Wednesday, September 18, 2019

#52 Ancestors Week 39 - Map it Out

#52 Ancestors Week 39 - Map it Out

I'm cheating a bit this week and reprinting my mother's detailed description of her childhood home, as told to me in her 94th year.

The house in Fitzroy St has gone completely.  It is almost as though nothing was ever there.  But it was a lovely old home once so come with me and I’ll take you through the front gate and show you around.

The front path painted green sloped up slightly from the road and then flattened out.  Over the picket gate was a trellis with honeysuckle and a red climbing rose called Black Boy. These two were responsible for the lovely perfume which everybody smelt as the neared our home.  On either side of the path was a privet hedge and then lawn.  The path wasn’t very long to a step and then on to a wide opening on to the verandah.  Either side of the opening there was timber so far, and then lattice.  On the verandah, which was about 7 or 8 feet wide were an assortment of chairs – deck and cane with cane tables holding magazines and cups and saucers.

Directly opposite the front step was the front door and to the left of the door, the name “Roscrea” in gold letters on a black background.  Roscrea is the old market town in the middle of Tipperary, Ireland, 2 miles from the Whitten family farm, “Fancroft” where my Irish grandfather, Anthony Whitten, was born.

 Later our house was renamed, “The Meadows”, by my mother but what happened to the nameplate “Roscrea” I do not know.  I doubt if I even queried why it was changed.  These sorts of things were just accepted by children; we weren’t asked for our opinion. I wonder what my father thought for he would have been the one that had named it, no doubt as a tribute to his father who had come a long way to settle in a new land.  Perhaps my father made a comment about it but as he only lived in the house at weekends he might have thought Mum should have right too.  So, “The Meadows” it became and nothing was changed inside the house which was just as well.

At either end of the verandah were doors, one leading to the boys’ room (the one on the left) and the one leading to the girls’ room on the right.

On opening the front door, we step on a carpet runner which ran to the dining room, but on either side of the hall were two doors. One opened in to the guest bedroom and the other into the lounge room. More about those rooms later.

The phone was on the wall on the right just before the dining room and curtains, velvet I think, were parted just before stepping into the dining room.

This was a fairly narrow room and held a dining table which could be made larger by inserting “leaves”.  There were about 8 chairs – like the table they were made of oak.  At the end of this room was an open fireplace with a few easy chairs grouped about.  Also this room contained a cabinet which contained a wireless.  This was a present from a Methodist minister to Mum for minding his young son while his wife was in Sydney for an operation.

Over the fireplace, high up on the wall were nicely framed photographs of Dad’s parents, Anthony and Charlotte Whitten and on the mantelpiece were photos of family and relatives.  One was of my American cousin Maurice whom I would eventually meet in the 1980s.

Halfway along the wall was a small window where food could be passed from the kitchen.  At the fireplace end, there was a door leading out to a verandah room, and at the other end, (off the hallway) another door which led into a room which was separate until Mum knocked out the wall between it and the lounge room, making it all one big room.  There was carpet on the dining room floor and a door at the hallway end which led into the kitchen.

The kitchen was large, as most kitchens were in those days.  This house had been an old farm house in the early days.  Fitzroy St was one of the earliest streets laid out in Quirindi and was named after Governor Fitzroy.  There are Fitzroy Sts everywhere, including Dubbo where Fitzroy St is only a few hundred yards up the road from my home.

Mum spent a lot of time in the kitchen and no wonder as it was cold where we lived and she had a fuel stove to warm up the room.  In the summer time the trees and shrubs allowed it to cool off after she let the stove go out during the afternoon.

At the eastern end of the kitchen was the fuel stove, a “Beacon Light” with a lighthouse on the door to the firebox.  Sitting on the top of the stove were about six kettles including a little black one which Mum used to put into a hold at the top for a quick boil.  Also there was a big black fountain which sat at the side and always had hot water in it.  My mother used this water for washing up.  To the right of the stove was a tap which came through the wall from a tank.  This was where my father sat and bathed my face after I got thrown off the horse.  There was a window ledge above the tap where Mum’s numerous cats sat and waited to be fed.

Off to the right was a pantry where the washing up was done.  It had benches for dishes and shelves for tinned foods, sauces, jams etc.  Mum always kept a good larder because she was a long way from town and if anyone popped in she could be prepared.  

