I don't know anywhere as much about my paternal grandparents. I know that my grandmother was from England, but I don't know what part, family or other miscellaneous information. What I do know is that she raised two boys and a girl without a husband present. She worked three jobs to make the money to clothe and feed them. This is going to launch into a slightly feminist rant.
In those days, women were looked after. They were either at home, being looked after by their fathers, or they were married and looked after by their husbands. Either way, they didn't need a real income and so they were paid at two thirds, on average, the wage a man got for the same work. If you couldn't get a mans job, you got a womans job, which paid even less. If you did get a mans job, then you got passed over for promotion and responsibility, because you don't really need the job. The men, after all, have a family to feed. Thus three jobs.
My grandfather was missing in action. Not to do with a war, such as world war one or two, but more to do with the war on alcohol, which he was loosing. He also had a gambling war, which he also tended to loose at to. And his attitude to women stank.
My grandmother and aunt were killed when my father was 13. They were run over by a young, rich, drunk driver. He was never prosecuted, I was informed, because his father knew the right people. My grandfather was left with two boys to look after, and had no parenting skills. It was difficult to do as he still had a strong gambling and alcohol addiction.
My grandfather was the kind of man who really enjoyed hanging out at chess cafe's, drinking and playing chess. Why don't we have those here anymore, I would like to know. Sitting down to a nice soy chai late and playing an embracing game of chess, or something else, sounds like a fantastic afternoon to me.
My grandfather did have some troubles with the war around the time my father was born. He was in a business, a grocery business, just as the war broke out. His surname was very Austrian-Jewish, so his business dried up and no one would by vegetables from him. His solution to this was to change the name of the business to something more English. Business boomed. At this time, my father was born, and was given this new name. As the war ended, my grandfather changed his name back and my uncle was born. He got the new old name, while my father got the old new name. This made it quite tricky for me to find my grandfather in hospital one time, as I thought he still had my fathers surname.
That most of what I know of the history of my paternal grandparents.
The next bit of history is my parents. You may be surprised to here this, but I have two parents, and some other add in's on the way.
Showing posts with label Beginning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Beginning. Show all posts
January 05, 2011
January 01, 2011
A beginning Part 2
My maternal grandfather was an Austrian born man who studied engineering. He worked around the world, learning new languages in each port. He described his method of learning a new language as this: Move to the country, find a girl, move in with her and learn her language. He was fluent in 8 different languages.
My understanding of language acquisition is that it is actually quite hard to do. To pick up additional languages, beyond a basic child level, one must make huge changes to the brain. Falling in love releases a huge number of chemicals into the body, which includes the brain, and prompts the brain to be quite plastic. Another plasticity trick is to travel a long way and walking a lot. In both travel and falling in love, the brain is primed to learn new things, to adapt to new situations and to change quite radically.
When my maternal father went to Russia to fill the latest engineering position, he was no doubt looking for a girl to learn the language from. He found this sophisticated, incredibly beautiful Russian minor noble at a party, whom he fell madly in love with and married. Kudos to my grandmother for taming him.
They moved from Russia to France where he scored a new contract. World War Two broke out and France was invaded. This is somewhat awkward for those who have noticeably Jewish heritage.
Why is it that this war was defined as a world war? Why are so many other wars not defined as a world war? The most prolific modern history writers in our culture are from Europe, so European wars must be worse than other wars. Consider some of the wars around the Conga area in Africa - how many countries were involved with them? Or the Board War, which proceeded the first so called world war. Even Australia shipped troupes out to that war. Ah well.
So, my maternal grandfather was put into a concentration camp so that he could work on his crime of having Jewish ancestry. It was somewhat of a shock to my grandmother to discover that he had Jewish heritage and not a matter she tended to discuss with us. My understanding is that Jewish people in Russia tended to inhabit villages and not mix much with other peoples. My grandmother was quite prejudiced against them. In fact, my grandmother was quite racist.
My grandmother wanted to save her husband and so every day she would go to the camp and beg the guards to let her husband go. I don't know how long that went on for, but eventually one of the guards relented and said that he would have to leave Europe if he were let go. My grandmother went to many charity organisations looking for ways to pay for a ticket out of Europe. They all turned her away. She finally went to a Quaker family and told them of her plight. They gave her the money, she bought a ticket and my grandfather was released. They all left Europe.
