28.1.70 - Troubles at the Crowls', and looking at my future

28.1.70

Dear Mum, here’s the rest of what I was going to say in yesterday’s letter, which you will no doubt have received by this time, and equally no doubt can probably barely read. On Monday, I went back up to the Crowls’ to give Reg a hand throughout the day at the Mentally Handicapped Centre, to do stocktaking of the Christmas stuff they had left. We spent a fairly calm but hard-working day doing this, and he took me to lunch at a place across the road about 1.00. Did I say that Nina is finally moving today, in my last letter? I don’t think so, but anyway this is the end result it would seem of nine years of not-very-happiness in the Crowl household.

I got most of the following at the lunch we had, and honestly I really feel very sorry for Reg. He’s a marvellous person and fabulously generous, and to have had this sort of tension in his house for the last nine years is pretty hard. In fact, up until this latest episode which has resulted in Nina’s going, I had never thought he looked old, or behaved like an old man, and it’s only now that he’s started to look tired and weary and a bit fed up. [He was sixty-four at this time.]  He’s even said he’s feeling old which isn’t like him at all. 

As I’ve said to you before I’ve always found Nina charming, so that it seems incredible that she has been in that house for the last two months and Not Spoken to Reg once! The only time I’ve ever come up against anything other than charm was at Westgate that time, when if Reg and Margaret and I went out and were relaxed about the time a bit [as in getting back for the all-important tea], we were told off not by Mavis, but by Nina. And on one or two other occasions I’ve dared to argue about something with her the surface Nina has gone and a much less pleasant lady has appeared. Reg puts it down to her having been spoilt all her life because of her heart trouble ˗ it would seem there is probably no reason why she shouldn’t have ever worked, but she never has. And while she hasn’t ever lived off anyone in particular, she’s nearly always lived with one of her sisters since her mother died. She has a pension but obviously this isn’t enough.

And Reg is worried too about Margaret who must obviously be left on her own some day. He says that Mavis’s sister Phil would look after her for a start at least, but it seems both to him and me that she must get used to not necessarily living with her relations. Margaret in fact is apparently quite happy with the idea of staying somewhere else ˗ boarding with someone for example ˗ but it is the relations, and especially Mavis who won’t hear of it. This seems very short-sighted to me. I said for a start to Reg that at least she had plenty of relations, but he was just sourly amused: Mavis’s brother and wife, who would be the most able to look after her, have carefully never bothered to look after Nina for more than some months when their mother died, although, Reg says, he promised his mother that he would. So it seems as if there is no likelihood of their doing anything about Margaret, either. What a business, isn’t it? The Good Lord will no doubt keep an eye on her, but as with any problem, he likes us, I’m sure, not just to sit around waiting for him to make a move. [After I returned to New Zealand, Margaret got married, in fact, to Brian, who also had some degree of mental disability. He died later, and Margaret seems to have coped since then, keeping in touch with some relatives on Mavis’s  side.]

Which brings me to me again! I went to a play last night (Edward II, with Ian McKellan, the new up and coming boy, it would seem, and it was very good too, even though I must have missed about the first twenty minutes!) and on the way home as I was doing my usual ten minute walk from the tube ˗ I do most of my meditating there!! ˗ I fell again on the problem of where I am going and what I am ultimately to do with myself. And honestly I must have been getting so worked up about it lately, that I finally burst into tears (!) and snuffled my way along quite a considerable bit of the road. That cleared the air at least, and I’m sure I felt a conciliatory pat on my shoulder from my much neglected Guardian Angel (I wonder what his name is? Fred, do you think?)

And at Mass this morning (that’s one of the advantages of going to work at night, I can go to Mass on both Wednesday and Saturday) I said to the Good Lord again to give me a push in the right direction, because I don’t know if I can be bothered with much more of this rather futureless outlook, and the idea has arisen in my head that it might be worth carrying on and completely my ATCL [Associate of the Trinity College of London, in piano], and possibly LTCL [Licentiate], and looking into teaching, because the more I look at it the more it seems to be clear that I’m just not good enough to take up repetiteuring full-time. I could get there in each case, but I’m not quick-witted enough, I think, to know what I’m doing without having worked at it. Therein has always lain my problem, I believe.