There was a big kitchen table and chairs in abundance.  There were smaller tables under the window or servery into the dining room.  On these tables were big meat covers and dishes.  Over the fireplace was a shelf for holding canisters and a big clock was in the middle of the shelf.

At the other end of the room was a kitchen cabinet which held the usual kitchen cups, saucers and plates, glasses, vases, kitchen tablecloths, milk jug covers and meat dishes and other odds and ends used in a kitchen.  The kitchen had lino on the floor and a calendar or two on the wall – calendars were given out at Christmas time by all the shops so one ended up with an assortment.

There was a still life print of fruit on one of the walls and on one of the tables was an electric jug and a toaster which Mum only used if the fire went out.  The numerous kettles kept the tea cups filled with tea on and off all day and the toast was made sitting in front of the fire.  At the beginning of the week and during the week there was ample short wood for the stove but if Mum ran out of these she’d pull half a tree into the kitchen and prop it up on chairs.  The lino always had holes from sparks and Mum always had bruises on her legs as the tree slowly got closer to the fire.

The back door of the kitchen led out to an enclosed porch where there was a drip safe and ferns and then about four big steps down to the ground again.  The back yard was enclosed by a wire netting fence to keep the chooks out and there were gates at each end; one led down to the lavatory and the other out to a driveway.

Not far from the back steps was an old dairy which Dad used to store chook feed etc and off this was the laundry.

Mrs Passfield did Mum’s washing and ironing.  The laundry had an uneven floor and must have taxed her.  The copper was where clothes were boiled up and then they were hauled out of it by a clothes prop and into a tub to be rinsed and then to another for bluing and then rinsed again before hanging out.

Back to the kitchen.  There was another door which led out of the kitchen and into the bathroom.  This room only had one window in it and was fairly dark.  There was a wash stand with a big jug and bowl and a chip heater which had to be lit after the chips were set alight.  We had a white enamel bath and a linen press in this room too.   There was a door off this room which led into Mum and Dad’s bedroom and a door from this room which led back into the girls’ room. (which led off the front verandah).

In both Mum and Dad’s room and the girls’ room there was lino on the floors with mats. Three single beds were in the girls’ room and two wardrobes and a dressing table.  In Mum and Dad’s room was a double bed, wardrobe and dressing table and easy chairs.

The boys’ room had beds, wardrobe, dressing table and chairs.

The guest room was rose coloured.  It was Mum’s pride and joy.  It had an open fireplace, however I don’t remember fires in it.  A wardrobe, cane chair and eiderdown (all rose coloured) and of course cream curtains and end ones rose coloured – the lamp was also rose covered and with dangling thin tassels all around.  Bill used to call it “The Encircling Gloom” – however it was Mum’s pride and joy and she was very happy when couples were using it.  Bill and I got to use it when we came home from our honeymoon – at last, at last, I was in the rose room!  

Mum and her sister Joan with their parents at "The Meadows" - about 1941





Sunday, September 15, 2019

#52 Ancestors Week 38 - Cousins


352 Ancestors Week 38 – Cousins



This week, with many possible cousin relationships I could write about I have chosen to write about my husband’s great Grandmother who married twice – to brothers, who were her first cousins.

Esther Johnson was born in Ballarat, Victoria in 1860, the eldest child of Lavinia Roberts and John Johnson.  Like thousands of others, the Roberts and Johnson families had been attracted to Ballarat for the gold and had then stayed on to work in activities that supported the miners – in their case in the provision of wagons and timber.  In this endeavour, they had joined forces with members of the McCann family, and John’s older sister Mary had married Charles McCann, a wheelwright.

All three families relocated to the North Coast of NSW in search of “red gold” – the rich cedar which grew abundantly in the dense rainforest known as the “Big Scrub” which had covered 75,000 square miles of the country.  Many of them worked as timber cutters and then gradually they acquired their own patch of land and became small farmers. *

Esther was only a small child when the move north took place.  All five of her siblings were born in the Ballina/Emigrant Creek area of the timber country.  Then there was a tragedy.  Her mother Lavinia, still only 36 years old, and pregnant with her sixth child, died.  The baby died with her. There is a story in the family that she went into early labour from the shock of learning that her husband and his brother had been arrested (see #52 Ancestors Week 24 – Dear Diary).

