Family history in an Airmail from Australia.

A couple of my dad’s aunts emigrated to Australia. One went with husband and young son in the early 1920s. The other followed, as a spinster, in the 1930s.

I never met either of them. In my childhood the idea of going to Oz was just out of the question. But both aunts, from time to time sent back letters. The one I am looking at today came from Ruth who went out in the 30s.

The letter was sent to my dad and arrived in 1950. In 1949 we had left the remote cottage where I was born and had settled in a village called Ifield. Great Aunt Ruth comments on Ifield in her letter. She is also writing about her sister, Mercy, who actually lived quite near us in my childhood at a place called County Oak.


This extract reads:

…Mercy so glad you are able to see her some times. The last time I was at Ifield was when her baby Mary was buried in the old church yard there.

I lived in Ifield for most of my childhood and never knew my dad had a baby cousin buried in the churchyard. But I presume my dad did. For he had received and presumably read this letter.

Now Aunt Mercy was Mercy Edwards. I knew when she married and when other children were born so it didn’t take long to find that Edith Mary Edwards was born in the last quarter of 1909 and died in the first quarter of 1910. There are no others that fit so I can salute the little baby who was a relative for a short while. I am pleased that I can tell the tale and I wonder if other members of the family got to the burial in Ifield. I still have relatives in Ifield so sometime I’d better look in the church yard, but I doubt there’ll be a stone.

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One Response to “Family history in an Airmail from Australia.”

  1. Punch Library of Humour | Locksands Life Says:

    […] In my childhood going to the dentist was never a pleasurable experience but I did like looking at the Punch magazines that were always in the waiting room. I knew a bit about the Punch magazine for its founder, Mark Lemon had been a local man. Indeed, he was buried in my village churchyard. So, too, was a relative of mine which I wrote about here. […]

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