HMS Impacable watercolour
Brangwin Family Newsletter: October 2002
Welcome to the October 2002 edition of our family newsletter.
Having been thrilled by having the 1901 census for England and Wales available online, I have spent many an Aussie $ extracting census pages and filling in gaps in my data. This has been particularly important for the female lines. Of course, it has also meant that I have needed to fill in other pieces of information so the past few weeks have been dotted with quick trips to various local places holding indexes and records. All in all it has been a successful research month. Still, I'm only a little way through the data I have collected in the last few weeks. There is still a heap of checking to be done to complete the processing of the 1901 census data collected thus far. You will see the results of this research starting month.
Things this month are:
I hope you enjoy learning more about your extended family.
Contributions to the Newsletter are most welcome. If you find something that you would like to share please send it to me so that it can be included. My email address is lwuth@hups.net
Lorraine Wuth
Editor
Kay Brangwin Grainger
My name is Kay Brangwin Grainger. Born in 1955. I am one of four daughters of Albert John and Joy Brangwin (nee Longbon). My dad is commonly known as Jack. His father was Albert Ernest Brangwin (mother Florence Louisa Clemens) and grandfather was Richard and Olivia (Hockey) Brangwin and his father was Edmund Newell Brangwin who came to Australia in 1848 aboard the vessel the “Charlotte Jane”. So I guess that makes me a 5th generation Australian. [See the March 2001 newsletter for background on this part of the family]
I was born and grew up in the southern suburbs of Sydney along with my sisters: Lois who is 2 years older than me; me; then Susan (Sue) 16 months younger than myself and then finally Tracy who is 14 years younger. Poor Tracy almost had 4 mothers!
Growing up we lived on a water frontage on the Port Hacking River and overlooked the Royal National Park of southern Sydney. It was a very beautiful area of Sydney.
Dad worked as a maintenance engineer at my Grandfathers rubber factory for many years till he retired. Each year we would go on a holiday to Queensland’s Gold Coast when caravans were still the norm. It was a great time.
On leaving school I worked for a year then entered Nursing at Sutherland District Hospital. Somehow I even managed to finish, even though I spent most of the first year in tears hating it. It was during this time that I married Peter and afterwards we moved to Adelaide. We ended up staying and the rest of my sisters followed, and when Dad retired and my maternal grandparents both died, Mum and Dad followed. Hence there are now Brangwins in South Australia.
Lois married Gary, have 2 boys, Bradley and Jason. Bradley and Liah have one boy: Caleb about 18 months of age. All live in Adelaide.
Sue married Trevor and have 5 kids: Haley, Jessica, Tiffany, Nathan and Brydie. They live in country Victoria, on a farm.
Tracy is married to Chris and they have 2 kids: Nicholas aged 4years and Sharni aged 15 months. They live in the Adelaide Hills.
After 17 years of marriage it finally ended, but I did have 2 beautiful children: Rebecca now 25 years and Matthew 22 years. During this time I worked on and off as a Registered Nurse, owning a fish and chip shop in N.S.W (Moruya on the far south coast), and having a chocolate making business. So, when Peter left, the kids and I moved back to Adelaide to be with family again.
I went back to University and got my Nursing Degree and gradually got back into nursing again. Mum and Dad were stoked when at my graduation Brangwin was read out as part of my name, and it has stayed as my middle name ever since. When the Kids finished school I had the opportunity to go to Papua New Guinea for a year as a Nurse Tutor at a mission School of Nursing. I was in Western Province in a town called Balimo. It was the most amazing experience of my life. Most of the year the hospital had no doctor, so any medical problems were relayed to a doctor via radio. It was the worst drought on record; the worst smoke - planes couldn’t land, as they couldn’t see the airstrip. As we only had 12 hour power I needed to be asleep by 10pm as the fans then stopped, and there certainly weren’t any air-conditioners. And it was HOT! This was REMOTE!!! Phones didn’t work most of the time so there was only snail mail, which would take anything from 1-6 weeks to arrive. Groceries took about 3 months to arrive by boat, and fruit and veg once a fortnight by plane. It was a great experience that I would not have missed for the world.
Arriving back in Adelaide, I decided that city life was not really me and off I went to the Kimberley’s, in the in the far north of western Australia. There I was a Community Health Nurse remote generalist. This basically means you do anything and everything, from suturing up a cut to immunizing babies to health education for diabetes or heart disease. This was a mainly Aboriginal town.
