Great Grandparents - Paternal

Jackamans

Mary Ann Cobbold (courtesy of John Jackaman)

George Edward Jackaman

Born: 1849, Mendlesham, Suffolk, England
Died: 1903, Mendlesham, Suffolk, England

Mary Ann Cobbold

Born: 1854, Mendlesham, Suffolk, England
Died: 1951, Mendlesham, Suffolk, England

Children

Florence Emily Jackaman, born 1874, Mendlesham, Suffolk, England
Rosetta Jackaman, born 1878, Mendlesham, Suffolk, England
George Jackaman, born 1879, Mendlesham, Suffolk, England
Ella Augusta Jackaman, born 1880, Mendlesham, Suffolk, England
George Edward Jackaman, born 1882, Mendlesham, Suffolk, England
Lilian Jackaman, born 1885, Mendlesham, Suffolk, England
Nimrod Jackaman, born 1886, Mendlesham, Suffolk, England
Canon Jackaman, born 1888, Mendlesham, Suffolk, England
Martin Jackaman, born 1890, Mendlesham, Suffolk, England
Bessie Jackaman, born 1892, Mendlesham, Suffolk, England
Cyril Jackaman, born 1893, Mendlesham, Suffolk, England

George Edward Jackaman

George was one of a long line of Jackamans who seem to have been in Mendlesham at least since the 1500s. It was quite an experience for me in 2010 to stand at the font in that church knowing that the Jackaman part of my family have worshipped, married, been baptised and left this earth in the same 12th century church for at least 4 to 500 years.

St Mary's Mendlesham, font to altar

Old George was a cordwainer (a particular sort of shoemaker) and poultryman as well as the parish clerk or sexton at that church in the late 1800s and early 1900s. A sexton is a church officer charged with the maintenance of its buildings and/or the surrounding graveyard. The parish clerk, in those times, recorded births, marriages, deaths and funerals and could, I gather, charge a small fee for doing so.

I don't know much more about my great grandfather, but this little snippet from a 1959 article by Walter Tye, a contemporary of George's, brought him to life a little for me.

'The most enjoyable sing-song of the year was that f'ollowing the Church Choir tea, when Vicar, wardens choristers, bell-ringers, and organ blower, met at the Royal Oak Inn for their annual Christmas party. Supper over, everybody was in convivial mood, ready to take an active part in the evening's entertainment. No need for a printed programme, for the same songs, speeches, tales, etc, were repeated, and asked for, year after year. The Village Schoolmaster, Arthur Mayfield, was the only one to offer variety.

'Sutton Bendall, the young Miller, usually started the evening with his unique little song, "I really can't sit still". This suited the boys, who joined in the chorus with vigour. Then followed the Village Sexton, George Jackaman, who, although old and tremulous, never failed to get a clap for his rendering of Tim Flanagan’s Ball.'

While the building that was the Royal Oak is no longer a pub, it is still there. Apparently it was also the local courthouse as well.

Former Royal Oak public house

Mary Ann Cobbold

Again, I don't much about my great grandmother, except that she was long-lived. Born in 1854, she died at 96 in 1951. Ironically, that was same year her daughter, my grandmother, died. When I visited Mendlesham in 2009 and 2010, I tried, unsuccessfully, to find her grave.

A Canadian cousin of mine, John Jackaman, has the following memories of Mary Ann.

'My great-grandmother, then in her 90’s, lived in the village and we visited her from time to time. She must have been a grand old girl as I can still hear the family admonishing her for balancing on a stepladder and whitewashing her own kitchen despite her advanced years. My sister hinted that great-grandmother was a kept woman at one point in her life, but I never heard any details of such naughty goings on.'

Mary Ann Cobbold at the back door of the Front Street house, 1936 (courtesy Sheila Culbertson)

She certainly was an attractive lady in her younger years, as the picture at the head of this article shows.

