George

I know I want to write about George, but I have no idea how to approach it.  The grisly nature of the end of his life makes it best suited to a piece for adults,  I imagined from the start (the idea has been lurking in the grey matter for probably a year) that it would be a ‘true’ short story /a biographical short story/non-fiction story – I have no idea if these terms are correct and even if terms exist for such a thing.  Anyway I realise now that I have written a sentence or two that I don’t have enough information to make it strictly a true story.  Can there even be such a thing as a ‘true story’?  It can only ever be the writers perspective.  Anyway – further to the lack of facts,  I really think you can have all the facts and still not know the ‘story’ why things happened, why people made certain decisions.  We can’t always know this for all that happens in our daily lives with the people we know best, so any attempt to do that in a story about someone who lived in a completely different time – not going to try!

So!  First, to get it straight in my head – I am going to write an ‘letter’ in my blog which draws together the information I have on this fellow and to see if it helps me get to know my imaginary version of him.  If that goes well I’ll develop my imaginary version of my great great great grandfather and see if he fills out enough to star in a short story (fiction or literary biography????).  Wish me luck!

This is what I know of my great great great grandfather George Henry Ashcroft.  The information I have is patchy but I’m not going to let that stop me.  This quote from Michael King on writing Princess TePuea’s  biography sums up the experience “researching and writing about  her bore a close resemblance to that of a whale observed from a whaling ship : every now and then the object of the chase surfaced and blew, often in unexpected places; but then sounded and disappeared again.  What was going on in the vasty depths, where all the behavioural and motivational decisions were being made?”  To continue the metaphor George is a shy unreported on whale – only revealing a few square inches of tail to mark the milestones of his life right up until the end –  in which thanks to the graphic newspaper reporting of the time (I previously thought gory details were a modern media melody!) a microscope happens to be focused on his final gasping rise into view.

I’ve known about this man since I was a teenager when my dad became interested in family history and took me on a few of his day trips to the Alexander Turnbull library in Wellington.  During my university years I felt in a self absorbed adolescent sort of way that I had a link with him, if only for our belonging to Dunedin. I made a few cursory attempts to find George’s grave in the unmarked ‘straight to hell’ section of the Opoho cemetery.  Depression was another perceived link, there is a lot of it about in my family.  I’m not so sure now though whether depression was a central theme in George’s life or whether it was risk.

 

I’ll start the facts at the beginning with what little I know.  George was the first born child of Sophia and George Ashcroft.  He was born in Blackweir, Cardiff Wales  in 1860 a few years before Alice inWonderland was published, and before the last public execution in England.  He lived in Cardiff for his first 17 years.  His father was a railway engineer.  During this time Cardiff was growing very quickly (population jumped from 18000 to 60000 beetween 1851 and 1871, then to 160000 by 1900).  Cardiff had flourishing industries exporting coal, iron and cereal – the railway played an important role transporting exports.  George’s parents produced three more sons James, Albert and Edgar in the 5 years after his birth.    Wow, lots of boys – just the two keep me humble.  I imagine they were better behaved than mine.  The first sewers were built in Cardiff around the time George and his brothers were growing up – improving the dirty and over-crowded conditions.   However it wasn’t until after George aged 17 and his family immigrated to New Zealand that Cardiff got its first infirmary.   Grim.  I wonder what they did for fun……

writing

I have decided to do some writing.  I haven't started yet, I'm in the comtemplation phase.  I know what - actually who - I'm going to write about, but not how I'm going to approach it yet.  Probably in a very introspective 'this is actually about me' kind of way because that comes so naturally to me.   I'm announcing my intention to write as part of my campaign to do so.  I will write about my Great (times 3) Grandfather  George Frederick Ashcroft, and I will post what I accomplish tomorrow.
In the mean time my mind is taken up with -seemingly hudreds of worries - no doubt when I summarize them I will see that they they are repetitive rather than numerous 1.  School - for me and Mr L, is about to start, new teacher for him, new students for me, not to mention a new subject! (well sort of).  2. The Lego cake - yes - I am planning to make a Lego cake for Leo's 7th birthday party next Saturday and disaster scenarios are presenting themselves in my consciousness already.  3.  linked to (1) the unfinished planning for my units this term.  4.  The unfortunate blowing of the budget at the supermarket this morning - and subsequent purchase of fish and chips for tea WHY?  sigh.

