Hazel Eugean Smith, undated.
[Hazel was a cousin of Ivy Smith (1911-1977) the wife of William Smith (1911-1989) a son of Filomena Cagnacci (1886-1970) and grandson of Angelina Sgapponi (1864-1942) then known as Mary Cagnacci. Hazel’s parents were Bertram Smith (1878-1954) and Amy Florence Went (1888-1963). The family was living at Currumbin during Hazel’s childhood. The original document is with the J.Simpson family of Currumbin.]
They were a wild harum-scarum lot of children, with a mother who spent most of her time seated in the parlour, sewing, when she wasn’t being called out to act as mid-wife or to attend to the sick in the neighbourhood. She always wore a silver thimble and if any of the children annoyed her, they would get rapped smartly on the head with that thimble-encased finger and it really hurt.
A father who dispensed justice with a firm hand and if he found out he had punished the wrong child or children, would say that would only make up for one of the times they should have been punished and missed out. He also acted as dentist and doctor, and when it came to dispensing castor-oil he would measure about 2 inches down the bottle and keep pouring till he reached the mark. The woe betide any victim who spat the dose out, as he always got an extra-large dose next time.
Mary Jane the eldest girl, could hit whatever she looked at and quite a number of times when provoked, hit the teacher with an inkwell or slate. Then she would jump out the window and visit her grandparents till the storm blew over. On one occasion her father and others were trying to drive horses and they kept running in the wrong direction. Her father, seeing Mary jane in the lane, yelled to her in frustration, to, “Hit that lead horse in the eye and turn him back.” She turned the horses back alright but from then on that horse only had one eye.
The eldest boy James was the only one to go to the Boer War (as far as I could gather). [NAA does not appear to have a Boer War record for any son of George Smith 1842-1928.]
The boys of the family were constantly in trouble with the Chinese market-gardeners and farmers in the district. On one occasion several of the boys raided a melon patch, to be seen by the farmer who peppered them with a shot-gun loaded with salt-petre. They weren’t game to let anyone know they had been hurt for fear their father’s punishment would be lots worse.
On another occasion three of the boys blocked a bridge and forced a farmer’s pigs to jump over the side into the creek, just to test a theory that pigs will cut their throats with their front feet if forced to swim. The pigs didn’t suffer any ill effects, but the irate farmer went straight to their father. While he was telling his story, three boys came towards the farmhouse and the farmer yelled, “There they are.” So those three boys got soundly whipped for a crime they didn’t commit. George Smith never listened to their protests of innocence and to the farmer all the boys looked alike.
When Mary Jane was about 16, she made a special trip to Sydney without her parents’ knowledge, to see a hanging. Her parents were greatly shocked when they found out. She was also curious about the Catholic Church, possibly because her mother had been a Catholic before her marriage. (She [Maria Leary] took George’s religion because she believed when you take a man’s name you should be willing to take his religion also.) So Mary Jane went to the Catholic Church with a girlfriend, who told her to, “Just follow me and do what I do.” Mary Jane was so busy looking around that when her friend suddenly knelt in the aisle and blessed herself, Mary Jane fell right over her.
George Smith had a number of horses, but only one saddle and the family were warned never to touch it. When their father was away on one occasion, the boys saddled up a horse with that precious saddle and had a great time till the girth broke. They patched it up as best they could, and put it away, saying nothing to their father. Next day he used the saddle and came home bruised and sore from a fall he had had because the girth broke again, but he never knew they had broken it and they didn’t inform him.
Grace Smith suffered badly from neuralgia and found the best cure was to chop wood until the paid eased. While doing this one day her brother George [1872-1964] began to tease her by poking his finger on to the block. He ignored her warnings and when the inevitable happened, she rushed him inside to his mother, who promptly sewed the finger back on. It recovered, but it was always slightly crooked afterwards.
The Smiths were a close family, particularly Arthur, Ned [Edward] and Bert, possibly because of the fact that all three of them had married sisters, plus all had left the south to start a new life. After timber cutting for a number of years they moved onto farms in northern New South Wales. In 1925 Bertram came across the border to Currumbin Creek. At Ridgetop, he discovered an old sawmill was closing down as most of the timber had been cut out, so he bought it. The property consisted of a mill which he turned into a dairy, a fair-sized house and a number of cottages where mill workers had dwelt. By the time he had paid for the property he had no money left to buy cattle, so a farmer on the border of Queensland and New South Wales provided him with the cattle he needed, telling him to pay for them as and when he could. The agreement was settled with a handshake only.
Some of the cousins arrived and grew bananas on the hills of the farm. Frank Smith was one of them, Mylie [Myles Hamilton Smith] was another. He was in partnership with my brother George for some years. Also, Dorothy with her husband Jack Grummette [Grimmette] lived in one of the cottages and I think Jack grew bananas too. Frank and his family lived in a 2- bedroom cottage for a number of years. On one occasion he had been cutting out banana stools with a machete (or similar) when he accidently drove it into his foot. I can remember him arriving at our house with his shoe filled with blood and leaving a trail of blood behind at every step. Dad immediately applied a tourniquet and rushed him off to hospital, but he very nearly died from the blood loss.
