The Early days

I freely admit to being joyfully addicted.

Recently, I embarked on a voyage of discovery to help find my husband’s ancestors, and now I'm hooked. On finding mine. It didn't take long at all for this addiction to take hold.

Between the two of us we've found some very spicy stuff about each other's predecessors. Oooh, the excitement, the anticipation every time we log in.

And the frustration. We're not getting very far. It's complex, confusing and intoxicating all at once.

Should we sign up to one of those online sites offering myriad facts about our forebears? Or continue to be cheapskates and battle on ourselves?

What's more, we're now negotiating over computer time. One device shared by the two of us a minor complication.

A modicum of organisation is needed or I fear I'm going to become sedentary, stuck in front of a device, spending far too much time delving back in time.

The present

The direct result of our foray into family history is that, over the past few months, Hubby and I have had two exploratory trips seeking out evidence, sorting what may be true from sketchy hints, clues and old family stories.

We have met some vibrant, interesting people along the way, likeminded and generous people with a shared passion for family and local history. They have unconditionally helped us and welcomed us into their community.

One such story was the tale of Hubby's maternal great-grandfather, an eminent country jockey, who had supposedly been killed in a horserace in 1912 in or around Boorowa, a farming town located in the hilltops region of the south-west slopes of NSW.

His name was Gordon Mahoney.

Off we go to the Crookwell, Boorowa and Young museums to find out more. Which, of course, while continuing with investigations, includes cruisy cafe stops, sumptuous winery visits and delicious country dinners. It can't all be about work.

In Crookwell, we didn't find much information, but were given the name of Boorowa historians who may be able to help us.

Judy and Helen, both in their 80s, sat with us in the closed and rather chilly stone building housing the Boorowa Museum, and helped us with local history, cemetery maps and loads of relevant chitchat.

What those two eloquent country ladies didn't know about the goings on in Boorowa wasn't worth knowing.

Subsequently roaming through the old bush cemetery attempting to decipher names on aged, mouldy headstones was to us a new and novel activity. All in the name of discovery. But we weren't discovering that much.

Until by sheer chance we found that great-grandfather Gordon Mahoney was in actual fact also known as George Brown. Why this was so is still unknown, but he had lived in Boorowa and was buried there, having died on the racetrack in Murringo, a village close by.

Off to Murringo we go, to meet with a local historian, author and researcher Paul, whom our Boorowa Museum ladies had recommended. I am starting to feel like a cast member on Who Do You Think You Are.

Paul lives in an old convent in Murringo which he is lovingly renovating with his wife. He invites us to visit and appears to become quite intrigued by the scant facts we have about George.

We chat for a few hours over cups of tea, and leave feeling that we may just have made new friends.

It's not long before Paul sends us page upon page of George Brown information, gleaned from his poring through old newspaper articles.

So kind.

It turns out the family story was true. Gordon/George had been a successful horse trainer, owner and jockey. At most country racedays he would win three out of four races.

He was the father of five children, and in 1912, at the age of 36, was killed when thrown from his mount and trampled. The track is no longer there, but vestiges still remain on a property just out of town along the road to Young.

Murringo recently celebrated 175 years since being gazetted. On a beautiful spring day, the locals, property owners and farmers got together to picnic, listen to music and bush poetry, play games such as pumpkin rolling and sack races, taste locally produced wine, share stories and photos, and generally celebrate their wonderful, spirited community.

We were honoured to be a part of the day, Paul had invited us, and we met many old-timers who had heard stories about the happenings of those racedays at Murringo, and were eager to chat.

Yet again I was reminded of the importance of community, and of keeping your history alive .

It's taken only one individual from our family tree to make a huge impact, and it has given us so much interest, let alone sending us travelling and meeting some very lovely, interesting people.

This is a tiny drop in the ocean of what we can and will find out about our individual families and our ancestry. We've only just scratched the surface.

I've learned a lot in a short space of time. If you reach out, there will always be someone to help you.

I've learned about the kind-heartedness, hard work and resilience of country folk. I've discovered all those advertisements about seeking out your past are true. From the first fact you learn, you're delighted. And joyfully addicted.