Who is "Rupert" - by Patricia J Romeril (nee Wilson)

 A Little Family Mystery – and a Beautiful Discovery

Some people never stop surprising you… even long after they’re gone. That’s exactly how I feel about Mum — Patricia Joan Romeril (née Wilson).

Even now, years later, she still manages to leave me asking questions like: “Who is Rupert?” and “What did he mean to her?”

About three years ago, while going through Mum’s paperwork (one of those emotional but oddly comforting family tasks), I stumbled across a handwritten note. It wasn’t dated, and it didn’t give much away — just a reference that sparked my curiosity straight away.

Because here’s the thing: all of Mum’s writing that I’d seen before had been about family. Our family stories. Life in Narrabeen, Yenda, and the Northern Beaches. Memories, history, people we knew. But this? This was different.

There was no mention of a Rupert in anything I’d ever heard. No stories, no passing comments. So of course, the questions began…

Who was Rupert?
Where did this story come from?
And why had I never heard about it before?

And just like that, I found myself on a bit of a mission.

My first stop was the Society of Women Writers via Facebook, hoping someone might recognise the reference. But as it turns out, the NSW chapter had split from the national group back in 1987 — and the national organisation no longer exists. Not exactly a dead end, but definitely not helpful!

Still, I wasn’t ready to give up.

What followed was over two years of searching — online digging, emails, library enquiries, and a fair bit of patience. Then finally, earlier this year, a breakthrough!

A library at Melbourne University had a copy of the book I’d been chasing — and even better, they agreed to organise an inter-library loan. There was a fee involved, but thanks to my volunteer work at our local library, it was kindly waived (one of those little moments where things just seem to fall into place).

After more waiting — over a month, in fact — the book finally arrived.

And there it was…

On pages 53 and 54 — Mum’s story.

I can’t quite describe what that moment felt like. A mix of excitement, pride, and something a little deeper. The story itself really struck a chord with me, especially at this stage of life. It felt oddly personal, almost as if it had found its way back to me at exactly the right time.

Maybe that old note wasn’t just hidden. Maybe it was meant to be found.

These days, I think about how much I rely on my own loyal companion, Dusty — and I can’t help but see little echoes of connection, comfort, and understanding that Mum must have known too.

So now I’m turning to the family…

Wilson family — does anyone know who Paul might be? Or Rupert?
Was this drawn from real life, or is it simply a beautifully written piece of fiction?

Whatever the answer, one thing is certain — I feel incredibly grateful. Grateful for Mum’s words, her creativity, and the little mystery she’s left behind for us to explore.

And honestly… I love that she’s still keeping us guessing 🤍

Written with the help of AI.

Never Step on the Swan Barefoot, but Healthy, by Patricia Joan Romeril (nee Wilson)

Roland Reid -- the bush poet!

A Tribute to Roland – The Poet, the Prankster, the Heart of the Campfire

Roland was born in Sydney in 1955 to David Willoughby Reid and Joyce Gosling. From the earliest days—at least according to family legend—he was a “right little bugger.” Mischievous,

cheeky, and armed with a wicked sense of humour, Roland had a talent for stirring the pot. With a strict father (as many were in those days), he spent more time than most in the naughty corner—though it never seemed to dampen his spirit.

Throughout his life, Roland had a magnetic personality and loved being the centre of attention. He was especially well-known for his bush poetry recitals, which captured the quirks of everyday life with uncanny charm. His poems made people laugh—loudly and often. Whether poking fun at family antics or highlighting the hilarity of a roadside mishap, Roland had a gift for turning the ordinary into something unforgettable.

He recited at the Tamworth Music Festival on more than one occasion, earning the coveted “Audience Participation Award.” At Dorrigo, he famously won three pumpkins—an honour he proudly recalled! His collection of trophies lined the shelves, but it was never about accolades; it was about connection. Sharing his words. Making people laugh.

