The Wynnes

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In the scheme of the family tree it is strange that we know least about the Wynnes themselves, although we do know there is a strong Irish connection.

The earliest Wynne we know about is Robert Wynne (the name was written as ‘Wynn’) a farmer from Dromore Parish in County Cork Ireland. He was probably born somewhere towards the end of the eighteenth century. His sons details are recorded in Church of Ireland records. His son, George Wynne (1820?) was also a farmer. He was born in County Cork in Ireland between 1810 and 1830, most probably 1820. He married a woman called Susan Catherine Harman in Mallow Parish, Mallow, Ireland on the 7th of July 1846 in the middle of the great potato famine (1845-1847) Susan’s father, William, was described as a ‘gentleman’ who came from Mallow.

There was for a long time in family folklore the idea that the Wynnes were from Wales. This appears to have been discounted now although Wynne is a name also known in Wales, and the fact that the Wynnes weren't Catholic but Church of Ireland, may confirm Bill's theory that the Wynnes came to Ireland probably as part of Cromwell's invasion. If the Wynnes did indeed come from Wales they may have come across to Ireland from the ancestral home of the Wynnes; Gwydir Castle in Wales, giving the family a strong WELSH CONNECTION

Wynne is a common enough Irish name for the souvenir shops around the blarney stone castle to sell key rings with the family crest (left on it and people I met in Ireland were well enough acquainted with the name. 

There are problems inherent in the fact that baptism records relate that various versions of the Wynne name were recorded for various of the children of Robert and Catherine. Early records show the name as ‘Wynn’, ‘Wynne’ and even ‘Winn’. In 1993 my family and I visited Ireland and the Kilshannig Church just out of Mallow. Mallow is a small town about forty minutes drive north of Cork and the countryside around this area is green farming country; rich and undulating, some of the most fertile country we saw in Ireland. The town itself is smaller than Mornington but somewhat similar in some ways with one main street, this one heading up the hill from the Blackwater River, a beautiful, clear looking river that runs through the town. The town was well known for its springs or spas at one stage, is famous for a local castle and some of the suffering that occurred there in the great potato famine is also mentioned in several histories of Ireland. 

Click HERE for a map of Ireland showing the location of Mallow.

The Kilshannig Church, in 1993 operating as a craft centre, is difficult to find, a couple of miles out of town past the paint factory and up a dirt road that seems to lead nowhere. We’d given up trying, but in late twilight I made another effort and found it just on dark. It was an eerie feeling being, I believe, the first of the ‘Wynne’s to return to that place where our ancestors had been. As the sun set the faded white graves, mostly untended and jutting at crazy angles, some already fallen to the earth, was a beautiful and moving sight though the church itself is small and unspectacular. [See picture left from our visit in 1993]

When we returned next day the caretaker of the records, Patricia Foote, the daughter of the old rector, showed us two ‘Winn’ graves around the old church and there are records of many Wynn, Winn, and Wynne births, deaths and marriages around that area but keeping to the Lutheran churches narrows the search considerably.

Part of my journal entry for that time is reproduced below:

22nd June 1993 - The man in the off-licence gave me the directions and I found it, past the sugar factory and the abandoned factory then straight over the crossroad. And straight again, up a dirt road then went as the road turned, a small sign ‘Kilshannig Crafts’ and then it was the church, graves and rectory (down a long drive) It was late (nearly 9 pm) and the light was slanting across the stone weakly through the Celtic crosses and the jumble of oddly angled gravestones that looked like they’d been whitewashed with age

We did other things today today too – notably a drive down to Killarney and a look at a little of the Ring of Kerry – far too little really but a taste of the lakeland, but the best thing for me came later. After trying unsuccessfully to find Kilshannig Church I dropped Penny and the girls off at the B&B (2 acres in the heart of Mallow) and went looking again – and found it! And found Patricia Foote who, eyes sparkling, left me to explore the graveyard while she changed from mowing. It took me a long time to find that flat stone – and she had already cleaned it up for me. Then she came back and invited me in for coffee and cake, telling me all about the church and her life…

Click HERE for a PDF file describing in a little more detail this visit to Mallow.