So I’m writing to Trinity College to find out if my Practical bit of the ATCL is still valid and if it is, or even if it isn’t, I think at least having that aim in view might be more valuable than carrying on as at the moment, hoping one day I’ll know when I’m ready enough!

One of Mike’s friends, Mervyn, that I met again last night when we three and Kathy went for a drink on Mike’s Irish citizenry, said something about teaching ˗ he teaches foreign students more advanced English ˗ and that is probably where the notion has arisen. What sort of teacher would I make? That doesn’t matter yet ˗ but I’ll see how this Trinity College business works out. I begin to think that I must always have sort of aim in view otherwise I don’t bother. We’ll see what gives from here, anyway.  Love, Mike.

[A good deal of this was a real loss of confidence after being regarded as something of a failure at the Opera Centre by the staff. I was actually a good sight-reader, and capable of working hard musically. I suspect if I’d pushed myself I could have made a living in London, musically, doing a variety of jobs, and in time would have had enough contacts to keep the work coming in. C’est la vie.]

27.1.70 - an Irish citizen, socialising

27.1.70

Dear Mum, Mike Tither has just received the news this morning that he is now an Irish citizen ˗ which means, as far as I know, that he ceases to be a New Zealand citizen, in the meantime, anyway. This have been the only way he could legally stay on in Britain, that he was able to discover, that didn’t involve some kind of fraud. He received a ‘paper’ in the post that morning written in Gaelic (!) and had to ring the Irish Embassy (or whatever it is) to find out if it said ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

Remember that Unity service I went to? I meant to mention also that the minister who gave the sermon had the most curious speech coloration I’ve ever heard. By some defect his final ‘s’es were left behind the word so that they followed at a second or two’s delay: alway...s, curiou...s, servi...ce!!

I went up to the Crowls’ on Sunday for dinner (couldn’t stay the weekend as Margaret has bought a new bed and the old one is cluttering up my usual small room, and Nina hasn’t yet moved. She will on Wednesday.) And then I went onto Doris Berry’s place. Have I spoken much about her before? She’s the lady who did the Carmen rehearsals with me back home [in Dunedin], and who has now returned to her home in London. She had invited four of us up for tea: three Christchurch people and self. These were Neal and Jan something (he’s about twenty-eight/nine, I suppose, she’s perhaps somewhat younger) and Margaret Williams, a teacher of about twenty-four/five, I guess (or perhaps younger). The married couple are working here just now and intend just touring and seeing things all over the world for the next few years apparently. Margaret (like most New Zealanders) speaks at a tremendous rate with no stops for breath: her sentences will often either die for lack of breath or lack of anywhere to go. This is a funny thing lots of us do; we forget to take a breath when we ought in the natural break of this sentence, and wonder why we’re going blue in the face before we’re through. Doris has the same tendency in a different form ˗ she knows where she’s going and is in such a hurry to get there that not only her tongue talks, everything else about her head does too, and it’s like a little kettle about to boil over. She’s very sweet and kind and nice to know, and though we all had to endure some slides of Margaret’s European Tour (we were much more appreciative of Doris’ NZ ones ˗ what parochialists!) the evening was very pleasant generally. But it had been a day of conversation ˗ Reg and I had got ourselves tied up in knots about theology (!) before dinner and having to make conversation with unknown people is a very tiring task. I generally just ask pertinent questions, and let them go on! [Reg and Mavis had been enthusiastic Methodists when younger, but had ceased having anything to do with the church when I met them. However, some time after I left England in 1974 ˗ by which time Mavis had died ˗ Reg went back to a local Methodist church which had had something of a revival, and became just as enthusiastic again. He eventually met his second wife-to-be there.]

I was going to continue this, but I’ll start another one later. Love, Mike. 

