Just north of Bega, surrounded by National Parks and state forests, rests the small New South Wales community of Quaama.  This hamlet was established in the latter half of the 19th century and formerly called ‘Dry River’.  I’m unsure when they changed their name to Quaama – or why – but it was originally spelt with an extra ‘a’ on the end.  I assume that someone believed that was one ‘a’ too many.

It was a beautiful spring morning when I found myself searching for Quaama’s cemetery.  It lies south east of the bucolic village, in a gently sloping field behind the last of the houses. As I parked my car and entered the cemetery, I couldn’t escape the feeling that I was interloping – there was a palpable ‘spirit of place’ here.

The cemetery has a few marked burials in what I assumed were family clusters, but the one that caught my eye stood all alone, some considerable distance from the entrance.

Adam Engelman(n) was born in Germany in February 1842, the second son of Heinrich and Agnes Engelmann (nee Dumm).  He came to Australia with his parents, his older brother Martin and his younger sisters Agnes, Catherine and Elizabetha in March of 1855.  The voyage must have been difficult for the Engelmanns as the infant Elizabetha died on the voyage.

Adam and his family were assisted immigrants brought to Australia by William Macarthur, the youngest son of John and Elizabeth Macarthur.  As his father and older brother were both ‘Vine Dressers’ they no doubt went to work on Macarthur’s extensive vineyards in Camden, New South Wales.

At Bega in September of 1864 Adam married Celia Eden Hayden, daughter of the convict and bushranger known as “Big Jack”.  Celia and Adam had 15 children, though it wasn’t until 1872 that they moved to Quaama with their four daughters.

Adam was naturalised in early 1876, and his brother Martin followed suit the following year – their father Heinrich having undergone the process just a few years after arriving.

It must have troubled Adam – as it must have for all German born Australians – to see the outbreak of the First World War.  How sad that he did not live to see it end, dying only days before the official cessation of hostilities.

Sad too that Adam rests alone; an isolated grave in an isolated burial ground.  In life he would have been surrounded by family, but now he is deserted – or so it would appear.  Many of Adam’s family remained at Quaama – his wife Celia passed away there in 1935 – and perhaps they are buried there too, resting in graves unmarked.

You can read more of Brad’s Grave Tales below -

Brad’s Grave Tales - William Hird

Brad’s Grave Tales - Strange Hartigan

Brad’s Grave Tales – Helen and Kate Graham

Brad’s Grave Tales – The Burnetts

This article first appeared on The Inside History Magazine blog.

It was a cold and rainy afternoon when I ventured into Cheltenham Pioneer Cemetery in Melbourne – perfect weather to mingle with the departed.

This beautiful cemetery is located about 20kms south east of Melbourne’s CBD and rests against the railway line that was cut through in the 1880s. The grounds are well kept and despite the rain I was able to get around with relative ease. The grave stones and monuments are in very good order, thanks to the wonderful work of the Friends of Cheltenham and Regional Cemeteries.

Whilst the rain impeded my usual wandering approach, I still managed to get around, protected from the water thanks to the boles of some of the larger trees and it was from under the branches of one such tree that I spied the final home of the Burnetts.

Many and varied things draw my attention to a particular gravestone but the thing that spoke to me this time was the ages of its occupants: 95, 87, 90 and 16 – the octogenarian and nonagenarians each emphasising the lost potential of passing at only 16.

Alan Gordon Edgar Burnett was the first child of Henry Halford and Frances Rosina Burnett (nee Monk). They married in 1884 and Alan was born a short time later in 1885.  Henry and Fanny went on to have three more children Ellenor Mary, Mildred May and Cedric Henry.

Sunday January 20, 1901 was a very warm summer’s day in Melbourne. The previous day had seen the temperature hit 98 (36 Celsius) and perhaps the prospect of yet another hot day led Alan and his workmate Ernest Symons down to the Warragul Public Baths. Alan and Ernest were engaged as watchmakers for the Jeweller and Optician H.J Day.

According to Ernest’s account of events, they went to the baths at about 11am – Sunday’s temperature was rising to a high of 87 (30 Celcius). Ernest went in first and then swam to the jetty waiting for Alan. Alan dived in feet first and when he surfaced a few moments later he appeared to be struggling. Ernest tried to assist Alan, but in a panic Alan tried to drag him down. Edgar sought assistance but to no avail. Alan’s life ended at the Warragul Public Baths after just 16 summers.

No doubt the years crept slowly by for his parents, Henry and Frances, who were long-time residents of Cheltenham and lived on the same road as the Cemetery. But in the end they were reunited with Alan – Frances first, and then, just under a year later in 1945, Henry joined them both.

Alan’s younger brother, Cedric – a veteran of both world wars, joined them all some 87 years after the tragedy at Warragul.

A casual assessment of modern internments would suggest that ‘family plots’ like the Burnetts are on the decline. I wonder why?  Leave your thoughts on our Facebook wall.

You can read more of Brad’s Grave Tales below -

Brad’s Grave Tales - William Hird

Brad’s Grave Tales - Strange Hartigan

Brad’s Grave Tales – Helen and Kate Graham

This article first appeared on The Inside History Magazine blog.

