Anyone who knows me, or has read my blogs has probably realised I'm a bit of a History buff. However many years ago I began to wonder what my place in History was. I began to investigate my family tree and genealogy. Even going on a day trip out to Camden to do some investigating on my maternal 'Sheather' side of my ancestry. My 4th great-grandfather James Sheather emigrated from England to Camden in 1839 to work in Camden Park Estate (with Sheathers Lane named in his honor).
However his son Spencer Sheather (who had emigrated too) ended up moving out to Young, NSW. My family on that side then stayed out their all the way until my late Grandad and my Nan moved to the East coast, living around Wollongong. So I have had many generations of ancestors living out in Young, NSW.
I had been planning a bit of a trip out there to explore around and see the area which so many generations of my ancestors on my Grandad (who I called 'Cloclo Pop' ever since I was a very young kid, because he was my Pop and once gave us Coco Pops for breakfast), and my Nan's side. However I usually do a bit of ancestry work weekly and had been stuck on my Father's side of my family tree. My 2nd great-grandfather 'Carl Franks' (who's name was apparently actually John Joseph Carl Franks) was a showman, performing in shows at the no longer existent 'Wonderland City' at Tamarama in Bondi, Sydney. He was apparently a 'hypnotist' and claimed to be an American (this was apparently false, and he was either a conman, or this was part of his 'persona'.
I eventually tracked his family back, finding out his Great Grandfather Johann Gottlieb Franke was actually a German immigrant from Dresden in Germany, and after immigrating ran a German newspaper in Melbourne named the 'Germanica'.
However I had been stuck with no information on Carl's wife, Sarah Parker. I made my first discovery with a obituary in an old newspaper to a 'Henry Lawrence Drayton'.
Placed there by Carl and Sarah Franks
I knew Sarah's original last name had been 'Parker' and there were other Parkers mentioned. But I tried searching for Henry Lawrence Drayton in Google. To my surprise I had a hit on a site called 'WikiTree' an online public family tree site. The lady who had uploaded her tree included Sarah and I was able to finally find out who her family was.
I soon learned her Mother, Hannah Parker (born Myles) was born in no other than Young, NSW! Obviously the first worry I had was that my parents shared relatives, however I had no need to worry. As her father (Benjamin Abraham Myers) was born in Sydney, and died in Leichardt, and his father Emmanuel Myers was born in London and emigrated to Sydney. I also learned this family was the reason (after doing my Ancestry DNA, and my Father's too) that our heritage had some European Jewish as the Myers were Jews and Hannah was actually buried in the Jewish part of the cemetery in Young. I even found a newspaper article about her father, Benjamin Abraham Myers being held up by famous bushranger Ben Hall at the no longer standing Bang Bang Inn.
I already had enough reason to go for a trip out to explore this town with the heritage from my Nan (Madden and Brennan heritage) and my Cloclo Pop (Sheather and Levett heritage).
Although I'm not one for planning, I really just wanted to drive out and spend as much time as was needed out there, doing some family tree investigating as well as just exploring the local town history and maybe do a few bushwalks while I was there, so I did a quick look through my family tree with newspaper articles trying to find some places to try and see.
The above newspaper report about my Great Grandfather Frederick Sheather and his brother Leslie, reminding me of the time myself and my brothers had been playing a game with a bow and arrow (yes an actual bow and arrow), shooting the bow so the arrow would land near my brothers (they were blunt practice arrows, although I did have sharp ones too). I took aim across the lawn while playing at my Dad's house and release the arrow. It hit the ground, but instead of sticking in it bounced along it sticking right between my brother Scott's toes. Not wanting to get in trouble I told Scott not to tell our Father (who had an angry temperament when we were younger). We later when back home (as we lived with our Mum due to our parents divorce). Later that night my brother awoke in incredible pain and had developed a blood infection and had to be taken to hospital the next day. Whoops.
