specific context of the piano. Could we play? It’s taken me some time and a few more generations to join the mix, to see that we have inherited a smattering of things from her, including an absolutely dogged determination and focus, which was just as important to her success as her musical talent. A jack of all trades isn’t going to cut the mustard.
    You’ve inspired got a story there, Varad and I’m going to paste it to the end of my post. Your comment really got me thinking this morning as I’m back at my desk with a cup of tea, porridge and my go pills.
    Hope you have a lovely weekend!
    Best wishes,
    Rowena

 

Gang Show 2018

The Family Taxi is getting quite accustomed to chauffeuring our budding performers to rehearsals and performances. However, just because there was “another one”, that doesn’t lessen our excitement and enthusiasm, even if the petrol tank was getting thirsty.

After seeing our daughter place in a local dance competition through the week, last night we saw both kids perform in the Scouts & Guides: Central Coast Gang Show. Quite aside from being the proud parents and laughing at our son’s crazy assortment of pants and costumes including an orange sheet for a Flintstones’ scene, we had such so much fun. The theatre was intimate, and we were only three rows back from the stage. While we weren’t quite singing out load, I was definitely singing-a-long  in my head to the likes of Inspector Gadget, Flash Gordon theme, Pokemon, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Scooby Doo. Indeed, with all those great songs, I’m surprised I wasn’t dancing in the aisle. You see, I can be the ultimate in embarrassing mums. The highlight for my son came, when he played the third NASA Astronaut, Michael Collins, in a skit.

 

While you might think of knots and camping when it comes to Scouts and Guides, the Gang Show has been around since 1931 when Ralph Reader, a Rover Scout trying to make his mark in theatre in the USA and London, was asked to write a Scout-based variety show to raise money for a swimming pool for the Downe Scout Camp (now a Scout Association National Activity Centre). Rehearsals began under Reader’s direction on 25 May 1932. Initially the show did not have a title, but during a rehearsal break, he asked a cast member if everyone was ready, and the response was “Aye, aye Skip, the gang’s all here”. The first production, The Gang’s All Here, ran between 30 October and 1 November 1932 at the Scala Theatre in central London.[1]The show was not a sell-out, but enough was raised to fund the swimming pool and the show was well received. Baden-Powell, the founder of scouting, persuaded Reader to produce another show in 1933. This was The Gang Comes Back and ran for a week.Reader continued to write and produce the London Gang Show. In 1934 the show became The Gang Show and Crest of a Wave was performed for the first time, becoming over the years the anthem. In 1937 the London show became the first amateur production to have a Royal Command Performance (an honour repeated in 1957 and 1964). A feature film called The Gang Show, starring Ralph Reader and The Gang, premièred at the Lyceum Theatre, London in April the same year, and in New York in December 1938. Now, it appears right around the world- Gang Show Wikipaedia The Central Coast Gang Show has been running for 32 years.

What I love about the Gang Show, is that it gets a whole load of young people up on stage, who might never have considered getting involved in the performing arts. These kids are singing, dancing and committed to six months of pretty solid rehearsals. That’s not a mild-mannered undertaking. These are young people who are learning to express themselves in meaningful, productive ways and are building up essential qualities like perseverance, having a go and being part of a team. I also believe the stage shouldn’t be confined to the likes of Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman. We also need that amateur layer as well. Not as a charity case with positions occupied for those who couldn’t make it. Rather, because it offers us something else. A form of entertainment which isn’t Hollywood and that hopefully reflects, at least in some way, out local culture.

So, after all the excitement of watching my kids and all the rest dancing and singing under lights and going through a plethora of costume changes, the curtain fell and the Gang Show was over for another year. I have to admit there was a bit of disappointment. That sense of loss once the show is over. It was a great night.

Have you ever attended a Gang Show performance? Or, even been in one yourself? Where and when was it? What did it mean to you? I’d love to hear about your experiences in the comments.

Best wishes,

Rowena

 

 

Our Little Dancer’s Triumph.

If I was someone else, I’d simply post a flashy photograph and tell you that our daughter placed at a local dance competition. Announce that she’s as happy as a lark, and we’re as proud as punch. However, to the best of my knowledge, dance isn’t an executive summary, and I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the full performance. I promise that we won’t quite be going back to when she entered into the world, but now that she’s about to get her first pointe shoes, she seems like such a baby when I bought her very first pair of ballet shoes.

….

Amelia's dancing shadow

Such energy and emotion being expressed dancing at the beach.

Once upon a time, I took our three almost four year old daughter to a local ballet class. *-The door shut, and I wasn’t invited to follow her into this secret world of ballet business.Of course, I longed to peek through a metaphorical keyhole. However, we were the parents, not the teacher. It was our job to enjoy the performance, and not get tangled up in the technicalities. After all, no one one gets to join the caterpillar inside the chrysalis and Superman never invited anyone inside his phone booth.  Rather, we had the luxury of witnessing pure magic as our butterfly fluttered across stage, without any consideration of the caterpillar at all.

 

Fast-forward eight years, and all of these stepping stones culminated in two dazzling solos where our daughter commanded the stage of our local school hall for a dance competition. At least, as far as her proud Mum was concerned, she could’ve been dancing anywhere in the world.

Of course, entering in such competitions is stressful, and I’m not even referring to the performer. As Chauffeur in Chief of the Tutu Taxi, it’s my job to get her there early. More than that, I need all the skills of an accomplished event manager with none of the supportive infrastructure. Juggling hair, makeup and costumes dropping or forgetting something is almost inevitable and who wants to be the weakest link? Lists upon lists which never quite seem to get written down, circulate round and round inside my head, although I swear a page or two actually goes missing now and then.