My grandfather never talked about his time in the camp. He was also unable, according to my mother, to emotionally connect with people. To him, life was logic and sense.
They landed in Australia and next went to Papua New Guinea. My mother, the oldest of two, was conceived in Papua New Guinea and her parents made a decision that they wanted her born in Australia and thus they would settle down in Australia. My grandfather spoke excellent English, so this was easy for him. My grandmother spoke only Russian with a bit of French, so this was hard. She refused to learn English, as it was too difficult, and only mixed with Russian peoples. My grandfather band her from seeing them until she learned English and as I understand it, she never mixed with them again.
She learned English, slowly. This was facilitated by her getting a job. She got the job because at the time Russia was seen as a great ally, and she was very picturesque lady.
My understanding of language acquisition is that it is actually quite hard to do. To pick up additional languages, beyond a basic child level, one must make huge changes to the brain. Falling in love releases a huge number of chemicals into the body, which includes the brain, and prompts the brain to be quite plastic. Another plasticity trick is to travel a long way and walking a lot. In both travel and falling in love, the brain is primed to learn new things, to adapt to new situations and to change quite radically.
When my maternal father went to Russia to fill the latest engineering position, he was no doubt looking for a girl to learn the language from. He found this sophisticated, incredibly beautiful Russian minor noble at a party, whom he fell madly in love with and married. Kudos to my grandmother for taming him.
They moved from Russia to France where he scored a new contract. World War Two broke out and France was invaded. This is somewhat awkward for those who have noticeably Jewish heritage.
Why is it that this war was defined as a world war? Why are so many other wars not defined as a world war? The most prolific modern history writers in our culture are from Europe, so European wars must be worse than other wars. Consider some of the wars around the Conga area in Africa - how many countries were involved with them? Or the Board War, which proceeded the first so called world war. Even Australia shipped troupes out to that war. Ah well.
So, my maternal grandfather was put into a concentration camp so that he could work on his crime of having Jewish ancestry. It was somewhat of a shock to my grandmother to discover that he had Jewish heritage and not a matter she tended to discuss with us. My understanding is that Jewish people in Russia tended to inhabit villages and not mix much with other peoples. My grandmother was quite prejudiced against them. In fact, my grandmother was quite racist.
My grandmother wanted to save her husband and so every day she would go to the camp and beg the guards to let her husband go. I don't know how long that went on for, but eventually one of the guards relented and said that he would have to leave Europe if he were let go. My grandmother went to many charity organisations looking for ways to pay for a ticket out of Europe. They all turned her away. She finally went to a Quaker family and told them of her plight. They gave her the money, she bought a ticket and my grandfather was released. They all left Europe.
My grandfather never talked about his time in the camp. He was also unable, according to my mother, to emotionally connect with people. To him, life was logic and sense.
They landed in Australia and next went to Papua New Guinea. My mother, the oldest of two, was conceived in Papua New Guinea and her parents made a decision that they wanted her born in Australia and thus they would settle down in Australia. My grandfather spoke excellent English, so this was easy for him. My grandmother spoke only Russian with a bit of French, so this was hard. She refused to learn English, as it was too difficult, and only mixed with Russian peoples. My grandfather band her from seeing them until she learned English and as I understand it, she never mixed with them again.
She learned English, slowly. This was facilitated by her getting a job. She got the job because at the time Russia was seen as a great ally, and she was very picturesque lady.
December 31, 2010
A beginning...
Where to begin. At some point I was born. That didn't lead to the life I was quite expecting so I did it again. Sort of. Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself.
It's a strange phrase, getting ahead of myself. Can you get behind yourself? What does it look like to be ahead or behind yourself? But I digress. That'll happen a bit.
Do I begin with my mother, my father or my grandparents? Perhaps this is a good place to start.
Like most people, I have four grandparents. Their origins vary quite widely, but invariably can be pinned down to being "European". Try not to blame them for it, they didn't really have much of a say.