camping

I can't decide if camping is idyllic magic or nerve jangling hell.  Mix of both I guess.  I reflected as I watched the boys puddling about in the river this morning that this fulfills some expectation of mine of what summer holidays are meant to be - and that in itself is somehow satisfying.   We did something we never do this time - we staying in a proper (expensive!) camp ground.  It was very well appointed, clean loos, warm showers (once appropriate tokens purchased), even an extra big sink in the ladies bathroom with 'baby bath only' painted above it.  I wonder if they have ever had to accomodate a Dad on his own with offspring requiring a baby bath?  The boys loved it.  Oscar probably got most delight from the hours he spent driving his new (from xmas) diggers in the strips of dirt that marked out the camp sites although he also enjoyed bugs, throwing stones and water play oh and found sleeping in a tent soooooo exciting -did I say sleeping?  shouldn't have.   Leo made new 'best friends' constantly.  I ended up spending a bit of time returning strays - as I draw the line at looking after strangers kids aged 4-6 as they swim in a river - paranoid maybe but that's my limit.    Lack of sleep was a significant trial - the first obstacle was entirely predictably our energetic excessively excited boys, then as they finally drifted off the alcohol imbibing youth element started up.   The following night the boys went down much more easily but  the wind - lordy it was something.  Luckily our tent survived, many others didn't and when we emerged this morning many had clearly packed up and left in the night.  The grounds were strewn with branches and leaves - the owners had been up since first light with chain saws - wierd how kids can sleep through raucous teenage parties, raging norwest winds and close range chainsawing!  If only we were so lucky.    We had a final swim before we left and piled back into the car - instantly too hot (31 degrees!).  It was an absolute pleasure to hit the cooler West Coast air - and will be even better to sleep in our own beds tonight. 
Here is Leo showing off his new found water confidence (thanks to school holiday swim programme at aquatic centre) and Oscar determinedly relaxing after keeping us all up half the night!!

happiness

I've been reading about happiness - well there is an article on the subject in a mag residing in the magazine shelf in our loo - so it's been a case of little and often.  I'm intrigued by the idea it puts forward that our overall level of happiness is actually affected very little by the events in our lives.  One example it gives is from a study of women in 2002 which found that rearing children was only slightly more satisfying than doing the dishes - and not quite s satisfying as jogging.  I assume by 'rearing children' they meant 'spending time with their children' as the task of 'rearing children' seems to me to be incomparable to dishes as it takes 20 years or more to complete.  I was amused.  The article also talked about happiness set points - something you apparently inherit.  Which leads me to think of a nifty title for my family history:  'My Miserable Ancestors - a vaguely depressive personality explained'.


On a completely different note here is one of the dino messenger bags I've been making.  Modeled by me and the children are not still unless sleeping.

I have also found LEGO fabric!!!! After much searching I might add - yay for www.etsy.com
I've been making little loot bags for Leo's upcoming 7th birthday party which will be LEGO themed.  I've made some extras and have used one to put the pieces of a puzzle card Leo made for his friend Sammy.   Sammy's Mum is one of my best friends - we were pregnant with our first baby's together, taught a special needs class together and, when our wee boys were 1 we lived a block from each other.  She now lives 3 hours drive away and has FOUR children (!!) but we will be seeing them this weekend!

crafting inspiration

I've been mulling over ideas to get my students having fun and learning at the same time next year.  I'm thinking they might learn something about the fine line between creativity and madness (exhibit A Mrs Norris).   Meanwhile I have been working on my first ever 'commission' - does it count if it's from your Aunty?  Anyway, Aunty Marg asked for 10 table mats with bold patterns and "at least a bit of red".  I may have gone a bit crazy with the red, so hope she likes them!!  They are all different but matching - out of necessity due the fabric available but I think it works.

I've also been doing the dinosaur theme thanks to some curtain samples my thrifty sewing friend Angela discovered in the discontinued lines bin at the curtain shop.  I've got just over a metre of awesome dinosaurs in three colour ways.  So far I've been making dinosaur messenger bags - I tried to get a photo but my models weren't cooperating so that will have to wait.
 

language

Walking in Cobden enjoying the comfortable walking temperature warm, damp, watching small children dash about in the park.   A blond girl on a tiny bike she can't be more than 4, yet rides confidently without trainer wheels her fluffy pig tails sticking out from her pink over sized helmet.  She powers down the foot path, swerving to look behind her she shreaks "you're not even coming ya fuckin bitches!!" which I think is a Cobdenism for "quick - I think our tea is ready"