Wootton

At work, this week's overnighter.

I thought about some family stuff that The Australian Relatives told me yesterday.

About my grandma's sister Annie who went to Australia in 1919 and married a very unpleasant man called Fred - she went into The City (Sydney) one day where she stepped into the road and was knocked down and killed by a bus. Fred came to England soon after, remaining very unpleasant until he died some years later (cause unknown).

About Elisabeth (on the other side of the family) who left Scotland in 1838 on a ship with her husband and three children. Only Elisabeth and two children survived the typhoid-ravaged voyage. One of these children went on to have nineteen children of her own.

About Obadiah Ikan (various spellings of this name seem to be exist) who sold some of the land he'd earned from his army life in Pyrmont, Sydney to wool pioneer John Macarthur in the 1790s - swapping acres for crates of rum.

Anyway, I'd never heard any of these stories before. They were knocking around in my head as I enjoyed the early evening sunshine in the garden at work with my puttanesca-themed pasta. Note the drink - sardines and grapefruit, quite the combo.

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