My maternal grandmother was born in Russia in 1912. She was born of noble stock and recalls the mild spot of bother that Russia got herself into in 1917, twice, as mostly people coming into the house to re-distribute the wealth. This way everyone would be equal. But they aren't. For starters, her father was quite bright. So bright he spent a lot of time in Siberia making up for it. In this instance, in the dark, the family sewed bits of gold between two leaves on the tree in the back yard. Small bits of gold, mind you, but carefully sewn together such that they looked natural.
So people came in and looked through the house looking for the wealth. They took the silver candle sticks, the copper fittings, dug up the larder, and the back yard, but never looked at the money tree.
So folks, money really does grow on trees. Well, perhaps it doesn't grow, as such, but it did in her garden.
Eventually, all people need to grow up, and so she did. It was arranged for her to marry an old gentleman, to increase the family fortune. Every couple of generations her family would arrange for a prosperous merchant to marry into the family. They got noble connections and the family got someone who was smart with money. A good deal, really.
She wasn't a big fan of this deal. To sweeten the deal, for her that is, not him, she was given a last trip to Moscow. Here she met a man, who was exotic and foreign. He seemed slightly older than her, spoke rotten Russian, but was quick witted and very charming. Within two weeks they were married (and he was actually the same age as her, but had silver hair) and she brought him home to meet the parents.
Parents thought it was a joke and went along with it. Slowly, they realised and Father and new gentleman had a "talk". Here Father spoke to new Son about how his daughter was "special" and would need "special treatment and attention". New Son said he was aware of this and would take the necessary steps and do the necessary things to ensure she was taken care of.
This was the first indication I knew of insanity in my family. My grandmother was special. She had incredible survival ability, but very little intelligence and some very strange and bizare notions about how the world worked. She was able to sniff out a dangerous plot with incredible accuracy. She could manipulate people to do what she wanted and needed.
It's a strange phrase, getting ahead of myself. Can you get behind yourself? What does it look like to be ahead or behind yourself? But I digress. That'll happen a bit.
Do I begin with my mother, my father or my grandparents? Perhaps this is a good place to start.
Like most people, I have four grandparents. Their origins vary quite widely, but invariably can be pinned down to being "European". Try not to blame them for it, they didn't really have much of a say.
My maternal grandmother was born in Russia in 1912. She was born of noble stock and recalls the mild spot of bother that Russia got herself into in 1917, twice, as mostly people coming into the house to re-distribute the wealth. This way everyone would be equal. But they aren't. For starters, her father was quite bright. So bright he spent a lot of time in Siberia making up for it. In this instance, in the dark, the family sewed bits of gold between two leaves on the tree in the back yard. Small bits of gold, mind you, but carefully sewn together such that they looked natural.
So people came in and looked through the house looking for the wealth. They took the silver candle sticks, the copper fittings, dug up the larder, and the back yard, but never looked at the money tree.
So folks, money really does grow on trees. Well, perhaps it doesn't grow, as such, but it did in her garden.
Eventually, all people need to grow up, and so she did. It was arranged for her to marry an old gentleman, to increase the family fortune. Every couple of generations her family would arrange for a prosperous merchant to marry into the family. They got noble connections and the family got someone who was smart with money. A good deal, really.
She wasn't a big fan of this deal. To sweeten the deal, for her that is, not him, she was given a last trip to Moscow. Here she met a man, who was exotic and foreign. He seemed slightly older than her, spoke rotten Russian, but was quick witted and very charming. Within two weeks they were married (and he was actually the same age as her, but had silver hair) and she brought him home to meet the parents.
Parents thought it was a joke and went along with it. Slowly, they realised and Father and new gentleman had a "talk". Here Father spoke to new Son about how his daughter was "special" and would need "special treatment and attention". New Son said he was aware of this and would take the necessary steps and do the necessary things to ensure she was taken care of.
This was the first indication I knew of insanity in my family. My grandmother was special. She had incredible survival ability, but very little intelligence and some very strange and bizare notions about how the world worked. She was able to sniff out a dangerous plot with incredible accuracy. She could manipulate people to do what she wanted and needed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)