Lloyd Street Memories

My paternal grandparents, Gordon and Rita Walker, lived at what is now 89 Lloyd Street, Moe, Victoria.  The house has a special place in our family history because my grandfather, Gordon Walker, built it himself in 1935 with the help of a friend.  They actually built two houses side by side.

27 Princes Highway, Moe (now 89 Lloyd Street)

Before then, the family had been living out near Becks Bridge.  Flooding forced them to move, and according to my Aunty Phyllis, the eldest of six children (who would have been eight years old at the time) the family members were separated while waiting for the new house to be completed.  Eventually they were reunited in the home that would become the centre of family life for my father and his siblings.

In the early days, the house was 27 Princes Highway, Moe.  The old highway marker stood directly across the road and showed the distance to Melbourne as exactly 83 miles.  Later, when the bypass was built, the address became 89 Lloyd Street.

My father grew up at 89 Lloyd Street.  His earliest memory was catching butterflies in the backyard with Donny Hampton.  Like most boys, he often tested the boundaries.  Once he brought a young lady home and was discovered in bed by his horrified mother.  "Your father will hear about his" she threatened.  Dad spent the day worrying about the consequences.  When Grandad arrived home from work, he called gruffly "Outside, son."   Expecting the worst, Dad followed im.  Instead of the thrashing that he feared, Grandad simply said "Don't upset your mother.  There's a lemon tree down the back".

In the backyard
Barry and Danny Bryce, Joan and Margaret Walker, Kelvin, Stan Walker (standing front) and Judy Walker (sitting)

Not every lesson was delivered so gently though.  One of Dad's chores was collecting briquettes for the family fire.   He would walk along the railway tracks, sometimes all the way towards Trafalgar (10 km away), filling a bag with fallen briquettes before carrying the heavy bag home.  Being a smart boy, he decided there was an easier way.  Rather than searching beside the tracks, he helped himself directly from railway cars, then hid behind the train before returning home with a full bag.  Grandad somehow discovered the truth and found dad hiding.  Dad 'copped a hiding for stealing'.

Then there was the day that Dad pinched a cigarette from his father's packet and hid in the outside toilet for a smoke.  Without warning, the door burst open and a bucket of water came flying over him.  Grandad claimed he had seen smoke coming from the toilet and thought it was on fire!

89 Lloyd Street Moe - September 1961

Lloyd Street also witnessed happier milestones too.  One afternoon in 1956, Dad came home from school and spotted a tall new television aerial on the roof.  He ran the remainder of the way home knowing that his father had purchased the family's first television, so they could watch the Melbourne Olympic games.

I enjoyed hearing the stories from the six Walker children.  Aunty Marg often proudly retold how she once threw a chop bone at her younger brother.  It struck him on the back of the head and lodged there.  It knocked him to the ground and there was a lot of blood.  Neither remembered what the disagreement was about!

A horse and cart delivered milk.  Dad remembers the milkman pouring milk into 'billies' before bottles were delivered. 

Neighbours shared vegetables, at least until Nanna discovered they were fertilising the garden with the contents of a jerry (chamber pot).  After witnessing this, she said "we won't eat them any more".

Nanna and Aunty J would always hide in the hallway cupboard when there was thunder and lightening.

89 Lloyd Street, Moe

With six children in the house, bath water was commonly shared, usually from oldest to youngest.  Sometimes the younger children managed to jump the queue to enjoy cleaner and warmer water.  I remember that bathroom too.  It was a bright pink, which I loved.  My cousin told me of having a bath with nanna who, always very proper, left her knickers and bra on saying "Aren't I Silly?"

Christmas gatherings were common for us cousins.  There always seemed to be cars lining the driveway and plenty of long-neck beer bottles around during visits.

The Christmas pudding was legendary.  Nanna hid coins inside it, and we children searched for money while eating as much as possible.  Better still, the pre-decimal coins could be exchanged for decimal currency and spent on lollies at the nearby service station.  While our parents encouraged us to finish our meals, Nanna was happy for us to focus on finding more money!

The house remains vivid in my memory.  Just inside the front door stood a crystal cabinet with a photo of my grandparents on the top, being their wedding portrait according to my cousin.  Hidden behind the photograph was always a bag of jelly beans or lollies.  One day I stretched on tip toes and successfully reached the lollies.  My mother was furious, but Nanna simply smiled and said "That's all right, they were for them anyway".  That was Nanna. Always kind and generous.

1969 My cousin, sister and I in the loungeroom at Nanna and Grandads.  I remember that the sliding door was heavy and hard for me to move.  The door behind is my grandparents bedroom door.