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It is probably hard for us in Australia today to appreciate the magnitude of the potato famine in 1847 in Ireland. The following extracts are given from various parts of the county of Cork. From gantry, Skibbereen, Crookhaven, Castletown, and Tracton, the reports present the same gloomy features. The intelligence from these scenes of misery is summed up by the Cork Examiner as follows:--

"SKIBBEREEN.--In the parish of Kilmoe, fourteen died on Sunday; three of these were buried in coffins, eleven were buried without other covering than the rags they wore when alive. And one gentleman, a good and charitable man, speaking of this case, says--'The distress is so appalling, that we must throw away all feelings of delicacy;' and another says--'I would rather give 1s. to a starving man than 4s. 6d. for a coffin.' One hundred and forty have died in the Skibbereen Workhouse in one month; eight have died in one day! And Mr. M'Carthy Downing states that 'they came into the house merely and solely for the purpose of getting a coffin.' The Rev. Mr. Clancy visits a farm, and there, in one house, 'he administered the last rites of religion to six person.' On a subsequent occasion, he 'prepared for death a father and a daughter lying in the same bed.' Dr. Donovan solemnly assures a public meeting that the people are 'dropping in dozens about them.' Mr. Marmion says that work on the public road is even more destructive than fever; for the unfed wretches have not energy enough to keep their blood in circulation, and they drop down from the united effects of cold and hunger--never to rise again.

"In Tracton, deaths, it appears, are occurring too. Mr. Corkoran, P.P., in a letter to Mr. Redington says: 'Over sixteen deaths occurred in my parishes for the last ten days. I am morally certain that each and every one of them was occasioned and accelerated by want of food and fire. Buckley, of Ballyvorane, and Sullivan, of Oysterhaven, died suddenly. Buckley dropped dead on the works, after a journey of three miles before day. His wife will make affidavit, that he had not sufficient food the night before he died, and that she and the rest of her family lived thirty-six hours on wild weeds to spare a bit of the cake for him. (In this case, a Coroner's verdict was given without sight of the body.) This horrifying economy is practiced by scores of families in this district. Similar effects must be expected from similar causes. I fear we must bury the dead coffinless in future. My God! what a revolting idea! Without food when alive, without a coffin when dead.'"

The Rev. Robert Traill, chairman of the Schule Relief Committee, county Cork, states that 15,000 persons in that wide district are destitute; of this 5000 are entirely dependent on casual charity; fifty deaths have resulted from famine and "hundreds" are so reduced that not food or medicine can restore them! The deaths, he adds, now average 25 daily!!

Ten additional deaths by starvation have occurred in the barony of gantry. The Jury at the inquests at Bantry handed in the following remonstrance, by their foreman, Mr. E. O'Sullivan:-- "That we feel it our duty to state, under the correction of the Court, that it is our opinion that, if the Government of the country shall persevere in its determination of refusing to use the means available to it for the purpose of lowering the price of food, so as to place it within the reach of the labouring poor, the result will be a sacrifice of human life from starvation to a frightful extent, and endangerment of property and of the public peace . . .

It was the middle of this tragic occurrence, and in the very places described above that George Wynne was married in 1846

His son, Warrick's great-grandfather, Robert Wynne (1847-1900/1905) was born we think at Kilshannig in Mallow, County Cork Ireland in 1847 and apparently became a farmer, or more probably a farm worker. One of nine children he was married on the 23rd of May 1884 to a woman called Anne O’Gorman (1866-1935) from Dromana in Ireland and they emigrated to Australia sometime soon after. Anne O’Gorman’s father, Patrick, was apparently a schoolmaster, a profession others in the family later have taken up. We’re not sure when Robert and Anne emigrated to Australia or what ship they took, but they were certainly there by 1898 when William Francis Wynne was born.

Anecdotal evidence attests that all of Robert Wynne’s eight children were born in Australia with perhaps one child dying during the crossing. This would put their migration between May 1884 and April 1885, considerably narrowing down the search for the vessel and the records of their crossing, a search that has not yet been made. It may be something we never ever find. 

Below is a list of some of the Wynne's who arrived in unassisted passages from British ports from 1852-1869; it is likely that Robert Wynne would have travelled to Australia via England, but we have a lot of work to do yet to know exactly when.

