This year marks the 121st anniversary of the birth of my Nana. Gertrude Ellen Wilson was born on the 25th of September, 1902 in South Melbourne.
Her father was Andrew Bower Wilson, the Australian born son of David & Euphemia (Hay) Wilson, from Scotland, whose story I’ve written about in Pieces of History – the story of the grandmother bracelet.
Her mother was known as Sarah Jane DELISE in the family until my mother and I began researching the family history. Starting from my Nana’s family story that, her mother and aunty Lizzie had been put “into service” and they had two brothers who were sent to an orphanage, my Mum obtained the Children’s Register records showing that Sarah Jane, her sister Elizabeth and 2 year old brother John Evans Delise had been placed into care after the death of their mother in Echuca in 1874.
Placed “into care” at that time of course meant that the children themselves were charged with the offence of being neglected, because their mother had died and their father was in hospital. They were cared for only until they were old enough to go out to work. The records of all three children contained a note that “the proper name of these children is Desriz“. Inspite of which their records were maintained under the name Delise and all of them used that name from then on. The records also referred to a sister Harriet living in Echuca, which led to the discovery of another sister Mary Ann, and not just one other brother, but three; George, Charles, and Edward. The older boys used the name Derris and the two older sisters are recorded in their marriage registrations under the names Desry and Darus (sometimes mis-transcribed as Davis). Their father George Adolphus was a sailor on a French whaling boat in the 1840s, and he married Mary Evans in 1852 in Melbourne. The story of the Desriz/Desrez/Derris family deserves a post of it’s own.
Gertrude lived in South Melbourne all her life, first in a house in Cobden Street and then in a Eastern Road just around the corner. She had a sister, Euphemia, born in 1904, who died at just one year old. Then a younger brother George, who grew up to marry and have 2 children of his own in the Cobden Street house, which was still owned by the family.
In 1924 on New Year’s Eve she married Arthur Butler. Her mother Sarah Jane was so distressed by the idea of her daughter getting married and leaving home that she begged Arthur to come and live with them in the Easter Road house rather than take her girl away from her. On the wedding day Sarah refused to attend the wedding claiming illness, so great grandpa Andrew stayed at home to take care of her. My mother’s view of the incident is that it would have been one her Nana’s usual “funny turns” that used to occur whenever she wasn’t getting her own way.
Arthur’s step father Sam Wagland stepped in to give away the bride, so that is why this wedding photo doesn’t include the father of the bride.
My mother Dorothy was born in January 1926, and grew up as a cherished and somewhat indulged “only child”. Gertrude and Arthur had two more children, both boys, who didn’t survive to grow up. All the children were born at home, and friends and family visited the new arrivals almost immediately, as that was how things were in those days. Arthur George caught whooping cough because there were no vaccines for it in 1929, and he was buried at just 3 days of age. Ronald was born 13 months later but only lived for a few hours. Unlike some families of that time who would suppress the memories of lost children, my Nana always talked to us about her little boys. I always knew that my brother and I were loved by my grandparents, even though my Nana never kissed us. Watching her hold my own babies and seeing how she avoided kissing them or even putting her face too close to theirs, I could see the memories of her own babies and her sadness and fear even 50 years later.
Living together in a three generational house had its advantages. Gertie and her parents were able to support each other through the tough times; the loss of the babies, the accidental death of Gertie’s father Andrew in 1934, and also to enjoy the good times. Sarah Jane had become an excellent cook in her years in service, and my mother’s cousin George remembers his friends in the neighbourhood always wanted to play at George’s Nana’s house when she was baking biscuits.
After Sarah Jane died in 1952, and with Dorothy now married and raising her own family, Gertie and Arthur were alone as a couple for the first time in their marriage, they spent many happy holidays travelling around Victoria, and even as far as Western Australia. First in their car and then a Kombi Van, which Grandpa had fitted out with everything they needed for camping holidays.
In later years Arthur began to develop Alzheimers, but Gertie took care of him until he died in 1979. Gertie soldiered on for another 13 years looking after herself and the old house as she had always done. Steadfastly refusing my parents’ offers to take her to live with them. I remember when I was a child and she had nearly chopped the top of her thumb off, while splitting wood for the old wood fired stove in her kitchen in which her mother had baked the biscuits and other treats, and which still heated Nana’s house even though she had a gas stove on which to cook. She had cleaned the wound and stuck the partially severed joint back together and bandaged it up. It healed OK, although she lost the feeling in the top of that thumb. She belonged to the generation that had survived 2 World Wars, the flu pandemic and the depression, so she wasn’t going to be molly-coddled just because she was getting a bit old.
Gertie died on the 20th of August 1992, just 5 weeks before her 90th birthday, in the family home that she’d lived in for more than 80 of those years.
History seem far away from us sometimes but it’s closer than we think.
Five women in two photos taken 30 years apart. Only the two babies are still alive now; my daughter and me, but my great grandmother, holding me in the first photo, was born in 1865 and died in 1952 at the age of 87. My mother lived to 94. Together we span three different centuries and 158 years of history… so far.
Categories: Genealogy Pieces of History
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