These trophies were won over the years at Coomba Park Poetry Competition 

Even during his long and courageous 7 year battle with Multiple Myeloma, Roland’s love for poetry—and his equally passionate love for jigsaw puzzles—kept his spirits high. They gave him focus, purpose, and joy.

No matter where we went, someone would ask Roland to “do a poem.” And he never disappointed. Around the campfire in the outback, aboard a paddle steamer on the Murray, or on a train rumbling from Cairns to Brisbane—Roland’s verses brought people together. His caravan adventures through Central Australia became impromptu poetry tours, full of laughter and applause at every stop.

Many of his poems were dedicated to friends and family—their mishaps, their personalities, their lives. One of his final pieces was about his grandchildren, a deeply heartfelt poem. As his health declined, he often asked for reassurance that they would always remember how much he loved them.

One poem that stood out during his journey with cancer was dedicated to the nurse who supported him so tirelessly. It’s a perfect example of Roland’s warmth, humour, and deep appreciation for those around him:

---

The King of Nurses

by Roland Reid

Myeloma is a cancer

Most people think a curse

But if I hadn’t got the bloody thing

I wouldn’t have met my nurse.

She’s an inspiration to us
Her knowledge is so vast
And the way she imparts it
Well … it really is first class!

She is witty, she’s compassionate
She can put our mind at ease
When we ring her with a problem
About this horrible disease.

There’s many times we’ve needed her
Many e-mails have been sent
And she answers ere so promptly
Even when she’s tired and spent.

When living in a unit
Down from the RPA
She would bring a wheelchair for me
And push me for no pay.

When feeling ill and fairly low
There really is a need
To have a friend to call on
And she is a friend indeed.

As nurses go she is the best
But you see here is the thing
From where I’m looking she’s the “Queen.
And her name is Tracy King.                            Roland Reid 2012

---

Through his poetry, Roland captured life—its absurdities, its joys, its trials—with heart and humour. And in doing so, he left us something lasting. His words remind us to laugh, to connect, and to never miss a chance to say thank you and "I love you". 

With the assistance of AI.

 

Never Step On the Swan - June 1993

 Barefoot but healthy - by Patricia J. Romeril

"The ancient furniture van shuddered to the stop at the old wooden bridge which spanned the beaufiful clear water of the Narrabeen Lakes.

Children peered from every hole amongst the furniture, staring in amusement at the wide expanse of the lake.  Mum and Dad smiled as they continued down the rough gravel road to the thick bush that nestled at the foot of the hill.

It was 1928 and we were ready to set up house on virgin land Dad had bought from Arthur Rickard.  It was the beginning of an exciting pioneer life. With great anticipation we set about building our temporary home.  Dad was a builder and with children whose ages ranged from one to eleven he had plenty of labourers.  He erected a large tent and Mum divided it into rooms with white-washed hessian bags.  Lean-tos for the kitchen and bathroom were build from sheets of iron supplied by our neighbour, Mr McPherson.  Over all this we grew Passiofruit vines and chokos.  Insects were discouraged by large pots of mint and parsley and other herbs around the entrances.  In the summer pots of smouldering manure confused the mosquitoes.

Jack and Kate with 8 of their children on arrival at 57 Rickard Road, Narrabeen

Dad and the boys cleared the land for vegetables and flowers.  Through the bush one day came Daddy Moore with a chook in one hand and a rooster crowing in the other.  "Here," he said, "Give your kids eggs from these."  The pair went squarking and flapping into the bush.  These were the nucleus of many a meal to come.  Mum looked after the poultry and treated them like royalty.  They all had names and, when an egg was laid, we wrote the chook's name on it and the date.  Woe betide us if we forgot and she didn't know which egg belonged to which chook.

It didn't worry us that the world was in depression.  Barefoot, but healthy, we had the lake, sea, creeks and surrounding bush for our adventures.  Dad dug two deep wells, so cool, and fresh water was always available.   We acquired a cow, a calf and a horse, Tommy, by the barter system.  To procure a cart for Tommy Dad build a garage for a neighbour.