Esther was only 12 when her mother died, and it is reasonable to assume that she looked after her younger siblings during the next four years, until her father married a second time.  She herself married in that same year (1876) – she was 16, and her new husband was her first cousin, son of the older Charles and Mary (nee Johnson).  Charles William McCann, was 25.  As the McCann children had also been born in Ballarat, it is likely that Esther had known Charles all her life.

The young couple settled on land near the rest of their extended family and began a family of their own - Charles John (1880), Herbert (1883), Lavinia (1885) and Mary Ellen (1887). Then disaster struck.  Charles William was swept from his horse into the flooded Wilson’s River and drowned * Esther was 39 years old and pregnant again.

The family legend has it that Charles’ younger brother, John Beale McCann, proposed to her on the way home from the funeral.  We will never know if this was a love match, or a pragmatic decision about the family property, but Esther and John were married within a year, shortly after the birth of baby Ettie.

There are a couple of clues that indicate that this relationship was initially contentious in the family.  Charles William’s headstone in the North Lismore cemetery was “erected by his loving mother, brothers and sisters.”  No mention of Esther.  And the second marriage took place in the next town (Casino) witnessed only by the Minister and his wife.  Esther gave her name as “Esther Johnson” and her status as “Spinster”.

Nonetheless, Esther and John settled on the family farm and lived out their lives together.  They had three children together, but only one survived infancy – she became the much loved Auntie Kate to my husband’s father, so the family seems to have blended successfully.  None of the children in either family exhibited any problems which might have been caused by their genetic closeness.

Esther died in 1937 and is buried with John in the family corner of the Alphadale Cemetery.  We have one photo of her – wearing at her throat a gold nugget from the early years in Ballarat.






 *From an environmental point of view, the Government was wrong in their requirements.  As a condition of receiving land grants the selectors had to clear all the vegetation.  Not the 15% along the streams – all of it.  By 1900, 99% of the Big Scrub had been cleared and today there are only a few small pockets remaining.

*from - The Northern Star, 20 April 1889.
DROWNING.  We are sorry to hear that a well known man named Chas. McCann, was drowned fording Wilson's Creek, above Eureka on Tuesday last. It is stated that McCann was crossing the creek, which had risen several feet, when his horse slipped, McCann was washed out of his saddle, and drowned before assistance could be rendered. The police are now searching for the body, but it has not yet been recovered, owing to the flooded state of the creek.

Saturday, September 14, 2019

#52 Ancestors Week 37 - Mistake


52 Ancestors  Week 37 -  Mistake



I have written many stories about migration and all of them have been about the great and positive changes that moving to Australia brought to all of mine and my husband’s ancestors.  Even, and especially, the convicts who were given opportunities in their new country which would never have been afforded them in 19th century England and Ireland.

But there was one move to Australia that proved to be a mistake.  Happily, it was reversible.

I wrote ( #52 Ancestors  Week 32 – Sister ) about the three Kilroe sisters who came at different times from Shannonbridge to settle in Australia.  The one sister left behind was Katie.

Katie (Catherine) Kilroe was born in 1880 to Kieran and Kate Kilroe, the fifth of their 8 children who survived infancy.  By the time of the 1911 census, when she was 22, she was living at home with her widowed mother and her unmarried brother William. 

Katie didn’t marry, and she kept house for William, and her other unmarried brother, Keiran (Joe) until their deaths – William in 1954 and then Joe in 1967.  In the 1960s, her niece Kathleen, with her husband Pat, had made a couple of visits back to Ireland and now, concerned that she was facing old age without any family around, they suggested that she might move to Australia to be near them. 

Kathleen (left) and Katie in Shannonbridge about 1965

Katie was about 68 when she made the move to Australia, and despite everyone’s good intentions, it was not a success.  She missed the village where she had spent her whole life.  She missed the Irish weather (!) – Lismore is very hot and humid in summer and she found that unbearable.

Reluctantly, it had to be admitted that the move was a mistake.  Within two years, Katie returned to Shannonbridge where she hoped to live out her life.  Unfortunately the worst fears of the family came to pass – she became unable to care for herself at home and had to be admitted to a nursing home away from the village.  She died there at the age of 95 and is buried with her brothers at Clonmacnois.  Her only memorial there is the headstone she erected for her two brothers, but if you ask about Katie at Killeen’s Pub, they can show you her house and tell you a few stories.