A friend, Rodney, came to visit me and have a holiday and later that year I moved back to Adelaide and was married, stayed in Adelaide for 9 months before moving up to the Northern Territory. I’m still nursing and at present acting Sister in Charge of a clinic with a mixture of Aboriginal and white Australians.
Meanwhile Rebecca was married and now have 2 little boys: Dylon aged 4 years and Jared aged 2 and a half years. Daniel is in the Navy and presently based in Darwin, so it is lovely to be able to do the granny thing.
Matthew works in Darwin as a chef and enjoys the nightlife at times.
Next installment will be on life in the Territory living in remote locations.
Summer Fête in Le Théron
by Lis and Dennis Brangwyn
We look forward every month to receiving the newsletter reading about the various members of our extended family and its history, but although there’s a mailing list which gives some idea of where we all live, there is not much detail and it struck me that it would be a nice idea for people to write a little about their village town or city, and how they fit into the community, or a description of any unique local events to provide some background to the very diverse locations our ever-widening family finds itself.
We are perhaps one of the few to live in a non-English speaking country, and having failed to come up with an article for Lorraine on what changes we found on moving to France, we thought that this idea might be more pertinent and are kicking off with an account of our local Summer Fête.
We now live in the Aveyron District of Southern France, two hours from the Mediterranean and Pyrenees with Toulouse 1½ hours away, our nearest big city and international airport. At 2000 feet, temperatures are cooler than in Provence and we experience seasons similar to those of our native Southern England, though with a lot more sunshine - one of the main reasons for settling in France.
The whole of the Aveyron department is a very rural area with many of the villages depending on farming, (mainly cattle and potatoes) to make a living, and in our case also furniture manufacture, and to a lesser degree tourism.
When we arrived a year ago, it was just coming up to the 14 July and the celebrations for Bastille Day. This is an occasion for the whole of France to celebrate, and coming at the beginning of the main holiday period, the festivities are often quite extended and boisterous. So that not all the festivals are concentrated around Bastille Day, the various celebrations are spread out over the whole of the Summer Holiday period, with each village trying to do something different.
Although some are single day events, others - like our own in Le Théron takes place over three days despite the fact that our hamlet has about twenty houses and about 30 permanent residents. (The rest of the houses are summer homes or holiday lets). One of the main features of most local celebrations is a communal lunch or dinner; our speciality is a Trout Supper - quite unusual in this area, since although there are trout in the local rivers, this is really cattle country and most locals are great meat-eaters.
Only days after our arrival in France last year, the village fête organiser (considered important enough to be called the Fête President!) came around and introduced himself, told us about the event and hoped it would not be too noisy for us. For a sleepy little spot like this we welcomed some more activity so of course we did not mind and supported the proceedings, very much as newcomers with the promise that we would like to help and become more involved next year.
In February this year, there was a dinner and musical evening at a nearby hostelry to thank all those who had helped and we were invited in view of our interest. In June, we went to a Fête organising Committee meeting in the village hall to finalise the arrangements for the Fête, which this year would be on Friday, Saturday Sunday 19-21 July. You may wonder why a hamlet of 30 inhabitants would want an organising committee, but when I say that for the Trout Supper we would be catering for upward of 700 people, a certain amount of planning is certainly necessary. Most people had been doing various tasks associated with the fête for years, so we offered our help mainly as ’general dogs’bodies’.
Friday morning saw Dennis up early helping to put up the marquee for the food preparation, and collecting chairs and tables from various store places and even nearby villages (who share such articles for their annual fêtes), These were put out on the village green in preparation of the feast, which was to be held outdoors with provision, should it rain, to use a huge marquee erected professionally and intended mainly for the dancing and more cultural events. Unlike last year, mid July was experiencing something of a heat wave, and there was no likelihood of any rain or cold.
Friday night was for the youngsters. The committee had ‘splashed out’ this year and booked a well-known local group who had achieved some degree of fame by entering the charts with a song called ‘Pig in the Maize’. They entertained with a mixture of animated folk songs, some regional pop and a bit of ‘knockabout’ humour. They were backed by a disco, and the local youth from all the nearby villages and towns had a great evening, dancing until 3.30 in the morning.
