Church and chapel music in and around Sydney, Australia, 1788–c1860

http://www.psalmody.co.uk/articles/GP1/GP1-8-Forsyth.pdf

CASTLEREAGH

LAND GRANTS

http://www.penrithcity.nsw.gov.au/print.asp?id=235

ON THE PENRITH CITY SITE

http://www.penrithcity.nsw.gov.au/index.asp?id=458

Thanks to TM - we now have letters from Rev Fulton at Castlereagh House in 1822 and 1824 - in which he gives details of the transactions between himself and Patrick McNally. Seems Major Druitt who was chief engineer for the Colony, had contracted Patrick to build a fence around Rev Fulton’s Glebe. Fulton had a school called CASTLEREAGH HOUSE.

This fence building contract led to trouble with Patrick and others being accused of stealing 5 pigs. Patrick was to be acquitted of this crime but on reading further into it - it appears that he spent a least some time in County Gaol as a result , that financial difficulties were experienced by Judith and the children and that it resulted in their leaving the Hawkesbury and moving into Sydney Town. The illustration below from the Western Sydney Libraries is not what  I expected. I expected a two storey grand residence but there it is. Now Patrick was to build the fence but somewhere in that happening came the ” pig stealing” from Mr John Harris , a settler.

LAND GRANT 30 Jun 1803
King
John Harris
90 ACRES
Castlereagh

http://www.penrithcity.nsw.gov.au/print.asp?id=1474

Who knows what happened ? Who knows what it led to ?

In the interest of the Poet who is Melinda, this does in all probability place her near the ACADEMY which housed Charles Tompson Jnr. The Native Minstrel, a boy born in the colony as was Melinda and of a similar age to her brother and sister William and Mary.

 

CHARLES TOMPSON JNRS DEDICATION TO REV FULTON IN WILD NOTES (FROM THE LYRE OF A NATIVE MINSTREL )

FULTON LINKS

http://www.adb.online.anu.edu.au/biogs/A010388b.htm

www.granvillehistorical.org.au/Newsletters/June%20Guardian%202005.pdf

http://www.westernsydneylibraries.nsw.gov.au/westernsydney/fulton.html

Rev John Fulton’s Classical Academy

http://www.hawkesbury.net.au/lists/index.html

EXTENSIVE RESOURCES FOR HAWKESBURY

 

MAJOR DRUITT LINKS

http://freepages.history.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~garter1/georgedr.htm

http://www.adb.online.anu.edu.au/biogs/A010308b.htm

 

 

LiveJournal Tags: HAWKESBURY,FULTON

 

LYNNE SANDERS-BRAITHWAITE

SEARCHING IN CANADA FOR POETS OF 19th CENTURY

It was in Canada that Patrick McNally was court-martialled on the 21 October 1812. Not Long after General Brock was shot and killed at Queenston. FLAMBOYANTLY. When the wonderful Canadian Library and Archives sent us the photocopies of Documents much of that was verified. In addition we discovered that he had deserted 2 years previously in 1810. Judith and Patrick had 2 children by then . William and Mary. We still do not know where they met, where they married , where the children were born. Nor do we know the WHEN of those things. But we do know they were in Canada - come to think of it we are on legend and myth and recount here - Patrick was there. We don’t have any documents as to where Judith was or Who she was or - ? the first documents we have are of her being on the Broxbornebury  Mystery here. However Canada features bigtime. So I am taking a look at Canadian poetry from the same era as Melinda over here in Australia. I’m sure there are more experienced researchers out there who know how to find marriages and births etc in Ireland , England and/or Canada. For now HERE IS SOME CANADIAN POETRY of the 19th CENTURY. 

SEARCHING FOR SAPPHO IN CANADIAN 19TH CENTURY WRTING 

http://www.collectionscanada.gc.ca/canvers/ehome.htm

CANADIAN POETRY ARCHIVE

POEMS BY PETER JOHN ALLEN 1825-1848

 

http://www.sonnets.org/

 

http://www.sonnets.org/canada.htm

Charles Heavysege

Winter Skies

The stars are glittering in the frosty sky,

Numerous as pebbles on a broad sea-coast;

And o’er the vault the cloud-like galaxy

Has marshalled its innumerable host.