There was a long bench seat in the dining room where all us kids squeezed together beneath a picture of dogs, that now hangs in a cousin's home.  We played cricket and games in the backyard. One time we were having a great time spinning on the Hills Hoist until another cousin, Tracey, got hurt.  We baked cakes with Nanna, held tea parties, and were allowed to pull all sorts of things out of the kitchen cupboards to play with.  Thinking about it now, I realise that my father adopted the same approach with my own children when they were little. Next time my grandaughter comes to visit, I will let her do the same thing!

Not to scale
Memories of the layout of 89 Lloyd Street, Moe

Some of my fondest memories involve early mornings when we stayed over.  My sister and I slept in the bedroom near the sunroom and listened carefully for the sound of the outside toilet flushing.  The chain and water tank made a loud noise.  The flush told us that Granddad was going to work.  We would immediately race into our grandparent's bed.  Nanna, dressed in her maroon chenille dressing gown, would bring us Milo in sipper cups along with colouring books and pencils.   I would have been less than 6 years old but considered myself to old for a supper cup, but if you wanted warm milo in bed, those were the rules.

89 Lloyd Street, Moe in 2026

Today, the house still stands, as do many of the memories attached to it.  Streets are often simply roads that take us from one place to another.  But some streets become part of family history.  Lloyd Street, Moe is one of those places.  Built by my grandfather, where my father grew up, where my great grandfather Ambrose Walker died, and a place of many memories for several generations.  If only the walls could talk.

Gordon and Rita Walker at 89 Lloyd Street Moe
1967

This prompt was inspired by Sepia Saturday.  Thank you also to my cousins for their assistance. 

   

An historical walk through the streets of Nhill

For this week's Sepia Saturday theme, I am taking a stroll through the streets of Nhill as they appeared almost a century ago.  These photos from family albums, date mostly from the late 1920s to early 1930s, and capture a Wimmera town where the streets connected schools, churches, businesses, travellers and families.

The journey begins during "Back to Nhill Week" in March 1929, when former residents returned to celebrate the town's history and community spirit.  The streets would have been bustling with visitors renewing old friendships and recalling earlier days.

Welcome to Nhill, Victoria, Australia
Looking towards Nelson Street - March 1929

Looking towards Winiam - March 1929
"Don't Forget Old Friends For New Ones"

Before further exploring Nhill's streets, let's first look down upon them.  These photographs were taken from the top of the silo in 1930, providing a bird's-eye view of the town.

Nhill - Looking North - March 1930

Nhill - Looking South - March 1930

Nhill - Looking East - March 1930

Nhill - Looking South West - March 1930

The photos above were taken from the Noske Bros Flour Mill silo in Nhill by my grandmother.

Communication linked the country community of Nhill with the wider world through its imposing Post Office.  

Nhill Post Office, Nelson Street - 1930

The Royal Picture Theatre, also in Nelson Street, was a source of entertainment. Silent films and then 'talkies' brought the community together.

Royal Picture Theatre, Nelson Street - 1930

The Nhill High School, in Brougham Street, created opportunities for local children, who might otherwise have missed out on further eduction.  My grandmother was one of them.  She boarded in town with her Aunt Alice while attending the school and dreamed of becoming a teacher.

Later in life she wrote " I boarded with Aunty Alice while going to High School and had visions of being a teacher, but Mum was going through change of life and when she went down with measles, I had to go home at 14".

Her education had already been interrupted by the realities of rural life.  The family lived more than three miles from the nearest school.  She wrote " I only had 6 years of schooling, as we lived over 3 miles from the school.  At first we had to walk.  They kept me home till I was 8 and John was 6.  Then he [father] bought a pony for us and we got boils in summer from horse sweat, as we rode bareback"

For many county children of her generation, education depended on distance, transport and family circumstances.  Although her ambition of becoming a teacher was never realised, these memories provide a vivid glimpse of the determination required simply to attend school.

Nhill Higher Education School, Brougham Street - 1934

The streets of Nhill were more than roads connecting buildings.  They connected the lives of the people who lived, worked and raised families in the area.  For farming families from the surrounding area, Friday was shopping day.  Horses, drays and motor cars brought people into town to stock up on supplies, conduct business, catch up with family and friends and exchange local news.  The streets of Nhill became the social and commercial heart of the district.