Every morning as the sun crept over the horizon Dad took off down the bumpy road in the cart laden with vegetables and flowers.  In no time he became quite famous for his vegetables, sweer peas and carnations.  Mrs Playfair, who lived at Elanora, bought all her flowers from us.  Every Friday she would give us small white bags of lollies;  it was a treat indeed.  As the boys grew they supplemented income by caddying at the old Elancora Gold Links.

My brother Bernard was born at a cottage hospital at Collaroy and, being premature, the first few weeks of his life were spent snug between heated house bricks.

Pat is front left

Mum and Dad helped form a swimming club at the lake, corner of Wimbledon Avenue and Pittwater Road.  Many a child learned to swim there and quite a few of us were good enough to participate in the New South Wales championships. One year when I contested the breaststroke one of my opponents was Margaret Whitlam—she won!

Our entertainment was simple but rewarding.  Our parents were accomplished musicians, so many an evening was spent around the piano.

On the walk to Narrabeen School we paddled through swamp in Windsor Parade, ran through acres of wild mushrooms, then waded along the lake to school.   We swam daily either in the lake or the ocean.  We knew where every deep hold or sandbank was.  Weekends we watched the sixteen-footers racing, then raced our own home-made boats.  During the war all the craft over 1.82 metres were confiscated.

We attended church in a small wooden hall at St Joseph's, but in the summer months we walked to Collaroy to a larger place in Alexander Street.  Saturday evening the whole family would walk to the Welfare Hall in Garden Street to frolic to Matty Greenfield's band.  Every year we had a fancy-dress ball and parents' imagination ran riot.  One year after dressing his nine children, Dad ran out of ideas.  So he put a white sheet around his shoulders and wore a placard saying "Thank God I'm Pure."  He won!

Two events in 1939 affected our lives tremendously. Our horizons were widened with the coming of the double-decker buses, and dark clouds gathering over Europe threatened our peaceful life.  Soon all the young boys were leaving school, falsifying their ages, and enlisting in the forces.  Fathers boot-polished their greying hair to join their sons in another war, but for the first time in twenty years they were receiving regular wages.

"Dark clouds gathering over Europe threatened our peaceful life." Monica Wilson with her mother (with shovel) digging an air raid shelter at Narrabeen 1942. Photo courtest of Northern Beaches Council Library Local Studies

In 1880 travellers up Sheep Station Hill had helped push their carts.  Now sixty years later, we pushed our friends' old cars on the way to the dances at Mona Vale where we girls fought over the few male partners left, or danced with each other.

We had left our childhood behind"

The above article was featured in "Never step on the swan and other stories - Glimpses of Warringah's past".  There is a link to an interview Pat did with Northern Beaches recollects in 2000 and the family's journey and life in Narrabeen. Here

Anzac Day 2025_John James Charles WILSON

 

John James Charles Wilson: A Soldier’s Story of Love, Grit, and Duty

Let’s talk about John James Charles Wilson—better known to his mates and family as Jack. Born on 13 December 1892 on Hill Street in North Sydney, Jack grew up in a big, bustling household with his siblings Aleane, Harold, Mary, Archiband (Ben). Life was busy, noisy, and full of the kind of everyday challenges that shape strong, dependable people. That’s exactly who Jack turned out to be.

From Carpenter’s Tools to Combat Boots

In March 1916, Jack was a 23-year-old builder living in North Sydney. He had a good job, a close-knit family, and a future laid out in front of him. But the Great War was raging overseas, and like so many Aussie lads, Jack felt the call to serve. On 23 March 1916, he enlisted in the Australian Imperial Force as a Sapper in the 9th Field Company Engineers. Two days later, he reported to Rosebery Park to begin training.

John James Charles Wilson No. 10014

And while preparing for war, Jack also prepared for a new chapter in life. On 12 May 1916, he married the love of his life, Catherine Teresa Baker (Kate), at the Blessed Joan of Arc  Presbytery in Haberfield. The newlyweds settled into a home at 77 Lane Cove Road, enjoying a brief moment of peace before the storm.