However getting the time to go out to Young would be the problem. I had wanted to go while I was still of from work (due to AML and Stem Cell Transplant), and was due to return to work in early January. While later December was not only Christmas and New Year, but my Wife's 30th birthday. I was also due to get my 8 month post transplant vaccines on the 16th of December, and received my third covid vaccine early December. I was also constantly having my birthday gift of a Stunt Plane experience constantly moved to the following weekend due to poor weather (it seemed to want to rain every Saturday), and then I had my Wife not wanting me to drive out if the weather was supposed to be poor. So I just had to sit and await my opportunity to begin my family history trip.
Ultimately I set a date to leave on a Sunday (on the off chance my Stunt flight did not get cancelled due to bad weather). To my surprise I received the call that the flight would go ahead, meanwhile I spent the Friday shovelling 1.5 cubic metres of dirt into a wheelbarrow and into my back yard to extend my veggie garden leaving me exhausted and physically sore for my flight the following day.
We drove up to the Banktown Aerodrome on Saturday afternoon (while that morning I ducked to the shops for some last minute camping supplies). We arrived slightly early, walked in and the place was empty, so we sat down in the waiting room. Finally a couple walked back in with Sam, the guy I had been corresponding with over the phone, and they started to watch their footage of their flight (I avoided looking to not ruin my own experience.)
While signing the waiver I noticed a question about medical issues, and thought about adding my recent cancer and stem cell transplant (as my blood counts had still not returned fully to normal which was giving me some anxiety about the flight). I decided against it, as if you had any medical issues it wanted to be sure your Doctor knew and had OK'd it (my Doctor had no idea). He called me into another room to get into my flight outfit. I quickly popped an Ondansetron (anti-nausea medication left over from my chemo) to make sure I wasn't sick on the flight (as I had talked to a mate I use to work with, Aaron, who had done the less extreme flight that only reaches 4G, in the actual Red Baron Plane, and he had thrown up).
I got into my suit and made my way out to the plane for some pictures before the Pilot arrived to get in some too, instructing me on how to get in and sit in the plane properly (to not affect his ability to fly it).
While I was sitting in the plane he began to tell me about how 8G is what astronauts experience on re-entry to Earth atmosphere. He explained the the force of it can rush the blood away from your head and give you tunnel vision and you can even faint (this worried me as my blood count was still not normal from my Stem Cell Transplant). He told me it would be fine, and to just tighten my abs and glutes when that occurs and it helps bush blood back into the head.
We took off and began the flight and Stunts (which I loved). I'll share a video of the whole thing below synched up showing in the pit and the wing footage for context.
I was fine for most of the flight, (besides the Ondansetron making my mouth so dry that I spent the entire time licking my lips desperate for saliva) right up until the end where the Pilot asked me to look out the side window at a bit of string and the plane began spinning around and the motion of this made me feel a bit a nausea. After this it became time for the 8G, which was stressing me out as I had already experience 5G in the flight (and found it pretty intense), not wanting to miss the experience I agreed and we went in to 8G and I began to squeeze while feeling the tunnel vision and worrying that I would pass out (which I thought would be embarrassing). I put my hand up to stop, but he acknowledged I had finished the maneuver anyway by the time I put my hand up. I probably wouldn't have if I wasn't still recovering from cancer, but getting the experience for my 30th was pretty special.
The next day I packed my little Toyota Yaris (not exactly the best travel or off-road car, but I can't afford that), and I set off towards Young with my GPS set for a pit stop in Goulburn to see the Big Merino (Australia has big things scattered over the country), and to have a coffee break. I set my phone bluetooth up to play Passenger as I began my long drive out. Finally arriving in Goulburn while I grabbed a coffee and a selfie with the Big Merino.
And it's big balls
I had seen the Big Merino many times before as a kid on road trips, but I could never recall an instance of stopping to actually go up to it. I was surprised by how busy it was around there, but figured it's probably a very popular spot for many people travelling west (and likewise people travelling east) to stop and grab food and coffee and stretch their legs after driving for so long.
I grabbed my coffee, and set out on the road again towards Young, changing my music now from Passenger to Shawn James (a road-trip needs the right tunes). My Dad and Step-mum had recently bought me a GoPro for my 30th which I hadn't had an opportunity to use yet and as I drove along past big hills with giant wind turbines I wished I had set up my GoPro in the car to capture some of the footage as I found it quite majestic.