21.12.68 Double Bill and holidays

Dear Mum, (21^st Dec)  It seems to be ages since I wrote to you last, and I’m sorry about that.  At least for once I have an honest excuse: this week has been the week of our three productions and we’ve been really flat out.  To show you how little I’ve been home, two weeks ago I went and bought some tins of snacks to have for tea at night during the week that was to follow.  I’ve still got them!  Last weekend I did have a break from Opera, and went up to the Crowls again.  On Saturday afternoon we went to a Christmas Party, for about half an hour, that was being held for the Mentally Handicapped Group.  I didn’t actually have to go, but Uncle Reg (I think I’d sooner call them that, in spite of theirs and mine agreement to the contrary [wonderful piece of grammar here, the result of not being able to go back and correct] had said he had told them that if his nephew wanted to come for a short while he would go, but he also said that he felt he should put in an appearance.  So what could I say?  Anyway, as it turned out while we were there, there was a young bloke about my age doing a Magician’s act, and he hit it off remarkably well with these folk, just knowing how far to go with teasing them by telling them a red thing was blue, etc.  He was very funny really.  I hadn’t been particularly keen on going , as I really felt only like sitting completely still and doing nothing, but it was quite an enjoyable half hour. 

 

That night I just sat glued in front of the TV and watched an old Glenn Ford cowboy film that was worth watching in spite of its title: Cowboy and the Redhead!  And then a rather clever Sci-fi film.  On Sunday, we went in the afternoon to a Carol Service being held at Highbury (still in London) where Reg works, a few days a week.  [Reg did accounts there.  Part of the complex was Stephenson Hall, where a few years later I went to train in Residential Child Care and met my future wife.]  I had already said I’d go to this so was prepared and it was a pleasant half hour of carols, old and new, and then ‘High Tea’ after.  Honestly I drink so much liquid at a typical Crowl weekend, it’s a wonder I don’t drown from the inside.  Also arranged to go and stay there over the three days at Christmas. Kingsley is going on Christmas Day to have dinner with someone who’s a friend of a friend, which saves my feeling that he’s being left on his own. 

 

THANK YOU AND FRED AND FATHER CHRISTMAS for the endless succession of postal notes!  AND the chocolate chippies.  AND the fudge AND the cake – Kingsley doesn’t eat cake at all so I’m sharing it with myself!  It’s rather funny about these postal orders with stamps; the blokes in the Post Offices invariably look askance at them, but now I’ve been in so often, that I can tell them what page it is in their reference book which saves that much time.  Sometimes I get a shilling for two 5c, and sometimes 11d.  I don’t really think they know what they’re supposed to do with them.  [Obviously I knew nothing about the complexities of exchange rates.]  This morning one of the clerks even refused to believe me when I said where he could find the information, and even when he looked it up he reckoned that he’d never given out money on stamps before.  It was only the arrival of another man who’d paid out on another lot previously that saved the day!  Incidentally about that $10, apparently an office in Chichester or somewhere informs me by post when it’s ready for me to receive.  I got that off the obstructive guy today, but the bloke who helped out in the end had told me previously that I should come back in a few days and see if it had arrived.  Government departments: !!!! [It’s hard to credit this kind of bureaucracy now, when you can transfer money so readily.]

 

I hope you realised that the money I sent you was FOR YOU and not to pay any bills and things of mine!  I thought it was better than trying to send a not very satisfactory Christmas present.  Last weekend I didn’t take anything to the Crowls, mainly because the little lady who sells flowers on the street wasn’t there that Saturday, and of course it turned out to be Mavis’ birthday!  I’ll take something bigger up to them on Tuesday. 

 

On Monday last we had our first rehearsal in Sadler’s Wells.  In the morning a piano rehearsal which went quite well, and then an orchestral rehearsal in the afternoon, which was especially interesting to be able to hear the sounds I’ve been attempting to make for the last couple of months.  I think it is very well orchestrated, as clever in its parody of 1920s sounds (early jazz bands, palm court orchestras, etc) as the whole thing is clever in its general parody of opera altogether.  (Seem to be some mighty confused sentences here today!)  But the orchestra players themselves are a rather scungy lot, considering they’re being paid, which I don’t think I am.  (I am being paid for selling programmes at the two performances of Albert Herring though, which I hadn’t expected!)  They are from the Royal College, and while the bulk of them aren’t a bad crew (and altogether they’re a very good orchestra) there are several who have made James Robertson’s life hell, and also the rehearsals.  One of the last rehearsals was so bad in fact that the poor singers scarcely knew where they were. It is very, very poor I think.  [I wonder if the musicians were actually sharper than Robertson...?]  Of course, as with everything I get everybody’s side: from Mr Robertson to the players to the singers!  Anyway, I am very much enjoying myself playing the piano part: though last night I seemed to be getting mental blocks or somut, [attempting to spell a Cockney version of ‘or something’ perhaps] as on two occasions I sat happily there when I should have played a note or two, and on another occasion I got a full 10 bars behind, briefly thank goodness, and played a completely contrary chord!  Fortunately in this sort of music, the audience would never know!  But I felt pretty silly anyway.  I don’t think Robertson noticed – he didn’t say anything  - but I think some of the players did!  Urgh!  [This doesn’t appear to be the time I had problems with an orchestral piano part during a rehearsal and had to be assisted by a friendly wind player at the back of the group.  I’ve never felt wonderfully confident in an orchestra.]