Dad [Bertram Smith] was fond of shooting and he would often take a day off to go shooting on a farm some distance away. On one occasion George and Mylie were with him, when three other cousins (from two families) arrived for a visit. Finding out where the others had gone they decided to join them. When the farmer saw the three extras arrive he asked if they were sons of Bert Smith. Rather than go into details they said yes. Then the farmer asked if there were any more at home, so the cousins replied honestly that there were two boys and three girls. They left the farmer shaking his head in amazement. When the shooting was over and all were preparing to depart, the farmer came to dad saying, “I must shake your hand. You’re a mighty man!” Dad was still puzzling over that late at night, until the cousins finally enlightened him.
Before the 2nd World War we saw lots of our cousins Jack, Henry, Cecil, Mylie and Fred Smith’s sons Claude and Charlie.
Last time I saw Claude he was a taxi driver in Cairns. He took us (Peter and I) [Peter Hawthorne Mitchell and Hazel Eugean Smith] around to his flat to meet his wife (his Little Frenchie, he called her). They had no children, but Claude had a white bull-terrier he called “Taxi.” When we arrived, his wife was fuming as she had arrived home from shopping to find the dog stretched out on her white bedspread on the double bed. She told Claude, “Either that dog goes or I do,” only to hear him say, “Bye bye dear, it was nice knowing you.”
Claude had been a boxer in his youth. Mylie spoke of meeting him in Murwillumbah one day. Claude was leaning against a post and didn’t even look up as Mylie approached, so Mylie swung a punch at him. Claude sidestepped neatly and Mylie missed, so he demanded how Claude did that. Claude told him, “I was watching your feet and they broadcast your intentions.” Something he had learnt when he was boxing.
After the war broke out only mum, dad and I were left at home to run the farm. Dorothy [Dorothy May Smith] arrived for a visit and I think she saved me from being badly burnt or worse. It was my job to return from the dairy and start breakfast preparation while mum washed up the dairy things. I served Dorrie first as she planned to leave on the cream truck, then I stood too close to the open firebox in my short skirt and it caught alight. In a panic I began trying to brush the flames out, without avail. Dorrie became aware of what was happening and immediately grabbed my skirt with both hands and screwed it up, putting out the flames. We always thought Dorrie was rather helpless and ineffectual, but our opinion changed after that.
Uncle Arthur was the story teller. When he visited, it was a treat to listen to him. He told how one of his brothers used to raid the hen house, tuck the eggs into his shirt and slip away quietly to light a fire and cook them to eat. On one occasion he ran into a couple of his brothers, who guessed what he had in his shirt and punched him, breaking the eggs. So he headed for a shallow creek and stripped off to clean up the mess, only to have a neighbours wife and daughter stroll past and be greatly shocked.
Then there [was] the first damper Uncle Arthur made. The recipe didn’t sound big enough so he made up his own. When eventually it was cooked he had to carve it out of the oven because it totally filled it. Perhaps that is how he got the nickname of ‘Cookie’.
Then there was the time he caught a bad cold. Someone advised him to drink plenty of rum and then crawl into bed to sleep it off and his cold would be gone. Drinking the rum was OK, but getting into bed was beyond him. Every time he tried, he fell flat on the floor, so eventually he wrapped a blanket around himself and slept on the floor. He never did tell us if it cured his cold.
Uncle George seemed to be the only unlikeable member of the Smith family. He didn’t marry until late in life [in 1961], but he married a very nice woman. He joined a church called “The Brethren” and became convinced only members of his church were Christians. His wife [Elice Peterson] told mum [Amy Florence Went 1888-1963] that she had attended his church only once, he didn’t introduce her to any one, made her sit down the back and totally ignored her. Because she refused to attend his church he considered her a heathen (although mum considered her a far better person than George).
He used to come to Queensland on preaching missions or for conferences and as mum and dad had retired to Tugin to live, by then, he always stayed with them. His attitude was, he was doing them a great honour by choosing to stay with them. Money was rather tight after they left the farm and once when his stay stretched to a fortnight mum suggested he should provide something towards his board. Reluctantly he opened his purse-type wallet and gave her the smallest note he could find, which happened to be £5. He stayed another week but never offered any more.
After dad died he arrived on mum’s doorstep complete with luggage again, but this time she sent him away saying it wouldn’t be seemly to have him there without his wife. He never bothered her again and she was thankful for it. I have heard since that none of his neighbours down south liked him.
There was a saying in our family that a dog would never bite a Smith and it seemed to be true. Uncle Arthur moved to a farm on the north side of Brisbane and acquired a large dog which had the whole neighbourhood bluffed. Mylie decided to pay him a visit, but by the time he located the farm it was quite dark. When Uncle Arthur saw his unexpected visitor, he wondered how Mylie had got past the dog, only to be told the dog had come to meet him and accepted a pat.