Someone very dear came in to my life in 2011 who linked me to the paternal ancestry about which I knew so little - a then ‘80 something’ year old first cousin of my father Tony Lee. Bill Tully, the son of my great aunt Elizabeth Lee, speaking with the rich Scottish brogue gained from growing up in my father’s birthplace, Leith in Scotland, established the ritual of phoning me from Vancouver at least monthly on a Sunday morning at 10 am Australian Eastern Time. A reciprocal relationship, we would take it in turns to call. If we were a week out one of us would always make contact. Bill generally took the lead, gallantly excusing himself for doing so by saying that his telephone plan made it cheaper for him to talk for up to an hour than to pay postage. Being so happy to establish a connection with me was perhaps for Bill a way of connecting with my grandfather, his ‘Uncle James’ who had emigrated to Australia before he was born. Bill described hearing about Uncle James, an uncle he said the family was very proud of. He knew his Uncle James was a Lieutenant in the Australian Army stationed in England and France during the Great War and described stories passed down of Uncle James, with his wife and son, my father Tony Lee, visiting their Scottish family in Leith during or not long after the war. He talked to me about my paternal great grandmother, Barbara Lee, who he remembers from childhood, and about his mother, my grandfather’s youngest sister, Elizabeth Lee, and told stories about my paternal great grandfather, Anthony Lee, who was apparently very fond of whisky. Bill’s mother Elizabeth would have been alive when I visited Edinburgh in 1972 and 1976, but I didn’t know. How I would have loved to have connected with the Lee’s in Scotland. Bill, his wife Susan, and daughters Sarah and Kate, lived in Vancouver where Bill had migrated in 1957. I often visited Vancouver in 1982 during a teacher exchange to Kamloops in Canada, but didn’t know they were there. A further irony - Bill had visited Australia with Susan but had not known about us; and was so disappointed that he had visited Melbourne and Ballarat less than a year before we spoke to one another for the first time. He was so very close, but he didn’t know I was here. Finding Bill, a story in itself, helped me to confirm and elaborate upon the emerging ‘Lee side’ history of my family, the side I knew so little about. I treasured our conversations, which were wide ranging and never boring. Rituals were established. Each conversation would include the sharing of news about Bill’s daughters, Sarah and Kate, and grandson Matthew. His wife Susan, who had battled with cancer and passed away two years previously, was a presence in our conversations, particularly in the early years when Bill’s grief about the loss of his beloved life partner was still being worked through. I would share news about my mother, brother and sister and our newly re discovered first cousin, Christopher, who lived in London and had not long ago visited us in Australia. I had always wondered whether connections were maintained by my grandfather with his Scottish family. I had recollections of my father speaking about his mother’s sister, but knew nothing about ‘The Lees’. In an odd and yet quite profound fashion Bill was able to provide ‘primary evidence’ that communication did take place between his Uncle James and his mother Lily via correspondence between James’ daughter, my ‘Aunty Bunty’, and Lily’s daughter, his sister Barbara. Bill sent me two envelopes sent to Scotland with Australian stamps on them in the 1940’s which his older sister Barbara had given him and which he had kept for so many years with his childhood stamp collection. Although the envelopes did not include their contents, they included the address of his mother, Mrs Barbara Potter, written in my aunt’s handwriting and Australian stamps long treasured. When I first met Christopher on his visit to Australia a year or so later, I gave him these envelopes, as Bill had intended. I was hoping they had significance for Chris whose life had been affected by the bitter breakdown of his parents marriage as a child. Chris had not seen his mother since he was four years old, nor ever seen her handwriting. Treasuring them myself, I took photographs before giving them to Chris. I was so lucky to have almost seven or so years of monthly conversations with Bill. Over these years there was much sharing of family history which we would revisit and add to over time. I would send Bill documents and ‘time lines’ of our family story and he would write or call back, providing additional information and embellishing facts with related stories. In later years Bill told me he was writing many of his memories down for his family. It was such a thrill when I received his wonderful document in the mail. We also had seven or so years of sending special greetings on St Patrick’s Day, birthdays, Christmas Day and New Years Eve, when ‘Auld Lang Syne’ would often feature, usually in the wonderful Jackie Lawrence e-cards which we both enjoyed sending and receiving. Of course health issues featured in our conversations. Bill actively volunteered for the Cancer Council in Vancouver, a way of valuing the care Susan had received. He described his own experience of the big C. During the seven years in which we developed and shared our conversations, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. My journey from discovery to treatment through to five years being free of cancer was shared with Bill during our monthly talks. An active learner, Bill enjoyed attending university courses in Vancouver as a community student, latterly electing courses without examinations. Then, with his ‘fourth age’ imminent, Bill shared his decision to move from his apartment to a residential setting closer to his daughters and of his transition there. I have a treasured photo of Bill taken wearing his kilt on ‘Robbie Burns Day’ over which he officiated at an dinner time activity that year. Perhaps a year or so ago Bill disclosed that test results had come in which suggested that his cancer had returned. Always positive and upbeat, he didn’t dwell on this. We remained in contact, but aware that he may not be well, I began to take the lead role if too much time went by between calls. In one conversation Bill explained to me that as it was becoming more difficult for him to keep in touch with everyone, to send emails and to manage his affairs and that his daughter Sarah would be taking over these roles in the near future. My heart sank, however as always I admired his wisdom and capacity to share such information in such an honest and thoughtful way. I kept calling, often leaving messages if he didn’t pick up the phone, and was delighted one day when he did, saying ‘I’m still alive, I’m still alive’. Not long after, almost certainly supported by his grandson Matthew, he sent me news on his iPad and a photo taken of a family dinner when his sister Barbara’s son Lee Potter with his wife Liz and daughter Adeline arrived from Edinburgh to see Bill. Then came the email from Sarah, Kate and Matthew explaining that Sarah would now be Bill’s contact person. After waiting some weeks for news from Canada, I located Bill’s nephew Lee in Edinburgh who was able to tell me about his recent happy visit to see Bill. Then, three months ago as I write, an email from Sarah, Kate and Matthew saying that Bill had been admitted to hospital and was receiving Palliative Care, followed not long after by an email telling me that head passed away peacefully. I cherished knowing Bill. I cherished each conversation with him and loved hearing his voice on my message bank if I happened to be out or away. Indeed I found myself erasing other people’s messages and just leaving his on until they began to take up most of the available time, when I recorded them on my mobile phone for future reference, knowing there would be a time when he would phone me no more. I still have part of a message from his on my message bank which for some reason I missed, in which he says ‘Ho, Ho, Ho, A Merry Christmas from up here in Vancouver… ‘ which still cheers me up as I listen to my messages. Rest in Peace, my very, very dear cousin Bill Tully. I have been quietly bereft since you passed away in a city so far away. I have treasured the times we have shared together at least once a month for seven years and always think of you on Sunday mornings at 10 am. I will miss our calls so much. I will miss the way you ended our conversations in such endearing and hopeful ways. Although we never met in person you are a family member of particular importance to me and will always have a special place in my life. Beverley Lee July 22 2018 |
The Journey ...An 'occasional blog' recording elements of my renewed family history journey. This is the second wave in my 'family history' journey. The first lasted from 2010 to 2014. with intermittent bursts since then. It's time to revisit, to share more stories, to edit, to tackle uncertainties... Categories
All
Archives
April 2024
|