Victoria Street, Nhill  - March 1929

Victoria Street, Nhill - Undated

Bob Pilgrim's car - Victoria Street, Nhill (undated)

On Friday shopping days, many visitors to Nhill could have found themselves at the Commercial Banking Company (CBC Bank) on the corner of McPherson and Victoria Streets.  The bank was a symbol of the prosperity and challenges of a farming district, where livelihoods depended on crops, rainfall and market prices.  The Bank's prominent position at one of Nhill's busiest insersections reflected its importance to the community.

CBC Bank, corner of McPherson and Victoria Streets - 1934

At the corner of Victoria and Nelson Streets stood the Nhill War Memorial.  Photographed (below) in 1928, only a few years after its dedication, it served as a reminder of local men who had served in the Great War.  Nearly a century later, it still stands in the same location, linking present day Nhill to those who walked these streets before us.

Corner of Nelson & Victoria Streets - 1928

The Nhill Hotel in Victoria Street was a prominent feature of the streetscape, where many locals and travellers undoubtedly enjoyed its hospitality, with many a tall tale shared over a glass or two.  As a staunchly tea total family, my relatives were unlikely to have spent much time inside its doors and were more likely at the new Methodist Church, also in Victoria Street.  

Nhill Hotel, Victoria Street (undated)

New Methodist Church, Victoria Street, Nhill - June 1933

The railway connected Nhill with the rest of Victoria and beyond.  The railway was vital for passengers, farming and commerce.

Nhill Railway Station (undated)

I have always loved the photo below of my grandmother's family gathered for a picnic near the hospital on Nhill Show Day in 1922.  Such occasions strengthened the social bonds that made small country towns vibrant communities.

Pilgrim family, near the Hospital, Nhill Show Day - 1922

Among all the streets, shops, schools and public buildings, there were the ordinary moments of life.  The photo below shows my Great Aunt pushing a pram along a Nhill street.  The buildings provide the setting but it is the people, who truly bring the town to life.

Mavis Scott (nee Pilgrim) - Nhill 1943

As I look through these photographs, I see far more than streets and buildings. I see a community. These were the streets where my ancestors shopped, went to school, attended church, caught trains, conducted business, remembered the fallen, and pushed prams. They are the streets where friendships were formed, news was exchanged and lives unfolded. I think it was my Mum was said there was "Nil at Nhill", but these photographs suggest otherwise.  For me, Nhill is rich with stories, memories and connections. Nearly a century later, the streets may have changed, but they still lead me back to the people who walked them before me.

This post was inspired by Sepia Saturday

Talking to Ghosts

Every family historian has their brick walls.  We collect certificates, search newspapers, pore over DNA matches and build theories from fragments of evidence.  Yet there are some questions that only the people themselves could answer.

If I could speak to ghosts, there are three ancestors in particular I would love to spend an evening with.

Roseana Jones (1872- 1915)

My first question would be simple:  "Who is your father?"

My paternal great grandmother, Roseana Jones (nee Atkins) was born in Dunolly, Victoria in 1872 to unmarried Eliza Atkins.  No father was recorded on Roseana's birth certificate.  When she married, her father was recorded as Robert Atkins, a man I have never been able to identify.  When she died, her father was recorded as John Blain, her stepfather.

More than 150 years later, the mystery remains unsolved.

Family stories suggest her unknown father may have been Aboriginal, but there is no evidence to prove this.  DNA testing has not provided any clear answers either.

If I could sit down with Roseana, I would ask whether she knew who her father was, what her mother told her, and whether the stories are even close to the truth.  More than that, I would want to know about life and her childhood.

My grandmother denied that there was aboriginal heritage.  

Samuel Francis Drayton (c1814-1901)

Samuel's story spans continents and raises even more questions.

It is believed that my maternal 3X Great Grandfather was born in Philadelphia around 1814 but I cannot locate a birth record.  He worked as a steward on the whaling schooner, Sophia, out of Nantucket and travelled around the world for more than a decade, before disembarking in Australia in 1851.

But who was he before that?

DNA evidence has hinted at connections to the prominent Drayton family, as well as West African and African American ancestry from the southeastern United stqates.  This has led to speculation that Samuel may have been the son of an enslaved women and fathered by a member of the Drayton family.  Whether that theory is correct remains unknown.

If I could speak with Samuel, I would ask about his mother and his origins.  I would want to know how he learned to be a tailor, what life was like aboard a whaling vessel and why he chose to leave America and settle in Australia.

Most of all, I would like to know which parts of his story, we've guessed correctly.

It is believed that this is Richard Foy and Charlotte Drayton c1886  
We believe that Charlotte has 25% African American ancestry.