Along the way as I had turned off from the massive highway and begun along back roads I passed a bunch of police and ambulance (getting a stretcher out of the back), and saw a car to my left had driven off-road into a ditch and was completely upside down.
I soon came to the end of Cusak road and onto Moppity which headed both left and right. With the right leading me to Young, and left to Harden. Harden was 23km and Young was 32km. I found this amusing as I have oddly found the number 23 coming up quite often in my life. So it was just a cute and amusing coincidence and I smiled to myself before turning right.
I soon arrived at Young, at some relative of my friend Tristan's (as I had agreed to drop off a present to them for him). I dropped it off and jumped back in the car to begin Google searching for fuel as my car was running incredibly low. The first petrol station I went to didn't offer 91 Unleaded, and I would have none of that, so I just looked on Google Maps for another one, finally filling up at the local Woolies service station.
I then drove to my first stop of the trip, the Young Information Centre where I had planned to get a booklet for a self guided tour of the town.
I noticed there were toilets outside (I hadn't gone since leaving home and had been on the road for almost 4 hours). As I came out I noticed the 'Big Cherries', which I had planned to see on my trip anyway, quickly walking over for a look.
I noticed the town centre was built on an old set of train-tracks (I've always found something endearing, or weirdly mystical about train tracks, ironic because I quit being a Train Driver as soon as I could).
I then went inside the building, having to QR code inside (shortly before NSW scrapped all QR codes because they gave up on trying to control the Covid pandemic).
"Can I see your vaccine certificate?" A man quickly asked, also wanting to view my check in. I showed him my phone before asking about the self guided town and heritage tour. He gave me a pamphlet, I thanked him and left, avoiding as much social interaction as possible.
I began my self guided walk through the town (which had many information plaques through it that I took photos of, but decided not too upload as there were so many that people probably wont read anyway).
I instantly regretted my decision to wear a beanie, as the heat was blistering
I noticed for that a well established town with many shops it was oddly empty, and quiet. A strange sensation for me because you can't go out anywhere near where I live without it being packed. I wondered whether this was just country life, if it was because it was a Sunday, or if it was because of the Covid pandemic. I made in through most the town reading the plaques and viewing the buildings before deciding to just skip ahead and head to the Arboretum by car so I could swap over to a hat.
I was a little disappointed compared to my local Arboretum (in Albion Park), which I have always found particularly beautiful and even won a photo competition at work with a photo I had taken there.
I walked most of the way down before deciding to check out 'Lupton's Lookout' instead. I made my way back to the car.
As my GPS told me to pull up as I had arrived at Lupton's Lookout, not very far from where I was, and still in the middle of town I confusingly walked from my car to a sign post and found the lookout just looking over the Arboretum I had just walked along...
"Well that's a shit lookout." I thought to myself before standing back and reading the sign post that explained why it's 'Lupton's Lookout'.
I wondered to myself if the tree was still there, or if they knew which tree it was. But found it an interesting bit of history none-the-less.
The day was getting on, and my camp ground was still another 50minutes north so I decided I would make my way to Holy Camp at Weddin Mountains National Park to set up camp.
Back in my car I guzzled some water and blasted my aircon and set the GPS to head north towards Weddin Mountains. While driving along I saw a Graveyard on my left and not missing an opportunity for some family history searching I quickly pulled off-road, into the unnamed graveyard (I search it for a name and none was around). I later, after getting home and finding some of the grave in their on the website 'Find-a-Grave' that it was Grenfell Cemetery.
I had a printed out list of Ancestors who's Grave I did not have photos of (many had been fulfilled by people on that 'Find-a-Grave' site), a great resource if you're looking into family history and genealogy.
I soon began noticing last names that were ringing bells in my head and began taking photo's of the graves even if I didn't have them listed. I thought they might be other descendants of my Ancestors and thought that if they were not on 'Find-a-Grave' I could at least upload them for others who might not be able to make the journey, and who knows, some might turn out to be Ancestors (we have many!!).