Alive all heaven seems! with wondrous glow

Tenfold refulgent every star appears,

As if some wide, celestial gale did blow,

And thrice illume the ever-kindled spheres.

Orbs, with glad orbs rejoicing, burning, beam

Ray-crowned, with lambent lustre in their zones,

Till o’er the blue, bespangled spaces seem

Angels and great archangels on their thrones;

A host divine, whose eyes are sparkling gems,

And forms more bright than diamond diadems

 

A LAMENT

Allan, Peter John (1825-184

To what shall we compare the happiness of youth?
When all things are fair unto our eyes, and the blos-
   soms of the tree of life, as yet untouched, are
   bright in rosy bloom.
When eyes of angels seem to smile upon us from the
   flowers, and the breathing of the winds are
   grateful to our lips as the kisses of the one we love.
When we wander in the cool shadow of the far-spread
   night, and quaff the streaming lustre of the moon
   and stars, as from a fountain of sparkling wine.
When we view all things by the light of a joyous
   heart, and hope all things will be as now.

To what shall we compare the happiness of youth?
While the first pain, the earliest throb of disappoint-
   ment is felt but as a thorn in a bed of roses.
Alas! the serpent pleasure attracts but to sting.
The roses of joy fade and fall away, and the thorns of
   care are yet upon the branches of life.
Lo! the winter is with us--it will be always winter
   now.  Spring comes not again to the aged.

To what shall we compare the happiness of youth?
To a star that dies on the bosom of morning, that
   sinks in the flood of day.
It is like a violet when the east wind bloweth.
Like a bark that is chased and struck down by Euro-
   clydon, the mighty hunter of ocean.
Like a lofty tower, like a beautiful tower of fine
   marble in the arms of the earthquake, dashed
   down for ever.
Such is the happiness of youth.

Poem is in the public domain..

 

MELINDA KENDALL

OLD BRITISH NEWSPAPERS 19TH CENTURY

FOR THE WEEK JULY 4-11 - I AM LOCKED AWAY LOOKING AT OLD BRITISH NEWSPAPERS ONLINE. AND WRITING ON THE NELLIBELL49 BLOG.

 

http://nellibell49.wordpress.com/

 

SOCIETY OF AUSTRALIAN GENEALOGISTS HAS PROVIDED AN OPPORTUNITY TO TAKE A LOOK AT GALE CENGAGE LEARNING’S  OLD UK NEWSPAPER FILES AND I AM TAKING THAT OPPORTUNITY. http://www.sag.org.au/ http://find.galegroup.com/

 

Flickr Tags: SCOTLAND,NEWSPAPERS,HISTORY,ENGLAND,SUTHERLAND SHIRE,BELLS,READYS. DEVON,IRELAND,SURREY,SANDERS,JULLIAN,KENDALL FAMILY,MELINDA KENDALL,ROSCOMMON,CANADA,MONTREAL,100 REGIMENT,CHAMBLY,GRAFTON.ILLAWARRA,SYDNEY STREETS 19TH CENTURY,POETRY,MCNALLY,MCDERMOTT

POEM BY RACHEL HENNINGS-TAYLOR

FROM THE LETTERS OF RACHEL HENNINGS

a POEM EVOCATIVE OF MELINDA’S BELLAMBI’S LAKE and written in the late 1870s but from a very different family background despite many commonalities of Colonial Experience.  The last of Rachel’s letters are written from the Illawarra - Wollongong matters at a time similar to that of Melinda.

 

SPRINGFIELD,

MARCH 25TH 1878

My Dearest Etta,

I am afraid I have two letters of yours unanswered, but I rather delayed

replying to the last, in order to make some inquiries about the old

King’s friendship with Grandpapa. From Hannah Dashwood’s note, which you

forwarded to me, however, I suppose you no longer want the information

you asked for.