 Mendlesham

Mendlesham in about 1908

Mendlesham is a small, very quiet village in Suffolk, eight kilometers north east of Stowmarket. It has about 1,300 inhabitants. The name of the village is Anglo-Saxon and means Mendle's Farm or Village.

While the village doesn't appear in the Doomesday Book, it would appear that people have been living in the locality for thousands of years as archeological finds indicate the probable presence of Neolithic and Roman settlements. Scandinavian settlers are indicated by the village name and a silver crown, weighing 60 ounces, supposed to have belonged to a king of East Anglia, being dug up in the late 17th century. A runic (that is, Scandinavian) gold ring also was found in 1758.

There has been a church in Mendlesham for over 1,000 years, but most of the current structure dates from the 1200s. Dedicated to St Mary, the church includes some Norman arches; consists of nave, aisles, and chancel, with lofty tower; and was restored in 1864-6. The Church enjoys a glorious heritage with splendid mediaeval brasses and benches, an Elizabethan Holy table and a Jacobean pulpit and font cover. Over the North Porch is a fine armoury with its unique collection of Tudor armour. The parish register dates from 1558.

St Mary's Mendlesham

(Marian martyrs)
(Spanish Armada)
(Grocer's coin)
(There is a record of an Elizabeth Jackman being born in Mendlesham on 29 September 1567 - I assume an ancestor.)

Around 1870 the village was described as consisting mainly of two long streets (Front and Back [now Market] Streets), parallel with each other. It was formerly a market town, but by the 1870s the market had long been discontinued, however, there was a pleasure fair held annually in October. In the 1800s the Jackamans and their related families (especially the Finbows) seemed to congregate in this area.

The land was said to have clay subsoil and to be productive. The air was said to be ‘salubrious.’ In 1900 the chief crops were wheat, barley, peas and roots.

There were chapels for Independents and Baptists, a national school and an endowed grammar school. There were also three public houses, the Kings Head, The Oak Inn and the XXX.

In 1891, the population of the parish was 1,198.

Close by is the hamlet of Mendlesham Green. Though the green was distant only about 1½ miles from the village, the cultural gap seems to have been greater. Our contemporary observor, Walter Tye, tells us the story of Mendlesham's fire engine.

'During the early years of the century the 'Street', the traditional rival of the 'Green', was given a manually operated fire engine by Jacob Robinson, a local farmer. The village people were very proud of this, but not so the 'Green' folk, who vowed they would never use it, even though their old cottages burned to the ground. The chapel-goers and Radicals of the 'Green' would have nothing to do with the church-folk and Tories of the 'Street'. For those reasons the 'Green' decided to get its own fire engine. William Arbon, the local carpenter and general handyman, was asked to build it and a very good job he made of it apparently. Three men could work it and it was capable of throwing a powerful stream.'

Walter also gives a little glimpse of what people did for enjoyment in the late 1800s (from Music in the Village, by Walter Tye, The Suffolk Review, Bulletin of the Suffolk local History Council, Vol 2, No 2, June 1959).

'Most Suffolk village homes in late Victorian times had some sort of musical instrument, if only a concertina or a flute. With bad, and almost impassable, roads, and but little transport except the carriers cart, folks had either to make their own music, or go without.

'When passing through Mendlesham ‘Street’, or the ‘Green’, on a winter’s evening in the nineties, one could often hear a tinkling piano, or a wheezy harmonium, or maybe a whining fiddle; and should it be a Saturday night, one was bound to hear concertinas, grinding out their hornpipes, at the five Village Inns. There, on Tuesday evening, and the two Sunday services, one never failed to hear the five bells of St. Mary’s, which could easily be heard throughout the Parish. At such times the more enthusiastic boys stood around, looking forward to the time when they themselves could handle the ropes.

'This story of "Music in the Village" would not be complete without mention of the old Singing Games, which were frequently heard in the School playground during the nineties. One could seldom pass the School those days without hearing strains of "Poor Mary lies aweepin’, aweepin’, or "Now you’re married you must be good, make your husband chop the wood". Boys looked on these games as being silly~ preferring to keep to their hoops and spinning tops, but the girls took them seriously, impersonating in turn princesses, gypsies, dairymaids, etc. It was the introduction of 'organised games' that eventually killed the Singing Games, which had their origin on the Village Green.