Heading into History

Just weeks later, on 5 July 1916, Jack boarded the HMAT Ajana, bound for Europe. 

A boxing match betwen troops on board ship bound for Europe

Boxing Competition Winners on board Ajana, August 1916

He arrived in Plymouth, England by 31 August and was soon in France by November, right in the thick of it. Back home, while Jack was navigating trenches and battlefields, Kate gave birth to their first child, John Victor, on 26 November 1916. Jack wouldn’t meet his son until after the war.

His job in France was tough and dangerous. As a Sapper, Jack built trenches, laid down communication lines, and helped keep operations running under constant threat. His courage stood out—in February 1918, he was promoted to Lance-Corporal. Then came a moment of true heroism: for his bravery during an operation at Tailloux Wood, he was awarded the Military Medal on 8 August 1918.

But war has its price. In September 1918, Jack was admitted to field hospitals in France and then England, suffering from myalgia and other conditions brought on by exhaustion and exposure. Even after the Armistice, Jack’s health remained shaky.

Homeward Bound

Finally, in January 1919, Jack headed home on the City of Exeter, arriving in Melbourne on 2 March. By 2 May, he was officially discharged from the AIF—medically unfit, like so many of his fellow Diggers. Returning to civilian life wasn’t easy, but Jack was never one to give up.

Rebuilding Life—Literally

Jack and Kate raised a big family. They lived in Haberfield, then Yenda, and eventually Narrabeen. Their children—Jack, Bill, Margaret, Hoc, Pat, Mary, Monica, Bern, and Michael—filled their homes with noise and love. Tragedy struck in 1923 when their house in Yenda burned down, destroying precious records and Jack’s war medals. But as always, Jack rebuilt.

He returned to what he knew best: building. Brick by brick, he supported his growing family. And in 1941, when World War II erupted, Jack—now almost 49—enlisted in the Citizen Military Forces. Though he didn’t serve overseas this time, his knowledge and experience helped the war effort from home.

The Later Years

The postwar years saw Jack living at 57 Rickard Road, Narrabeen. 

He kept working as a bricklayer, stayed active in family life, and watched his children grow and start families of their own. Despite serious health issues—including glaucoma that eventually took his eyesight—Jack faced life with the same grit that carried him through war.

On 20 February 1973, Jack passed away at the Concord Repatriation Hospital. He was laid to rest at Mona Vale Cemetery after a service at St Joseph’s Catholic Church in Narrabeen, surrounded by family who remembered him not just as a soldier, but as the strong, quiet man who built their world.

He served, he suffered, he loved, he built. Jack’s legacy is written in stone and memory.

Lest We Forget.

Prepared with the help of AI (Chatgpt)

 

Robert John Brudus ROMERIL - a great find!! (thanks Norma)

My interest in researching family history began when my paternal grandmother, Josephine Annie (Nana Rom) visited Sweden in 1954 to meet her father's family.  She returned to Australia with many stories and souvenirs and to my 8 year old brain - it was so exciting and began a life-long journey.  Read about Josephine's journey here.  

My mother was researching our maternal ancestors, and so over the years, together with a couple of paternal cousins, we found quite a few mysteries on our paternal side.  Most of them we have solved.  Read about Edward Thomas Romeril (my paternal great grandfather from Jersey, Channel Islands),  and the mystery surrounding my Swedish great grandfather, Johan Magnus Brudus here.

As an extended family we are really living the "family" connections.  The journey has provided many of us with exciting and interesting adventures.  Several of the family have travelled to Jersey, Sweden, Ireland and England to "tread" the lands of our ancestors.  We have connected with cousins (who have visited us here in Australia). And connected 2nd cousins x 3 times removed!!!! 

However, there are still "surprises" appearing!  

