Being small, Bertha was unable to guide the horses straight—she drove diagonally from one corner of the paddock to the wrong corner. This greatly annoyed her stepfather and Bertha was in disgrace. It was then that Bertha and her mother decided it was time for Bertha to leave home.
Mrs Murray, who was a Scot, employed maids and she took my grandmother to live with her and she taught her, at the age of thirteen, to speak English. As a result, all her life Granny spoke English with a German-Scottish accent and she did not teach her children to speak German at all.
On one occasion some years later, coming into the dining room at her house in Angaston with a plate of food, Granny found the men at the table boisterous. These men were boarders, labourers who were building the railway line from Angaston to Adelaide. One said, ‘Missus, we have had a bet. Some of us say you are German and some say you are Scottish. What are you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, turning on her heel. ‘The cheek of them!’ she said to her daughters in the kitchen.
After leaving the Murray household, Granny went to work for Mrs Perry, whose family organised the Cobb & Co. Coach service between Angaston and Freeling, and it was here she met William Shemmeld.
My mother wrote:
William Shemmeld, the young Welshman, was miraculous with horses. He courted Bertha and eventually they were married on April 28th, 1885, at the Lutheran Church, Lights Pass…with blessingsfrom the Perry family who had grown very fond of the young couple.
She lists their children (her brothers and sisters) as:
Olive May
Born 1886
William Percy
Born 1887
Died 1888
Eva Winifred
Born 1890
Ruby Myrtle
Born 1893
Otto William Malcolm
Born 1895
Edna Lillian
Born 1897
Nora
Born 1899
Ivy Marjory ‘Tommy’
Born 1902
Ralph Oliver ‘Billy’
Born 1904
There were some other sons who died at birth and therefore the two living sons were considered very special. Even so, boys were thought to be more important than girls. For instance, there is a photo of Granny with her two surviving young sons and it did not occur to anybody to include the girls lurking behind the photographer laughing. Girls did not need to be photographed with their mother.
My mother was the last of Granny’s daughters and, like the other girls of the family, she stayed at home until she married. At night, the unmarried sisters would sit at the table sewing their ball gowns, frocks and trousseaux. This was how my mother learnt to be a dressmaker. Her sisters taught her.
None of the Shemmeld children could speak German. Perhaps they were not taught because we were at war with Germany. Yet all of the children had been born before World War One, so it cannot be the whole reason. Above all, it was because my grandmother didn’t want her children to have an accent as she did. As a consequence of this awareness of the importance of speaking English properly, my mother found an elocution teacher for me when I was ten.
Vera Chenoweth had been away to the city from Tumby Bay where we lived and she had learnt elocution. She had studied acting, perhaps. Her father had a horse and dray and collected rubbish around the town. They lived on the edge of the swamp outside the town and it was there that I walked for lessons, avoiding the muddy patches among the beautiful purple and pink salty swamp flowers. ‘A-E-I-O-U,’ I would say over and over. And ‘Pretty Polly picked a peck of pickled peppers.’ And ‘She sells sea shells by the sea shore.’ One day I fainted and hit my head on the dining-room table, covered with its maroon velvety fringed protector.
This fainting became a common enough event. Once, in a heatwave, waiting in Mrs Lockyer’s ice-cream shop at Tumby Bay as she delved deep into an almost empty icy churn, holding the steel spoon in one hand and the conein the other, her white hair dangling from its bun into the churn, I fell down again. When I woke, Mrs Lockyer was leaning over me, her hair still falling,
Mrs Murray, who was a Scot, employed maids and she took my grandmother to live with her and she taught her, at the age of thirteen, to speak English. As a result, all her life Granny spoke English with a German-Scottish accent and she did not teach her children to speak German at all.
On one occasion some years later, coming into the dining room at her house in Angaston with a plate of food, Granny found the men at the table boisterous. These men were boarders, labourers who were building the railway line from Angaston to Adelaide. One said, ‘Missus, we have had a bet. Some of us say you are German and some say you are Scottish. What are you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, turning on her heel. ‘The cheek of them!’ she said to her daughters in the kitchen.
After leaving the Murray household, Granny went to work for Mrs Perry, whose family organised the Cobb & Co. Coach service between Angaston and Freeling, and it was here she met William Shemmeld.
My mother wrote:
William Shemmeld, the young Welshman, was miraculous with horses. He courted Bertha and eventually they were married on April 28th, 1885, at the Lutheran Church, Lights Pass…with blessingsfrom the Perry family who had grown very fond of the young couple.
She lists their children (her brothers and sisters) as:
Olive May
Born 1886
William Percy
Born 1887
Died 1888
Eva Winifred
Born 1890
Ruby Myrtle
Born 1893
Otto William Malcolm
Born 1895
Edna Lillian
Born 1897
Nora
Born 1899
Ivy Marjory ‘Tommy’
Born 1902
Ralph Oliver ‘Billy’
Born 1904
There were some other sons who died at birth and therefore the two living sons were considered very special. Even so, boys were thought to be more important than girls. For instance, there is a photo of Granny with her two surviving young sons and it did not occur to anybody to include the girls lurking behind the photographer laughing. Girls did not need to be photographed with their mother.
My mother was the last of Granny’s daughters and, like the other girls of the family, she stayed at home until she married. At night, the unmarried sisters would sit at the table sewing their ball gowns, frocks and trousseaux. This was how my mother learnt to be a dressmaker. Her sisters taught her.
None of the Shemmeld children could speak German. Perhaps they were not taught because we were at war with Germany. Yet all of the children had been born before World War One, so it cannot be the whole reason. Above all, it was because my grandmother didn’t want her children to have an accent as she did. As a consequence of this awareness of the importance of speaking English properly, my mother found an elocution teacher for me when I was ten.
Vera Chenoweth had been away to the city from Tumby Bay where we lived and she had learnt elocution. She had studied acting, perhaps. Her father had a horse and dray and collected rubbish around the town. They lived on the edge of the swamp outside the town and it was there that I walked for lessons, avoiding the muddy patches among the beautiful purple and pink salty swamp flowers. ‘A-E-I-O-U,’ I would say over and over. And ‘Pretty Polly picked a peck of pickled peppers.’ And ‘She sells sea shells by the sea shore.’ One day I fainted and hit my head on the dining-room table, covered with its maroon velvety fringed protector.
This fainting became a common enough event. Once, in a heatwave, waiting in Mrs Lockyer’s ice-cream shop at Tumby Bay as she delved deep into an almost empty icy churn, holding the steel spoon in one hand and the conein the other, her white hair dangling from its bun into the churn, I fell down again. When I woke, Mrs Lockyer was leaning over me, her hair still falling,
Similar Books