'The last time I heard the old Singing Games was, strangely enough, at the Mendlesham Green Chapel treat, which was held in the meadow adjoining. There, on a summer's evening bearded deacons, Sunday School teachers and older scholars, joined in those fascinating "ring games". On one such occasion I succeeded in drawing away the men folk to play the new game of Soccer ~ much to the annoyance of the girls. The game, however, only lasted a few minutes. The strains of "Here We Go Gathering Nuts and May" proved too much for them. Donning their jackets, they slyly returned to their women folk, leaving the referee disgusted, but amused.'

A darker side of life in 19th century Mendlesham is shown in this item I found on the internet.

'The Suffolk Coroner (Mr Charton) on Tuesday held an inquest at the Green Man Inn, Mendlesham, touching the death of a child, named Maggie Alberta Wade, daughter of Henry Wade, an agricultural labourer. The first witness called was the mother, Elizabeth Wade, who stated that last Friday the deceased pulled a cup of boiling soup over herself and was badly scalded. She did not send for a doctor, but at once sent for an old woman living in the neighbourhood, whose name is Brundish, who, according to witness, is possessed of supernatural powers in the cure of burns and scalds. The old woman came at once, and said some strange words over the child, and passed her hands across the injured parts. Witness, under these circumstances, did not consider the attendance of a medical man necessary, but notwithstanding the woman's incantation, the child died in 40 hours. Witness persisted in expressing her belief in the old woman's power, and said she really was a witch. The female referred to declined to reveal the words spoken, as she said she would lose her power. Other witnesses professed their faith in the professions of the old woman. Eventually, after the Coroner had commented on the superstition exhibited, medical evidence was given to the effect that the child's life could not have been saved.'

Sources

Pastscape, English Heritage, National Monuments Record: www.pastscape.org.uk/default.aspx

Grandparents - Paternal

William and Florence Crick and children

William Crick

Born: 1881, Old Heath, Colchester, Essex, UK
Died: 1964, Carnegie, Victoria, Australia

Florence Emily 'Florrie' Jackaman

Born: 1874, Mendlesham, Sussex, UK
Died: 1951, Carnegie, Victoria, Australia

Children

Albert William, born 1903, West Ham, London, UK
Jack, born 1906, Canning Town, Essex, UK
Cyril, born 1910, Brentwood, Essex, UK

William Crick

Florence and William married in 1902 at St Marys in The Boltons in Kensington, now a quiet island in busy London. When you’re there today, only the sound of nannies and their charges on the street break the quiet.

Over the next 11 years Florence and William had three children, Albert William (my dad).

Obviously, they moved around a fair bit, and in 1913 made a huge move emigrating to Australia aboard the SS Beltana, arriving in Melbourne in 1913. There’s no evidence of why they chose to make such a break, my father certainly didn’t speak of it, even if he knew. I feel like my grandfather was a bit of a restless character. At a time when his brothers took up the family profession of brickmaking he went to London and worked as a railway signalman and later as an insurance agent. Once in Australia, he worked as an electricity meter reader and later collector, again moving around a bit in the south of Melbourne until settling in the then new suburb of Carnegie sometime in the early 1920s.

Florence Emily 'Florrie' Jackaman

I never knew my grandmother Florence, she died in 1951, two years after I was born. I vaguely remember a photo on the wall in my grandad’s house and my mum speaking of ‘old Mrs Crick.’

Until April 2011, apart from one story my mum told of her, I had nothing of her, no photos or other artefacts, no memories. Then, completely out of the blue, from reading this blog, a previously unknown cousin, Marge Coombes, contacted me and said she had a photo of Florence. 'Would I like a copy?' she asked. Following my very enthusiastic 'yes' it duly arrived. It's the photo above, and shows not only Florence, but my grandfather and my dad as a young man (he's standing behind Florence) and his brothers, Jack (behind William) and Cyril. It turns out the photo was actually a postcard sent to my great grandmother with a message in Florence's handwriting. So, suddenly, Florence was much more 'real' to me.

