I Come From a Land Down Under: My Australian Relatives

Happy Crown Roast of Pork Day! If you're like me, you can't spend Crown Roast of Pork Day without ruminating on your dad's Australian cousins.

Photos of my father's side of the family are hard to come by. My dad pulled the whole "going out for cigarettes" thing when I was two years old. His exact words were, "I'll be back on Thursday!" And I didn't see the dude for a quarter century. After that, he wasn't extraordinarily forthcoming with the family snapshots.

But I digress. My late Grandpa Jack (1892-1964), who I never met (he died 12 years before I was born), was himself born and raised in Nenagh, Ireland. He and his older sister, Mary Elizabeth "Maureen" Kearney (1890-1935) were the eldest of 12 children born to tobacconist and hairdresser Patrick Kearney (1870-1920) and his wife, Johanna Mary Kearney née Reynolds (1872-1927).

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Unfortunately, five of the Kearney siblings died in infancy. I don't know how common that was, but 32 Castle Street couldn't have been a very happy house. Also, patriarch Patrick Kearney himself began to develop debilitating health problems in his 40's.

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My Great-Grandfather Patrick was, by all accounts, a popular business owner and valued member of the community. However, toward the end, he was in major arrears. Regretfully, I may have inherited his accounting skills.

Patrick Kearney passed away at age 50 on 30 August, 1920. According to his death certificate, his demise was brought on by heart failure related to "Pernicious Anemia." His final residence was also a workhouse. Before this, the only thing I knew about workhouses was that the Elephant Man seemingly relied on them, and they weren't so much with the work-life balance. Now I find out my Great Grandfather kicked the bucket in one. It's a dark day at the Mystery Snapshot Adventure. R.I.P.

Today's medieval science (aka Wikipedia) will tell you Patrick succumbed to a Vitamin B12 deficiency that could've been the result of an autoimmune disease, Coeliac Disease, a tapeworm or a Vegan diet (!). It's also now known to be one of the many complications of alcoholism.

Interestingly, Patrick died never knowing exactly how old he was. On the 1901 census, he lists his age as 35. Then, ten years later, he says he's 42. In 1920, his death certificate said he was 50. Yet an obituary published in the local Nenagh paper said he was 56. And yes, this is all the same person. According to a fellow genealogist, this isn't uncommon.

“My experience with emigrants from rural Cork to Massachusetts, is that the lack of knowledge as to the exact date made it more likely that people would make themselves younger than they really were. Curiously, as they reached old age, they sometimes added years to their real age, perhaps to impress the census enumerator.”

Between the siblings' deaths and the dad's illness, life in this household was, most likely, very stressful. That may have been why Grandpa Jack bolted to Sheffield, England at age 18 in 1920 and married into the Bateman family—but not before Maureen married a man named John Patrick Hodgins in 1912 and moved to Australia. After that, nobody heard from my Great Aunt Maureen again. She remains an enigma.

But, thanks to the internet, I found some snapshots of Maureen's Australian-born kids—my dad's cousins—posted by a distant relative. They all lived and loved in the greater Melbourne, Australia area. To put things in perspective, they grew up roughly 10,779 miles (17,348 km) away from Ireland during Patrick's later heath problems—and were already teenagers when my (now 88 year-old) father was born in England. It's no great surprise that we knew nothing about them before, but it's great to become acquainted with them now.

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This dapper Virgo is John Patrick Hodgins Jr. (1913-1988). He was born in Richmond, Victoria on 11 Sept, 1913 and died in Mulwala in 1988. He may have been married to a woman named Daphne. I think this photo was taken in 1940, which would've put him at 27 years old. I see my dad's nose and ears in this photo.

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Here's a snapshot taken a year earlier of John's 21 year-old brother, Francis Gerald Hodgins (1918-1977). The horse is named Sky King and it was three years old according to some text on the back.

Someone appears to have used this photo as a coffee coaster at some point.

This photo of Francis Hodgins was probably taken in the early 1960's. He definitely grew up to be a strapping Aussie outdoorsman. I found another photo of him brandishing what appears to be a slaughtered platypus, but I won't post it out of solidarity with Platypodes.

(left to right) Wayne, Joy, Francis, and Dorothy Hodgins
Victoria, Australia
(circa 1970's)

Francis married Coral "Joy" Mead and had two kids named Dorothy and Wayne. Dorothy and Wayne are my second cousins because we share Patrick and Johanna Kearney as one set of great-grandparents. Remind me to look up Dorothy and Wayne someday.

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This was John and Francis's baby sister, Beatrice Patricia Hodgins (1919-1991).

Beatrice (left) has my dad's smile. I don't know much about her except she married a man named Charles Maslen. Is this an after-church photo? It looks like an after-church photo.

Here's a cute snapshot of her later in life. Go Collingwood Magpies!

Here she is (circa 1980's) with her cat. A love of cats runs on both sides of my family, it would seem.

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Late in life, my dad randomly developed an interest in his family. But instead of reconnecting with his son, he paid a genealogist to make his family tree. When you're lost in the details, they say you can't see the forest for the trees. My dad was the opposite; he wanted to see the forest, but thought the trees were in the way.

Or maybe he figured long-dead ancestors were easier to get along with your kids. But I digress. Happy Crown Roast of Pork Day to you and yours!