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Family
History
By Alex Hogan © Alex Hogan 2009 It was late, he was tired, and he was sick of his sister’s incessant demands. She was online with him via email. He knew he should go to bed but kept checking the emails ‘just one more time’ and each time there’d be another one from her. Finally got onto the Old Bailey records, she wrote. Damn. Now he’d never get to bed. Check this one out. This is not why he was transported to Van Dieman’s Land, but it would certainly have made his life on the boat more interesting. Well, I’m off to bed now, catch you tomorrow. So, she had the bravery to end the cyber-chat, not him. That’s because she was the one who was directing it, telling him to check this birth record, and that death record, and another shipping record. He didn’t dare tell her he thought family history research was getting increasingly duller. When Catey first discovered that their great uncle-to-the-power-of-four had been a convict the journey had seemed fascinating. But apart from finding out he had a mole on his upper lip (thanks to the meticulous record taking of Georgian England) little more was known. After he served his term and got his ticket-of-leave he disappeared from the British record books. There was no marriage record for him, and with no marriage record it was hard to find any possible children. The lack of archiving precision in colonial Australia also meant there seemed to be no record of his death. Paul gave a massive yawn and tried to make himself shut down his PC . But his bedroom didn’t beckon. His wife had long since retired for the night grumbling as usual about his nocturnal tendencies. But Paul craved the silence of the evening after she was asleep and he could pretend for a few precious hours that he lived without her. He peered down the hallway that led to what he considered her room. To him it felt as dark and dingy as the crowded and dank spaces deep in the bowels of a convict ship bound for New Holland. He clicked on the link Catey had provided. The British website with transcribed and digitized Old Bailey records came up, modern technology freeing these ancient mysterious records for the world masses to see. He felt as if he were peering into the world of Oliver Twist. The name of his ancestor appeared, but not, as Catey had said, for the offence he was transported; that had been for “stealing plank”, presumably a quantity of timber for building purposes, or burning in a fireplace to keep him warm during a bitter Dickensian winter. Contrary to popular belief in Australia most of the convicts were repeat offenders, especially those sent to Van Dieman’s Land. Paul scanned through the legalese of the 18th century searching for the crime Cate felt was so amusing. And there it was. The word leapt out at Paul. It seemed to quiver, and grow, until it took up the whole space in his head. “Sodomy”. Thomas Charles had apparently enticed a young man to his room to force him to commit the crime that remains unable to speak for itself. And it wasn’t the first time they had done so, it seemed. Paul pushed the off button of his PC, forcing it to close without shutting down properly. The white screen reduced to black nothingness in half a second. He stared at it, his eyes sucking in the darkness, letting it flood him. He had seen and heard of families with strings of uncles and cousins who were gay. But the odd member of their family tree that Catey unearthed who had not married Paul had forcibly ignored. In colonial Australia there was a shortage of women. He rose from his desk and wandered down to the spare room, feeling his way in the darkness. He crept into the room and pulled a dusty box from under the spare bed. He riffled through old papers and ephemera, the relics of pre-computer days. He finally found an old book – his high school magazine from his final year. He dusted off the cover. It opened naturally at the cricket team page. They had won the local area cup. There they were sitting proudly in lines. Paul was opening bat, along with Peter. Peter and Paul. Their team constantly ribbed them about that. Peter stood next to Paul. They were squashed up close so they could all fit into the picture, and Paul’s arm was forced to lie against Peter’s. Paul could still remember the feel of it. Peter. Pale red hair, freckles across his nose, and a big wide smile. Peter, who took up a trade in Melbourne, met a girl, and fell in love.
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