Florence was born in Mendlesham (see here), in 1874 and her birth registered under her mother’s surname (Cobbold), so I would assume she was illegitimate – her mother (Mary Ann) married George Jackaman in 1875 and Florence took that name: her birth date on her wedding certificate retrospectively revised to legitimise her. I assume George was her father, though it is possible he was not.

In the 1891 census, Florence is shown as a domestic at the local vicarage, but by 1901 she’s in London working and living as a domestic in a fairly grand home in Kensington. Working with her is an Elizabeth Crick, so I assume she met my grandfather, William Crick, through Elizabeth. I can’t yet connect Elizabeth to our Cricks, but it seems very unlikely to be a co-incidence. However, interestingly, there are Jackamans in my grandfather’s family tree too, but from Essex, not Suffolk.

The House at Woornack Road

Today, Carnegie is a quiet, leafy, middle class suburb in the east of Melbourne on the fringe of the old Melbourne. There is nothing but suburban sprawl between it, distant Dandenong and beyond. When my grandfather moved there, it was a brand new suburb with paddocks, farms and small settlements between it and the then country town of Dandenong.

Carnegie was originally called Rosstown, after William Murray Ross, a developer. The name was changed in 1909 to try and distance the suburb from the connotations of failure brought about by Ross' sugar beet mill project which never began production, and the Rosstown Railway. The name Carnegie was chosen in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to secure funds for a library from the philanthropist Andrew Carnegie. The original name lives on in the name of the local hotel, and Rosstown Road. (Wikipedia).

My grandparents built a house there that I remember vividly from my childhood. A modest weatherboard house in XXXX style, it had a brick fence with wrought iron gates that opened on a long ashphalt driveway that led up to the driveway. The driveway passed under a tall topiary arch at the swide of the house. We never entered by the front door, we always passed under the arch to the back of the house.

Once through the back door of the house, it always seemed cool and quiet inside. Immediately inside the door was a lobby containing a large pantry, quite often granddad would produce a soft drink for me out of that pantry. There was an umbrella stand in this lobby made out of an elephant's foot - it seemed incredibly exotic to me when I was a child. To the left was a bathroom, to the right a kitchen. This kitchen was tiny, there was no room for much except a small sink, a table for two people, some shelves and a stove set into a brick surround. I'm pretty sure the lobby and bathroom had been added on as you could see the weatherboards that had formed the back of the house surrounding the door that led into the main part of the house.

Once through that door, there was a small sitting room that had glass fronted bookshelves on either side of a fireplace, these bookcases fascinated me, apart from books and photos they had amazing objects like a seahorse skeleton. I spent a lot of time on visits peering at these treasures. On one wall was a picture illustrating the story of the little drummer boy in Napoleon's army (????).

My grandad had a lounge chair with wooden arms in the corner near a window. I remember him sitting in that chair, smoking his pipe, dressed in a cardigan, collar and tie. I hear his voice even now. I adored him.

Beyond that were two small bedrooms, the master bedroom and a lounge. The front door opened directly onto this lounge, which never seemed to be used. Indeed, many years later my Uncle Jack took me through this part of the house and I'm pretty sure this was the first time I'd been in it.

Leaving the house, you stepped through the back door (the wooden screen door banging behind you) into a space enclosed by an open frame that extended the roof line of the house. You can just see it in the photo of granddad and Uncle Jack at the fishpond. The frame was partially covered by some sort of creeper which created a cool, dampish space for the fern garden under it.

