There’s no question that we all get frustrated at uncaptioned photos. They are the bain of every genealogist or historians life. It’s Murphy’s Law that we’re bound to come across the most awesomest photo in the family collection, but it’s uncaptioned. Which leaves us with so many questions. Who is in the photo? Where was it taken? When was it taken? What was the occasion? And so on …

But here’s one that IS captioned that GIVES me so many questions, so I’m sharing it in the hope that someone can help answer some of them.

The small town of Mannum, in South Australia in sits on right on the banks of the River Murray, so it’s no wonder that it gets flooded now and then.

In sorting through family heirlooms, I came across a collection of old photos of Mannum in flood. Unfortunately they are undated, but going by the style of photograph, together with reading up about the floods that hit Mannum, I would suggest that these were from the 1890, 1896, or 1917 flood. If anyone can shed some more light on the specific date on them, I’d be forever grateful.

One hundred years ago today, my grandpa, Cecil Gould Hannaford was born.

As he’s no longer with us to celebrate this milestone, I’ve decided to write down some of the memories I have of him. ‘Cec’ was the oldest of three children born to Ralph and Dorothy Hannaford (nee McCullough), and while he was born at Naracoorte, the family spent most of their life at Cudlee Creek in the Adelaide Hills.

I was a regular visitor to my grandparents place at Cudlee Creek, and probably spent at least half of my early childhood racing around their house, playing in the orchard, riding on the tractor, and generally just getting muddy,  which by the way, I did totally master (see the pic at the bottom)!!!

Well for something radically different to my previous posts, here is some poetry for you. But not just ANY poetry. Oh no. This one happens to be written about the tiny town of Gumeracha, in the Adelaide Hills.

In amongst the letters, diaries and other ephemera of my great great grandmother Phebe Randell (nee Robbins) was a book of poems, presumably ones she liked and wrote down. One that was not in that book, but is in her handwriting is one called “When the coach comes in”.