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From the mouths of babes: four generations of children’s letters

07/12/2021
Boy with a football smiling at the camera.

Amid the first winter of the COVID-19 pandemic, I mailed two drawings of a garden scene to my seven-year-old niece (one coloured in, the other black and white).  I asked her to add to a story I started about fairies in the garden and requested that she colour the black and white picture and return it. We exchanged a few drawings and developed the fairy story before our collective effort fizzled out.

During the second winter of the pandemic, in-between lockdowns four and five, I unexpectedly received an email from my niece (via her mother’s inbox) with a word document attached and a simple message.

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People

Alice in Wonderland

14/06/2021
Faded, shabby edged dust jacket of a book.

Late last year, the Athenaeum Theatre advertised a stage production of Alice in Wonderland for children in January.  When I saw the email in my inbox, I instantly thought with delighted relief, ‘Christmas presents for my nieces, sorted!’

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People

Margaret McCormack (1848-1919)

28/03/2021
Black edged white memorial card with a photograph

Margaret McCormack, daughter of William Hogan and Julia McGuire was born c.1848 in County Galway, Ireland. At seventeen years old, Margaret, noted as a servant on the marriage certificate, married tollkeeper, Daniel McCormack, on 1st July 1868 at St Patrick’s Church in Kilmore, Australia. They had seven children: James Daniel (1869-1940); Mary Ellen (1871-1939); Julia (1874-1899); Bridget (1876-1877); Bridget (1879-1959);  Kathleen (1880-1961) and William Joseph (1883-1952). Margaret’s mother, Julia Hogan (1818-1886) lived with the McCormack family at Northwood, before dying of senility in 1886.

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People, Places

Rear Window Twist

29/01/2021
Illustration of a actor James Stewart peering over binoculars with the movie plotline reflected in the lenses and actress Grace Kelly in the background.

The lure of popcorn and a summer holiday matinee of my all-time favourite film, Rear Window (1954), playing at the Lido Cinema in Hawthorn proved irresistible a few weeks back. My dear friend Rebecca and her ten-year-old daughter, Anna, came along with me. They were seeing the movie for the first time.     Read more

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People

Bachelor of Arts: a means to an end?

29/07/2020
A middle aged man named John S Meagher smoking a pipe is sitting in the sun on a verandah at a house called Ikerrin, reading a newspaper. A chair to his left has a pile of papers and a book.

In light of all the volatility going on in the world, I find myself pining for wise, age-old, counsel. I need to chat to someone who has been through it all and there would be no one better qualified for that conversation than my great grandfather, John Sheehy Meagher.

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People

You can never replace a mother

20/05/2020

“You can replace a partner, but you can never replace a mother”.

These words cut through the haze shrouding my existence. I was walking towards the gates of the Immaculate Conception Church, Hawthorn with a pastoral worker. Her words were spoken kindly, even maternally; it was followed with a genuinely concerned, “take care of yourself”. But the sentence, ‘you can never replace a mother’ seared my heart, and forewarned me of the pain ahead. Spoken by someone who knew deeply, the grief of losing a mother.

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People

Mary Ann Meagher, a hidden history: Women’s History Month

29/03/2020
Buildings and landscape

Old skeletons are highly sought after in the family historian’s closet. When I picture the closet of my recent ancestors, it is full of men’s suits, white lab coats and leather brogues. But if I think of the dark wooden closets of the Meagher women, there is barely a coat hanger to leave a clue about the women they were or the life they led.  Their stories, aspirations and laments are hidden, unacknowledged or neglected, and I’ve spent years scrounging around for any loose thread I can find that might tell me of their histories. This is common for women across the ages and something that Women’s History Month seeks to address. Read more

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People

A veiled tradition

26/02/2020

As a child, I would rummage through my mother’s sewing basket. It was a bright orange plastic box with a removable tray divided into little compartments. I was always curious about the contents collected over time. On one occasion, I asked my mother about a strip of beautiful beading sitting in the tray. She told me it was from her wedding dress, made by her mother. Years later, the memory of the beading was recalled sharply when a saleswoman suggested I could add embellishments to the shoulder straps of a wedding dress I was trying on. Tears stung as I thought of this beautiful, silent nod to my mother, whose absence was going to be keenly felt at my wedding just eight months after she died.

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