 

Sheila Thomas, the outside rep in charge of Dido and Angelique, and who is the nicer of the two ladies in this capacity, brought me a cup of coffee for the work I’d done on Angelique!  She is nice!  Unfortunately she isn’t working on the same stuff as me next time, for the coming master classes, but I’m working again with Alistair, who as I think I’ve said before, I get on very well with.  On Monday, after Albert Herring (which was very good, perhaps a little over-produced if anything, and which got good reviews though not enthusiastically wild ones) I went round to Hazel’s (in the same suburb it is) and several others joined us for a party.  I didn’t stay very long, however [handwritten] to be continued. 

 

Part II

as we had another lot of rehearsals the next day at Sadler’s Wells, by the way, the old theatre, that is, is the most maze-y place I’ve ever been in.  [This was the fifth theatre on the site, and has now been replaced by a sixth. The Sadler’s Wells Opera Company had moved out earlier in the year to The Coliseum.]  It took me about three days even to begin to find my way around it, and I can still get lost quite easily.  And I’m still finding places I didn’t know existed.  It’s large backstage – probably almost as big as the actual auditorium – which isn’t huge, but three-tiered – and there are rooms for everybody, stage staff, music staff, conductors, ballet rooms, rehearsal rooms, showers (quite a luxury in a NZ theatre) and all the usual accoutrements.  (Of course I would have to spell that wrong!) [I’d left out a ‘c’. I seem to remember that it was on the first day of rehearsals at the theatre that James Robertson bawled out Alan Opie for being late (he’d slept in) in front of everyone – singers, orchestra, stage crew – and told him he’d never make it as a professional with that attitude. Opie seems to have done all right in spite of this!]

 

Incidentally the SUN is shining here today – the first time in about three months.  Perhaps the rain has cleared up the cloud.  In Islington the other day, where the theatre is, it’s quite hilly, and the water was just pouring down the streets.  It hasn’t been that cold here lately, except for one very bad week, but it’s always damp.  Not to worry – the mould hasn’t appeared on me yet!

 

Thursday night was the Double Bill’s opening night, and it went off very well I think.  The papers, however, while they didn’t slate the actual productions, weren’t in the least bit enthusiastic about the way Dido was done, nor about the choice of Angelique at all.  These people get too serious about art I think, and fail to realise that something with a bit of humour in it has its own place.  Dido is a very interesting production, I think.  The leading singers are all dressed in very ornate costumes of considerable beauty – except Aeneas, who is in an awkward armour type thing that makes him look as though he has his shoulders around his chin all the time – and instead of the chorus being on stage they are in the pit with the orchestra.  Their place is taken by the ballet who dance in very symmetrical and angular patterns to the singing chorus.  And to their own dance music, thoughtfully provided by Purcell.  They are dressed in green tights, boys and girls (they’re all so young – 15 or 16 I think) and when the story is going on, recline in designs similar to those that you see in 19^th century paintings – where classical people (very overdressed) were surrounded by dressed cherubs lying in attitudes all over the place.  I like this production, but only a few others do.  The scenery is very simple – Dido’s Court being a set of steps covered on the audience side by what looks like half a jelly (patterned, of course) and at the back a raked platform: ie higher (by a lot in this case) at the back than the rest, with a single rectangle reaching from its left centre to the flies.  The witches appear through trap doors and have great swirling cloaks over tights, and curious make-up that in the half light looks like their faces are hollowed out almost.  Horrid.