Richard Foy (1848 - 1898)

My maternal great great grandfather, Richard Foy, presents a different mystery.

He was likely born in Tuam, County Galway, in late 1848, while Ireland was experiencing the Great Famine.  At some point his family appears to have moved to Lancashire, England, before Richard emigrated to Australia in the 1870s.

Unfortunately, records of his arrival (in Brisbane) seem to have been lost, leaving gaps in his story.

But I would like to know more about the man himself.

After arriving in Australia, Richard formed a relationship with Charlotte, a woman whose husband had deserted her and left her to raise a young son alone.  Richard helped support both Charlotte and her child, Samuel.  Together they had three children, Agnes, May and John before eventually marrying in October 1893.   

Tragically, their young son died of "Asphyxia Congestion of the Lungs" in July 1893, which is about the same time that Charlotte was diagnosed with tuberculosis.  She died less than five month later, in December 1893, which was two months after their marriage.

Did Richard marry Charlotte knowing she was dying, wanting to provide security for her and their remaining children?  What was life like for them before they married?  

Then only three years later Richard married Charlotte's sister Virginia.  Was Virginia already helping care for the children who had lost their mother?  Was their marriage born from affection, necessity, family loyalty, or perhaps all three?

More tragedy followed.  Virginia gave birth to their son Percy on 19 September 1897.  Four days later, both Virginia and baby Percy were dead.  Virginia's death certificate records pneumonia and heart failure after a short illness, while Percy died from lack of sustenance.  By May 1898, Richard himself had also died from pneumonia and typhoid, while returning from Western Australia to Victoria.

If I could talk to Richard, I would ask about his family origins, Ireland, England and the voyage to Australia.  But I would also ask about Charlotte, Virginia and the children.  How did he find the strength to endure the loss of two children and two wives?   Why did he leave the children with their grandparents in Victoria while he went to Western Australia?

Questions without answers

Family history is full of gaps. Some questions refuse to be answered.

There are many ancestors I would love the opportunity to speak with, each carrying stories and answers that have been lost with time.  But if I could choose just three ghosts for a conversation, these are the three I would seek out.

I would ask Roseana Jones "Who was your father?"

I would ask Samuel Drayton about his mother, his ancestry, his years aboard the Sophia, and why he chose to begin a new life in Australia.

And I would ask Richard Foy about Ireland, the journey that brought him to Australia, and the tragedies and hardships he endured along the way.

Then I would simply listen.  Because sometimes the greatest family history mysteries are not about names and dates.  They are about people.

I would love to be able to speak with ghosts!

This post was inspired by Sepia Saturday.

Nhill Air Pageant, April 1933: The Day Gran Took Flight

 Among the photographs in my grandmother's albums are several taken at the Nhill Air Pageant in April 1933.  They are fascinating images of a time when aviation was still in its infancy and the sight of an aeroplane drew an entire community together.

One photograph has always been my favourite.

In it, my grandmother, Eva Jean Pilgrim, is wearing a leather pilot's helmet and flying goggles.  Standing beside an aircraft, sh is grinning while being watched by her mother and siblings.  it is a simple family photograph, but every time I look at it, I see see something different.

Eva Pilgrim about to board her first flight, with family watching on

My grandmother described herself as a shy country girl.  Adventure was not a word I would have automatically associated with her.  Yet in this photograph she appears completely at ease, embracing an opportunity that must have seemed extraordinary in 1933.  Flying was still a novelty for most Australians.  Commercial aviation was in its infancy, and for many people a flight in an aeroplance was a one in a lifetime experience.

Looking at that photo, it is easy to imagine the excitement of the day.  Families brought a picnic and gathered around the aircraft, children wanted to get a closer look, the sound of the engines roaring and the distinctive leather helmets and goggles.  For a young country girl, the chance to climb aboard and see the world from above must have felt magical.

The image is made even more meaningful because that first flight was only the beginning.  Over the years, my grandmother would fly many more times, but this photograph preserves the moment when it all started.  It captures the anticipation of a new experience.

The album also contains photographs of several of the aircraft that attended the pageant.  Among them is one of the most famous aeroplanes in Australian History, the Southern Cross, flown by Sir Charles Kingsford Smith.  

The Southern Cross was the first plane to fly from USA to Australia in 1928

What I enjoy most about these photos is how they connect national history to family history.  Aviation enthusiasts wouls see historic aircraft and the excitement of early flight.  Although I see those things too, I also see my grandmother, standing on the edge of a new adventure with a smile on her face.

