A Wedderburn letter on Facebook!

There is an 1820 Settler's Group on Facebook and I briefly note their posts until this one popped into my inbox. So exciting! 

A letter to my ancestor William Wedderburn, the son of Christopher and Ann (nee Quail), from his cousin John Wedderburn from  Manchester. William and his brother George, who is mentioned in the letter came out with their parents in 1820, William settled in Grahamstown and George farmed with Christopher at Linsdale in Salem. I so not have a photo of this William Wedderburn.

From 1820 Settler Facebook post: by Warren G Mandy on the 16 November 2016. 

By Peter Garwood in France

Dear Cousin! 

[WILLIAM WEDDERBURN b. 1800, grandfather of Alexander John Ennis, centre of photo]

Back Row: Percy (my grandfather), Lex, (Alexander, who was killed in the First World War), Daisy, Barry, Boetie

Centre Row: Gwen, Frances Alice (Birdie), Alexander John Ennis, Susannah Alice (Cawood), Polly

Front Row: Stella, Phyllis (daughter of Daisy & AH Holmes), Prim and Joyce.

PHOTO TAKEN 1903/1904

I received your letter of the 20th February and likewise one from your brother George of the 5th. Feb. 

I have not seen or heard anything of Mr. Shaw since I received the letter, he sent it by Post. I am glad to hear that you are all recovered from your late sickness. 

I am sorry to inform you that my eldest sister Mary Ann is dead, she died in child bed, she has left two children, Sister Betsy has 3, and Sister Jane is now lying in of the 4th, I believe she is doing well, she lives at Eccles, Brother Adam lives with me, he is single yet; I think I sent you word in my last, that Uncle William was dead; there is a cousin of ours by the name of Bibbey, that lives here in Manchester, he is a Sailor, I believe the rest of relations at Ulverston are all well; it appears that you hear bad accounts of England, but it is without foundation; Trade has been very brisk in general, you would scarce know Manchester, they have made a deal of the public streets, wider such as Market Street, and many others, there are large public Buildings making all over the Town, there seems no be no want of money amongst them, there is a Railway to Liverpool, we can go 36 miles in 1½ hours; 

I sent your letter to Mr. Quail of Liverpool, he was glad to hear from you, they are all very well, they have not received a letter from you these 2 or 3 years, they thought you were all dead. I understood they had written frequently to you; they have made Manchester into a Borough Town, we send 2 Members to Parliament; we are going to have the ******* held here instead of Lancaster, they say we are to be governed by a Mayor; my wife’s Brother and family are gone to America, my wife wants to go, but I think there is no place like Old England. Times were never much better, tho’ we are heavy taxed, they are going to reduce many of them, and I don’t mind, how soon. 

Mr. Adamthwait is very well, he is always glad to hear from you, he is retired from Business, and given it up to his son, I do business with them, and have done some years, he wishes to be kindly remembered to Uncle & Aunt, Mrs. Boden is very well, sends her respects and Mother’s to all, and could like to see Uncle & Aunt, if it was not so far, there are many always enquiring after my Uncle, Mr. Bewley ***** belonging to the Sick Society that he belonged, Mr. Shaw that was the Clerk of it, belongs to a Society that I am in, there is a Mr. Milner attends my house regular, that is often talking about him, and Mr. Pod that died, had your house, he was apprentice with Mr. Brown **** Deans Gate; Mrs Russell’s printing Concern is given ****, the Sons are turned out wild, one is a Doctor, the youngest Samuel should have looked after the Business, but he was too fond of his Drink. 

Mr. Fawcet still lives in the old place, Mr. Lane & family are still living and doing well, Mr. Lane has been presented with a piece of Plate for his long service in the Philanthropic Society; we have 5 or 6 new Churches built in Manchester, and the neighbourhood, besides many Chapels since you left, indeed it is not like the same place, there are finer shops in Market Street, than there are in London, they are built of Stone *** 6 stories high. 

Give my Wife’s very kindest respects to my Uncle & Aunt, your cousin George & Sisters, tell him I received his letter, and was glad to hear they were so comfortable at home, I would like to see my Uncle and all of you once more, but that is impossible, so I remain

Your affectionate Cousin,

John Wedderburn

Tell your Brother to direct for me at the Adam * Collingwood Fleetstreet, Deansgate, it is the house that I keep at present.

Finding Chartree Villa in Freshwater, Isle of Wight

Ventnor Old Cemetery floating above the Atlantic Ocean

Records from the Heritage Museum in Ventnor showed that Ann Argyle, my great, great grandmother, died on the 14 December in 1894 and was buried in the Old Cemetery in Ventnor in Plot B, 2869. Fred and I walked around the cemetery but the headstones are so faded and the plots unmarked, so we quietly moved on. She had died before meeting her little granddaughter, Nellie.

William and Kathleen were living at No 2, Chartree Villa, Copse Lane in Freshwater when Nan was born in 1899. We headed to Freshwater, found Copse Lane and were so surprised to find the house, still called Chartree almost 120 years later! I felt emotional and teary, Nan meant so much to me as a little girl living in Vanderbijlpark.