I thought about how sad it was, to have ancestors who have so many descendants who didn't even want to know they existed, to learn where they came from, content to just forget. So many people existing because to people deciding to have kids, and that just spreading and expanding down the line. Sites like 'Find-a-Grave' help stop people being forgotten.
I kept coming across more and more ancestral last names (that I knew were from around Young), but no direct ancestors yet. I soon saw many Simpson graves and knowing Tristan had ancestry from out at Young I messaged him saying they could be his relatives (though sadly having both done our Ancestry DNA, we shared no mutual heritage). At one point a Crow flew out making it's typical sound and scaring the shit out of me. I think I actually went 'Oh fuck!' out loud.
Unfortunately broken, and already uploaded to Find-a-Grave, but I was able to see it in person
My Mum and her Mother eventually did their Ancestry DNA too, and my Nan, who was born a Brennan due to her parents not marrying, her father was Leslie Madden, the Great Grandchild of the Margaret Madden and John Madden who's grave I now stood at. Leslie and my Nan's mother; 'Flora Brennan' never married, and he moved away when my Nan was about 6 years old and she never saw him again. However through Ancestry DNA we learned my Nan had sisters she did not know about as Les had moved down to Melbourne and begun a family there with my Mother now connecting and in communication with cousin's she never knew she had, who were able to send and give us images of Leslie, who we had never seen before.
I took some more photos of familiar last names before realising I had really lost track of time and needed to get to camp. I continued my way, now on dirt roads and hoping for the best in my little car, and finally made it to the camp ground, which I found empty (to my pleasure) and I pulled up giving it a quick look around before beginning to set up.
The funny story with my tent was I own a 4 person tent, recently bought (and unused) for myself to go camping with my Wife and Dog (this never happened because of both Covid and my cancer diagnosis). So I didn't want to be going around having to pack and set up a 4 person tent so I asked my Dad if he had a 2 man one.
He said we had given one by my late Uncle Johnny (my Dad's adoptive Mum's brother). Which seeing as this trip was a family history one I will have to unveil the family story there in a long exhausting fashion before coming full circle with the tent story.
So my Nana Betty had an affair on my Dad's late father Jack Franks (John Lawrence) whom I never got to meet. Basically it was with an Italian man. So once she got pregnant she worried if it was an Italian baby that it would be obvious so she had no choice but to confess the infidelity to her husband. Ultimately he said they would see if he was his son or not (he was) but ended up giving him away for adoption anyway if not my last name would be Franks, and it's not (which is good cause I'm sorta attached to the one I have). Anyway, they ended up having 3 more children after my Dad who all got to live as a happy family, the only left living is my Uncle Mark, my Aunt Corinne dying from sepsis during her chemotherapy for Leukemia (maybe it's genetic?) However my Dad met and found all these actual family members before I was born, so I have grown up knowing them all.
Anyway, my Uncle Johnny, who was not blood related but I also grew up knowing, always reminded me of Willie Nelson. I don't know, he had a Willie Nelson look about him with that gray stubble beard and he was always wearing an Akubra. He was always health obsessed too, which as children we hated, cause we wanted junk food, so when he would look after us he would try to give us banana on bread which we all despised. He later in life moved to far North Queensland and we didn't see him much as we were older or before he passed. But the tent was a gift from him to us kids when we were young and had never once been opened.
And so I picked it up from Dad who insisted I do a trial run of putting it all together and stuff before my trip. However, lazy and impulsive as I am I only opened it up to make sure the pieces were there and figured I'd wing it when I finally got out there, and it turned out ok
As I finished setting up and sat there ready for a long night alone with no fire (as my Wife had told be it was an apparent total fire ban), I began to feel lonely and bored. I gave my brother Scott a call just to kill some time and we began discussing memories of our childhood at home. I finally cracked and lit the fire anyway while I was ravaged by mosquitoes.
I finally started to feel tired and fell asleep with an axe next to my hand (as I've evidently watched too many horror films).