As you faced the back of the block from this space there were two enclosed areas on either side of a concrete path leading all the way to the garage at the very back of the property. On the left was a space enclosed on three sides that contained an aviary. There were only a few birds in the aviary when I knew the house, but it had once held a lot more. The open side of this space faced a small workshop. Quite a few times I ‘helped’ my grandfather fix or make something in this workshop. Sometimes he even made me a car or other toy out of scrap wood. I think this workshop had once been the laundry – part of the floor and adjacent wall were bricked in the way our laundry was to accommodate a copper for heating water on wash days.

On the right facing from the back door was the fish pond. It was enclosed on all four sides – three of which were more fern gardens. The fish pond was quite small and covered in chicken wire to protect the fish. It held a dozen or so large goldfish swimming among the lily pads. I can remember watching those fish for what seemed like hours.

Uncle Jack and Granddad Crick looking towards the fishpond. This is how I remember my grandad.

Sprinkled among the ferns in this area were many creatures, some of them monkeys, others just indefinable beings. They were made from painted pieces of driftwood, coconut shells and so on. Some had hair made from coir, if I remember right. I found them somewhat scary as a child, but fascinating. I guess my grandfather had made them, but I don’t really know. The only thing I can compare them to is some of the animal figures in the Rock Garden of Chardigarh in India.

This whole area was green, shady and still, lit only by dappled sunlight. There were plenty of things to see in it, but equally, you could just sit and read or just doze. It occurs to me that my love of similar places comes from this little oasis in my grandfather’s house.

Walking along the concrete path took you to the backyard. Here the path was raised two or so feet above the surrounds. The lower area had a series of raised garden beds each had a frame on top made from plumbing pipe allowing each bed to be covered in chicken wire. I remember strawberries growing here surrounded by straw, but I’m sure other things were grown here. It looked very much like the allotments that were once common in England. Along the fence line were a number of chook pens. By my time they were no longer used as such, but must have held a large number of chooks at one time. On the other side of this space was a frame made from plumbing pipe that had some sort of apple tree trained to grow on it. The apples were sour and inedible, but I think they were used for preserves and the like.

Next to the apple frame was a narrow driveway leading to the garage – the centre of operations in the eye of my Uncle Jack and dad. The garage looked like it had been built in two stages, the left side professionally; the right and taller part of the structure, not so professionally. This part was where the cars were worked on; it had a compacted dirt floor and always smelt of oil. If your clothes made contact with the floor here you were left with a black oily smudge on them.

Oddly, there were several prints mounted on the wall here. Covered in plastic, they were framed by scrap bits of pine that had been painted green or red. I can’t remember the subjects of the prints, but I’m pretty sure they were 19th century style prints of ‘uplifting’ or military subjects.

The other part of the garage was the workshop and contained a variety of lathes and drills as well as workbenches and storage. It was always cool and dim in here, lit by a single naked globe. I watched my uncle with fascination as he turned out replacement car parts that could not bought or things to fix things around the house.

It’s all gone now, of course, bulldozed after my uncle’s death and replaced by units. The thought of that eccentric but absolutely fascinating space being ruthlessly torn down fills me with sadness. I’ve stood in front of 48 Woornack Road many times since, but the dull boredom of the chocolate coloured units there now is too sad to linger for long.

Grandparents - Maternal

Eric Ernest Fredrickson or Frederickson


Born: 1893, Turku (Abo), Finland
Died: 1974, Cheltenham, Victoria, Australia

Muriel Bailey

Born: Bendigo, Victoria, 1898
Died: Patterson Lakes, Victoria, 1986

Children

Evelyn Frederickson
Cliff Ernest Frederickson
Eric Herbert Frederickson
June Frederickson
Alan John Frederickson
Betty Frederickson
Lorna Frederickson
Ronald Frederickson
Margaret Frederickson

Muriel Bailey

When I was a child, we used to visit my grandparents more or less every Saturday or Sunday. Their house had a huge kitchen with a large dining table. The whole clan seemed to gather here on the weekends and the kitchen always seemed full of activity - especially cooking. We had lunch around that table, though often the children were set up on a card table next to the big table. With nine brothers and sisters and their spouses and offspring to accomodate, room was often at a premium.