Thursday, September 5, 2019

#52 Ancestors Week 36 - School Days

#52 Ancestors  Week 36 - School Days



I referred last week to the person who had helped my father in his first years of teaching – the person he described as his mother’s Aunt Lydia.

“Liddy” was in fact not “Lydia” but Elizabeth White, his mother’s first cousin. 

Elizabeth White, born in 1886, was the fifth of John and Esther White’s seven children – all girls except for John, known as Sonny, who was to die at the age of 37.

John White was a cedar cutter in the Boorie Creek area of the Big Scrub, near Lismore.  Elizabeth was a bright child who attended the Lismore Public School and then seems to have been recruited when very young to be a pupil/teacher.

I think this must have been around the time that Lismore became a “Superior School” – a primary school that was extended to provide general secondary education, and some vocational education, in communities where there was no secondary school.

Sydney Teachers’ College opened in 1906 and before this there were two training colleges – Hurlstone Residential college for women and Fort Street High School for men.  This was a long way from Lismore, and indeed from country NSW, where the pupil/teacher scheme continued to operate into the 1920s.

“Pupil teachers received instruction from the head teacher before or after school and in some cases also on Saturdays. During the day they were responsible for instructing lower classes under the supervision of the teacher, although at times they assumed sole responsibility. They received a minimal salary, which was less than the average farm labourer's wage, and 5 to 6 weeks annual holiday”*

In 1903, the Lismore Superior School had an enrolment of 441 girls with a Principal, 4 teachers and 3 pupil teachers.  Liddy later recalled that class sizes sometimes reached 72, and that she was paid 9 shillings and 4 pence per week (that’s about $32 in today’s money). 

Clearly, while they were young and enthusiastic, they were shamefully exploited.

An examination of a School Prizes list from Lismore in 1892 gives an understanding of what was being taught.  The boys’ prizes were for “Plain writing, Mapping, Drawing (animal or figure) and Specimen of letter asking for employment”.  Girls’ prizes were for “Plain Writing, Mapping, Drawing (landscape), Fancy Needlework, Plain Needlework, Six buttonholes, Darning a pair of cotton stockings and Specimen of a letter to a Friend.”

In a short essay written in 1981, Liddy recalled that uniforms were not worn to school , but conventional dress, with lace up shoes or buttoned boots.  Boys generally didn’t wear shoes at all until they went to High School.  In Lismore, that would have meant cold feet on very frosty mornings.  She described the games that children played in the playground –“rounders, prisoner’s base, cricket, hide and seek, hopscotch, marbles and jacks (made from pig’s knuckles)”  Some of these are familiar from my 1950s schooldays but I wonder how many of them are commonplace today?

Liddy was a teacher for 61 years.  In the 1930s she was Mistress of the South Lismore Infants Department, and she was teaching in Bangalow in the 50s.  By this time she was well past the official retirement age.

One of her pupils from those days remembers her well.  She wrote:
“My kindergarten teacher and favourite teacher of all time was Miss White at Bangalow Public School.   She used to arrive by Kirkland’s bus driven by Teddy Spears from Byron Bay every morning.  I used to watch her preparing for class…she spent time drawing on the blackboard, practising songs on the piano, making work sheets on the hand driven copier and preparing paints for class.”  This student later won a National Award for University Teaching and she says that she “felt the love of teaching was what I learnt watching Miss White drawing the day, the date, birds and flowers on the blackboard.”

Any of us who have been teachers would be thrilled to think that we had been so inspirational
.
Liddy lived on in Byron Bay with her sister and her niece after she retired.  She died at the age of 94 and is buried in the Byron Bay cemetery.




This class group from 1928 shows the variety of clothes girls wore to school.  The group
includes my mother in law.








*Education Research and Perspectives, Vo133, No. 2, 2006 Changing Patterns of Teacher Education in Australia Tania Aspland The University of the Sunshine Coast





Friday, August 30, 2019

#52 Ancestors Week 35 - At Work


52 Ancestors  Week 35 – At work



I come from a long line of illiterate peasants.  For hundreds of years, my forebears on both sides were agricultural labourers.  They worked hard from an early age and had little or no formal education.  Until the second half of the 19th century, most of them could not read or write.

Had they all stayed where they were – in Ireland and England – this would inevitably have improved with industrialisation and the move to city life, but it was changed more quickly by migration to Australia.

The sons of my maternal great grandfather, Anthony Whitten (who arrived in 1862) were all landowners and two sons became Methodist clergymen.