 

Next Day.  The scene in the forest consists of nothing but bogus and very large leaves flown from the flies plus more green in the lighting and a sort of dappled green effect thrown all over the stage.  The principals, except Aeneas, all come on in green cloaks too.  (I’m typing this in a short space left before I go out – also listening to the last few moments of Götterdämmerung, er, rather the last 20 minutes or so – it is fabulous.)  In the sailors’ scene there is a projected light onto the backcloth simulating water in the distance.  Angelique is done in sort of pop-art colours, though done relatively realistically as far as the scene itself is concerned, and all the characters are dressed in over-stated versions of their 1920-30 counterparts.

 

Well as I write this we’re now finished with the Double Bill and strictly speaking are on holiday.  There is talk of the Double Bill being taken to Southampton, but what the story is I don’t know.  As usual the reps are the last to know.   After the show last night we all went over to the Shakespeare’s Head, a pub opposite the stage door, and talked.  Everyone was a bit put out that there wasn’t a party arranged, except for some special people, somewhere, [probably those who actually put the money up to fund the shows] and so a group of us decided to have a party of our own somewhere and finished up going to Sara Wilson’s flat.  She is one of the stage managers, and her flat-mates are away home for Christmas.  She lives at the Marble Arch end of Wimpole St (though it’s not called that in typical English fashion), five flights up.  Most of us stayed onto (ye gods!) 4.30, and then I went home with Mike, who had come with me, and stayed at his place for the rest of the night.  It was a nice quiet affair, with a fair mixture of Opera Centre bods; funnily enough, with a few exceptions, not one of the usual cliques, but made up of people from different groups.  Had it struck home to me yesterday that I’m not the only one in the position of being far away from home at Christmas, and it’s obviously struck some of the others a bit too. There are quite a lot of Colonials at the Centre; in fact at this party last night, if we include Mike, there were only 4 out of about a dozen or more people that were born here.  Mad. 

 

Tonight I’ve been invited out to dinner by Diana Reid, another stage manager, with David Gorringe.  I’m a replacement at the last moment for a boy that Diana’s been trailing around with all term, and who has now been dropped or has dropped her.  Either way it sounds a bit of an awkward position, but unfortunately I didn’t find out about it all until after I’d gladly accepted the invitation!  I’ve been so busy the last fortnight that I’ve completely run out of sox and am now trying to dry a pair to wear tonight!  Thank goodness it’s the holidays.  I find that I’m looking forward to them more than I’d expected.  Not that I dislike the course, but the rest will be most welcome.  Actually I’ll only really take this coming Christmas week off, as the Opera for All auditions are coming up in January, and I’ll have to do some hard work to catch up for them. 

 

I got a card from Monica Stokes [my mother’s sister], well all the Stokes actually, and 3 postal notes!  Isn’t she a trick?  Will you give her my love and tell her thanks very much indeed.  Barbara Green sent me a card too with a cute little angel saying her prayers on it [handwritten] and tried to tell me it was her!  Lots and lots of love - it’ll possibly be New Year before you get this, Mike. 

 

[written on the back of the aerogram] P.S.  The trunk finally arrived – Wednesday last – day before I needed my dinner suit!!  It had been in the U.K. for nearly 3 weeks.  We now have so much junk here there’s hardly room to move. I think Kingsley has shifted everything he possesses over here!  AAAGH!

Another chess photo

Back in January 2009 I received an email from Paul McKeown, which included the photo shown below.  I'd meant to include it in the blog but for some reason it slipped my mind.  Coming back to it the other day, it turned out that the photo had been found for Paul (who was in the process of writing a biography of Robert Wade, another chess player) by Bob Meadley, who's recently been in touch with me about my father, Frank Crowl.  Frank is in the front row, second from the right.  Note that only a couple of other players are in both this photo and the one published in the last post. 

Standing left to right: official, Maxwell C Salm, Frank L Vaughan, Harry Klass, Martin Green, Daniel McGrath, Arthur C Harris, Maurice E Goldstein, Aubrey G Shoebridge, Allen L Miller, official, James Stewart (official);  Seated left to right: Charles GM Watson, Stefan Lazare, Cecil J S Purdy, Garry Koshnitsky, Lajos Steiner, Robert G Wade, Frank A Crowl, A R de Coek (official).