Saturday’s events were crowded in to the evening, though with beautiful weather, the happy holiday atmosphere prevailed all day. Like most local events we have been to in France, there was a timetable, but in the far South it seems to be more for indicating the order of things rather than the actual starting time. Billed for 8.30 in the evening The Folk Dancing Display began at about 9.30, and featured a local group whom we’d already seen several times before at other festivals, and who are really first rate. With the ladies in striking local regional costumes of long dresses with petticoats and bonnets, and the men in black cloaks and neckerchiefs, they made a colourful spectacle with the ‘pièce de resistance’ involving two men in the centre of a spinning circle lifting the outside ladies three feet off the ground like a spinning top.
After the folk dancing, we were treated to a humorous theatrical performance by a group of travelling players. We had been warned in advance that the dialogue would be in Occitan, a dialect common in this part of France and which is spoken by many of the older people and understood by most, though to foreigners, it is an almost impenetrable mixture of French and Catalan. However, despite the language difficulties, we thoroughly enjoyed it since much of the comedy was visual.
With the programme now running more than an hour and a half late, it was after midnight and after helping clear the marquee in preparation for the next morning, most people surprisingly for the French, seemed rather tired, and decided to abandon the dance which had been scheduled to follow the theatre piece, though people stood around chatting and laughing for another hour or so.
The big day, Sunday, dawned brightly with the promise of a good crowd for the events of the day, which started with a tripe breakfast at 8am for the menfolk, washed down with wine and eaux de vie, 170 men turned up for the breakfast! We have yet to accustom ourselves to this popular local delicacy, which we, could certainly not face at that time of the morning, though we have tried it at other times, and found it quite acceptable, and more flavourful than expected.
At 10.30 (the only thing to begin on time) a mass was held in the church which nowadays has services only on special feast days and is otherwise used only for marriages, funerals or christenings.
Following the service, the ceremony of laying wreaths at the War Memorial, took place. Although done with due respect and reverence, it was quite incongruous to see the president of the fete committee laying a wreath dressed in slacks and a scruffy T-shirt which bore the slogan in English ‘Philips Menswear - what the in-crowd wear’, whilst a loudspeaker from a van nearby produced a mangled version of the Marseillaise. Despite the bizarre atmosphere, it was devastating to see that a hamlet the size of ours lost 12 young men in the first world war and wherever we’ve seen memorials here, the 1914-18 war exacted a huge toll on the youth of that period in France as well as many other countries.
After this solemn moment, the youngsters of the community served aperitifs to all the villagers with the favoured tipple here, as in much of Southern France, being pastis for the men and a fortified wine for the women. Whilst this was going on, a photographic display was opened, tracing the history of the event going back 30 years and the building of the youth centre. At midday, there was a procession of veteran cars that circled the village and remained on display during the day.
Throughout the afternoon, pétanque (bowls with hard metal balls) competitions were held with little groups using various flatter sites around the village for their ‘boules’ and the final eventually taking place in front of the marquee.
But for us, the helpers, the afternoon was the time to get down to work preparing the food. The full menu, costing 13 euros was Melon, charcuterie (assorted cold meats) Rissole potatoes Trout, Cheese, Dessert and Coffee. Reservations for the meal, which was set for 7.30, could only be made on the day, but the fine weather was bringing in the crowds and we started on the basis of catering for 600 people. The cold plates were prepared and stored in the refrigerated vans, whilst the most time-consuming was the fish, which had been brought in live in tanks from a trout farm nearby. Although hard work, we had a great time getting to know our new neighbours better, and joining in the many tasks needing to be done, though after salting and peppering, and then flouring 700 trout, I don’t think Lis will ever be able to look one in the eye again.
Whilst we were busying ourselves in the field kitchen, the younger children were playing on the bouncy castle and other games around the village green, and others were listening to a concert in the church of folk songs performed by the local choral group.
At last, the feast began. The long tables began to fill with people collecting all their cold food on the way past the kitchen tent, whilst the trout was served hot by the young people, when they were ready for it. Wine and water were on the tables and free and the buzz and laughter grew louder, sometimes drowning out the music provided by a very accomplished accordionist and her orchestra.
We do not know whether they were trying to create a new record or what, but nobody seemed to want to close the lists for dining with people arriving after 10.30 PM, and still being served. We learned later that over 700 people sat down to the meal, but by then we were nearly exhausted. We managed to eat our own meal in the convivial atmosphere on a long table in the kitchen tent. Most of the clearing up was done as we went along and the rest was left for the next day whilst we took a breath of fresh air and got our second wind. After midnight we went into the big marquee to join the others dancing until the wee small hours, before going home.
