Native Place is Cardington.
There is a small
village named Cardington,
It is the place of
my ancestors Dunn.
“What’s done is
“dunn,” have some fun,
Continue to live
your life in the sun.”
But “Dunn” is the
name from whence I came,
So now I know, it
is not the same.
My ancestor it is
true, got in a stew,
Was he guilty? Who
really knew?
Tried in Oxford,
for what I couldn’t say,
But with his life
he would have to pay
Instead, sent from
England to Australia,
Because what he had
done, was considered a failure.
Samuel set sail, in
Tasmania he landed,
From there, in
1821, he was stranded.
In 1797 to Thomas
and Sarah he’d been born,
She a Hall from
nearby Barrow, the mantle that was worn.
Before that in
1713, another Thomas had a Mary,
Yes, it seems that
Dunns in Cardington went back a fair way.
Though now I find
that this date is but a hiccup,
The Domesday Royal
Oak being more than one up.
Samuel had brothers
Richard, John and Thomas,
And let’s not
forget Mary, the sister, the young lass.
Mary married
Richard Williams and started another line,
And I suppose the
brothers were also just fine.
They mixed with
folks like Jones, (Royal Oak Carter?) Dayus,
Lewis, Lloyd,
Parsons, Pollard, Preen and even Juckes.
And as they sipped
a cup of the local brew,
In the Royal Oak, did
they have the view,
Of Samuel in
Launceston, thinking back on them,
Remembering church
bells chiming like Big Ben,
Thinking of the
stone cottages and those mossy walls,
Wishing he hadn’t
taken, quite so many falls?
Did he miss those
little items held at the local hall?
Or perhaps it was
as simple as the local bird’s call.
In Launceston
gorge, like yours nearby, did he stand on its brink?
Thinking of another
revolution, not industrial, what d’ you think?
Were mother Sarah’s
cooking smells wafting in the air,
That specialty of
Cardington, you might love and share?
Did he long for the
evergreens of the trees of his youth?
The gray green
trees here, may have seemed to him uncouth.
As his eyes swept
the horizon, did he wish for contained spaces?
Were there other
things, he put through the paces?
Or, like me, were
the differences, the very thing he reveled,
If he loved it all,
the results, in the end, were leveled.
Be that as it may,
Samuel met Rebecca, from Frome near Bath,
So his marriage to
her, took him on another path.
One more twist for this convict miss, it’s a little
ironic to say.
To find her, you
look south, but her name North looks the other way.
Meanwhile, Samuel
and Rebecca were in trouble for carrying wheat,
It’s sad when you
think of it; just to stay alive would be a feat.
Convict times were
troubled, they often had wild times,
And suffered severe
punishment, like stocks, gaol and extra fines.
In between, they
managed to survive, to sire Thomas, their son,
Who himself sired
fourteen children, of which my granddad Charles was one.
And now I look in
wonder at Samuel’s village town,
See the laughter in
“Whittington” skit, not one single frown.
Like me they’re
members of a bookclub, their computer is a broadband,
I see the beauty of
the streets and also nearby land.
I travel round the
B & B’s, I look to see the sights,
I can even find out
what Cardington does on nights.
“But, we haven’t
seen you!” I can hear you say.
“You know so much
about us, when have you come to stay?”
Never is the
answer, (one day I hope to travel) in the meanwhile,
(Here is the
solution that will make you smile)
I surf the net, I
delve down deep, to find out information,
Exactly what you
will be doing if the computer is your station.
Because when I get
to Cardington, that may be soon or later,
I will be looking
for that special feeling that belonged to my grand “pater,”
I could spend my
time in musty rooms looking up those certificates,
But I would prefer
to find friendly faces and maybe even “mates,”
Who can guide me to
the personal side where my ancestor would have lived
So could you to
look at Cardington, through those memories you have sieved,
Perhaps a Dunn may
pop up there, I see you have a Tim.
Who took a photo of
the Royal Oak, a family memory for him?
Are my ancestors
buried there, where I see a fading headstone?
For no matter where
we settle, we are really here on loan
(Yes, I’ll admit
that here, I was tempted to have the rhyme say moan,
But I resisted the
temptation, in case, from here, I’d hear you groan)
To walk the walk
where our ancestors used to tread,
Helps us to know
about ourselves, to pick up on the thread.
Perhaps you could
help me out, I will leave you my addresss
I’d love to hear
from you telling me what my Samuel miss’d.
Yes Samuel would
have missed Cardington, of that I am just certain,
Still , I have to
admit this, it’ll bring down the final curtain,
If he hadn’t been
sent away from you, he missed out on so much,
I wouldn’t be here
to be sending you this, so I could keep in touch!
Marie J Dallman
(Nee Dunn)
near Geelong ,
Melbourne,
Victoria,
Australia.