Update on Chess Championship Photo

Back in August 2009, I published this photo on this blog, and a few days later attempted to interpret my father's scrawl on the back of the photo in order to give some idea who these various chess players were.  (My father was Frank Crowl.) That was as far as things went until late last year when a chess player and musician from Australia called Nigel Nettheim picked up on the photo and said he would attempt to let me know who the various men were.  However, he was short of time, and passed a copy of the photo onto Bob Meadley, who is an Australian chess historian (he may be an actual historian as well; I'm not sure about this).

Bob has written to me twice since then, and has filled in some details about my father that he had to hand, and that I hadn't heard before. He's also sent me a letter with information about the men in the photo.  He's concentrated on getting the names right; the additional and almost illegible information my father put on the back of the photo is in the earlier blog post.

Here is what Bob has told me:
Here are the names from the left as I see it:
Front row: Vladimir Bagirov, Yuri Averbakh, Brian Harkin, Karlis Lidums, ?McAuliffe.
2nd row: Cecil Purdy (arms folded), Garry Koshnitsky, A. Cuntala.
3rd row: (3 at left and 2 at right) Lucius Endzelins, Karlis Ozols, Ortvin Sarapu, P. Purkalitis and Phil Viner.
4th row: (2 only) W[olfgang]. Leonhardt, John Hanks.
5th row: John Purdy, Frank Crowl, Emmanuel Basta, A[rthur]. Teters, Vas Lapin, L. Cohen.
6th row: R. Stalley, A.L. Miller, (and over on the right) W.J. Goss.

Bob writes that he is awaiting confirmation of these names, and he adds: I may have some wrong.  There are 24 people and 23 played in the tourney.  There are 3 officials - Harkin, Lidums, and McAuliffe, so 2 players are not in the photo.  One [of those] is Dr P. Kalinovsky, and the other is Peter Wren. 
My father had written about the 'pin-up boy' and the 'conveyor of Crowl from Griffith to Adelaide and back'.  Bob writes: The pin up boy would be John Purdy.  [He was Cecil Purdy's son and became a Family Court Judge.]  The player who gave your dad a lift is Phil Viner.  

Mini-reunion, and Frank Crowl

There hasn't been much happening on this blog recently, nevertheless I haven't forgotten about it!

We had a mini-family reunion in Mosgiel for Paul Stokes' 60th birthday some months after the actual event: it was to have been in September (which was still late) but the Christchurch earthquake interrupted Mary Fraher's preparations, as well as the fact that she got swine flu in that month. It finally took place in November, with a smaller number of people than originally intended. It was still a good catch-up, and invariably on these occasions bits and pieces of family history and small events from our various lives are shared.

On another tack, I received an email the other day from the Canadian, Alan McGowan, a chess player and chess historian who writes for a magazine called Chess Scotland. Alan and I had had some conversation on an earlier occasion about my father and chess, but this time he was alerting me to an online article that Edward Winter, a chess historian, had uploaded. It included the myth that Frank Crowl had been born in Melborne and brought up in Shanghai - where he learnt chess. There was a statement towards the end saying that he hadn't been born in Melborne, but Surrey, England.

I wrote to Edward and told him about the fact that my father had grown up in London, attested to by his brother, Reg. Edward came back wondering if I knew my father's birth date, (he knew the year, 1902) as it wasn't mentioned in any of the information he had. I discovered it wasn't on the family tree, which surprised me, and I thought I didn't have it.

This morning I woke up and thought: I've got my parents' marriage certificate; the birthdate will be on there. Nope, it wasn't, only the fact that my father was 40 when he married, in 1942. Searched through the various papers in the old tin box that such stuff has been kept in for as long as I can remember, and found...my father's birth certificate. Born on the 24th August, 1902, in the registration district of St Pancras, with the sub-district of Kentish Town. I have no idea why I haven't put this information on the family tree before....just one of those things!

Furthermore, on the birth certificate, it says that his name is Frank, rather than Francis, which I'd assumed.

All the Goodsons

This is a remarkable photo. It's the first time all the Goodson brothers and sisters have been together in one place, for forty years.

Except that it's not quite what it looks like. The five brothers and sisters in the middle - Barbara, Pat, Peter, Mick and Janet, were photographed in England (either in Norfolk or Northampton - I can't remember which at the moment) in the middle of last year sometime.

