By Reginald P. Gait. Printed in "The Somerset Countryman" c.1965 and reprinted in the second chapter of "The Vagg Odyssey".

My father had a beautiful mahogany bureau. On inheriting the freedom of this bureau after my father's death, I found among other odds and ends a leather hinged case measuring five inches by four. Inside in gilt frame was an old Daguerrotype of a rather sedate, demure looking young lady with dark hair neatly parted in the middle, seated on a chair. At her side stood a fine powerful man, with a face full of character, pleasant and humorous expression, his right hand affectionately clasping her left, the other resting upon her shoulder. And thereby hangs a tale too.

About 1853 on the Galphurnice. (arrived August, 1853) a young farmer of the village sailed for Melbourne, Australia when the sea passage took three months. What with transported convicts, bushrangers and aborigines, from the point of view of a remote little village, at that time such a journey must have been synonymous today with a trip to Tibet. Within eighteen months he was back again, and to the surprise of everyone, claimed my Aunt Martha 'as his bride. Robert and Martha arrived aboard the "Essex" on July 1st, 1857, Henry accompanied them. Her parents had frowned at the match, so the young couple had been secretly engaged all the time. Anyway now that a grant of land had been procured they announced their intent- ion of getting married and emigrating to Australia. Of course their affairs were a nine day's' wonder, but marry they did, and sail they did, to eventually settle near a place called Gisborne, which is some twenty two miles from Melbourne.

A whole batch of letters to my father tells the story of their life in what was then the back of beyond. They were written in a good fine hand, grammatical, well expressed and spelt. Considering that the writer most certainly only attended a village dame's school, I doubt whether the average country product of our expensive modern education could excel or equal them.

The earliest of these letters was dated 1858, but by references contain- ed in them there must have been others of earlier date. Curiously enough, they were singularly devoid of much description of their home, except for occasional references to the success or otherwise of the crops.

What they were full of was a constant yearning after every single bit of news concerning the village, plus comments on what she had already heard. In a book which I recently read the Australian author states that all his compatriots of British origin never referred to the United Kingdom as anything else but "home". After reading these letters the tradition of which must have been passed on to succeeding generations, I can fully understand it.

Poor Martha, so loyal and faithful to her chosen man, had a sad ending. She died in childbirth, the doctor being so far away that he could not be fetched in time, or she might have been saved. There must have been many tragedies of a similar nature among those early Empire pioneers. I am glad to think that the family must have prospered, because my father remarked that he had seen dozens of bales of wool being unloaded at British docks stencilled with their name.