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Auckland
1998
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Libby sat pondering over the papers spread before her, pencil in one hand while the other busily twirled a section of hair round and round. Where have all the years gone?
Her fascination with Daniel had begun long ago when the children had been small and the older generation still alive, but it had waned over the years. She and Ben had moved away from the area for work. The years slipped by, another promotion, another move, and the visits to the Manawatu family home became less frequent. Their daughter’s wedding a couple of years ago had been a wonderful occasion, but it started her thinking. Her family was growing and she still had questions about the past. She owed it to the next generation, and those yet to come, to learn as much as she could and write it all down.
Although exhilarated by new discoveries and fired up when she found something interesting, most of the research was routine – and often fruitless. Hours were spent hunched over microfiches at the local genealogy club, following leads that turned into dead ends. At other times she would read up on the history of the town and region, trying to work out what might have happened. She sat poring over yet another list of names and dates, none of which told her anything new.
I wish I’d done all this sooner, before the older generation died. They could have answered my questions.
She remembered the time she had been shown the old family Bible stuffed full of important papers and letters. Libby had laid the beautifully bound, leather-covered Bible in front of her hoping to find more secrets inside. She’d opened the cover with high expectations and was not disappointed. The old family photographs hanging at the ‘homestead’ had been the trigger. Libby would ask about one of them, and a steady stream of stories would pour out, some reaching myth proportions.
Ben had laughed when she told him the true story of the legend about Daniel getting drunk and getting a dishonourable discharge. His discharge from the army was clean, but his record with the Armed Constabulary was another story. He got himself into trouble after a drunken fight a few days after Christmas 1869 and was sentenced to three months hard labour before being discharged – not dishonourably, but certainly in disgrace.
Daniel’s army papers, which Libby had requested from the Archives, showed that after the battle of Orakau Pa he was valet to Colonel Lyons for two years in the camp at Cambridge. In December 1866, at the end of his three-year stint, he was discharged without any blemish on his record.
She wondered what Daniel did during the two years he was in camp. He must have had something more interesting to do than run messages and act as valet to the colonel, but the records didn’t enlighten her. Then he went missing for about eighteen months before the next set of records caught up with him. He joined the Armed Constabulary in April 1868 and was discharged on 27 January 1870, none of which made sense, but then much of Daniel’s life had not made sense. Libby thought the stories were much more interesting than the reality but facts were facts, as simple as they sounded.
From the history books she knew that Orakau Pa was the last big battle of the Waikato Wars. There were a few smaller ones, like the battle of Gate Pa where the British took a hammering, and a couple of others later on, but most of the Maori fled south across the river and settled in what is known as the King Country. The army stayed on the northern side and set up camps in Te Awamutu until the end of 1864 or early 1865, withdrawing to Cambridge as the military settlers moved in, taking over the confiscated lands and forming the frontier towns.
One story she did prove, like all the soldiers who fought in the war, Daniel was granted fifty acres of land. His was at Pukerimu in Cambridge. Ben was excited when Libby had told him, until she pointed out that Daniel had not worked it.
“The government surveyors of the day took a survey map, divided it into squares and allocated the plots without seeing the land,” she said. “Some would have received prime flat land while others would have received steep, boggy land. Who knows what Daniel received or why he left it.” At least she had the lot numbers and location and would investigate it one day.
To Libby’s surprise, the story of Ben’s grandfather, Charles, getting dressed up to go to Auckland in search of land on Great Barrier Island proved to be true after all. She’d seen the letter from the solicitors in 1936 asking for back rates, but they’d forfeited the land instead. What she hadn’t been able to find out was how Daniel got that land in the first place. Was it a second land grant or did he buy it? Neither scenario sounded likely. She would have to keep searching.
With a sigh Libby gathered the papers into a pile, re-sorting the most relevant to the top, ready for her to study next time. There were so many gaps she hardly knew where to start. On the distaff side, little was known about Granny Adin, a fact that intrigued her. Right now, though, there was some work she wanted to do before Ben came home.
An hour later, “Ben? I’m so glad you’re home. Come see this,” Libby called.
Ben peered over her shoulder at the computer screen. “What, hon? What have you found?”
“Nothing new, just filling in the chart – but doesn’t it look impressive? I’ve gone back seven generations.” The glee in her voice made Ben smile. “And with an lot of dates filled in. From your family’s point of view, the New Zealand branch started here.” Libby pointed to the timeline on the screen. “Five generations ago with your great-grandfather, Daniel, in 1863.”