Celia on the far left, and Richard on the far right, were photographed in New Zealand just before Christmas. Celia took the photo of Richard inside our house. Celia was also photographed inside, but at a different time.

My brother-in-law Peter put all the photos together and the picture above is the result. Ain't technology amazing?

Danny Crowl

The latest arrival in the ever-expanding Hannagan clan - this time another addition to the Crowl wing...and this time another one with the actual surname of Crowl! (His big brother is the only other one.)

The delightful photo shows the two boys: Jacob holding Danny. Their father and mother are Ben (my older son) and Louise.

A couple more...

Last for tonight, a couple more photos.


This is Reg(gie), my uncle, at 8 years of age, but you'll notice someone (possibly Reg himself, at a later point) has put a query as to whether it might actually be his brother, Frank. This was taken by the USA Studios, who had branches all over London, and out in the 'provinces.'


My grandfather again, this time with a fancy hat. This is also on a postcard, and was produced by Hayne, The Broadway Studios (Next to the Bethel, Tooting, SW17). Phone Streatham 3498. (Celia and I lived in Tooting Bec when we were first married.)

Crowl Family Photos (again)

I'm posting these photos in order, partly, to protect them. I feel they're fairly vulnerable to damage, so want to preserve them as best I can.


This photo is either of Reg or Frank (my uncle and father respectively). It was taken at the [J.W.] Gorsuch studio, 48 Junction Rd, Upper Holloway. A note on Flickr.com says: John Willliam Gorsuch was based at 48 Junction Road, Holloway, Islington from 1891 - 1911. He apparently gambled away earnings from studios at horse races around the country.


This is my grandmother, Karolina Brock again - or, as my uncle (or father) has written on the back: Mother (Mrs K.T.Crowl)


Frank and Reg again; probably Frank is the one on the right.



This is Uncle Will, according to the back of the photo. Presumably that means this is the gent with the extravagant name of William Thackeray Brock. The written 'signature' at the bottom says, Wykeham - the studio was The Wykeham Studios Ltd, 165 Victoria Street, SW1, and also at 133 Streatham High Road, SW161, and 67 Balham High Road, SW12. (The link to Wykeham Studios may only be temporary - it goes to a eBay page where someone is selling an old photo also produced by Wykeham.)

Okay, once upon a time I was good looking!

As a one-year old. Note the handwritten 'Artgraf' below the photo, and the fact that this is probably hand-coloured. Certainly, if it is, it's very well done.



As a schoolboy. This photo would have been taken in Dunedin. The firm was Polyphoto.

More Crowl Photos

More Crowl family members - or at least more photos of them...


My father, Frank Crowl, taken in Melbourne. The photo was reproduced on a post card with the stamp: Artophot, 276 Lonsdale St, Melb. C.I. Phone C 4123. It looks as though he's dressed up for something; perhaps his wedding day.


My paternal grandfather, Arthur Crowl and his wife, Karolina (nee Brock) with her parents, Francis William Brock and his wife (whose name I don't know). Karolina, my grandmother, (spelt Karolena on my father's death certificate) was born in Germany in 1873, and died in England in 1962. Occasionally I received letters from her. I don't know anything about her parents, except that two of their boys had interesting names: George Washington Brock and William Thackeray Brock. The two boys are my father and my uncle, but I'm not sure which is which.


This is 'loving sister Milly' according to the back of the photo. She was my great aunt, and the sister of Karolena. She died aged 21, but I don't know anything more about her. On the back of her photo it says: Chaffin & Sons, Photographers, Cheap Street, Sherborne, Dorset.


This photo is a mystery. I don't know who it is, and there's nothing on the back to give any indication. Perhaps it's Milly again. The photographers were Bender & Lewis, 126 George St, Croydon - facing East Croydon Station. The had a 'Day and Electric Light Studio' and were 'Patronized by H.M the King, the King of the Belgians, the King of Portugal, etc, etc.' If there was an English King patronizing them, then this must have been at the beginning of the 20th century, I suspect, since Victoria would have been on the throne before that.

Some more Crowl portraits

My uncle Reg in boy scout uniform - and in the bath.


Reg as a young man with his Grandfather Brock.


My father on a horse? Bet it was just a pose. I've never heard of him riding a horse...
Though when you blow up the picture, he looks perfectly at ease, and even has the trademark cigarette holder in his mouth.