Then, as the child takes to the stage, even if they’re absolutely incredible…perhaps it’s just me, but horrors of her falling off the edge of the stage haunt me like demons. I want to wrap her up in her blanket again, and keep her safe. After all, just how high can the butterfly soar before she crashes? As proud as we are of our dancers, I’m sure there’s not a parent in the room who isn’t perched on the edge of their chair longing for the music to stop, and the performance to end without catastrophe. We can enjoy it later when we rewind it in the safety of our dreams.

Well, to be honest, I might’ve catastrophized things just a little.

Or, a lot.

Amelia YIPA PhotoRather, I absolutely loved her performance. First, there was her ballet solo where she almost floated across the stage with the lightness of a cloud. I’ve seen this solo a few times now. So, while I still remember the stunned amazement and absolute pleasure the first time I saw it, I was really looking forward to seeing her contemporary solo for the first time.  This would be the grand unveiling. I had no idea what it was going to be like, and had only seen the costume. Suddenly, there she was up on stage and after a hiccup with the music, she was off. I’d never seen anything quite like it. This was her solo choreographed especially for her and her dance was something like a moving portrait which her teacher had uncovered an aspect of her inner self and set it to music. She danced like I’ve never seen her dance before. I was spellbound.

She placed second in her ballet solo and third in her contemporary, even though it actually received a higher mark. She also received a Highly Commended for her ballet improvization.

Of course, you can say prizes and awards don’t matter. That it’s the experience that counts. Yet, you try telling that to her ginormous beaming smile. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so happy. While I haven’t actually grilled her what winning those trophies meant to her, I didn’t have to. She absolutely loves dancing and is working really hard to improve, and is possibly even considering a career in dance. So, these placings acknowledge that. They make that world of dreams edge a little closer and become more concrete. They don’t say give up your day job, and throw out your school books. Yet, they’re a huge encouragement. Encouragement isn’t something to be sneered at either. It’s a life-changer.

Lastly, I’just like to emphasize that our experience of dancing so far has been nothing like the appalling behaviour you see on Dance Moms on so many, many levels. While I would’ve thought dance mums would be into all the glamour etc, my experience has been quite different. Indeed, speaking for myself, I’m usually so focused on getting my daughter sorted out, that I have no time or money left to get my own hair cut and the rest is a rush job as well. Our daughter also has a brother who is keenly pursuing sailing. So, there’s not much time or energy for fiddling with my fingernails. All the parents at our dance school support each other and the teachers and the students are an enormous encouragement for each other. We are very blessed. I know other dancers don’t have this experience.

Have you danced yourself? Or, perhaps you have a little dancer in your life? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.

Best wishes,

Rowena

 

A Shocking Case of Bigamy.

“Mr Justice Richmond: You have been convicted of the offence of bigamy…Your present effrontery shows that you richly merit the punishment which I shall inflict upon you. I hope that the punishment will have the effect of awakening you more fully than you now appear to be, to a sense of your actual guilt in the sight of God…The sentence upon you is that you be imprisoned for two years…”  

Otago Daily Times, Issue 769, 4 June 1864

On the 8th December, 1864, Alexander John Johnston was found guilty of bigamy in Dunedin’s  Supreme Court, after marrying Maria Bridget Flanagan while still married to Jane Ellen Johnston (formerly Jones). The judgement quoted above wasn’t metered out to Alexander John Johnston. However, it could well have been.  However, because the marriage certificate provided had no official seal of authenticity and there was also a question of Jane Ellen being under age, Johnston was fined and spared the worst.

In hindsight, someone should’ve thrown the book at Alexander John Johnston, and I’m not talking about a lightweight paperback either. More something like one of those huge, leather-bound, Victorian Bibles. Indeed, that would’ve whacked him on the head like a flying brick, and might’ve knocked some sense into him. Not that I’m inclined to violence, but to quote the words of Monty Python: “He’s not the Messiah—he’s a very naughty boy!”

Of course, this is all water under the bridge these days. Well, it would be if John Johnston (as we know him), wasn’t my Great Grandmother’s Grandfather, and we’re descended from the Maria Bridget Flanagan side of the equation. That made it relevant.

This was all very recent news to me. As far as we knew, John Johnston had only ever married Maria Bridget Flanagan on the 14th April, 1864 in Invercargill, New Zealand. His only children were THEIR children. Originally, family stories said that he’d built the North Sydney Suspension Bridge, although that turned out to be his youngest brother, Alexander Campbell Johnston, who also had the contract to build the Bungendore to Queanbeyan Railway in NSW, while John was the licensee of Queanbeyan’s Union Club Hotel before going insolvent. Yet, John’s death certificate stated that he was a “Contractor” suggesting that he did indeed work alongside his brother. So, while John Johnston might not have been a high achiever, our John Johnston was respectable and seemingly a “family man”. As far as I can tell, there were no court appearances, changes of drunkenness. Nothing.

On the other hand, THAT “Alexander John” Johnston was a scoundrel. A cad. He’d even threatened his wife with a knife.

Clearly, the situation demanded further investigation. I am still struggling to see them as anything but two different people…a John Hyde and an Alexander John Jekyll.

Marriage 1 – Jane Ellen Jones, Liverpool, November 1855.

Details about Alexander John’s first family are still coming to light. However, there’s now no  doubt that Alexander John Johnston married Ellen Jane Jones in November 1855 at St James Church, Toxteth Park, Liverpool, England. On the marriage certificate, her father was given as Thomas Jones, Master Mariner, and the witness was Margaret Jones, Jane Ellen’s sister. During the bigamy trial, it was mentioned that a James Munro and John Grey also attended the wedding. A Charles Macquarie, seaman, also testified that he was in Liverpool around January or February, 1856 and used to go and see them[1].

It appears that Alexander John and Jane Ellen had two children while living in Liverpool. While I am yet to find the names of all their children, it would appear that their eldest child, Thomas James Johnston was born around 1856-57. They also seemed to have two children born in New Zealand. Jane Ann was born in 1862 and their youngest daughter, Ellen Overton Johnston, was born around 1864 and died in tragic circumstances on the 8th February, 1866 aged 15mths/2 years.