Turning in the chair she looked up at Ben. “I still wonder about what their life was like. It gets to be a compulsion sometimes to keep reading about the history of a place, trying to imagine how Daniel fitted. He must have been awfully lonely sometimes, with no family of his own.”
“You’re a softie, you know that,” he said.
“So you keep telling me – but don’t you think so?”
“But Daniel married, so what’s your problem?”
“I know. But not till much later. He was thirty-eight before he even met Granny Adin. What did he do before then? Who were his friends? Did he have a girl? Who knows. But I tell you one thing – Granny Adin is the one I’d like to find out about. Her life is so sketchy. A bit here and a bit there, and great thundering blanks in between.”
“Didn’t you find a postcard in the family Bible from her nana to Amy, saying she was in Wakefield? Did you follow up with the Nelson records?”
“I did, but nothing. I thought I was on to something with that postcard. ‘To my dear Amy – I hope the new flax will banish a lot of your sorrows, dear, and come a glad New Year. Much love to all and your dear self from your old Nana’, dated December 1917.
“But I can find nothing in the Nelson records, or anywhere else for that matter, to tell us who it might have been. I took a guess, since the card was addressed to Amy – Daniel and Emma’s youngest – that ‘Nana’ could be Granny Adin’s mother. But it can’t be.”
Libby had gone from excited to frustrated all in the space of a few minutes. Engrossing as she found it, there was so much she didn’t know. Her research had turned into a case of stop and stall and not a lot of go. A bit here and there, but she wanted to make sure it was all as accurate as possible.
“OK. Tell me, what do you know?”
Instead of answering Ben’s question, Libby looked at the papers spread in front of her, tapping her pencil on her front teeth, and asked one of her own. “Where did you think Emma and her parents and brothers and sisters all came from?”
“I was always told they were Prussian.”
“Hmm.”
“Why?”
Again Libby twiddled a section of hair in her fingers. “I’m not entirely sure about that. I’ve been back over all the records, comparing them again and again, to try to make some sense of it all. The passenger list says the father, Eduard, was from Bohemia.”
“Bohemia?” Ben rubbed his hands over his head. “They’re miles apart. There’s a huge mountain range between them. It’s a totally different country, always has been – different languages too. Bohemia’s now part of the Czech Republic. Prussia became part of Germany in the 1870s. It no longer exists as a separate nation.”
“I thought so. Just checking. The next funny thing is Emma’s marriage certificate. It says her mother’s name was Rachel, but the passenger list shows the mother’s name is Frederika. Which is right?” Libby looked up from her papers. “Gosh, I do wish there weren’t so many names the same. It confuses the generations and which side of the family I’m talking about! And it’s so hard to explain. It’s complicated enough for me.
“Anyway, where was I? Emma’s younger brother Fritz, who everyone ended up calling Fred – yet another Fred – was born in Linden, Germany. Or so it says on his death certificate from 1900. He was only twenty-seven, and the parents were married in Waldenburg, which is in Saxony.” Libby looked at Ben. “Was that part of Prussia then?”
Ben reached for the atlas on the bookshelf and tried to find all the places Libby had written down as towns named in the various documents. “Technically then, yes, they did come from Prussia. But at least now we know the father came from Bohemia.”
Picking up a photo, Libby stared at it looking for clues. “In this picture of ‘Aunty Clara’ on horseback, which Clara is it? There are at least three.”
“I don’t know,” replied Ben. “I can’t help you with this one.”
“Talking of horses, did Daniel own any racehorses, do you know?”
“Not that I know of. I always understood Daniel liked a good flutter and knew a bit about them. Not sure where he learnt it all from but apparently he could spot a good one.”
“What about your grandfather then, since Uncle Len owns a few?” queried Libby.
“A ‘few’ is an understatement – around eighteen at the last count. And yes, Grandpop and Nana were keen followers and part-owned horses with some others. Ellen’s Pride is the one I remember. There was always a photo of it on the wall, winning some race or other. Aunty Ruby always liked a flutter on her favourite numbers – five and ten. Uncle Charlie pretended to be a buyer. Went to the sales, a lot, but never bought anything that I know of. I suppose all of us had an interest to a greater or lesser degree.”
“Interesting, but not sure it adds anything to the story. And I still have the same problem: I don’t know anything about Emma’s parents, her older brother Heinrich, or her baby sister Clara. Oh well, back to the records I go.”