Surname Given names Age Month Year Ship Code Fiche Page 

WYNNE OWEN 35 AUG 1858 SALEM B 149 003 
WYNNE PATRICK 20 AUG 1858 SALEM B 149 005 
WYNNE RICHARD I FEB 1853 KOH I NOOR B 029 010 
WYNNE ROBERT 32 FEB 1853 KOH I NOOR B 029 010 
WYNNE ROBERT 18 DEC 1858 SHOOTING STAR B 154 004 
WYNNE ROSANNA 23 AUG 1869 ELECTRIC B 285 008 
WYNNE SARAH 17 MAR 1857 HERALD OF THE MORNING B 120 004 
WYNNE SARAH 21 NOV 1859 HERALD OF THE MORNING B 169 005 
WYNNE SARAH M 25 FEB 1853 KOH I NOOR B 029 010 
WYNNE WILLIAM 30 FEB 1855 GIPSY BRIDE B 087 002 

Upon arrival, Robert apparently took up a milk run in Box Hill and Edith Vincent was reported to have remembered when they lived in Carlton and her speaking with an with Irish brogue. Edith described Annie as a quiet woman who helped other people in the suburb. Robert died between 1900 and 1905 and Annie who was somewhat younger (being born in 1866) died in 1935.


William Francis Wynne (1898-1973), the fifth son of Robert and Anne, was born in Surrey Hills in 1898 and resident at 151 Faraday St, Carlton when he married Edith Vincent, perhaps at his parents home. A lifelong resident of Essendon, he worked in the Public Service as a Lithographer with Government Printing Office for most of his working life.  He served overseas in World War I ;in the Signal Corps and I remember him years later carrying the banner at Anzac Day marches.

His actual service record is not clear but he served with the Signal Corps, mainly in Belgium but perhaps also at Villers-Bretenoux. Very little evidence of his time in Europe during the War now remains. Most family members can only recall one photo from that time; a shot of him with some soldiers on a railway platform in Belgium (above)

One anecdote that his eldest son, Alf, told me was that sometimes in the quagmire of the trenches they would see a hand of a dead man protruding from the mud and they’d put a cigarette in it and say, ‘There you go mate’. I cannot vouch for the truth of the story. Alf told me also that he rarely talked of the war after his return.

A keen sportsman he later umpired cricket and was a member of the Essendon football club committee, being listed in the history of the Essendon Football Club released in the mid 1980s. As a child I remember that he always seemed to be sitting in his favourite chair when we visited him regularly on Sunday mornings. "World of Sport" would be on the television and he'd watch the races with form guides and bull dog clips all around him. He'd always say something like "How are you son?" and was a reserved, almost taciturn man. He and Edith Vincent lived in Pascoe Vale Road for many years before he died in 1973.

William Francis (Pa) Wynne Photographs

Above: On the platform of a station in Belgium towards the end of World War I

Pa Wynne's paybook from World War I

Above, 'Pa' Wynne, third from right, front row, and fellow workers, probably at a Government Printing Office picnic around the 1920s

Pa Wynne (front, centre) on a picnic with fellow workers. Photo dated 11/2/1934

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[Above - A rather rare shot of the extended Wynne family with the Sandfords taken at Hepburn Springs around 1965. From left to right - Kath Wynne, Katie Sandford, Les Askew, Nana Wynne with Mark Askew, Pa Wynne, John Wynne being nursed by Susan Askew, Warrick Wynne standing by pump), Bert Sandford, Andrew Wynne and Bill Wynne - If I tell you I can still remember the iron taste of the mineral water that day would you believe it?]


William Francis Wynne, (1933- ) his third child was born in Essendon in 1933. "Strathyre" Private Hospital, 99 Napier St. Essendon. Educated at Essendon High School, where he met Kathleen Sandford (1934- ) his early interests athletics joining Essendon Harriers and holding several records particularly in the long distance and cross country events. Bill worked at the Victorian Railways completing an apprenticeship as an electrical fitter. He joined the sales team at Remington Rand Charters selling Indian Head 'supplies' for typewriters and eventually all kinds of offset printing machines. Universally well liked at work he had a newsagent in Prahran for a short time and then moved to Mornington where he worked at Myers, Frankston. He had four children: Warrick, Andrew, John and Sally.