Finding out these details of his first marriage, also revealed that John had been living in Liverpool for at least five years before immigrating to New Zealand, which also placed him alongside the thousands of Irish fleeing the Irish Famine. A Famine which had also hit Scotland hard, including the island of Islay where John Johnston was born on the 12th February, 1826 to Angus and Mary (Campbell) . At this point, his father had been a Whisky Distiller, most likely at the Tallent Distillery on Islay. It seems they could well have been evicted to make way for sheep, which were more profitable.

Alexander John came out to New Zealand probably not long before gold was discovered in Gabriel’s Gully in 1861. Three months later, Jane Ellen and the children came out.  

As time went by, the marriage clearly wasn’t a happy one. In court, Jane Ellen said: “I have not been on very good terms with the prisoner.” This is clearly an understatement because on the 13th June, 1863, she charged him with threatening to stab her with a knife:

“Threatening to Stab—Jane Ellen Johnston I charged her husband, Alexander John Johnston with threatening to stab her with a knife on the 13th inst. The defendant was required to give bond to keep the peace towards her for six months, fined in the amount of £1O, and to find two sureties tor £2O each[2].”

However, there were a few references to the couple going out to lunch or socialising together. So, perhaps it wasn’t all bad…

At the time of the court case, Jane Ellen Johnston and their children were living out in the Leith Valley in Dunedin, beyond the Waters of Leith. I suspect this might have been the family home before Alexander John went off to “Hokitika”[3].

Alexander John Johnston Caught Out.

Being something of a Sherlock Holmes myself, there’s nothing better than tracking the scent of a good story back to the source and its very beginnings.

It surprises me that Jane Ellen Johnston wasn’t the one who dobbed Alexander John into  police. Rather, it was Charles Bond, Baker of Rees Street Queenstown & Arthur’s Point Shotover, and a Mrs Jenkins, who could well have been a hotel owner in Queenstown. Mr John Foster, formerly a publican at The Arrow Goldfields, near Queenstown was also involved, and it almost seems like a citizens’ arrest.

On the 3rd September, 1864 Detective Constable Robert Lambert, who was stationed in Queenstown, arrested Alexander John Johnston in King Street, Dunedin on a charge of bigamy. He was accompanied by a Mr John Foster, formerly a publican at The Arrow Goldfields, near Queenstown. Johnston then asked him to accompany him to a woman’s house in the Leith Valley, Dunedin. There were two children playing outside and Lambert asked Johnston whether they were his. He said they were. When they arrived at the house, he said: “Jane, I am taken in charge. I am going to gaol.” She asked what for. Detective-Constable Lambert replied: “It was for bigamy, and I further explained the charge to her.” Lambert pointed to Alexander John Johnston (the prisoner), and asked if he was her husband. She said he was. Lambert asked if she had a marriage certificate, and Jane Ellen handed him the document she’d been given when she married Johnston. Alexander John, seemingly being quite the smooth talker, tried to sweet talk Jane into letting him off. Indeed, he repeatedly asked: “Jane, my girl, you won’t prosecute me.” Detective Constable Lambert replied that if she is his wife, she can’t give evidence against him. Lambert then went outside with Alexander John where he denied that the woman was his wife. So, he took him inside again and asked Jane Ellen again if she was his wife. Again, she repeated that she really was married to the prisoner. On the way to the station, the prisoner again denied that the woman was his wife. Detective Constable Robert Lambert took Johnston to the watchhouse where he gave the name of Alexander John Johnston.

Supreme Court on the 8th December, 1864

The case ended up in the Supreme Court on the 8th December, 1864 before His Honour Justice Richmond. Alexander John Johnston was indicted for bigamy, by intermarrying with Maria Flanagan, while his wife Jane Ellen Jones was alive. Mr Howorth conducted the prosecution; and Mr Wilson appeared for the prisoner.

Here are the various witness statements:

Ann Rugg (formerly Jones) – Jane Ellen Johnston’s Sister & wife of James Rugg, carpenter, Dunedin:

“My maiden name was Ann Jones. In 1855, I was living in Liverpool with my father and mother. There were three brothers and two sisters besides. One sister was named Jane Ellen and the other Margaret. Jane Ellen is now sitting here in Court. I knew the prisoner in England. About nine years ago, in a November, he and Jane Ellen left father’s house to get married. My sister Margaret, James Munro, and John Grey went with them. They went about ten and returned about twelve o’clock. I asked my sister if she was married, and she said “Yes,” and kissed me. The prisoner lived in father and mother’s house for four months and always acknowledged Jane Ellen as his wife. My sister Margaret is not here. St James’s Church, Toxteth Park, is in Liverpool. The prisoner was here before Gabriel’s digging broke out; and three months after that, he sent for my sister. They have four children.—By Mr Wilson : I am now 22 years old.”

Charles Macquarie, Seaman:

 “I know the prisoner and Mrs Johnston. I was in Liverpool about January or February, 1856, and I was accustomed to go and see them. They were living as man and wife. The prisoner often admitted to me, at that time, that he was married. They had then been recently married.”

 Rev Benjamin Drake : Congregational Independents, Invercargill

“I am a minister of the body called Congregational Independents, at Invercargill. I am the Benjamin Drake mentioned in this Gazette notice, as authorised to solemnise marriages. On the 14th April last, at Invercargill, I married the prisoner and Bridget Maria Flannagan, who is the woman now called before me. What is handed to me, is a copy of the register which I myself made. Mr Wilson objected that the indictment charged marriage with Maria Flanagan ; while the evidence and the certificate showed the name to be Bridget Maria. The Judge: That is amendable, and I should allow amendment[4].

Mr John Foster, formerly a publican at The Arrow Goldfields, near Queenstown.

Foster generally corroborated the evidence of Lambert. He had known the prisoner for about two years; and had known him living with Jane Ellen, the woman in Court, as man and wife. By Mr Wilson: Out of the woman’s presence, the prisoner had denied that she was his wife.