However, for our own satisfaction, I ascertained beyond a doubt that the

intimacy was during our grandmother’s life and not after Grandpapa had

married Mrs Buxton. I think it was the Princess Sophia, not Amelia, who

was thrown from her horse near Poxwell, and lay ill there for some days,

and it was on this occasion, I suppose, that she presented the silver tea

and coffee service to Mrs Henning.

Amy has the teapot, and I think the Edmund Buxtons have the coffee-pot.

The inscription on the former I got Amy to copy for me; and it is as

follows:

The gift of her Royal Highness the Princess Sophia to Elizabeth Henning,

September 21st 1799.

Grandpapa did not marry Mrs Buxton till 1808 (see Life of Sir Fowell

Buxton), so this inscription settles the question at once.

In 1811 the King was pronounced insane and the Prince of Wales appointed

Regent, so I suppose his trips to Weymouth were over by that time, or a

year or two earlier.

The illness of the Princess Sophia was most likely the beginning of the

acquaintance, and it must have continued some time after our

grandmother’s death, for I remember a story of Aunt Harriet’s–she kept

house at Poxwell after Mrs Henning’s death–and she said that on one

occasion the Royal party were lunching there, and she was handing a tray

of something to one of the royal dukes (I think the Duke of Sussex), and,

seeing her standing, he got up and insisted on her sitting down and

waited on her himself.

Then there was a story of the old King taking up our father in his arms,

when he was a very small boy, and asking if he knew who he was, and being

very much delighted when the child replied “Grandpapa King!” And you must

remember Grandpapa’s pet story about his meeting the King out riding

shortly after our grandmother’s death, when he was in great sorrow, and

how the King desired his train to fall back, as “he wanted to speak to

Henning alone”, and then, riding on with him; “he talked to him like a

father” and advised him to marry again, for the sake of his young family:

“But mark my words! Mark my words! Mark my words, Henning! If you ever

expect to find another such woman as your first wife, you will be

disappointed.” I remember exactly how Grandpapa used to move back his

plate and tell that story.

Another of Grandpapa’s stories was that one day the King came from

Weymouth and inquired for Mrs Henning, and was informed by the servant

that she was washing lace. The King had a way of repeating his words:

“Washing lace, washing lace, is she? Then I’ll go and help her.” A

comic-paper published in Weymouth produced an illustration of the King

and Mrs Henning over a wash-tub, washing lace together.

I am certain it was at Poxwell, not at Weymouth, that the King used to

visit, because while at Poxwell Grandpapa was farming the estate himself,

but when he went to Weymouth he was a banker (and, if you recollect, it

was the run on that bank that ruined him), and another of his stories was

that one day he was complaining to the King of the difficulty of getting

sufficient men to make the hay, and the next morning he found a small

detachment of soldiers drawn up before the door, they having been sent by

the King with orders to make Mr Henning’s hay. I believe they performed

more in the way of consuming bread and cheese and beer than in haymaking.

I have been able to get the inscription on the gold cup, which Biddulph

keeps at his bankers’ and I dare say he will get it out at the new baby’s

christening and fill it with claret cup to drink his health. The

inscription is as follows:

First of all there is the Royal coat-of-arms on the gold cup, then:

Honi soit qui mal y pense.

Dieu et Mon Droit.

Given September 26th 1800, to Edmund Henning, of Poxwell, in the county

of Dorset, esquire, by his Majesty King George III.

In some of your summer trips you ought to go to Weymouth and visit the

old places. It, is a pretty drive of about four miles to Poxwell. It must

have been a fine old place once, built in a square round a court and with

stone-mullioned windows and a large low hall with oak rafters and a great

oak table where, very likely, “sacred Majesty took his déjeuner”, and a

fine old brick gateway, or, rather, gatehouse, with a small chamber over

it, where there is a legend that some heiress of the Henning family was

shut up for contumacy, and betimely escaped therefrom with her lover.