In 1993 I asked Bill to spend a little time writing about his early memories and he wrote the following:

The first thing I can remember is Essendon, where I lived until I was married. The address in 1933 was 100 Pascoe Crescent, which was later changed to 300 Pascoe Vale Road. We lived in a weatherboard house of 2 bedrooms, kitchen, bathroom and front room (lounge). At the rear of the house was a laundry and toilet, the laundry had a wood burning copper which produced hot water for baths etc.

The family consisted of Mum and Dad, Grandad Vincent, Alf, Les and myself. The sleeping arrangements were, Mum and Dad in the front bedroom, Grandad in the second bedroom, Les behind the door in the front room, Alf in a sleep-out in the back yard, and I’m not sure just where I slept. There is a rumour that Mum and Dad kept the youngest child in the bed with them until he was five, there may be some truth in this as there is a five year gap between Alf, Les and myself. I know I got my own bed when Alf went unto the Army in around 1941. The sleep-out was a weatherboard structure with a tin roof, fly wire windows but no glass and no electricity. Alf slept there with Len Munro our cousin whose family lived next door, and I moved out there when Len & Alf went to the war.

Outside out rear fence paddocks ran right across to Coburg, and it was in these paddocks that most of our spare time was spent. We had our cricket pitch, room to play footy and all in all it provided a wonderful private recreation area where most neighbours joined in. We also had immediately behind our house a small creek (drain) which came down from woodlands park, and beyond that the Moonee Ponds creek. All in all a great spot to play in.

During the war we dug an air raid shelter in the paddock, Dad was an air raid warden at this time and he was very keen, the shelter was dug by hand lined with wood and stocked with food. Some of the neighbours thought Dad was cracked but we were prepared. Fortunately the shelter was not used in anger, but again provided play space. Due to neglect the shelter later became flooded and later filled in.

The depression of the thirties was still current when I was a child, but I cannot remember us going without, but I can recall something of the time. Swaggies were quite common, old and young men seeking jobs for food or money. Mum used to have regulars whom she would feed, but just as today there were bad ones. When I was young I could not say ALF but called him SUSSO which was short for sustenance, a term applied to the assistance given to unemployed. DUDLEY FLATS was a name given to a notorious slum area near North Melbourne where many destitute people had to live, this area could be seen from the train as you went to town (Melbourne).

The period I am referring to now, is late thirties early forties. All neighbourhoods were self contained with shops close at hand. We had Glenbervie, North Essendon and Essendon all within walking distance. Grocers, butchers, milkbars etc. were all available and competitive. Most shops had home delivery and mobile’ showrooms’, the greengrocer (cheesy), the grocer (Jack from Speeds), baker, ice and fuel merchant (Warners) all came around in horse drawn carts and we shopped outside our house. Supermarkets never arrived till much later and not much changed till after the war. Grocer shops were my favourite, with all goods being sold loose, and the smell of these products was beautiful. Butter was in big blocks and by the use of two wooden ‘bats’ your order was selected and knocked into the shape you now know. Biscuits were in tins and weighed into bags, broken ones were given to shoppers to nibble, and bags of mixed broken were sold cheaply. A bag of boiled lollies was given with every home delivery. We had a dairy near us ,and while home deliveries were made, we were able to go and buy billies of milk if required. From memory most milk was still sold loose into billies.

We had a very hectic social life revolving mainly around football, and later stage this focus would be centred around the RSL. Dad was coach of Essendon United footy club (Collingwood colours), a number of this team made Essendon at a later stage. Dad later coached Essendon thirds, and had a couple of games as a League umpire. Our house had as did many others a billiard table in the front room, and footballers would often be there with me playing under the table. Poor mum of course had the job of washing the team jumpers, and I can still see them hanging on the clothes line. (all washed by hand) Funnily enough I can’t remember what was eaten at these times. (we must ask Alf who was much more involved)

Essendon United played in what is now called Strathmore somewhere. Much time was spent at Essendon football ground, and I stilll recall the smell, sight and the seeming spaciousness of the dressing rooms under the old grandstand where most activities were held. The boot studded dented floor, the huge baths where a number of men could bathe together, the gas water heaters that burst into life with a great whoosh as the hot water was turned on. At this time League footy was still local and basic in its operation, with fund raising being ‘bring a plate’ type functions, with the club officials and wives driving this activity. We would arrive at the club with plates of sausage rolls and sandwiches, go in under the grandstand, light the lights, roll up the coir matting floor protection, light the gas urns in order to make tea later and the evening would be ready. These nights were mainly card nights and would go to sleep somewhere and be carried home later.