The next morning I got up, ready to set out on the bushwalk Eualdire Walking Track that was right at my camp ground. I ate half a packet of uncooked instant noodles for breakfast before just not being hungry enough to finish, and taking my morning medications.
I then, excitedly, set out on my solo walk.
I stopped across from this rock, looking at the path continuing up to the mountain and already feeling the heat and fatigue. I felt a sadness overcome me, wishing I could be physically how I was before my cancer, back to that level of fitness where there steepest or longest hikes wouldn't bother me. I felt a little angry and then tried to calm myself, saying it would come in time and I would get there. I also had to appreciate the psychology of the situation. I was walking alone, in the heat, after cancer, while the path travelled progressively uphill (though by this point it was only ever so slight), and I didn't have that banter, that shared experience of hiking with Tristan or my Dad. I didn't have that motivation and joint experience. I was alone, so therefore I was always going to be more in my head about it. I had to get out of my head an appreciate that I was in a beautiful unique spot, away from the world.
I had a drink and continued on as the dirt path slowly began to get smaller into more of a track, and I wondered to myself if I would see any snakes.
As I walked along I kept thinking I was hearing running was before realising it was just the sound of wind through the trees. Every time I would stop for a breath or some water I would close my eyes and listen to that sound.
The walk began to progress uphill more now, and I began to feel that self-doubt creeping in which I tried to shake away. I kept seeing sharp spiky looking plants along the track which I made sure to continuously avoid in case it caused stinging or itching. Eventually I stopped for the longest break I took on my walk. Right across from one of the spiky plants which I noticed had a fruit growing on it. I thought that it might be some form of nightshade, as it sort of looked like a tomato.
After my long break, which I just sat, staring blankly through the trees, just letting my mind clear, just enjoying the warmth of the sun, I stood determined and began the walk that was now very much up hill, heading inwards towards my left.
I began to hit my stride, finding myself needing to stop less and getting into the groove of the walk both physically and mentally.
I noticed the trees were beginning to change and I had reached a different area on the mountain. It was more shaded and their was more of a breeze now. I soon found myself coming upon the lookout, shocked and happy I had succeeded so easily before realising it was not the Eualdrie Lookout but, Peregrine Lookout. Which was a nice view along the way with only 900m to go to my destination.
The walk flattened out for a short while travelling through the trees before once again turning sharply upwards.
While I walked, I thought about this blog, and I questioned whether or not I want to do it anymore. I love hiking, I love travel, and I also love writing and the opportunity to share and tell stories. But I began to feel lethargic and put off by the idea. It is effort put in and for very little reward. I thought about stopping, maybe just giving it a break. But I thought as long as I get some joy, and the fun experience or story-telling and reliving a past adventure I would continue, if the time ever feels right for me to stop then I would.
I soon had approached the top, feeling proud of myself as I noticed a big monument build out of stones, and I wondered what it was for before noticing a piece of metal rusting next to it on the ground and figuring it was probably a Trig Station.
I sat and enjoyed the view (with a lot of buzzing happening in the bushes around me, maybe bees?) I had brought no food with me but had some leftover fruit cake my Wife had made me for the drive still in my bag and so I ate a slice of that while looking over the expanse in front of me. I thought it would have been cool if I had been with someone else to continue the walk through to Ben Hall's Campground, which was where I was planning to go next as it had more walks available there, and after making it up to Eualdrie Lookout I felt motivated to continue and do some more walks. But with everything back at Holy Camp I made my way back down the mountain to decide what to do with the rest of my day.
As I arrived back down at the camp ground one car was just pulling in with a couple who sat at a picnic table having some lunch and reading the sign while I finished off the other half of my bag of uncooked instant noodles I hadn't finished for breakfast. I looked at my printed list of suggested things I had written for myself, such as the Bang Bang Inn near Grenfell. I looked at the distance, but decided I would instead pack up camp to move to the Ben Hall Campground, set up and do some bushwalks there and go to Bang Bang the next day (as that campground was closer to it).
I packed up my tent (and all the stuff in it) and set out on the dusty road towards my camp ground. I soon encountered a problem. My car was having enough trouble on the old dirt roads all filled with potholes, but my problem was one I could not conquer in my little car.