The next day we all went and helped with the clearing up. When we had finished we sat down to lunch (mostly of leftovers) with about thirty of the helpers. This gave us the opportunity, to try the tripe, which with liberal quantities of wine, wasn’t really too bad.
It was good fun, hard work, but a great experience allowing us to get to know everybody better, and understanding the way of life in our new environment.
HMS Implacable
by Margaret A Brangwyn
Despite a good deal of research I cannot discover the year in which Frank Brangwyn painted his splendid watercolour The 'Implacable', but I did find out it was reproduced as a print in 1937. As it is not listed amongst his works in a book published in 1910 the date of its execution must therefore lie between those two dates - 1910 and 1937. I have long admired the print of this picture which hangs over the mantlepiece in Michael and Margaret's house. Imagine my delight, then, when David and I recently acquired our own copy, which now dominates our dining room. As I sat looking at this picture I was intrigued to find out more about this ship and what happened to her. I hoped she would be preserved somewhere and that I would be able to go and see her for myself, but alas, no. After an amazing career she had a sad end.
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HMS Impacable watercolour |
Built in France, she was launched at Rochefort in 1797-8 and named the 'Duguay-Trouin' after a French naval commander René Duguay-Trouin. She was built of oak and as such, built to last.
The 'Duguay-Trouin' was part of the French fleet that fought the British at the battle of Trafalgar on 21st October 1805. She even engaged with Nelson's ship HMS 'Victory' during the battle. When the French were defeated she and three other French ships managed to escape, but encountered a British naval patrol as they were trying to make their way to Brest. After a brief battle the French ships were defeated and the 'Duguay-Trouin' captured. She was taken to Plymouth, a prize from the war, where she was refitted and renamed HMS 'Implacable'.
In 1808 she was sent to the Baltic and there captured the 'Sevelod' - a Russian ship. She was also involved in the Napoleonic war and took part in the bombardment of Acre.
She served in the British fleet until she was taken out of service in 1842, when she was once again taken to Plymouth for "harbour duties." Used mainly for accommodation at first, she became a training ship in 1855, when she was taken to Devonport. The training of sailors for sailing ships ceased in 1903, so being of no further use to the Navy, the next year she was put up for sale.
In 1908 the ship was acquired on loan by a South Wales industrialist and ship enthusiast, Geoffrey Wheatley Cobb, who had persuaded King Edward VII to intervene to prevent her being sold. Mr. Cobb turned her into a training ship for boys and in 1912 she was taken to Falmouth to become a holiday ship for boys. Cobb was assisted in this venture by Sir Robert Baden-Powell, founder of the Boy Scout movement.
By the 1920's the ship was in urgent need of repair, but Cobb's fortunes had been greatly depleted by the Wall Street Crash, so he could not afford to restore her.
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HMS Impacable in Portsmouth Harbour, 1938 |
World War II saw her being used as a coal hulk - just a place for storing coal. Her timbers were rapidly rotting away and there was no money to repair her.
In 1946 she was decommissioned and her fate was sealed - she was to be towed out to sea and sunk. The stern galleries and the Medusa figurehead were removed and taken to the National Maritime Museum at Greenwich, where they are still on display (so I can go and see at least part of her!)
On 2nd December 1949 she was filled with pig-iron and explosives and towed out to sea, flying both the English and French flags, where she was duly blown up. Too much explosive had been put in her, so only the bottom half sank. The upper parts stayed afloat and were a considerable hazard to shipping until they, too, went to Davy Jones locker*.
| HMS Impacable being towed out to sea to be sunk | 
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Those who saw what happened to her vowed it should never happen again to any other ship and it is due to the sacrifice of the 'Implacable' that the 'Cutty Sark' was preserved for posterity.
*The bottom of the sea - an old English naval expression!
Three Weeks in Argentina
by Claire and David Howell
This summer I was able to fulfil one of my long-term dreams, to go to Latin America. I have felt drawn to this exotic and attractive continent ever since I started learning Spanish at school, and my desire to go there has grown and grown the more I found out about it. So this year I was thrilled to be actually going there. Early last year I decided to start investigating possible ways of my husband and I spending some time there. I started with holiday brochures, but then decided that I wanted to get to know the real Latin America, not just the tourist attractions, so I began contacting agencies and organisations that work out there. One of these organisations was the South American Mission Society. They wrote to David and me, mentioning a children's home situated just outside Buenos Aires in Argentina, who would be glad to welcome us as visitors and to help out around the home. So our contact with "Hogar el Alba" (Home of the New Day) began.