Funny thing is the more I try to remember the more I can recall. The trick is to try to keep it all in context. I’ve just recalled another major facet of our lives, which was the activities of the Government Printing Office social club. At a time when very few people had cars, work functions provided highlights of our years. Picnics were the favourite, and they were gigantic affairs. I can’t recall whether Mum looked forward to them, but Dad was a committee man and he carried out his duties well. Some picnics were by steam train (great), some were by charabanc (look that up), but the best were by paddle steamer (the WEEROONA) I can’t remember its size , but it was quite big. It later became an hospital ship during the war, based in New Guinea, and was later broken up for scrap.

When we went on these trips we caught the train to Flinders Street, changed to the boat train to Port Melbourne (a steam train from memory), and this took us right on to Station Pier where our ship awaited. We boarded by gangplank and was largely left to my own devices for the trip which was generally to Mornington, but at times Queenscliff. I believe the WEEROONA went down to Sorrento and reversed the trip later in the day. Whenever I looked over the side and the ship would roll, I thought it was me causing this movement and I would immediately run to the other side to compensate. My favourite part of the ship was the engine room, which was very large, smelt beautifully of steam and oil (a much more concentrated smell than you get from Puffing Billy) The big brass pistons would be rocking up and down and an engineer would be oiling the moving parts with a large oiling can.

The picnic activities consisted of foot races (I think Ron Clarke was there for some time, before his dad became a groundsman at Essendon), bowling at the wicket, throwing the rolling pin, and very energetic three legged races for the macho males. The main foot race was the G.P.O. gift. At these affairs hot water was a major worry for the tea drinkers, and sometimes the committee boiled coppers where these were provided, but in those times if there was a shop nearby you could buy it. The return trip of course had us returning in the early evening and reversing our outward journey. There were of course the usual drunks and an occasional fight, but courtesy and old world values ensured that these were the exception.

I was too young to understand what caused change, but suddenly the football and work activities were gone and a new social contact emerged. Dad had a brother who lived in Carlton and another who lived in North Melbourne (another who lived in Elwood, we did not see often). During this period, I guess it was the war, we and they would exchange visits quite often. These evenings would be mainly card and beer nights, with the appearance of lots of men in predominately khaki uniforms. Uncle Dave (Carlton) had two sons, Jack and Dave who were Rats of Tobruk, and Vera who was in the A.W.A.S. Uncle Joe (Nth Melb) had children about my age, but there were often servicemen at his house who I assume were relatives or friends.

While the men played cards or discussed the war, the women would talk or knit. I can’t remember mum having a drink, but I do recall others having a stout (good for the blood) or a shandy. We kids used to have pillow fights (particularly at Nth. Melb.), or run about the streets until it got quite dark. While the cards were played the wireless broadcast the boxing from The Stadium (Festival Hall), and I would get sleepy and the sound of the radio would seem to get louder and louder until I went to sleep on the floor somewhere. Sometimes Dad and I would ride our bikes to North Melb. on a Sunday morning, and these contacts kept up for some years.

After the war the R.S.L. became our Mecca. Upon reflection how optimistic this period must have been. A war had been won, family and friends returning home to heroes welcomes, a government and public promising never to forget these veterans, and a generation of young men and women eager to pick up their lives. The R.S.L. club in Holmes Rd. Moonee Ponds was our centre, but the scene was the same in all areas. There was great excitement as the locals returned with dancing, social evenings, indoor bowls and any other activity that could be imagined. There were crowded meetings, plenty of committee members, and a sense of comradeship that was overwhelming.

I guess this period was from 1945-1948, and whilst I eased out of this scene at this time, Mum and Dad kept on for some years. The euphoria of this time didn’t last too long. The boys who had gone away weren’t the men who returned home, the boys the girls had married weren’t the men who returned home, and there began to emerge the generation gap between the first and second war men. The younger men expected more than their fathers, drank more than their fathers, and were not as compliant and so differences occurred. As reality returned and the novelty wore off, the club gradually lost its significance as a major factor in people’s lives. In my opinion a similar situation occurred with Freemasonary, where everyone was supposed to be equal, but as usual some were more equal than others.