I was taking a short break in Kangaroo Valley with my family recently and couldn’t resist taking a stroll through the local cemetery. My usual approach is to let my feet take me where they will and there, in dappled light beneath a sparse shrub, were two crosses with the names Helen and Kate Graham. Time worn and obviously hand crafted, I was struck by the similarities of the details on the crosses – same surname, similar age of death and a decade apart.

Helen, known officially as Jane Helen Kate Graham, was born in the Shoalhaven area in 1875 to John Graham and Mary Merchant. She was the fourth child and second daughter for farmers John and Mary (family snap shown below).

Life on a farm meant that everyone in the family worked.  On August 10, 1889 fourteen year old Helen, with her younger sister Florence, aged ten, were minding some cows in a paddock near the house. For reasons unknown Helen lit a fire and her dress caught alight.  She died some hours later and was buried in an unmarked grave.

Kate, formally Kate Martha Matilda Graham, was born in Shoalhaven in 1886 – John and Mary’s eighth child and sixth daughter. Kate died of rheumatic fever when she was just 13 years old.

The anguish of losing two young children is something I cannot begin to understand. I hugged my kids a little tighter when I got back to the house that day.

After doing a little research it occurred to me that the wooden crosses were unlikely to have been original so I searched out more information on Ancestry.com.au and came across the Latham/Madge Family Tree. I reached out to Mable, the tree’s owner.  Mable – a descendent of Kate and Helen’s older brother Archy – got back to me with details on the girls.

Mable said that it was Helen’s father John and her brother Archy who found the badly burnt body.  She also told me that Kate was a favourite of Archy’s.

Mable also shed some light on the crosses.  They were erected a few years ago by members of the family as the burials were in unmarked graves, or graves whose markings had long since become erased.  Mable also supplied the lovely photo of John, Mary and family.

My thanks to Mable for helping me tell this story.

This article first appeared on The Inside History Magazine blog. You can read more of Brad’s Grave Tales below -

Brad’s Grave Tales - William Hird

Brad’s Grave Tales - Strange Hartigan

William Hird came to Sydney in July of 1882 on board the Samuel Plimsoll.  With him were his wife, Isabella and their six children (three boys and three girls).  Originally from Scotland, the Hirds spent some time in Yorkshire before making their way to Australia.

A sergeant with the East Riding police before immigrating, upon arrival William enlisted in the local constabulary and was stationed at Canterbury, about 12 kilometres south west of Sydney.

He was on duty until about 1am on the morning of August 13, 1885.  He became involved in scuffle with two men – Joseph Thompson and Ellis Birch – and one axe.  It didn’t end well for William.  His body was found later that morning just off the bridge that spans the Cook’s River in Canterbury.

William was a much loved member of the, then small, community.  On the following Saturday afternoon William Hird, 32, was laid to rest in the Cemetery attached to St. Paul’s Anglican Church.  There were over 400 mourners in attendance.

But the grave stone in the picture tells an even sadder story.  William’s wife Isabella had already endured the loss of their youngest child, John, shortly after their arrival in Sydney in 1882.  Three months after William’s death her eldest son, George, also passed away.

Isabella too ‘shuffled off this mortal coil’ though she was to live for another 37 years.

When I come across headstones like this I pause to think, not only about the tragedy of lives cut short, but of the enduring burden of grief for those left to remember.

This article first appeared on The Inside History Magazine blog. You can read more of Brad’s Grave Tales here.

For most suburbanites, cemeteries are large well laid out affairs located on the outer reaches of the city or town, but what many don’t realise is that there might be a smaller, quainter, necropolis just around the corner.

Tucked away in the quiet back streets of the Inner-western Sydney suburb of Canterbury is a cemetery.  Like many of the smaller suburban cemeteries still around today this one is attached to St. Paul’s Anglican Church – a beautiful building from 1859, designed by Edmund Blacket who was also responsible for the Great Hall at Sydney University.

Residing in this cemetery is the wonderfully named Strange Butson Hartigan, the third son of Reverend Edward and Elizabeth Florence Hartigan (nee Eyre).  At the age of about 19 Strange left his 12 brothers and sisters and joined the West India Regiment, ultimately rising to the rank of Captain.  A military life must have suited him as he pops up in the US Civil War records in the early 1860’s.  At this point he is married to a music teacher, Ellen Sandars and living in Cincinnati, Ohio.

In 1865 he’s back in Ireland, this time marrying a Margaret O’Dea in Kilrush, County Clare, Ireland.  What happened to his first wife, Ellen, is unknown, but it’s possible she died in the US.  Strange and Margaret make their way to Australia later that same year and arrived in Sydney, via Adelaide, on February 22, 1866.  Strange died 12 years later on October 10, 1878.

I’ve yet to find out about the life of Strange once he arrived here, whether he had children, when his wife died, etc. – I only recently stumbled upon his existence.  But to think that 145 years ago a world weary ‘soldier of fortune’ came to spend his quiet years just around the corner from where I currently live is pretty awesome.

Take a closer look at your neighbourhood cemetery, there might be some strange things there too.

This article first appeared on The Inside History Magazine blog.