I used to hear a great deal of family history from Uncle and Aunt John

Henning, but I have forgotten it now. There was an old place called

“Henning’s Crookston” where our great-grand-papa lived, and where all his

family were brought up. Then there is a most picturesque old manor house,

called Radypoll, close to Weymouth, which also belonged to Grandpapa and

afterwards to Uncle John.

Wolverton was a very fine old place with an ivy-covered gatehouse as

large as a modern cottage and the house a sort of castellated building.

Biddulph was the rightful heir to these properties.

I do not think you have read this poem of mine, so I will inflict it on

you:

THE DAYS OF CHILDHOOD

The happy days of childhood, how swift they fleet away;

How soon beneath the world’s cold breath its feelings must decay,

Its fervent warm affections, its confidence and truth,

With all its bright imaginings and cherished hopes of youth.

The gladsomings and gaiety its sunny light that throws

O’er every time and scene till all in its own bright sunshine glows.

Alas! That life’s dark clouds should e’er that fairy dream destroy

And overcast that rosy dawn of innocence and joy.

There is no spot so lovely as our early childhood’s home,

And thither still the heart returns, wherever we may roam;

The tangled brakes where wildflowers grew its overshadowing grove,

Its streamlets and its valleys claim our first and latest love.

There is no joy like that we felt when in the springtide hours

We bounded o’er the wild, free hills, and plucked the mountain flowers

Where tall fern waves and harebell blue with purple heather blend

Such gay, unfettered happenings with the years of childhood end.

There are no friends like those who for our infancy have cared,

And no companions dear as those who all its pleasures shared.

Oh, what is like a mother’s love, or who her place can fill

When her cheering smile has passed away and her gentle voice is still!

And none can e’er such sympathy in weal or woe impart

As a sister gives who aye hath shared each feeling of the heart;

And where shall we such shelter find, in trouble or in harm,

As in the sure protection of a brother’s shielding arm?

We may form new ties of friendship and other bonds of love,

But they are not like the flowery links that our happy childhood wove

For the world its chilling influence upon our hearts has thrown,

And though the chain may sparkle still, its first bright glow is gone.

How often when around the earth the shades of twilight close

And evening’s gentle hand hath hushed all nature to repose

The visions of the past arise, and many a vanished scene

To memory appears, as though no change had ever been.

And mid the stillings of that hour we seem to hear a sound

Like whispers from the spirit-land breathed in the air around;

Voices of those whose pilgrimage has long been ended here,

O’er whom the quiet grave has closed since many a weary year.

And for a while as once we were again we seem to be;

Again we feel the gaiety of a soul unworn and free.

But the dream decays, and life once more assumes a dreary hue,

And all its sad realities again stand forth to view.

There are hours of happiness on earth, but their sunshine may not last.

And the joyous days of childhood must be soon for ever past.

They are like the gleams of treacherous light that on the storm-cloud play

Then fade away, and deeper gloom succeeds the short-liv’d ray.

I must conclude. Fond love to Mr Boyce and the children and to yourself.

Believe me, dearest Etta, your most affectionate sister,

RACHEL TAYLOR

IN THIS YEAR - 1884

When Melinda published Bellambi’s Lake  on September 6 in the ILLAWARRA MERCURY, her sons Henry and Basil were both dead. Henry had died in 1882 of phsithis. Her daughter Mary Josephine had died as well as two of Henry’s Infant daughters. Araluen and Orara. It seems Melinda was again living on the Illawarra although that needs further investigation. The McNally land was in Fairy Meadow near the Lake in the poem. These things were happening in NSW.

BENT STREET EARLY 1800s. NLA

 

• FRANCIS PATRICK MORAN BECAME ARCHBISHOP OF THE SYDNEY DIOCESE
• THE GOULBURN GAOL OPENED
• THE GUNSMITH OPENED IN ERSKINE STREET AND MOVED PREMISES IN CASTLEREAGH STREET.

Stiefater, F. May be spelt Stievater

Erskine Stre