Dunedin Gaol

Dunedin Gaol -Alexander John Johnston’s home away from home.

The Verdict

On the 8th December, 1864, the jury found Alexander John Johnston guilty of bigamy. However, sentencing was postponed until the 12th December, 1864. The Judge said he should not pass sentence because the “document produced, and admitted by the Court, was not admissible in proof of the first marriage, inasmuch as it did not purport to be a copy of an original register, signed by the person authorised to make it; and that cohabitation being only presumptive evidence of marriage, was not admissible in a case of bigamy. He (the Judge) should therefore reserve a case for the opinion of the Court of Appeal as to the sufficiency of the evidence on which the prisoner was convicted. He should take bail Johnston in the sum of £1OO, and two sureties in £5O each. The condition would be, as prescribed by the Court of Appeal Act, that Johnston should surrender in the judgment of the Court when called upon. Johnston would be remanded to custody until he had completed the recognisances.[5]

The Second Wife…Maria Bridget Flanagan.

At this point, I haven’t read the actual court transcripts to see whether Maria Bridget Flanagan appeared in court. However, she gave birth to their first child, Angus Johnston, on the 6th January, 1865 in Dunedin. So, while this court case was in progress, she was heavily pregnant, which must’ve made a rather strong statement to the court. Moreover, while she was concerned about “her husband” who could well have been sent to gaol for up to seven years, she would also have been very concerned for the future of her and her child. As it turned out, the judge didn’t throw the book at Alexander John Johnston. However, while he was only fined, he was kept in jail because they couldn’t pay the fine and I currently don’t know how long he was there.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Maria Johnston heavied William Christian, whom they’d been living with in Invercargill, to pay the fine. He refused. So, on the 10th December, 1864 Maria took him to court accusing him of stealing a wooden box containing a silk parasol, a piece of silk and a petticoat which she had left in his care. However, the truth of the matter came out in court and the case was dismissed:

Charge of Theft.— William Christian, a colored man, was charged, on the information of Maria Flanigan, with stealing one parasol, one petticoat, and one piece of silk her property, on or about the month of September last — Maria Flanigan, or Johnston, stated that she was married in Invercargill about eight months ago to Mr Johnston ; they were living with the prisoner. She and her husband left for Queenstown, leaving in the prisoner’s care a box, in which were a quantity of articles, including one silk parasol, one petticoat, and one piece of silk. A few days ago she met the prisoner in Dunedin, and when she asked about her box, he said it was left in Invercargill. _ she had reason to believe that the goods were in Dunedin, and, a search warrant having been served, the petticoat and piece of silk were found in prisoner’s house, but in a box which had formerly belonged to Johnston. Detective Farrell stated that he put the warrant into execution, and found the goods produced in an unlocked box in prisoner’s home. There was no attempt at concealment. Prisoner’s wife stated that she kept the goods as she had a loan on them; Johnston having been due her money. Mr Ward, for the prisoner, stated that the facts of the case were that Johnston left his boxes in Invercargill in prisoner’s charge as he owed him £l5. When Johnston was apprehended on a charge of bigamy, Maria Flanigan asked prisoner to became bail for him, and when he refused she threatened to do something to him and when Johnston was convicted she trumped up the present charge against the prisoner. The Magistrate said the charge was a trumpery affair. There was clearly no felonious intent on the prisoner’s part. He was discharged.” Otago Witness, 17 December 1864.

New Zealand’s Divorce Laws in 1864.

When you think about this case of bigamy these days,  you naturally ask why he didn’t get a divorce. While we might be aware that divorces weren’t so easy to obtain in years gone by, prior to 1867, anyone wishing to divorce in New Zealand had to apply to the English courts. Of course, you don’t need to be Einstein to realize that you’re looking at mission impossible.

In 1867 New Zealand passed its first divorce law: the Divorce and Matrimonial Causes Act. The act allowed either husband or wife to seek a divorce, but the grounds on which they could apply were very different. To gain a divorce, a man only needed to prove adultery on the part of his wife. But for a wife to get a divorce, her husband had to commit adultery plus sodomy, incest, bestiality, bigamy, rape or extreme cruelty[6].

While we’re on the subject of divorce in 1864, I thought just throw in this snippet about the duties of marriage in New Zealand in 1850:

“In 1850, the duties associated with marriage appeared to exist largely to protect the institution of marriage itself and the morals of society, rather than the individuals involved in the union. A husband had a duty to maintain his wife, they had a duty to live together, and sexual intercourse was a duty.[30] Each party also had a duty not to have sexual relations outside the marriage.[31] After marriage, a woman lost her identity in that she could not own property, enter into contracts, or sue or be sued; this indicates that marriage was about more than simply regulation of sexual relations.[32] There were also more consequences for a woman who committed adultery, on the rationale that if she had children that were not her husband’s, they may inherit his property wrongfully.[33] The stark contrasts to the twenty-first century notions of individual choice are captured in Matthew Bacon’s             Abridgement, which states that:[34] …marriage is a compact between a man and a woman for the procreation and education of children; and it seems to have been instituted as necessary to the very being of society; for, without the distinction of families, there can be no encouragement to industry, or any foundation for the care of acquiring riches.”http://www.nzlii.org/nz/journals/NZLawStuJl/2014/9.html

What Became of Jane Ellen Johnston?

Alexander John’s departure left Jane Ellen Johnston as a single mother with four young children under ten living on the outskirts of Dunedin.