I must go back to our home now to tell a little of how we were. The wood copper was used to wash clothes in, they were simply boiled clean using a copper stick for removal when they were ready. It must have been stifling for the housewife, but the smell of steam and soap was good to me. Because of the effort to produce hot water in quantity, baths were taken only weekly, and showers not ever. Once when Les had a boyfriend waiting to take her out, the hot bath water was carried from the wash-house (laundry) by bucket, handed up to Mum through the bathroom window and tipped into the bath. This process was continued till the bath was ready (quite laborious), but essential if you did not want people to know you had no hot water supply.

Personal washing between baths was by dish and face washer (flannel), or by what I called cowboy washes, ie. splashing water onto face by using hands. We did not get hot water until Alf came home from the war, when we got a chip heater for the bathroom, and a gas sink heater for the kitchen. A gas bath heater replaced chip heater at a later date. There never was a hot water service or washing machine at that house while Mum was there. Food preservation was by ice chest (a fridge was used much later, perhaps in the 50’s when the ice man disappeared). The iceman would arrive regularly, walk through the house and place ice in box. He carried the ice in a Hessian carrier, placed on his shoulders which were protected by leather strips. As children we delighted in getting slivers of ice from his cart where he broke large blocks of ice into domestic pieces by means of an ice pick. Custard and cream were mainly used for dessert (sweets) at this time, and if ice cream was required for tea, I would run to the shops between courses to get it.

Our back yard like most others was basically self sufficient with vegetables, fruit trees and chooks and ducks. The poultry of course not only provided eggs, but at Christmas they formed the main item of our festive board. After they were killed, they were placed in boiling water from our ever reliable copper, which made the task of feather plucking much easier. I really can’t remember any other festive day other than Christmas. I can’t remember the celebrating of birthdays at any stage during childhood.

The kitchen was the most marvellous room, the centre of cooking, company and conversation. It was here that our wireless was located, and I would race home from school to hear the serials, sitting on the floor with my ear to the speaker in order to hear every word. The same wireless broadcast the war news, which was followed by us on big maps (issued by newspapers), which were pinned to the walls. This was a time of unashamed patriotism, and whenever the national anthem was played I would make everyone stand up, whilst I stood to attention and saluted. The amazing thing is that everyone did stand up.

The open fire around which we all sat during winter evenings was beautiful. Wonderful pictures could be seen in the flames as the drowsy warmth crept over the room. Dad would cook toast, using a long handled three pronged fork, and we would spread bacon dripping on it, and the result was yummy. In summer time the bricks around the fireplace would be painted to cover the smoke stains, the chimney would be cleaned by pulling a piece of box thorn (picked out of the back paddock) up and down the the chimney by a rope, and we would be ready for next winter. Grandad died in the back room while we all waited in the kitchen, just feet away from where he lay. In one room life was departing and in the other lively activity was continuing. Whilst I can remember Mum attending to Grandad’s needs and dressings, and I’m sure she must have been tired, it seems to me that death must be more comfortable in your own home.

Mum’s relatives mainly lived nearby, with only her brother Len living in Sydney. She had sisters Dorothy (sis), Linda, and brothers George (paddy), and Frank, all of whom lived within a 300 yard stretch. Linda lived next door most of my childhood, and she was my favourite and was a very special person. Len (Linda’s son) shared the sleep-out with Alf until they went to the war, and they still slept there when they came home on leave. There was a gate between our homes, with free access both ways. Linda always had a flair for more ambitious ways than Mum, and she would be called upon when decorated bike competitions or fancy dress was required. Even the ingredients for mayonnaise would be sent in for Linda to blend.