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Four boys in the grounds of Hogar el Albar |
After emails and phone calls we had arranged to spend three weeks in the children's home. We were so excited! As we said goodbye to mum and dad at Heathrow, however, we began to feel nervous and apprehensive. As we had never travelled outside of Europe before, we felt totally alone and we had no idea what to expect when we eventually arrived in Buenos Aires…
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Claire with some of the children on a day out to a Holy Land theme park |
The 14 hour journey eventually passed, and we were met at the airport by the directors of the home, Alfredo and Hilda Cittadino, along with 21 year old Sebastian, a former resident at the home. We piled into a minibus and began the journey out of the city into the town of Longchamps. Talking subsided as we looked around us and took in our surroundings…we were seeing real poverty for the first time, and we weren't prepared for how it would affect us. Primitive houses, children looking through rubbish for food, adults collecting wood to make a fire, stray dogs, litter scattered all over the ground, roads without tarmac, no street lighting…
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Claire, Alfredo and two of the girls |
We arrived at the home and were pleased to see it was in good condition compared to the surrounding area. We settled into our room, still struggling with massive culture shock. After a sleep and a chat, we went to meet the children….wow, we were certainly made to feel welcome! Hug after hug, smile after smile, question after question, they were gorgeous! The age range of the children went from 5 to 21 years, and all of them showed an interest in us and were genuinely pleased to have us staying with them. We felt so privileged and blessed to be able to share those three weeks with them. All the children in the home had been abused, abandoned, or both and yet they were so loving towards us.
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David with two of the girls - and a doll! |
During our three weeks we ate, played, chatted and worked with them, visited their school and church….We just blended in with the routine of their lives, and all the time we were getting to know them individually and becoming very fond of them all. There were moments when we felt homesick or just overwhelmed by the situation of economic crisis that is still gripping Argentina even now, but when our last day arrived, we did not want to leave! All of the staff and children from the home gathered to wave us off, and they were giving us little note, letters, presents, anything they could find to give us before we left. Needless to say it was very emotional and we were both in tears!
I could go on, but I'll stop here for now as I don't want to take up too much space in the newsletter, but please contact us if you would like to know more about our amazing time in Argentina.
Claire and David Howell
davidandclairehowell@tiscali.co.uk
Cause of Death: Apoplexy
From time to time I have come across apoplexity as the cause of death. I did wonder what it really was. Here is an intersting report of a death by apoplexy that I came across. The following newspaper report (date and source not known) of an inquest held at Northampton Petty Sessions:
"Friday Sudden death at Boughton. A coroners inquest was held on Tuesday last at the house of Mr Sears, The Plough Inn Boughton, before Henry Terry concerning the death of Mrs Kightley which took place that morning under very painful circumstances. Robert John Parrot farmer Boughton said that the deceased worked for him as a nurse for his wife and had resided in the house for a fortnight. On Monday night she went to bed with his wife about ten o'clock apparently in her usual health and spirits after eating a hearty supper of beef and one glass of ale about eight o'clock. About half past five on the following morning he was roused by his wife calling him and upon going into the bedroom "My wife said 'Oh Robert, aunt is so ill. She complains of severe pain in her head' I went to the side of the bed and took hold of the deceased round the waist and she screamed awfully. She only spoke twice during the time I held her, she said 'Lord, have mercy on my soul' and her head sank down on the pillow. I again raised her up and she was very sick and said 'I am dying'. I laid her down and called a servant to attend to her while I went down stairs to fetch brandy, but when I got back, she was dead". The deceased has been married about fourty years and her husband lives in Cow Lane, Northampton, where they have resided for the last 32 years. Mr E Walker, surgeon of Moulton, said "The general appearances lead me to suppose that death of the deceased was natural, on which I attribute to Apoplexy" The jury returned a verdict in accordance with medical testimony."
There's nothing like a graphic illustration of a medical term. Note that Apoplexy is termed as "natural".
So what is apoplexy? The Encyclopaedia Britannica says:
A coat of arms
The following information was supplied by the Historiacal Research Centre on the family name Brangwin.