On the 8th February, 1866 while Jane Ellen was weeding the garden with her two other children, their eldest son, Thomas James Johnston aged nine, climbed up high and reached for her gun, which she kept loaded for her own protection. Indeed, she’d only had it a week, a gift from a concerned friend.  Jane Ellen hears the explosion, and sees Thomas running towards her. In a scene she no doubt replayed for the rest of her life, she finds Thomas has accidentally shot his baby sister, Ellen Overton Johnston and she is dying. Desperately, Jane Ellen somehow gets the baby to the hospital, but is told the situation is hopeless. So, she bundles her up and takes her to die at the home of a friend.  At the inquest, Jane Ellen referred to herself as “Jane Ellen Johnston” and said that her husband had “gone to Hokitika”.  That, in other words, he’d gone off to the diggings. No one challenged her with the truth.

In 1873, Jane Ellen Johnston married Edward Williams. He appears to have been an Insurance worker at York Place, Dunedin, 1883-91. They went on to have at least two children. I would like to think they lived happily ever after.

Jane Ellen Williams passed away at Christchurch Hospital on October 8th, 1921. While her notice in the paper says she was aged 72, online she was said to be 85 which seems to be more likely:

WILLIAMS—On October 8th, at the Christchurch Hospital, Jane Williams, late of Oxford street, Lyttelton; aged 72 years. Press, Volume LVII, Issue 17290, 31 October 192

John Johnston & Maria Bridget Flanagan

In 1865, Alexander John Johnston became the Licensee of the Argyle Hotel in the Arcade, Dunedin, and it seems that they lived on the premises. The Argyle Hotel was more like a bar, and unlike most hotels at the time, didn’t have accommodation for travellers. However, it did have “concert rooms”[7].

It is starting to look like Alexander John Johnston and possibly Maria Bridget, could well have been entertainers and were involved in something like the Minstrel Shows they were later involved in at Queanbeyan. I don’t know if they operated the concert rooms at the Arcade Hotel or whether theirs was separate, but this reference could well describe the nature of their concerts:

Cunningham G Boyd was the licensee of the Arcade Hotel, which had music and dancing. The Arcade Hotel was described: At the Resident Magistrate’s Court on Tuesday morning, Mr Commissioner Branigan applied to the Bench to withdraw the permission previously granted by Mr Strode to Mr C. G. Boyd, of the Arcade Hotel, to allow singing and dancing in his licensed house. The evidence of several witnesses went to prove that the noisy nature of the “negro entertainments” given at this house, combined with the disorderly character of the persons who resorted to them, made it a serious cause of complaint in the neighbourhood. The application was granted[8].

At this point in time, trouble seemed to follow Alexander John. After already being found guilty of bigamy and doing stint in gaol while raising bail, In August 1865, He sentenced to 14 days’ imprisonment with hard labour without the alternative of a fine for assaulting DT Dyer who was executing his duty as a bailiff of the Resident’s Magistrate’s court. Indeed, he threatened him with a pocket knife.

9th August, Alexander John sold his interest in the Argyle Hotel and like hordes of other hopefuls; they headed to the Hokitika gold fields. By this stage, the son Angus had died aged three months and a daughter, Margaret Ellen was born in 1865.

From this point on, they are living on the West Coast in between Greymouth and Reefton. I am still trying to nut out what they were doing there. However, I did find a letter written to the Editor of the Grey River Argus dated 4th December 1866:

A SERIES. OF GRIEVANCES.

(To the Editor- of the Grey River Angus,) Sir — From your well known reputation as a defender of the injured, I beg to trouble you with a grievance, or rather a combination of them. I am a carpenter and .contractor, and have been well known to many persons connected with this and the Canterbury Governments. On a late occasion I saw tenders called for by tho authorities here, for a canvas tent. I tendered in the usual way, and appeared at the time appointed to see if my tender had been accepted. To my surprise the constable in charge coolly told me that my tender was not accepted, adding that if I had tendered £10 lower than anyone else he would not have given me the work. I then .looked out for a stand in the only street surveyed, and I went to the same constable to see if my business license, which I got in October last at Cobden, would give me a right to take up a site, and was told that it would not; but, at the same time, the constable offered to sell me a section which he held; for L3O. By what, right he held it I do not know, but perhaps you might be able to enlighten the public fat this place on the subject;’ as I- and many other businessmen cannot understand members of the police force being allowed, to take advantage of their position to get information and take up not only one but twenty sites, to the detriment of legitimate business men. That this has been done, is well known to every person in this township. A few days ago a man was drowned, the body being afterwards recovered. I and my partners spoke to the constable in charge respecting the burial, and the reply was that I before the Government would spend 5s in matter, they (the police) would bury it in a sack. On my remonstrating, I was told that if I interfered any further I should be locked up. Unfortunately the local head of the Government (Mr Kynnersley) is away, and I and many of my follows are compelled to submit to injustice; I sign my name, and can bring abundance of witnesses to- prove all (and more) than I have stated. A. J. Johnston, Late Undertaker, Greymouth. : Brighton, December 4[9].

Was this my Alexander John Johnston? It very well could be. Later on, he is not only the licensee of a hotel but his death certificate said he was a contractor. Being a carpenter and contractor, could well have brought him into contact with James Angus who also moved from New Zealand to New South Wales in 1879 and went into partnership with Alexander Campbell Johnston, John’s younger brother. The connection almost stitches together now, but not quite.  

In 1879, John and Maria Johnston and their five surviving children boarded a ship bound for Australia. They don’t surface again until 1885 after his brother, Alexander  Johnston, was awarded the contract to build the Bungendore to Michelago Railway section of railway on 27th May 1884. John becomes the licensee of the Union Club Hotel in Queanbeyan. He is 58 years old.

Above: Queanbeyan Age (NSW : 1867 – 1904), Tuesday 16 March 1886, page 3

Performance Queanbeyan 1886

An advertisement for a minstrel show held in Queanbeyan on Boxing Day 1886

Much to my delight, I also found that the Johnston family performed in amateur Minstrel Shows in Queanbeyan. It seemed that John Johnston sang, daughter Lizzie played the piano and also acted in a romantic farce and son, John played the violin…a talented family. Of course, this form of entertainment came straight out of America, and it’s been evident they spent time with African Americans in New Zealand who could well have introduced them to this musical form.