A few years ago, my son, Sean alerted me to a recording on the Northern Beaches Library site.  It is my mother, Patricia Joan Romeril (nee Wilson) telling her story of the family's arrival in Narrabeen, New South Wales.   What a treasure of a find.  You can here the interview here.

And so after all these years, it is such a pleasure to have access to as yet unheard recordings, photos etc. Last night my brother, Andrew, send me a copy of a voice recording of my father taken at Christmas in 1980 talking to his youngest sons.  Andrew's mother, Norma, had forwarded it to him.  Dad is expressing his delight at receiving gifts.  Oh to hear his voice after 40+ years!!!

My father, Robert John Brudus Romeril, was born on 22 November, 1923 in Northcoate, Melbourne, to Robert William Edward Romeril and Josephine Annie Brudus.   He died on 23 November 1981 in Sawtell, New South Wales.  He would have been 100 years old on his last birthday.  

We still have at least one more "surprise".  My cousin, Peter, in Sweden has found a recording of my grandmother taken in Sweden when she was visiting with his dad, Sven.  As the recording is on a steelwire recorder he is waiting to have it transferred to MP3.  What amazing information will this recording hold and how exciting to hear the voices from the past.

Introduction

Patricia Joan Romeril (Wilson) died in 2013 and she left behind a wonderful collection of Family History, including a coffee table book compiled in November 1992 which followed her direct Wilson family back to 1813.  During the 50s and 60s this was no easy feat as certificates etc were obtained by mail and money orders.  A much more difficult process compared to today with computers, social media and direct debit!!


Family was Patricia's passion and she was the "keeper of the past" when it came to photographs of immediate and extended family.  She was also a profilic writer and kept over 30+ years of diaries and left us hundreds of poems and short stories to share.

And so ..... today a parcel arrived from Wagga Wagga  (weighing over 15 kgs) where my sister has been protecting this paperwork.  And it is my intention to slowly digitise Mum's work and share parts of it here in this blog.  No way will I every finish this project in my lifetime and so I hope that this prompts someone else to take on the task in the future!

I am also intending to share ancestor's stories (and we have some very interesting family members). See See blog here  Hopefully this will prompt other family members to send me any research they may have of interest to us all.

Update..... April 2024

Whilst trawling through the many boxes of documents etc I found reference to an interview that Mum did in 2000 with the Northern Beaches Library History Hub.  Here she recollects the family's early years in Yenda and their settlling in Narrabeen .  A link to the interview is here.

There is also a transcript of the interview here

Our Unsung Hero - by Patricia Romeril (nee Wilson)

My favourite photos of Poppy Joe - a young JJC, with his beloved Kate, his family, his last years!

My unsung hero is renowned in many circles, even by a generation that never met him.  Tales of his courage, kindness, humour and fortitude have been related again and again.  

John James Charles Wilson was born the eldest son of a well-known North Shore family in the year 1892.  His love of music caused his father to turn him out at the age of 14.  Never daunted he found refuge with his music teacher, who lived across the road, and when his dad went to work, he slipped back home to sing and play to his mother, Ann Jane.  This love of music lasted all his lifetime.  Wherever he went he tucked his sheet music under his arm just in case.  He learnt the bricklaying trade and travelled New South Wales in search of work.

When World War 1 broke out, he answered the call for volunteers, joined the A.I.F in March 1916, married his sweeetheart, Kate in May, and the next week sailed for France.  

On the troop ship he became the lightweight boxing champion 

and in the two and a half years he spent in France, he earned the Military Medal and was Mentioned in Despatches for bravery. 

 He never spoke of these deeds, but his array of friends invented many a humorous reason why he received them.  His war records are available here.

On his return in 1919 he applied for a Soldier's Settlement in the Riverina at Yenda .... where after many setbacks he realised he wasn't a farmer and came to Sydney with his ever-growing young family, where he built a house in Five Dock.  There the depression caught up with him again.  The bank foreclosed on his castle, but never daunted he moved his brood to Narrabeen Lakes, where he brought a block of land with his remaining money.  Here he carved a home out of the wilderness.  The nucleus of this home was a tent and by bartering he managed to keep adding to the structure until, with the help of the vines he has planted, they had a home to be proud of.

