Jennifer Empey Family History

On 8 January 1969, the temperature climbed to a century . Sixty miles per hour winds swirled in a west-northwesterly direction. Percy and Ivy, my grandparents, left Bookaar and travelled home to West Footscray. Outside of Geelong they rattled along the Geelong-Melbourne highway and neared Lara. ‘Look at the dark black smoke, Perc,’ exclaimed Ivy. ‘Something must be wrong,’ said Percy. Sweat ran down his face. ‘Cars are turning back. There must be a fire.’ He made a U-turn and headed back in the direction they had come. They pulled up on the side of the road, got down low in the car, and covered themselves with the blanket. A knock at the driver’s window startled them. Percy peeled back the blanket and wound down the window. ‘Are you alright’, said the policeman. ‘Yes, thank you. We are fine’, said Percy. Ivy peered out from under the blanket. ‘The fire has moved on. You can move out now. Be careful! Electric wires have fallen along the road. Up ahead, a pole

In 1930, my grandparents married at St. Patrick's Catholic Church, Camperdown situated in rural Victoria. The time period coincided with the Great Depression. And yet, their marriage followed a traditional culture. Recently, my parents gave me a wedding image of my grandparents, Percy Empey and Ivy Bant. His brother, Ralph, and her sister, Kate, accompanied them. Both, Percy and Ralph, were state school teachers and played football, cricket, and in their later years, golf. Ivy and Kate's family were dairy farmers, and some descendants still are dairy farmers. During my childhood years, my family and I spent many a family vacation at my ancestors' farms.                                                             * Wedding of Percy Empey and Ivy Bant.  Embedded into the larger image is the smaller original Kodak print in sepia toning. The large image has been cropped and enhanced again in a sepia tone. Looking at the smaller image, the viewer's eye is

On a warm summer’s day, Sarah’s skin was sweaty and sticky. She skipped through the porch into Holy Trinity. The sunlight streamed in through the windows creating rays of soft halos. Down the aisle past the timbered seats, she sailed. The brick church is quite elegant with timbered ceiling and etched glass windows, she thought. I’m so glad it’s this one. That iron church with a brick façade was so stark. When we lived two blocks away. That freak storm about six years ago shivered me to the bone. No wonder the damage meant it had to be rebuilt.    In the sanctuary, she stood by Walter’s side. Everything seemed to be rushed, she thought. No time to have a traditional wedding dress. Sunday best will have to do. Her heart beat loudly like a whirlwind. She melted when she looked into his big blue eyes. He smiled and held her hand in his. ‘I love you’, she whispered to Walter. He nodded and squeezed her hand tightly. Her parents, Alicia and Richard, looked on sternly. They w

On the way to Warrnambool, I made a detour at Panmure. I was looking for the final resting place of my great-great-grandparents. I didn’t know so many Bants were buried there together. Imagine my surprise when I had driven past a dirt road named Bant St. [1] I turned off the highway in Panmure, the town where my granny, Ivy Bant, was born. [2] I headed down a street, drove over a bridge up a hill, across the railway track and parked beside the white wooden fence. I stepped onto the crushed bluestone path into Panmure Cemetery which was surrounded by trees of different sizes. It was a dull cloudy cold day. My feet sloshed in the patchy wet grass breaking the silence that prevailed. Near the entrance, I stood at a row of graves of my granny’s uncles. William and his wife had a stone slab with an engraved headstone. [3] William’s son, John, had a grave with an inscription etched in stone. [4] An orange-brown coloured headstone with a white painted wrought iron railing surrounded

You’d think I would be used to this by now, he thought. He trudged along the pavement towards his home in Esplanade-west, Port Melbourne. His feet sloshed in his rubber boots. Across his back flapped two fish hitting him as he swayed to and fro. His wife greeted him at the kitchen door. “Hello dear,” she said. “Hello, my dear Alicia,” as he leaned in towards a kiss, “We’ve got dinner for tonight.” “This will feed our hungry lot.” She took the fish and laid them on the table. “Is there something troubling you, dear”. “I found a small baby this morning.” He sank into a chair, “There was nothing I could do for her.” “Oh my, how ghastly, may her soul rest in peace,” she said. Her hands motioned the sign of the cross across her body. “Where did you find her?” “In Albert Park, on the beach at Beaconsfield parade. About one and bit miles away from here. She was wrapped in two sheets of brown paper and newspaper from The Age. You’d think I’d be used to this by now. But, I do

My great-uncle Bill was the quintessential Empey family story-teller. About forty years ago, I remember him telling me the story of my great-great-grandfather, William Empey, and one of his sons, James Empey. [1] They had left Australia for South Africa in search of diamonds in about 1908 to 1910. [2] This story was quite feasible, as William was a miner and came to Victoria, Australia during the Gold Rush. [3]   I became hooked! I would go to the Public Record Office which was then situated in Laverton, Victoria for research. [4]   One by one I would slot a microfiche into the microfiche reader and comb through the microfiche looking for records. Sometimes, my mother, Lois, would come along to help too.  However, I could not find any record of William and James leaving Victoria in the shipping records during that timeframe. In those days, I found it difficult to investigate what could have come of them in South Africa. I could only speculate. Eventually, I purchased the marri