In my father’s family, it was Robert White, his grandfather, who effected the real change.  Like most country children of the time, he left school at 12, but he never stopped educating himself, and he instilled in his children and grandchildren an appreciation of the value of education.  His daughter Alice, my grandmother, was determined that her children would have an education and she sacrificed much to make sure it happened.

My father (Bill) was the first member of his entire extended family to finish High School and the first to go to University.  He was fortunate that Australian Governments, for much of the 20th century, had a scholarship program for the training of teachers.  The scholarship paid University fees and a small living allowance and the student was “bonded” to teach with the Department of Education for a period of five years.  He wrote in his memoir that he hadn’t really wanted to be a teacher (he would rather have studied Law) but that as a country boy from a poor family it was his only chance of higher education.

Thus we became a family of teachers.  First my father and one of his sisters, then my two sisters, my brother and I, and numerous cousins in the next generation all benefitted from the Teachers’ College Scholarship.

Bill graduated from University with a B.A Dip Ed (Bachelor of Arts and Diploma of Education) in 1934.  NSW was in the depths of the Great Depression, and the Department of Education had been forced to make staffing cuts.  Despite his “Bond” there was no job to go to.  He returned home to Lismore and tried to earn some money.  First he painted his grandmother’s house and fence, then he went to his uncle’s dairy farm – a job that gave him a lifetime loathing of cows and milk.

Then the Dept found him a teaching job.  With a BA Dip Ed with majors in English and History with a bit of Philosophy and Latin, he would have expected to teach High School.  Instead, he was appointed to teach at The Channon, a small school in the hills about 12 miles from Lismore.  He was one of two teachers, responsible for about 60 children, divided into two age groups.  He taught the 6,7 and 8 year olds.

These were the children of dairy farmers and farm labourers.  Most of them came to school having already risen at 4.00 am to muster cows for milking, then doing the milking before catching the bus or riding their bicycles or horses to school.  He recalled that they sometimes fell asleep at their desks, and having so recently done those jobs himself, he was understanding.

It is an irony that Bill, with his University education, relied heavily during his two years at The Channon on his great aunt Liddie, who was reaching the end of a long teaching career.  She had commenced teaching under the old “pupil teacher” system and by this stage was mistress in charge of Bill’s old primary school at South Lismore.  She had no formal Teachers’ College training but was extremely experienced, and generous, and Bill survived two years at The Channon with her help.

Bill’s career took him next to Woodburn, also not far from Lismore, and then to Quirindi in the North West of NSW where he met Mum.  He moved back to the city – to Sutherland High School – to help with the wartime teacher shortage, and then from there he and Mum went to Young, in the south west.  Somehow during the next nine years, during which they had four children, he managed to complete a Masters’ degree in History as a part-time student.

Like bank employees, teachers were expected to move regularly if they wanted promotion.  The whole family moved to Glen Innes in the north of NSW in 1954.  Here Bill would meet perhaps his greatest mentor, Frank Moroney, who was his boss as Headmaster of the High School.  Years later, when he became a Principal himself, he often approached an issue by asking himself, “What would Frank do?”

Country schoolteachers were expected to be involved in their community.  In Glen Innes Bill became part of a major civic exercise – the building of a Children’s Library.  The physical building was done by the Apex Club; Bill’s role was to chose and buy the books, and then prepare them for borrowing by adding them to the catalogue and assigning a Dewey decimal number.  For my elder sister and me, then aged about 12 and 9 and both avid readers, this was heaven.  We got first access to the books, painted the numbers on the spines, and worked in the library when it opened after school each day.

In 1960, Bill made his last move – to Dubbo in the Central West.  This was to become home for the rest of his life as he was first Deputy, then Principal, of Dubbo High School and chose to stay in the city after his retirement in 1973.

Because we lived in country towns with only one school, both my older sister and I were in classes taught by our father.  We were lucky – he was a great classroom teacher.  He also became a wise and thoughtful administrator who was much loved and admired by students and colleagues.  The boy who hadn’t really wanted to become a teacher enriched the profession by his 39 years of commitment.

Bill Gleeson - about 1962


Monday, August 19, 2019

#52 Ancestors Week 34 - Tragedy

#52 Ancestors Week 34 - Tragedy


The lives of our forebears were full of sadnesses.  Many children did not survive birth or the first few years of life.  Many mothers died in childbirth, leaving grieving husbands and children.  Many of our ancestors died of diseases for which we now have simple remedies, and the accidents which befell many of our forebears are now considered preventable.