1910 circa Suspension Bridge German postcard

The North Sydney Suspension Bridge.

By 1892, John and Maria Johnston were living in Sydney, when his brother Alexander was the contractor who built the North Sydney Suspension Bridge. While it is believed that John Johnston contributed to the bridge in some way, he did write a publicity piece which was published in the newspaper in 1895.

John Johnston died at Sydney Hospital 28th November, 1897 aged 70 years. Cause of death was malignant disease of the oesophagus. He was buried in the Presbyterian Section, Rookwood Cemetery with his sister, Elizabeth White.

Maria Bridget Johnston died on the 19th November, 1915 at her home in 42 Colin Street, North Sydney. She was 79 years old. Cause of death was Diabetes and exhaustion. She was buried in the Roman Catholic Section, Gore Hill Cemetery, St Leonards.

Knowing what I know now, I can’t help wondering whether it was poetic justice. That John Johnston and Maria Bridget who went to such great lengths to be together in life, have been permanently separated in death. It’s just a thought.  

Conclusion

“In history, a great volume is unrolled for our instruction, drawing the materials of future wisdom from the past errors and infirmities of mankind.”  

Edmund Burke

Clearly, the case for Alexander John Johnston isn’t good. He was a bastard. A cad. He not only married Maria Bridget Flanagan while still married to Jane Ellen, he flatly denied Jane Ellen was his wife, even in court. Yet, he wasn’t above rolling on the charm, and asking her not to prosecute him and send him to gaol. In hindsight, I think he missed his calling. Alexander John would’ve made the consummate politician…just deny, deny, deny and the mud will fly away.

This isn’t the man our family knew, and despite all of this pulling  apart and peering into every nook and cranny, I still don’t want to let go of the illusion. Or, at least the hope, that he might have changed his ways.  

Personally, finding out about this second family over in New Zealand, has opened up  Pandora’s Box. Maybe, it shouldn’t. After all, this all happened over 150 years ago. The water has flowed under the bridge and it is gone. However, when it comes to these Kiwi cousins, I feel there’s something of a scar, or even a wound, which needs to be acknowledged. Just because he left that family more than a husband and fifty years ago, that’s not to say the consequences didn’t trickle down through the family for many years afterwards, especially given the very tragic death of Baby Ellen. After all, these people aren’t characters in a novel. They were real.

Naturally, I also have to spare a thought for Maria Bridget being heavily pregnant with her husband in court and in gaol. The stress would’ve been phenomenal, and money was clearly very tight. No luxury of decorating the nursery for the baby. I also have to question her role in all of this. Did she know about “the other wife” when they got married? Maria strikes me as a strong character, and I doubt Alexander John could pull the wool over her eyes. Then again…

Strangely, I’ve even spared a thought for Alexander John languishing away in gaol not knowing where the money was going to come from to get him out. Do I feel sorry for him? Not at all, and yet there’s still this little niggle. Perhaps, it’s because despite all evidence to the contrary, I still don’t believe he did it and this entire situation still feels more like a novel than anything from my own family’s past. 

Yet, I am also conscious that everyone has made mistakes. That each of us sinks deeply into our imperfection, and has crimes of our own. They might not be so monumental and impact on the lives of so many people in such a big way, but does that give us the right to play judge and jury when those around us stumble or even fall? I think not. However, we need to learn from these collective mistakes, and refine the rough diamond which dwells within each of us to produce a gem. That radiant spark which is incredibly tough, but ever so beautiful.

That is my dream.  

References

[1] Otago Daily Times, Issue 792, 9 December 1864.

[2] Otago Daily Times, Issue 464, 16 June 1863

[3] Otago Witness, Issue 742, 17 February 1866

[4] Otago Daily Times, Issue 792, 9 December 1864

[5] Otago Witness, 17 December 1864

[6] https://teara.govt.nz/en/divorce-and-separation/page-1

[7] Otago Daily Times, Issue 1121, 25 July 1865

[8] Otago Witness, Issue 717, 25 August 1865

[9] Grey River Argus, Volume III, Issue 142, 8 December 1866

 

Belated Weekend Coffee Share… 25th June, 2018.

Welcome to Another Weekend Coffee Share!

It’s now Monday night here, so I hope you’ve have a great weekend . Although I’m turning up rather late this week, hopefully a few stragglers would still like to join me and keep the coffee and conversation flowing.

How was your week? Do you have any stories you’d like to share?

Well, I had a busy week and much of it was rather annoying because it involved medical appointments. I had one in Sydney, one locally with my GP and was back to the GP for an iron infusion on Friday, which will hopefully turn me into Popeye the Sailor Woman in a few weeks’ time once it’s take effect. These medical appointments weren’t such a big deal, and it was more a case of one appointment generating another and then they seem to breed like rabbits for a bit. However, fortunately they largely retreat back into their hidey holes much of the time these days and only reach this kind of frequency very occasionally.

After my doctor’s appointment on Monday, I headed down to Kirribilli for a coffee and set myself up with my notebook and started randomly writing. I love downloading my soul in pen on paper like this in a rustic old cafe, and it also feels so good for the soul to get all that stuff out as well.