My gran used to make the most delicious cakes and puddings, Christmas was a special treat with a plum pudding full of sixpences and thrupences. She also used to make cakes decorated to look like fruit barrows - each cake had wheels and dowell handles and a load of fruit fashioned from marzapan. It was a fond wish of mine to have one of these cakes, but I never got one, they seemed to be for sale only.


After my grandfather died, my grandmother seemed to go through a sea-change. She sold the old house in Carrum and bought in Frankston - but she seemed restless. She was always out with one or other of my aunts or uncles or on a bus tour - even though the bus ride inevitably made her ill. All this caused some grief for my mum, often they would arrange to visit on a Sunday to find her gone or about to go, 'ditched for someone else', as mum used to put it.

Still, I loved my gran, she seemed like a decent woman who had worked hard all her life - she was always kind to me.


Eric Fredrickson or Frederickson

Born: 1893, Turku (Abo), Finland

Died: 1974, Cheltenham, Victoria

There's some doubt that this man was my grandfather at all - see the entry for my mother - but I certainly believed he was for the longest part of my life, so let's treat him that way.

He was born in Finland, but of Swedish ethnicity. Finland had been ruled by Sweden for many centuries and occupied by Swedish colonists, though in 1809 it became part of the Russian Empire. Swedish was the dominant language up until the late 19th century. Frederickson is a Swedish name and grandfather was definately part of the Swedish community in Finland - though how they had been there is a mystery. See here for more information on Finland. I was quiet pleased to discover having Swedish roots, I had long admired their social democracy and general way of living. Now I worry that there's no connection at all.

The family story, as I remember it, was that he was a sailor who'd arrived here as a consequence of being torpedoed in the Atlantic in the First World War having being picked up by an Australian ship on the way home.

From his naturalization papers I discovered that he'd served from October 1912 until January 1913 on an Italian ship, then on Finnish ships until January 1914 and then on Belgian ships until April 1917. He then served on English ships (one a troop ship that was sunk and for which he received a British mercantile marine medal) until 'I left the English ship in New york and came over to Australia on a Finnish ship.' He arrived here on 2 July 1917 on the Marlborough Hill, a merchant ship. Despite the English name, the ship was owned by a Finnish firm and captained by an ethnic Swede, Captain Nicholai Tornqvist. It had been captained by ethnic Swedes since being bought by the Finnish company in 1911.

The Marlborough Hill
I wonder if his memory was a little hazy here. The Marlborough Hill is recorded as sailing from New York in 1916, not 1917, with a cargo of 95,000 barrels of oil. In any case, he disembarked in Port Adelaide and was registered there.

By late 1920 he says that he had spent 18 months on Australian ships in Australian waters, four months in Bendigo and eight months in Geelong.

What happened after that is unclear. While mum and her brother Cliff (born 1920) were born in Bendigo, the next two children, Eric (b 1922) and Alan (b 1926) were born in Geelong. My grandfather said in the information he supplied to the Commonwealth in 1920 that he was living in Geelong and working not far away at the Portland Cement Company in Batesford.


At some point, according to my mother, her father got work on the railway being built in Gippsland. She told of living in a tent out in the bush and walking miles in the bush barefooted. Once, she found a snake under her bed. It seems she used to sleepwalk as she said her father used to put a trough of water next to her bed to wake her up if she went to sleepwalk.

The family must have been in the western suburbs of Melbourne as she pointed out a primary school in Braybrook as one she had attended.

In any case, the family is first recorded at what became their family home in Carrum in 1942. My grandfather is recorded as a seaman again, as he was again in 1949.

My strongest memory of my grandfather was a small old man who sat in the kitchen of my grandparent's home in Carrum. In winter he sat by a small, free standing heater that burnt coke - he spoke rarely and never seemed to go anywhere, just sat by his heater darning or knitting socks. I remember being astonished one Sunday visit when he wasn't there and appeared some time later in a car with one of my uncles.

