Yesterday Mum showed me the Order of Service for my Uncle Quentin, her brother, who recently died. He was a kind and gentle man. She lost her sister, Marcia, 40 years ago. So it was a tough blow to lose Quentin. They grew up in Ashbury, a suburb slightly west of downtown Sydney.

Marcia became a country girl when she married Noel and moved to Wagga Wagga. She was true to her roots, as my grandmother, Vera Jones, was part of two large rural clans from County Monahagn, Ireland, who left what they knew, to go to what they did not know, Australia. The potato famine forced them to take their chances and head to Victoria. Vera’s grandfather, John Hall, arrived in Melbourne in 1859, with is wife Mary and 3 daughters under the age of four.

The trip took 140 days and you can imagine the lack of sanitation, poor food and cramped accommodation. They went from Melbourne north to Clunes, where gold fever had gripped the town since it was discovered in 1851. Together they went on to have 9 children in all. Vera’s father, Robert (my great grandfather), was number 7.

The family moved around, but finally settled on a dairy farm in Undera, in the Goulbourn Valley, SW of Sydney. Robert married Martha Martin (also of County Monahagn). They were married in Clunes Presbyterian Church on 22 February, 1897. Robert and Martha stayed on the dairy farm in Undera until both parents had died and then they headed to New South Wales in 1908.

They were initially based at Uley Station, Ardlethan, not far from Wilma’s farm, Iventure, in Talimba, near West Wyalong – the place I visited during my teens. That was where Grandmother Vera was born on 7 June, 1910. She was the last of 8 children.

Four of Grandma’s five brothers fought in WWI. Miraculously they all survived. They were eligible for free land in a ballot, like the lottery, for fighting for the Mother Country in Europe. The eldest, Cecil, won a bonza place, Elcombe, near Reefton in the vicinity of West Wyalong. Tod, Wilma’s Dad, won a place nearby and the entire family worked together, until all the boys had secured farms. That was when their luck turned and they made fortunes on the “sheep’s back” – merino wool.

I have vivid memories of my time going to Marcia’s farm when I was a young girl. I remember Dad and Mum spontaneously driving us on treacherous roads overnight – Shaun and I slept on a mattress in the boot. Making plasticine food on her porch. Watching the grown ups dance to music played on a record player. Eating a cocktail onion which Marcia pretended was a sweet. She loved practical jokes. 

So today we will head into the interior towards Wagga Wagga, in the same direction, but some miles short of it.