Nan's Birth Certificate noting the family's address in Freshwater as Chartree Villa, Copse Lane

William and Kathleen's home on Copse Lane and the views of the streets where they would have walked.

Postscript:

I am going to dedicate my latest quilt that I am working on to Ann Argyle as a celebration of my female line. 

The quilt is inspired from a workshop with Kaffe Fassett and I used pieces of Mom's material and antique fabric in the quilt. 

Maybe the title could be: Hands over the Ages.

Life of a Laundress in Ventnor, Isle of Wight

Walking to the Heritage Museum in Ventnor, I could not believe that their display and focus was on the Laundresses of Ventnor in the 1880's! It felt as if the universe was talking to me, if not my great, great grandmother Ann. 

After leaving service at London House she was a Charwoman and then in the 1871 and 1881 Census's she is a Laundress. Reading the information at the Museum, they even mention the street where she lived with John and her children William (my great grandfather) and Anne - St. Catherine's Street. So moving.

It is not clear whether she worked for the 'modern' steam laundry or whether she took in laundry but either way, she laboured long and hard over the decades in this Victorian era town, that was popular with consumptives from the mainland. The arch in the photo above was the entrance to the laundry.

The 1871 Census, Ann is a mother now, with 2 children and a laundress in Ventnor.

The Argyle home at 54 St. Catherine's Street, is now number 14, another amazing bit of sleuthing done by Jeff from the Ventnor History Society. Fred and I walked the town understanding Ann's neighbourhood and took photos of her street and home. 

Just remarkable that so much survives for which I am so grateful.

Finding the home of my great, great grandmother Ann Argyle during 19th until her death in 1894.

Information from the Ventnor Heritage Museum:

The story of a Housemaid a London House, Ventnor, Isle of Wight

Finding London House in Ventnor where my great, great Grandmother was a Housemaid

I have come to the Isle of Wight and to Ventnor specifically to find traces of my mother's maternal line. My Nan, Nellie Winifred van der Veen, (nee Argyle), was born here. 

During my ancestral research Ann Sibbick's story completely captured my imagination. After growing up in Ryde, the 1851 Census shows her in service as a Housemaid at London House, Ventnor, working for a Elizabeth Briant a Wine Merchant.

Ann, goes onto marry John Argyle and she is my great, great grandmother.

1851 Census, a 20 year old Ann Sibbick is a Housemaid at London House.

Fred and I went into the Heritage Society in Ventnor and met Jeff, I shared the story with him and asked for help in tracing London House. He was fabulous, he spent the day researching all the historical documents, followed a few leads and worked out the story of London House!

It was right under our nose, a building in High Street, Ventnor developed by Elizabeth Briant's father-in-law, that you can see from the Society's office! The deli called The Kitchen@London House is at the centre of the building. We popped into the deli and met the owner who used the name London House because the previous owner had used it in their address too. The dentist offices next door have retained the original sweeping staircase. I was so thrilled!

So thrilled to find London House, chatting to the Deli owner about the history and going up the original stairs, now a dentist's rooms.

High Street, Ventnor in 1880's

The story of a Housemaid a London House, Ventnor, Isle of Wight

Finding London House in Ventnor where my great, great Grandmother was a Housemaid

I have come to the Isle of Wight and to Ventnor specifically to find traces of my mother's maternal line. My Nan, Nellie Winifred van der Veen, (nee Argyle), was born here. 

During my ancestral research Ann Sibbick's story completely captured my imagination. After growing up in Ryde, the 1851 Census shows her in service as a Housemaid at London House, Ventnor, working for a Elizabeth Briant a Wine Merchant.

Ann, goes onto marry John Argyle and she is my great, great grandmother.

1851 Census, a 20 year old Ann Sibbick is a Housemaid at London House.

Fred and I went into the History Society in Ventnor and met Jeff, I shared the story with him and asked for help in tracing London House. He was fabulous, he spent the day researching all the historical documents, followed a few leads and worked out the story of London House!

It was right under our nose, a building in High Street, Ventnor developed by Elizabeth Briant's father-in-law, that you can see from the Society's office! The deli called The Kitchen@London House is at the centre of the building. We popped into the deli and met the owner who used the name London House because the previous owner had used it in their address too. The dentist offices next door have retained the original sweeping staircase. I was so thrilled!

So thrilled to find London House, chatting to the Deli owner about the history and going up the original stairs, now a dentist's rooms.

High Street, Ventnor in 1880's

"I remain pale and interesting" a postcard from July 1987

Thirty years ago Fred and I were about to relocated to Paris with two babies and here I am planning a summer holiday in Europe. Of all the places to celebrate my 60th birthday it feels perfect to return to France.

Two friendships defined my time living in Marly-le-Roi, Sally and Andrea. It has become important for me to find these special women on my travels. I look at photos from these years and I so look forward to spending time with both of them. I want to sit around a table again with a glass of wine, to share memories and the bridge all the years. How wonderful, we are making it happen.

