My name is Allison Oliphant Duncan. Before you laugh, allow me to tell you that all my names come from somewhere in my family tree. I have always known being an 'Oliphant Duncan' was distinctive and somehow a bit special. When all your siblings share your middle name, and your father does, and his father did, and his grandfather did, you start to think there's something a bit cool about being connected - all the way back to when Alexander Duncan married Catherine Oliphant in Glasgow in 1818.
While I have been away from work these past months, I have been doing some work on a project with my mum, sister and brother. This project has tested my mother's IT skills (she failed, and handed her laptop over to my sister), and has given me something to work on that wasn't set to a deadline and had no particular outcome in mind. I could leave it alone when I felt unwell. It has driven us down cul-de-sacs, tied us in knots, forced us to chase red herrings and at times caused us to question our sanity. It is our family tree.
The confusion is largely due to people being named after their father's father or their mother's father, or their mother or their mother's mother. It's a complete bugger getting the generations straight. But when you get presented with a name that may or may not be part of your family, admittedly you can judge its likelihood by knowing if it's a George (dad's side) or an Elizabeth (mum's side). There are lots of repeated names. You can add mine to the list, as I recently discovered.
The Oliphant Duncans arrived in Australia via my great great grandfather, George Oliphant Duncan (‘the first'. As alluded to in the previous paragraph, there were a number of namesakes, one of whom skipped out on his family. Baa - one black sheep found.) Geo. the first was born to Alexander and Catherine, and arrived in Tasmania in around 1838 to become Superintendent of Convict Labour at Port Arthur for 6 years. Yeah, we were the lawful kind of settlers. Says a lot about our whole goody-two-shoes family line, to my mind. So he was the first of the Oliphant Duncans, and the name has been passed down almost faithfully, only skipping one generation (rebels - woo hoo).
Looking over the family tree, both paternal and maternal, I can clearly see my siblings names - plenty of Elizabeths, two Susannahs, and lots of Jameses. However it was unclear where my name came from. Unperturbed (and happy for the time being, to be unique) I nevertheless asked my mother why I was so named - including the Scottish spelling with two 'l's. Her response was unforgettable: "Um, I can't remember. I'll ask your father". But she did better than that, she found not only the details of the person whose name was plucked from the annals of history, she found a photo and an "In memoriam" card. My surname and middle name come from my father's family, but my first name comes from my great great aunt on my mother's side, Elizabeth Jane Allison Cook, who was named for her mother, my great great great grandmother, Elizabeth Jane Allison (surname Allison). You see what I mean about these blasted Scottish naming conventions.
So here I am, Ally Olly, AOD. It could have been quite different: my dad is POD, my sister was SOD, and old Georgy (all of them) were GOD. I love that I have a great aunty 'Birdy' who escaped the Oliphant but was named Blanche Ida Rose Duncan - B.I.R.D. These are probably all pretty tame compared to what's out there nowadays.
But all this research has got me thinking, not just about names, but about all the lives we know so very little about. You all know what's been happening in my life recently, and this week is special, being my final chemotherapy treatment. I find I’m feeling a little celebratory, a little thankful, a little reverent, and a little retrospective. Because my forebears went through shit too.
My great grandfather Thomas James Balmer served in WWI in the 4th Australian Light Horse. He served in Egypt defending the Suez Canal, but spent a lot of time in and out of army hospitals with malaria. He died in his forties as a result of his illnesses during the war. So my paternal grandma was eighteen when she lost her father.
My maternal grandma was ten when she lost her mother. Despite her mother being in and out of hospital, grandma had very happy memories of her. Not so much for her father (and she wouldn't like me telling you this) who was usually gambling at the racetrack, and who sent her away from her brothers to be raised by aunts she didn't like. All because he had a barny with one of her mum's sisters.
There are instances all over our family tree where children didn't survive infancy. It was common for the times, and we tend to gloss over those things these days, as if it never happens. But it still does, even if less often, and so does miscarriage. I had all the technological help available but lost a baby. As my ancestors did before me. It totally sucks, and they would have grieved too.
I have a photo of Elizabeth Jane Allison Cook, whose fore-surname my parents pinched. Her looks are most unfortunate. At first we thought she had a harelip but it turned out to be a shadow in the photography. Lucky for her, as she didn't have much to start with. She had what has been variously named "the Cook nose" or "the Lander nose" and a spongy face. I'm being too unkind, but honestly, when you've got someone's name you have high hopes for them in all sorts of ways. Were they attractive, successful, a real character, much loved? Things we hope others will think of us. I was very chastened, and saddened, to discover Elizabeth Jane Allison Cook died in childbirth at the age of 28. She had been married for only a little over a year.
There are tragedies, large and small, that occur in not only everyone's family tree, but everyone's lives. My fortunes are on the upswing, and although the past 12 months have presented one horror after another, I know I am still very fortunate. Fortunate enough to live in a time when small tragedies like dinging your car or losing your phone can now be classed as "first world problems", because they get juxtaposed against refugees - children - being sent to jail-like conditions in Malaysia. Fortunate enough that although miscarriage is hard, many, many others have experienced it, so you are not alone. Fortunate enough that when you're confined to your home you can still shop online (you can't comprehend the brilliance and empowering nature of that until you are either ill or disabled.) Fortunate that not only can cancer be identified sooner, and for what it is, it can also be treated swiftly and successfully. And fortunate enough that we can reach friends and family in seconds via phone, text or internet, in minutes by car, bus or train, or in hours by air. I love my family, past and present, because they make me thankful for everything I've got. They give me perspective.
I had the blues because I had no shoes
until upon the street, I met a man who had no feet.
~Denis Waitely