My friends in childhood were naturally locals, with Kevin and Joan McNamara, John Kilby, and John and Daryl Jackson being my strongest memories. The Macs. lived opposite and were a good family; Mr. Mac was a bookie, had a car (Ford) played the piano and was much younger than my dad. I seem to recall he joined the munitions factory to avoid being called up, but I may be wrong. Mrs Mac was a very nice gentle woman who always made me welcome. There was also a Mrs. Coleman (Aunty) who lived there and she introduced me to gem scones the like of which has never been tasted since. John Kilby lived two doors up from Macs, and his parents were totally different, always shouting at John, and boxing him over the ears. The Jacksons were rather an upper type family, who were always charming to be with. I believe Mr, Jackson had been a bank manager at Garfield before he came and purchased the newsagency Glenbervie. He had married an Essendon girl (Doreen Sanders ), and they were really a good family to be associated with. Saturday night was the big night at the newsagency, where the crowd would wait for the train to arrive from Melbourne with The Sporting Globe, with all the sporting results in it. This arrived at 6.45 and very soon after this the place would be deserted. Mr Jackson was Liberal in his politics (who wants a train driver as Prime Minister-Ben Chifley), Essendon in his football, and I now suspect, a stirrer in his conversation. I seem to recall many heated discussions in his shop while the crowd waited patiently for the papers to arrive.

After Kevin Mac. went to Assumption I spent most time with the Jackos. and John Kilby. The games we played were mainly war games, which were played out in the back paddock, using toy guns and grass tussocks as hand grenades. Tin hats and gas masks were rather common place at this time, so dressing up was no problem. A status symbol was the ownership of an American helmet, and the Jolly’s (neighbours of ours) whose father was in the merchant navy, had one. Naturally, Joaney Jolly was invited to join our games as a result. We all went to gymnasium at St. Thomas’s, and were in the scouts at a later stage. The Jackos always seemed to have a direction, particularly Daryl. John was not as motivated as Daryl (he wanted to stay at Essendon High and not go to Wesley), but Daryl was never hesitant about his future. All these people were good friends of childhood and adolescence, and the Macs. and the Jackson families were a big influence on me. Other activities we enjoyed together were pictures, footy, and later on John Jackson and I sometimes went to The Galleon coffee lounge together (jazz). Kath and I first went to a drive-in in Mr. Jackson’s Rover with John Jackson and friend.

My schooldays I really can’t recall with with any enthusiasm, nor with any real dislike. The only advice I can recall receiving from Dad was not to tell on anyone I attended Essendon State School where the head of the infant school was Miss Graham, and I do not remember the Head Teacher’s name. The infant school was the classic structure with a main hall, and classrooms were directly off this hall. The war also influenced school life with most teachers being old due to the young being in the services. Slit trenches were in the school yard, and evacuation drills were part of our curriculum. There was great attention to the war effort, with savings bonds, scrap metal collections (Ginger Meggs Salvage Corps.), and on Anzac Day we would have an old soldier arrive to motivate us.

Gordon’s lolly shop at school provided our pleasures and I recall it with the utmost pleasure. A veritable treasure house of delights including a toffee made in a small patty pan, some of which had a halfpenny under the toffee. Even though times were hard, I can’t recall anyone really starving, nor any stigmas if you were really poor (a look at our school photos speak for themselves). I walked to school, but in grades 5 &6 I rode a bike, and this allowed me to come home for lunch.

Essendon High School came as a shock, changing rooms, no tippety run cricket, and having to walk up Buckley St. on different sides of the road to the girls.


William Francis Wynne married Kathleen Sandford in 1956 and they moved to Oak Park. They had four children: Warrick, Andrew, John and Sally

Above: Oak Park landscape 1955


Warrick married Penny Turner in 1980. They had two children, Phoebe Wynne (1983) and Harriet Wynne (1985)


Where to now with the family tree?

The Wynne’s require much work. We have a marriage certificate number for Robert Wynne and Annie Gorman and a birth certificate number for Robert. If we know the birth date of George Wynne (1820) it should be possible to find his birth certificate.

We know his father’s name was Robert and possibly from Dromore Parish and was a Church of Ireland marriage.

The details there would almost certainly give us the next Wynne information. We also don’t know when Robert and Annie made the trip to Australia, or the reasons. It would be fascinating to know what ship they travelled in, where they arrived etc. Such information would be pivotal to an understanding of the family history. All this is comparatively recent stuff and worth pursuing with hopes of success. The possible link with Wales, the mythical home of the Wynnes, may yet be proved.

Warrick Wynne 26/1/2004