57 Rickard Road now

Here his pioneer spirit and adventurous nature and resourcefulness came to the fore ... he planted vegetables and flowers ... he traded for a cow and an old horse and cart with which he carted his produce all over the district.  His wares became famous, people coming from the suburbs to buy.  He was satisfied ... because his beloved wife and nine children were sheltered from strife, the world in depression hardly ruffled their life.

He worked long and hard, building when work came his way, but still found time to form Narrabeen's first swimming club on the lake.  Because they lived so close to the beach and lake he taught all his children to swim in a most unorthodox way, which never affected their love of swimming.  They were encouraged to obtain the bronze medallion.  

Wilson girls in swimming competitions

Joe, as he was affectionately known by all who knew him believed in cutting corners, so when one child had to have a tonsillectomy, he said "one in all in", and as he marched his whole tribe up the hill to Manly Hospital he promised them a tram ride down and an ice cream each.  After the operations the kids were put into beds, top to toe, where Joe tended them lovingly until it was time to go home.  He kept his promise and looking at his pallid brood, all licking ice-cream, he was thankful they all survived until one child threw up, starting a cavalcade of chain events.

Their home was short on material possessions but long on love, security, plenty to eat and lots of laughter, every night Kate played the piano and encouraged the clan to gather around to sing.  Joe's only vice was his tobacco and he was rarely ever without a very thin "roll your own" stuck on his llip, but always a week or two before Christmas and each birthday, he seemed to be content to chew a match, and every child had the thrill of a surprise on his or her special day.  Boiled lollies or broken biscuits or maybe a couple of humbugs, acid drops or a licorice strap brought squeals of delight.

As Australia was recovering from the depression, the dark clouds from Europe brought about the family's major upheaval.  The three older boys joined the forces, so Joe coloured his silver tips with black shoe polish, and went to join up too ... much to his disgust he was sent to Cowra to guard the Italian P.O.W.s, but never daunted, he applied himself to obtaining the best for his country from his situation. Cowra P.O.W. information can be found here.  With the help of the local R.S.L. he hassled the Federal Government to allow the land-loving Italians to grow vegetables for the hungry people ... result a contented camp.

This article is in Pop's diary - unfortunately the articles are not references with date etc.  I am working with Cowra Museum to assist in referencing them.

Concerned for the morale of the surrounding country folk, he became involved in the formation of a Concert Party, and travelled the district entertaining the war weary with good music and laughter.  The profits from these were channelled into the war effort.  

On transfer to Sydney he continued his involvement and obtained a full library for the 22nd Garrison.

After discharge he returned home and to bricklaying, but Kate, his wife of 48 years became an invalid. He refused to hospitalise her, tending to her lovingly, unselfishly and uncomplaining for 10 years.  

Some years later he lost his eyesight but never daunted, would go for walks along familiar places.  

This marvellous man's last act on earth was a positive one.  After a week in and out of a coma he passed away singing "Ave Maria" to the amazement of all the staff.  

This same unsung hero, who sang with great gusto many years before "The Entry of the Gods of Valhalla" in the Jenolan Caves when he was on his one and only holiday.

"Valhalla" was in Norse mythology, a banqueting hall in Asgard, where Odin received souls of dead heroes.

Asgard being the home of Gods and slain heroes entered via the Rainbow Bridge.

How about that for an ending!!

The above article was written by Patricia Romeril (nee Wilson) for the 1988 Bicentenary.

I am still in the process of trawling through the many boxes of documents Mum has left all of us for our enjoyment.  I am slowly sharing the stories, etc, and they certainly belong with all the family.  If any of these posts bring up memories, I would love to hear them.  Perhaps you could comment on the end of each post.  As we were a very large extended family, I am sure that each of us have our own special memories.  Sandra