To be honest, I wasn't fond of him, he seemed a silent, grumpy old man. One of my cousins thinks his silence was due to his poor English, I don't remember that, but it's very possible. One of the few things I do remember him saying was that my mother should send me down to stay with him for a while as he would 'sharpen me up.' I didn't see why I needed 'sharpening up' and I guess I was a little scared of him. I think I stopped going to gran's on Sundays with my parents not long after that.

I remember him being very good at knots, obviously since he'd been a sailor and I do remember him showing me how to tie some knots. Sadly, I forgot all he showed me - there have been many, many occasions on which I'd wished I could recall those knots.

Cousin's memories here

He died in 1974 in an aged care facility in Kingston in Melbourne's south east. I vaguely remembering him lingering on for a while but being somewhat delirious. He reverted to speaking his native Swedish apparently, so no-one knew what he was saying. I remember taking my mum to visit him while he was dying and her teeth chattering so badly I had to stop the car to try and calm her down.

44 Westley Street, Carrum

My grandparents brown weatherboard house in Carrum looked like it had been built somewhere between 1900 and 1920. I gather the house was bought for the family by Uncle Cliff.

It had a creaking widish verandah at the front capped by a bullnose tin roof. There was a passionfruit vine growing over part of the verandah and I can remember sitting out there with the adults picking the fruit and eating it on the spot. I still love passionfruit.

The house had a picket fence with a front gate and path that led to the front door. Once through the then ubiquitous slamming screen door, you were in the front passageway with a large bedroom on either side. If we stayed over, we slept in the bedroom to the left, the other being my grandparents. I still remember waking up to the loud singing of birds - something we didn't have around our Yarraville home, at least not noisy ones anyway.

The passageway led to a large lounge, off this, to the right, was the even larger kitchen/dining room, the hub of the house. All but the kitchen/dining room seemed to be kept in shade and were quite gloomy.

If you went out the back door from the kitchen, you were led down some steps to a sort of storage/work area and, I think, the bathroom and laundry. These seem to have been added later. The back door of this area led to the backyard.

The house was set on a large block and had lots to see and do. My Uncle Cliff had a radio shack down the back that also housed my Uncle Ron's guns. My cousins and I sometimes played with the guns, no-one stopped us. I remember there being ammunition there too, luckily we nver thought to put two and two together! I jammed the bolt action of one of the rifles once, I just put it back in its place and hoped that no-one would notice. I lived in fear for some weeks that someone would notice. The radio shack had a very high metal tower that served as an aerial that we used to climb. Again no-one stopped us, indeed I can remember adults watching us do it.

A path from the back door led to the toilet located at the outer reaches of the block...a very scary trip for which you needed a torch at night. A cousin remembers that you had to pass over a little bridge to get to the toilet. Even in daylight it was somewhat scary for sooky me, the house wasn't sewered and the toilet had a pan - I was sure something was going to bite me when I sat on it!

The block was divided in two by a string of trees - it was possible to move from tree to tree without getting down to ground level - I spent many happy hours sitting in these trees or navigating my way across them, looking down at the world. It suited shy me to be up and away from everybody.

At one end of the tree line, making a right angle with it was a terrace of three 'sheds' made of cement block, I think with a set of steps leading to each one. I don't think they had been professionally built and had been sleeping quarters for those who couldn't be accomodated in the house. Since all my aunts and uncles had left home by the fifties, they had reverted to storage. I remember getting a fish hook stuck in my finger while on an unauthorised expedition searching the 'sheds.'

Carrum is now a suburb of Melbourne, then it was semi-rural - not far from gran's house you were out in the bush. I remember going rabbit hunting with my uncles and watching them put ferrets down rabbit burrows. We went fishing out on the Patterson River in a small boat - no life jackets and I couldn't swim! I also remember picking blackberries and mushrooms near Uncle Ron's place - just a street or two way from gran's.

I went to take some photos of the house recently, but it had been demolished...