Nine years ago, in the January, my husband and I travelled halfway round the world to Tasmania. We travelled by air and it took us two days, with a stop-over of a couple of hours in a gulf state, I don’t now remember which, but I do remember very well resisting buying the most beautiful black porcelain coffee set. When we arrived I began to keep a diary, unfortunately after a while I stopped writing for some now forgotten reason, maybe laziness, or just was so taken with what we were doing and seeing, I didn’t think about it.
I have now come across the diary, written in my usual terrible scrawl, and thought I ought to type it out – although quailing at the thought. I then had the great idea of trying the voice to text feature on my laptop. Well, I’m amazed!! it’s been quite successful, and although slow because I’m trying to speak clearly, all is going well. It does misinterpret some of what I say, and I do spell out some of the names of places, but it’s much quicker than copying – although it’s still going to take some time.
The reason we went to Hobart in Tasmania was because I wanted to see where my great-grandfather Louis was born and lived until he was in his 40’s, before returning to England, somehow meeting my great grandma, Lois, who he for some mystery reason omitted to marry, despite having five children with her.
In the following extract husband and I are looking for where Louis lived for much of his Tasmanian life, in the fabulous villa called Boa Vista (now the site of a Quaker school) kunanyi which I refer to is a mountain dominating Hobart, spelled with a lower case k in respect to the palawa people, indigenous to the area. Our adventure starts the day after we arrive, and for some reason I’ve written ‘they’ instead of ‘we’:
An emotional day; they set out Argyle Street in glorious but hot sunshine and perfect blue sky. The road leading out of the city was through an area of retail and commercial businesses, yards, garages, stores, small bungalows and chalets. They were brick-built and attractive with a lot of fretwork and wrought iron, reminiscent of a rather tired seaside town just waiting to become desirable again.
The road began to seem endless; they were looking for any sign of Boa Vista Road or the Quaker School or the gates to the Lodge of the family’s mansion.
It became hotter and steeper and they were beginning – without saying anything to each other, to fear they had somehow missed their way. She suggested they just continued to the next crest, as the town began to run out of itself.
The views were spectacular across the valley to kunanyi and down to the town – obscured now by streetlights, signs and modern buildings. It was so easy to imagine what it must have been like in the 1850’s when Samuel bought Boa Vista.
They waited in the shade and then she walked on and suddenly a sign for the Friends’ school, and then blue railings, and then the gate house. She had seen so many pictures but then to actually see it, to put her hand on its pillars, to stand where her family had stood… So exciting, so moving, such a sense of being there.
A lot of what I’ve written is a bit rambly and notes rather than proper writing, so although I may share some more here, I will rewrite much of it separately to add in more details, information and memories. My featured image is of the gatehouse to Boa Vista – I stood by it, thinking of Louis and his parents and siblings. I felt very close to them, although of course, they had died over a century before, Louis in 1895.
Lois Elsden 