This postcard in my box of letters from Andrea makes me smile, I am not doubt she remains 'pale and interesting'. I am going to make a point of driving through the Haute Province, through the Gorge du Verdon neat Castillion, and to find fields of lavender and to take in the intoxicating fragrance.

Dearest Sally and Andrea, see you both soon!

Special friendships. France 1987

For my father: John Ennis Wedderburn

The vervet monkey on the laundry fence has balls that rival your blue eyes.

In this broken body, your eyes are beautiful, clear whites, no sign of the pterygiums that plagued you.

I recall the two operations and countless bottles of eye drops.

You have no need for your glasses either and I see those eyes clearly. Penetrating.

I am deep in tears when they stop seeing me.

Was there one more moment when you looked?

Did I feel your lips pucker lightly on my cheek?

I sit.

Your left foot moves with a light shudder now and again, the deformed nail visible, your toes deeply curled, but your foot is unblemished, smooth and fine boned.

Your left hand is perfect, the fingers long and straight with deep nail beds; your nails are to be admired.

Today we hold hands.

So many years of just patting your hand and only now do I hang onto this same hand?

You grip firmly. Reflex? I do not really care. It feels comforting for me.

Out the windows the sky echoes the blue I am looking at.

What colour are these curtains though, pink, orange, somewhere in between and they match that plant flourishing in the garden beyond the tar.

You have always been a quiet man and now you are silent.

They say the hearing remains as death nears, where are my words, they are failing me, and my vigil is in silence.

Beyond silence even, I am mute.

‘My Daddy”. Where does this longing come from, you have always been Dad.

Distracted.

A small black spider moves quickly along the basin, a fly has found its way into the room, this so called Angel Room with its broken pane of glass, even a midge or two catch my awareness.

I did not know that watching you being shaved by Freeman would be the last time, I could not begin to reason that this is your last day.

I lean forward and stroke your hand; I follow the deep valleys between the tendons and veins, strong, firm and graceful.

Your outline has been unchanged for a few years now, yoga tree pose, right leg tucked up high along the left leg, the rigidly bent right arm and clawed right hand all evidence of that long ago first stroke that did not take you from us, we had 17 more years with you.

I sit in gratitude.

I am tongue-tied during this day but my mind dances with thoughts.

 I watch the bubbles of regret that surface; I look at them, and match your breathing to come back to the present.

It exhausts me, you breathe deep from your belly, your chest straining and even the shoulder is engaged to do work.

What does it mean when they say you are not suffering.

Does the morphine make you oblivious to your red-faced coughing as you gasp for air?

I appreciate that some day the memories of this, your last day, will join all my other memories of you that span more than five decades.

But I cannot access memories right now, I am stuck in this day.

Gently rubbing your chest and shoulders I am in awe of your dignity.

How I respect you, my gentleman father and the legacy you leave me with.

Apart from saying that aging is not for sissies you have never complained.

You ask us to care for each other and you have been our role model on how to do that.

The Angel Room is not quiet.

The mattress vibrator clicks in and out of action, I can feel the rise and fall under my hand, the fan whirs trying to cool down this South Coast heat, staff come and go, the floor gets a lick of water, red-winged starlings are calling, the continual action of D-floor happens around us both.

The comings and goings have no interest to you, no more irritation or light frowning.

A cup of tea and a syrupy sweet mug of coffee for me are welcomed as the day lengthens.

I focus on the framed photos on the bedside table.

Our sisterhood reflects in our broad happy smiles, you had that same smile, you love us and we love you in turn.

Whole-heartedly.

Tears blur my vision when I watch your mouth, now a straining gaping hole, dry, a deep bubbling from the back of your throat as the flem builds and attempts to drown you. 

I am picking up an new odour.

Heart, keep beating please.

But, I want it to gave up gracefully, I do not want you to be on your own.

A damp, cool towel works its little bit of magic. As I gently wipe your face your brows lift in response, Dad you are here with me still.

You are gaunt, with eyes deeply sunken, what regal cheekbones, I run my hand over your sunken cheeks.

You loved food and today you can no longer eat or drink. 

I come empty handed.

My arm has gone numb, I slowly remove my hand, you shake in response, I text some updates to my sisters who wait in the same pain as me for the answer to the question ‘when?’

I am so tired and wait for the 6pm morphine, that 1ml syringed into the back of your throat.

The call comes later that night.

Hello Mooi Havens?

My physical body response is violent, the arrogance of thinking I would be prepared for the message from the empathetic voice on the phone.

Make the calls, find clothes, a late night drive, dark buildings, security guards, sliding door, a corridor.

I notice that I still respect your privacy under the worn, thin white sheet.

I take a deep breath, try to still my heart, and ease down the sheet from over your face.

A pillow necklaces your chin, your mouth no longer strains with each breath, it is so firmly shut now, as are your eyes.

I kiss you goodbye. And again.

The last time I hold your hand it is so soft, cooling, malleable, broken hearted I revert to patting your hand as I wait for your last bed to arrive.

I sit, I am so proud to be one of your girls; you are my ever-loving father.

John Ennis Wedderburn

22 June 1929 – 18 April 2016