Clockwise from top left: Ivy Flora Hose (Hay)- my grandmother at 16 years. My mother -Elma Flora Hay (taken on her 3rd birthday) and Ivy Hay and Jack (John) Hay on their wedding day (my grandparents).

My mother, Elma - in the off-shoulder dress at age 18 years; top right photo when in her early 20s.

Gympie's Scottish Gold Mine - courtesy of  Gympie Heritage Trails

Following a discourse over the past few hours between Yorkie and me on his blog – “Yorkshire Pudding” - I was reminded of a post I wrote for my blog a few years ago about Gympie, the town in which I spent my childhood and teenage years. The post included a little history about my family, on the maternal side who had been raised in Gympie.  I’m now prompted to write a little further - to move around some of those limbs on my family tree...they need a bit of shaking up - they've been dormant too long!   

One day when looking for something else I stumbled across a very old newsletter called “The Beadle.”  Yellowed with age and crinkled around the edges (not unlike me) the “news bulletin” is dated February, 1918. It was published by the Gympie Presbyterian Church; also known in Gympie as the “Scots Church”. From what I can gather it was a monthly newsletter issued by the church. 

The article would’ve originally belonged to my grandmother – my Nana – Ivy Hay, nee Hose.  Both surnames are Scottish.  Ivy had treasured it throughout her life.

What makes the newsletter interesting and personal to me is a notice therein of the untimely death of my great-grandfather, Robert Hose.

Quote: “We regret to record the death of Mr. Robert Hose, who was killed in the Scottish Gympie Mine by the fall of a rock. He was buried on the 24th, the Rev. W.J. Taylor officiating. R.Hose was just over 50 years of age, and within a few days would have left mining to take up land at Goomboorian.”

Robert Hose left behind a widow and six children; the eldest was 20 years old when Robert died; and the youngest, nine years of age.

Robert Hose was my grandmother’s father – on my mother’s side of the Stuart-MacDonald-Hose-Hay Family Tree.

A couple of brave off-shoots from the sturdy limbs of the “Tree” branched out from Scotland and Ireland to seek a better life in Australia in the mid to late 1800s.

My great-grandmother, a wee Scottish lass named Flora Stuart MacDonald” (of both Scottish and Irish heritage) married Robert Hose, a tall, dark-haired, handsome Highlander. Robert sported a ginger moustache. One of Robert Hose’s daughters was my grandmother, Ivy Flora Hose.

Down the track a bit, Ivy married John Hay. John, more commonly known as “Jack” was also of Scottish heritage.

My grandmother was in her teens at the time of her father’s fatal accident.

When my late brother, Graham and I were children Nana often told us the story of the day her father tragically died from the unfortunate accident.  Nana’s father normally didn’t work underground, but on that fateful day Robert Hose was called into work to cover for a miner who had called in sick.

That last morning before he left for work at Gympie’s Scottish Mine (at the time the Scottish Mine was the largest gold mine in Australia, if not the Southern Hemisphere), while he was shaving, her father playfully chased our grandmother around the house, waving his soaped-up shaving brush at her.  Filled with happiness she ran around the room trying to escape his playfulness. She cried out through her laughter; “No, Dadda, no!”   

He left for the mine and that was the last time Nana saw her father alive.  At least the final moments they shared were happy ones.

Nana’s older brothers used to spin a few tales when the siblings were young (as all older brothers seem to have the habit of doing). Her brothers tried to convince Ivy that the MacDonnell Ranges in the Northern Territory were discovered by a wandering relative.

Of course, the name “MacDonnell” was not the spelling of their mother’s maiden name…”MacDonald”.  Our grandmother, always an avid reader, was wise to their attempts at trickery!

Upon starting school, my mother, Elma Flora Hay was asked by one of her teachers where she’d gotten her rich, auburn hair from.  Confidently and a little haughtily, the five or six year old Elma Hay replied: “From my grandfather’s moustache!”

Where else, indeed!

My mother had beautiful auburn hair and sparkling blue eyes…a true Irish colleen! Her mother, my grandmother had deep chestnut-coloured hair and blue eyes.

On 17th February, 1919 - Elma Flora Hay was born.  Elma passed away in 1974...at the far too young age of 55. In the photos shown above, in the off-the shoulder dress, she was 18 years of age.

I'm the only survivor of my small family unit. My mother, my Nana and my brother, Graham have all passed away, leaving me to wave the flag. I am the only one left to care; I cherish the memories; memories that will disappear into the universe when I depart this world. There will be no one else left to care.

When my brother and I were children we’d harass our Nana night after night around bedtime (and at other times) to tell us stories of the “olden days”; she willingly obliged.

Nana told wonderful stories of days gone by.

Gympie has a rich history about the gold mining days.  Queensland’s treasury was in dire straits with only about nine pence left in its coffers when prospector, James Nash discovered gold near the Mary River in 1867.  Nash’s discovery ‘began one of the wildest rushes in Queensland history’ it has been recorded.

The Bank of Queensland had closed – and then the boom started...at the goldfields of Gympie, saving the state of Queensland from financial embarrassment and record unemployment.

I’ve always regretted that somewhere along the line and over the years before Nana’s passing in 1976 I’d not recorded her many interesting reminiscences onto a more permanent file other than my own memory.  It was one of those things I always meant to do, but never got around to doing.  A familiar tune.....

Take heed; let it be a lesson to each and everyone of us for the sake of our future generations. The stories our elders have stored away in their minds are worthy of recording, no matter how simple they may appear to be to our untrained ears. Myriad stories need to be told and recorded for posterity. The tales they have to tell are all part of our history. The stories may seem minor and insignificant, but mostly they’re much more than they may appear to be.

We find it so easy to pick up autobiographies by strangers; biographies of people we will never meet or get to know. Hungrily we pounce upon books of fiction, and yet many amongst us are not interested in what went on in the lives of our parents and theirs before them and so on. There is still so much to learn about our forefathers…from our parents; their parents and their parents. We shouldn’t bypass these gems of information.

My brother and I would sit in silence, open-eyed as Nana told us stories of emus poking their heads through the kitchen window with the hope of stealing the silverware. The cutlery was always hidden away out of reach of the prying eyes and beaks of the cheeky, curious emus.

An Aboriginal woman, called “Emma” used to hover around my Nana’s childhood home at Goomboorian, a rural area north-east of Gympie.

Emma played with my grandmother and her siblings when they were children.  The children adored her, and in turn she loved them. The kids teased her good-naturedly and relentlessly as children do. And from what my brother and I were told, Emma gave as good as she got.  

A long time before the politically-correct brigade came to town; many, many years before “political-correctness” became the catchphrase, Nana and her siblings would teasingly call out to Emma - “Emma-Emma-Black Bum! Emma-Emma-Black Gin”; and then they’d run in all directions, giggling, enjoying the challenge they’d set – day after day. Emma would chase them around the yard, laughing all the way. There was nothing nasty, vindictive or racist in the children’s chants;  Emma took no offence at their teasing,  name-calling.

With her long, brown skinny legs, Emma was faster than they were; a fact that they loved, and one of which they were aware. The children and Emma enjoyed the chase; the harmless fun and games.

Yes...Ivy, our grandmother had many stories to tell; and she told them to my brother and me often.  Elma, our mother, had quite a few colourful ones of her own to tell!

And, Gympie...well, Gympie has a fine history....