Of all the many sad stories in my family tree, none is more truly tragic than the fate of my uncle Jackie.

Jackie was born on 16 November 1913, 18 months after my grandparents’ first child together, Keith. There was also a half sister aged 10, my grandfather’s daughter Gladys whose mother had died in childbirth.  Keith and Jackie were inseparable mates, and when Ruth arrived in September 1915, she became the third member of a tight knit little trio.

Jackie, Ruth and Keith - about 1919
They lived on the family’s sheep property about 13 miles from the nearest town and with seven crossings of the Jacob and Joseph Creek between farm and town.  The children had happy country childhoods with dogs, cats and horses, a creek to swim in and lots of extended family on neighbouring properties – their grandmother, uncles, aunts and cousins.   On Sundays, my grandfather would load them all into the sulky for the ride to church which would be followed by a huge family lunch and games with all the cousins.

On Saturday 12 June, 1920, my grandfather followed his normal routine – he rode to town to make grocery and other purchases for the coming week.  He left my grandmother at home with the children, which now included baby Connie, and the girl who was to help her.  We know nothing about this girl – not her name or her age or her background.  She is forever referred to in the family stories as “the girl”.

During the day it rained.  It rained so hard that the Jacob and Joseph Creek rose and rose and my grandfather was forced to stay in town.  Back on the farm, my no doubt frazzled grandmother sent the children off to play in the care of the girl.  When they returned late in the afternoon, Jackie seemed to be unwell.  He was quiet and listless as they ate their dinner.  Did he complain of a headache, I wonder?

As the night wore on, Jackie lapsed into unconsciousness.  My frantic grandmother quizzed all the children – what could have happened during the day to make him sick?

Keith told her.  The girl had demonstrated to them how to kill a rabbit, by chopping it across the back of its neck with the side of the hand.  She had demonstrated on Jackie.

Jackie died in the night.

My grandmother was alone and isolated in the house with the girl and the children.  The creek rose higher. There was no telephone and anyway, nobody could cross the creek – not her husband, nor a clergyman, nor the undertaker.  She laid Jackie out in the parlour and went about caring for the rest of the children, weeping into her apron.  It was to be two days before anyone could broach the creek and get to them.

There is such tragedy in this story.  Tragedy for my grandparents who lost a beloved son.  They talked about him for the rest of their lives, so that for my mother, born 6 years later, he was always a family presence. 

Tragedy for “the girl”.  How did she live for the rest of her life with the knowledge that she had killed a child?  My grandparents did not bring charges against her or even seek an inquest into Jackie’s death.  My mother thought that they would have wanted to spare the girl from the pain and notoriety such charges might have brought into her young life but she had to live with that burden always.

And tragedy for Keith and Ruth, who lost their best playmate.  Keith had a sadness in his eyes for the rest of his life.  Ruth committed suicide at the age of 28.  Nobody really knows why




Saturday, August 17, 2019

#52 Ancestors Week 33 - Comedy

#52 Ancestors Week 33 - Comedy




Different generations find different things amusing.  The funny or mildly saucy postcard was common in the early 19th century when all four of these were sent to my grandmother, Alice (b. 1890).  

Although they are not all dated, they clearly belong to her pre-married life. (ie before 1911)


The first one is from a friend, “Ida” and asks how Alice and “her bloke” are getting on.  It is dated 1907, so Alice was 17.  I have no idea who “her bloke” was at this time but perhaps he was like the “overworked clerk” in the image?



This one is dated 1909 and comes from Alice’s sister Violet, who was about 16 at the time.  She was away from home and she names the characters on the front of the card as “Miss King” and “Tick” and asks Alice to ask Tick if “this is the way he did it”.  Perhaps Tick was very short?



This one is undated and not written on.  Did someone give it to Alice or did she buy it and then not send it?



This one is both undated and unsigned but has a message which suggests that the “Alice” of the card represents our Alice.  It says, “Seeing as this is the next position you are about to take on, see that the bells are switched off when the boy arrives”.

Postcards are a dying industry in the age of the internet and the text message.  It’s hard to imagine that any of these would resonate today.  The gentle fun and innuendo of the messages and images seems very dated to us now.