Last week, the kids’ school held their annual Variety Concert over two nights. Our daughter danced on Tuesday night and our son was on lights the first night and backstage the next. What with having to drop him back and forth, my daughter and I also decided to watch the second concert as well. I’m really glad we did, not only because the acts were so good and we enjoyed some incredible entertainment, but also because I hope by being there, we might’ve encouraged some young performers. It’s very rare that you ever hear anything about being a “talented audience”. I’ve personally put in many years learning the piano, ballet and the violin, but no one even sat me down and encouraged me to learn how to be a productive member of the audience and be more than just a bum on a seat. Of course, my mother taught me not to crinkle lolly wrappers and not to cough, go to the toilet or talk during a performance and these days we also need to ensure we switch our omnipresent phones to silent. However, these things are more about the etiquette of being in the audience, rather than really getting into it. You can applaud with gusto and enthusiasm. Smile. Better still, you can compliment the performer afterwards, ideally pointing to something specific so they know you mean it and you payed attention. You see, while the performer’s talent might seem very obvious to you and that you might expect them to be egotistical and full of themselves, quite often I find the reverse is quite true. That many highly talented performers are perfectionists. Perfectionism is a state which can never be reached, and so far too many live with an agonising sense of their weaknesses and mistakes, rather than their incredible abilities to take everyone around them on a magical flight to someplace else, or even deeper within their soul.

Anyway, I digress. I am rather prone to philosophizing, and I guess sharing philosophical ideas over coffee is nothing new.

While I don’t really see getting around my local area as “travelling” per se, the beauty about blogging with people from all around the world, is that my own backyard become exotic. My backyard to travelling to you.

IMG_1655

Our local Beach during Winter.

Anyway, last Saturday Geoff’s sister from Queensland came down for a visit along with her son who has been living in Canada or the US for over 15 years. So, we met up with them at a local cafe and then decided he should see more of his own country before he heads back and took him for a drive to Patonga, which is located on the Hawkesbury River about 15 minutes drive away through the bush and round some fairly twisty bends. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve been to Patonga, and I’ve really get to ask myself why I don’t get out and see more of the local environment when I’m surrounded by glorious beaches, stunning coastal views and the great Aussie bush. I guess, like for most of us, life gets in the way. There always seems to be so much to get done and so much of that really isn’t exciting either. It’s little more than crossing stuff off the list, but I know from past experience that ignoring it only makes it worse.

IMG_1688.JPG

Fishing Boats at Patonga.

Well, I guess it’s time to wrap things up here. I hope you’ve enjoyed your visit and I look forward to popping round and touching base with you as well.

This has been another contribution to the Weekend Coffee Share, hosted by Eclectic Ali.

Best wishes,

Rowena

 

Weekend Coffee Share – 21st May, 2018.

 “It would be so nice if something would make sense for a change.”

Alice in Wonderland.

 

Welcome to Another Weekend Coffee Share on Yet Another Monday Night.

Well, my excuse is that I had to get all dolled-up and formal on Saturday, and it was such a shock to the system, that I had to retire to my bed for all of Sunday and even much of today. While I did have a bit of a joke about having a Front Row Seat at the Royal Wedding, the truth is almost as inconceivable. I was playing my violin at Gig Night at the music studio and being a violinist to the very core, I had to wear my blacks. Indeed, I dug the Winter-weight Calvin Klein number out of hibernation, and strutted my stuff. Well, I wasn’t strutting because my shoes were too tight, I can’t strut at the best of times and inspite of myself I was more than a tad nervous. Not because I’m scared of performing. I knew I hadn’t really done enough practice and that there would be mistakes, but I didn’t want too many mistakes. Moreover, I didn’t want to stuff up the bits I always get right. I did that at the end of year concert and actually pulled off the tricky bits. After much philosophical reflection, I’ve decided that the violin is a bit of a temperamental character, who is insanely jealous and refuses to cooperate when ignored and like to stuff things up for you just for the hell of it. Yet, for some strange reason, I’ve remained faithful and haven’t packed up my bags and returned to the piano. Not yet, anyway.

 

You can read more about my performance in A Legend In My Own Hair Follicles

 

“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn’t. And contrary-wise; what it is it wouldn’t be, and what it wouldn’t be, it would. You see?”

Alice in Wonderland

So how was your week?

Did you watch the Royal Wedding? What did you think of it? What were the standouts? While I didn’t have the opportunity to conduct a representative survey, from what I’ve heard, the Address seems to be the most talked about aspect of the wedding. It seems some people loved it, others thought it went on too long, and I’ve downloaded the transcript to fully get my head around it, although I’m yet to read it fully. In terms of the Address being too long, if I was the Most Reverend Curry, I would’ve made the most of having my one chance in life to speak to the world. While he might not have been Dr Martin Luther King, he had a beautiful and very powerful message about love and acceptance and with all the awful things happening in our world in both public and private arenas, we need a good dose of what he had to say. Indeed, we each need to wake up and start trying to make a difference in the same way that Harry and Meghan are already doing, and it will be exciting to see what kind of impact they’ll have, now that they’ve become a team.

Tomorrow, I have an appointment with my lung specialist. He’s usually happy to see me twice, or even once a year.However, after my lung function tests two weeks ago, it was “I’ll see you in two weeks”. They showed that my lung capacity has dropped 20% in six months. Mind you, I’ve had a lot of lung and even a severe sinus infection, and so the big hope was the the drop was due to infection. So, he whacked me on more “horse pills” and I tried to exercise more and do what I could to save me from more intervention. Of course, I’m “feeling better”. No, I truly am and I’m not coughing anywhere near as much. Indeed, a week ago when I was talking to my mother on the phone, she noted that I hadn’t coughed. Hopefully, her observations will be supported by tomorrow’s results.

By the way, I should’ve mentioned this earlier, but Masterchef Australia has started up again for 2018. I’m an absolute diehard fan of the show, and while I might not make the recipes they create, I do add little bits and pieces to my own cooking, to add a bit of pizazz. I’ve even cooked with fennel, which felt far more alien to me than a thing called a “custard apple” (thanks to my mother being a Queenslander).

Anyway, it’s Nigella Week on Masterchef and tonight, there was a an eleimination pressure test… Nigella’s Chocolate Feast. It was a hard show for a chocoholic like me to sit through. However, I’m already planning to make her fudgy brownies. They were so gooey and sensational.

Nigella Nutella Cake

Nigella’s Nightmare…The Avalanche.