Nearly a century later, that smile still tells a story.

It reminds me that courage does not always look dramatic.  Sometimes, it is simply a shy country girl putting on a leather flying helmet, climbing into an aeroplane for the first time, and saying yes to the first of many adventures.

This post has been inspired by Sepia Saturday 849

Coming Home Changed: The Invisible Victims of War

"My word, our boys are brave lads, frightened of nothing. I have seen nearly every different type of soldier in the world, but give me the old Australians, and I am satisfied." –  My Great Uncle, Robert Jones, wrote these words to his father in 1916.

HMAT RMS Osterley embarked Melbourne 29th September 1915 for Egypt then France 

Robert "Bob" Jones

The young men who departed Australia for war were likely full of nervous excitement.  Little did they know that over 30% of those onboard the RMS Osterley would never return home, and a further 35% would be sent back early with severe injuries.  Their journey was one of transformation;  one that would profoundly impact them and their families forever.

My grand uncle, Robert John "Bob" Jones, was one of 153 young men of the 24th Battalion, 5th Reinforcement who left Australia aboard the RMS Osterley on 29 September 1915.  He had just turned  eighteen earlier that month and was likely still grieving his mother, who had passed away only five months prior.

Bob was born on 2 September 1897 in the small mining community of Creswick, Victoria, the eldest of three children to Robert William Jones and Roseana Jones (née Atkins).  Bob worked as a miner (like his father) and lied about his age to enlist, though he was officially eighteen when he embarked.

For his first six months, Bob was stationed in various parts of Egypt.  His war records show a first stint in hospital due to "minor nose trouble" at Minya in March 1916.

A Rebel at Heart

Bob's rebellious streak was evident even before his wartime service. In 1914, as a cadet, he faced charges at the Daylesford Police Court for failing to attend compulsory drills and for breaching discipline; specifically, talking on parade several times. For these infractions, he was fined 10 shillings and confined in Queenscliff Fortress for seven days.

Though he showed a tendency to go "AWL" (absent without leave) during the war, Bob ultimately proved steadfast when it counted most.

Pozieres: A Battlefield of Survival

On 5 August 1916, Bob endured severe gunshot wounds to his left arm during extreme battle conditions at Pozieres, France. Major McSharry described this day as "the heaviest barrage the battalion ever saw." Bob was fortunate to survive the carnage, which left soldiers dead on their stretchers, alongside the stretcher-bearers.

Bob later wrote to his father: "Anyone who had come out of the previous months' heavy fighting could shake hands with himself......I never expected to emerge alive"

Despite his injuries, Bob was back in action within 20 days. By the end of 1916, of the men from Bob's ship, 20 were dead and 13 had been sent home injured.

A Heroic but Traumatised Soldier

On 30 October 1917 in France, Bob was "blown up" while manning a machine gun, sustaining shell wounds to his head and right ankle but "carried on for 5 hours till relieved" and then collapsed.  His records paint a harrowing picture of his recovery as he was unconscious for six days, followed by memory loss and a gradual loss of power in his left arm.

After months in hospitals across France and England, Bob returned to Australia on 10 April 1918 aboard the hospital ship Borda.  He was declared medically unfit on 21 November 1918, just days after the armistice.  Though he was awarded the 1914/1915 Star, the British War Medal, and the Victory Medal, his personal battles were far from over.

The Aftermath of War

Robert Jones 1966

Bob rarely spoke of the war, once reprimanding a family member with the remark: "You have no idea what we did or saw. It is better left unspoken."

His trauma remained evident throughout his life, and his war wounds extended beyond the physical. Bob named his children Lorraine (after the Battle of Lorraine), Verdon (after the infamous Battle of Verdun), and Norma (Normandy), a reflection of the battlefields that had shaped his very existence.

Our family knows little of Bob beyond official records.  My grandmother, his sister, spoke of him only briefly, mentioning the gas burns he suffered (The Somme), the metal plate in his head, and how the war irrevocably changed him.  Family stories describe him as a nomadic figure who frequented hotels, yet he was fondly remembered by my uncle as a "great old fellow" who enjoyed fishing and ferreting.

Bob spent his final years at his daughter's home in Newborough, Victoria, passing away from lung cancer and bronchopneumonia on 11 September 1967, at the age of 70.  His ashes are interred at Springvale cemetery.

Originally written for Remembrance Day 2013, this post has been rewritten and republished on ANZAC Day 2025 as we reflect on the sacrifices of those who served; not only those who fell, but also the ones who returned forever changed.

LEST WE FORGET.