My only road both to Grenfell, and my camp ground was flooded. There was no way my little car would make it through. I looked at Google quickly, trying to think what to do as there were probably other amble dirt roads leading long-winded ways to my destination, however I was struggling to find any that didn't involve me driving hours out of the way. And I didn't want to re-pitch in the same spot and sit there for hours with nothing to do. Other than Ben Hall's Campground and Grenfell all I had left to do was more Graveyards around Young or further south when I went through Wombat, which I was just planning to do on the way home.
That was all I could do, so unless I re-pitched, drove south for an hour driving around, and driving back to the same spot, all the while burning through fuel. I decided I would just head in to Young and Wombat, and do a little exploring and simply head home. It was out of my hands. (Making me wish I had a van so I could just pull up anywhere with a mattress in the back and just sleep, like I had back when I was homeless).
I began the sad drive back into Young, feeling disappointed. I questioned if naming my blog post Young, seeing as so little had actually taken place in the town. But I figured it was more like a hub, I had come out to Young as my ancestors where from around there, and it had been where all the things I had done were centered around. Soon sunscreen began to drip into my eyes just as I had made it back into town and I had to pull over on a random street trying to flush my eyes out with water. I sit my GPS to Wombat, just south of Young, where my Brennan ancestors (on my Nan's side) had been from.
On my way through Young I saw another Graveyard and did an impromptu stop in and had a big look around, again finding many familiar last names. Even the grave of my great-grandfather's brother Leslie 'Tib' Sheather, who was mentioned being shot by my great-grandfather in the newspaper article I shared at the beginning of this blog post. But found many more ancestors at this graveyard (many I had on 'Find-a-Grave') but not Henry King which was a new one.
My 3rd great-grandfather. Whose Daughter Isabella married William Brennan
My 2nd Great Grandfather Frederick Levett I was very excited to see. Because when doing ancestry work sometimes you find names or locations and dates. Sometimes you find stories. I knew Fred had been in World War 1, in the 1st Infantry Battalion. I knew he had got injured during the Battle of Arras in 1917 but had made a recovery and later rejoined the war. I had many documents involving this including letters to and from his wife Amy Levett. I also knew their daughter Hazel Levett had drowned and had the newspaper article about her drowning.
I have so many documents that it could fill up it's own blog post, which is why I have often thought of starting a blog to tell the story of my ancestors, as one blog post someone had done had already told the story of my ancestor John Madden.
James O'Meley my 4th Great-Grandfather and his wife Mary Ann Fox my 4th Great-Grandmother honoured an pioneers. I am descended through their child James who married Sarah Jenkins and had a daughter Ellen O'Meley who married my 2nd Great Grandfather, Percy Sheather, who's sons, you guessed it, shot each other with the pea rifle.
I soon had to continue on so was back in the car and making my way to Wombat past many Cherry Orchards, always tempted to stop in and hand pick some cherries or stop at a place selling freshly made cherry pie. I ultimately kept on the road. Finally arriving across from the Wombat Hotel.
This was right across from the Wombat Hotel a pub where my 2nd Great Grandfather William Brennan use to frequent and would apparently always get a 'Pony' of Beer, which is a measurement I had never heard of until I heard this story about him.
A photo of William Brennan with a beer in Wombat Hotel
I haven't drank any alcohol since my cancer diagnosis, and I was trying to avoid people, otherwise I would have went in and asked for a Pony of Beer and seen what occurred. Instead I sat across the the Hotel underneath a tree and heated myself up some noodles before the overly long drive home.
After I finished and new I was about to head home I set my GPS and the very first road I went past was Brennan lane! I had to quickly pull over and turn around to go back for a photo.
Although I didn't get the trip I wanted due to unforeseen events, and being way to poor to afford a good off-road car I still felt like the trip was worth taking. Although I would have loved that bit more time to explore those bush walks and a few more places. But life is long (hopefully) and I might always make it back out to visit Weddin Mountain and the surrounding areas at some point in the future.
Great article, I love history
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