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,