I must admit I sympathized with Nigella’s Victims tonight, as they were making her Chocolate Olive Oil Mouse. Two years ago, I also came a cropped making Nigella’s Nutella Cake. Like one of the contestants, I also over-beat the egg whites, and it ended in disaster, which I dubbed:  Nigella’s Heartache. After all, it’s all well and good when people post beautiful recreations of your recipes, but it’s not so good when they flaunt their disasters all over the World Wide Web.

Before I head off, I just wanted to mention my latest contribution to Friday Fictioneers…A Special Child. This is written about a young girl on the Autism Spectrum who goes missing in the bush.

Zac running at Ocean beach May 18

Zac running along the beach.

Oops, I almost forgot. The dogs received a bit of an update this week…Pup Psychologist, Anyone? Since I posted this, we went on a disastrous trip with the three dogs to the beach yesterday when all three refused to come when called and Zac and Rosie were sprinting up and down the beach and Lady was wondering off on her own. There were a few fishermen along the beach and we could see the dogs stealing their bait, their and getting tangled in the lines. Time to go home. That is, if you can catch them. Training will now be intensifying for both dogs and humans.

Well, it’s getting late and I have a long and big day ahead tomorrow.

I hope you had a great week and I look forward to catching up on your news.

Best wishes,

Rowena

 

 

A Legend in My Own Hair Follicles.

Before the magic of the Royal Wedding and seeing Harry and Meaghan tie the knot in spectacular fashion, I hung up my pink washing up gloves and metamorphosed into a star. I, the greatest unknown violinist, legend in her own hair follicles, performed Minuet by Beethoven with my violin teacher at Gig Night. That’s the modern equivalent of what was known as a “Soiree” back in the day. Indeed, it might have been more like my grandparents’ day, but there we were performing in the studio with real performance lights and sound equipment and our very own stage. It was personal, intimate and my husband and kids were all lined up in a row in the audience…my support crew.

Well, behind every star performer, there’s also their teacher. When it comes to my teacher, however, she had special duties. She was not only accompanying me in our duet in the kind of way that compensates for what I’ll call my “idiosyncrasies”, she had to help me on and off stage. Indeed, we made a decision that I would enter from backstage to prevent me from having a spectacular trip and fall getting up on the stage. I’m pretty good at reconnaissance these days, and I needed to hold onto the wall climbing up the step and was rather concerned that I could fall into the amp. The good thing is that the team at the music school is well versed in my idiosyncrasies and were only too willing to help. Moreover, I’m also one to speak up.

I should also point out that the staff at the music school have experienced these idiosyncracies before. A few years ago when we were performing at the school Christmas Carols, I stepped on the edge of the where the asphalt meets the grass and my ankle flipped over (not uncommon) and then I heard this crunch and fell. The pain was excruciating. Blood was dripping down my knee, but did I pike out? Does a violinist ever give up, even when the ship is sinking? Of course not. I played on and was helped on and off the stage that night too.

My performance tonight wasn’t perfect. I knew it wasn’t going to be. Yet, I was hopeful. Moreover, despite my nerves, I really love performing and being a part of a performance. I like getting out of my cramped quarters in our corridor of a dining room where I usually have to hold my breath as husband, kids, dogs, tennis balls squeeze or fly past and put my feet on that stage, dress up in my blacks and even put on come makeup and lipstick and be a violinist on the outside too. A musician. Knowing I belong here. That this stage is mine, even if it’s only for a few minutes. I own this space (something I picked up from dancing btw).

It’s a space I usually have to grow into, because it’s all too easy to put my playing down. I’m not in the Sydney Symphony Orchestra. So, how could I ever consider myself a violinist? I haven’t even tried to learn vibrato, because I really don’t believe in myself. Don’t believe it’s possible. Of course, as I said, I have a decent list of “idiosyncracies”, which let me off the hook. Moreover, be honest, it hasn’t felt that important. It’s been more important to simply be able to play without making mistakes. However, it’s something I come back to once in a while, and learning vibrato is a natural progression for a violinist. Just like my daughter will soon be getting her first pair of pointe shoes for ballet, I should be equally enthusiastic and bursting out of my skin to learn vibrato. Take the next step. I should be wanting to grow, even though it usually means a phase of going backwards as we tackle the new skill.

Anyway, the reason I’m writing about all of this is twofold.

Firstly, I wanted to share my violin world with you. I don’t write about it all that often, but I actually have a lesson each week. I am quite a fan of Suzuki method, although I use the music and don’t play by ear. For those who know Suzuki, I recently moved onto Book Three. I was so proud. It’s been a long journey. I have hydrocephalus and dermatomyositis.  So, I never thought I’d be able to play the violin at all and only took it up again when my daughter insisted on learning, and she needed some assistance. I sat in on her lessons and while she has a rather on and off again relationship with her violin, I’ve stuck with it. She’d probably get to my level after a few weeks’ steady practice, but I’d only be delighted to see her overtake me. Well, she already has. She performed at the Sydney Opera House with her school two years ago at the tender age of 10. Clearly, you’re much better off trying to play at the Opera House as a young beginner than a geriatric.

The other reason I wanted to share my violin journey with you, is to encourage you to consider taking up that instrument you’ve always wanted to play. To go back to the piano you played at a kid, which could well be used for displaying family photos and ornaments than it’s intended purpose. Have a go.

I never considered myself a real music lover or expert of any sort. However, I can sense this is changing. That something new is awakening within. Actually, it’s not something new. It’s like when you’re doing a big clean-up and you find something you haven’t seen for a good 10-20 years and you taken right back to that forgotten time and place and all the emotions come flooding back as there’s that sense of coming home. I have always loved to sing and was good enough, but my voice is rusty and my violin’s become my voice, and to turn to the words of Johnny Farnham’s The Voice I need to

You’re the voice, try and understand it
Make a noise and make it clear

Do you have any musical dreams? If you could be any musician, who would you be? I’ll have to give it some thought.

Best wishes,

Rowena