My father as a youngish man.

Translation of the notes - an attempt!

I make no apologies for the following. It's a first attempt to get some sense out of the scrawl on the back of the photo in the last post. The notes began with the centre section in which my father names the various people on the front of the photo. Then he makes notes about those people (and doesn't quite seem to line up his alphabetical system) and then shifts to the top of the page when he runs out of space.

Cecil Purdy was one of his best and closest friends, someone who cared for him in spite of his errant ways and difficult behaviour. Koch is another name familiar to me; it's short for Kochnitsky. He'd won back in Sydney in 1939 and 1933. Purdy senior had won the championship four times, on previous occasions. His son, John, would win it in 1963.

It looks as though the Championships were held in Adelaide that year and Lucius Endzelins won. There's a note about him - (d).
Soviet Ch [champion], 2nd in this, lost to Koch in 1st rd [round]; Soviet Ch. 1954, won this tournament? ..beaten and with two ….?, to Koch and Vier? only; (i) Aust. Ch. ’34, ’36, ’48, ’51, Aust. ref? in …..?? as ??? can’t make it; (j) Aust. Ch. ’32, ’38. = Which explains ?? round ?? neck, Br?? ’51 at every opportunity, Love from Frank

Left to Right:

Extreme back – (a) Stalley ? NSW, Miller, SA
Next row, all heads approx. level –
(b) John Purdy NSW, Crowl NSW, (c) Bacta? NSW
Zeters ? Vic, Hanks Vic, Lafin? Q[ueensland], Genes? Vic, ?? SA;
Next, ?? – (d) Endzelins, SA, (e) Orols? Vic, Sarafin? NZ, Purkalitis SA, (g) Viner NSW;
Next, ?? – (g) Bagirov USSR, (h) Averbakl USSR, (i) Cecil Purdy NSW, Harkin (non-player), SACA Secty, and Tourney Director of Play), Kochnitsky, NSW, Lidmus? (non-player, SACA President & fruitful? financier of tourney), Gondala? SA, MacAuliffe (non-player, SACA treasurer).

Notes by Crowl - ?? ?? Pin Up Boy, Aust Ch, Perth ’54 when aged 19;
© 1960 Vic Cham ?? ?? play off not yet complete – also ?? 1958 ??, when latter’s junior? won ?? for him, Brek? ;
(d) Aust champ 1960, as highest placed resident player – first title holder from a minor state;
(e) Aust Champ 1956, ’60 on ?? and above for state title;
(f) conveyor of Crowl from Griffith to Adelaide and back – only Aust born player to beat ??
(g) 4th in 1960 (above)

I'm sure this is all very obscure stuff, but it would be interesting if someone could sort some of it out!

Update January 2013 - this list has now been updated and clarified, and corrected, thanks to Bob Meadley in Australia. 

Some Crowl relatives

Some Crowl relatives:



Grandfather Brock - my great grandfather on my grandmother's side, about whom I know very little.



My grandfather, Arthur Charles Crowl.



As you can see from the scribble at the bottom, this could be either my Uncle Reg, or my father, Frank.



This photo has my father, Frank, in it. He's up the very back on the left, with glasses and a cigarette holder (his trademark). He's beside the fellow with the big grin. This set of men were amongst the best chess players around, in their day. They were attending the Australian Chess Championships, in 1960; this was five years before his death, so he would have been around 58 at the time. The next picture shows what's on the back of the photo (in my father's virtually illegible handwriting). Unfortunately it's not as clear as I'd like, but there were definitely some Russians amongst this group. If I can get the time, I'll type out what I can make out of it in due course. One person is described as someone's Pin Up Boy

Flora Hannagan and Michael

Taken in the kitchen at Stanley St. A rare photo of Nan (Grandma Hannagan, as I think she was known to some of you) smiling!

Note the clothes hanging on the rack above the coal range - my memory of Nan is of her sitting almost permanently by this range, cooking or drying or working at something. I'm sure she moved sometimes, but this was her 'home.'













Yours truly getting in the photo as always. (Rather like his younger son in later years.)




Click on the photos for larger versions.

Wanderers Return

Some of you may have been following the Crowls' exploits overseas on the Travel Diary.
For those who haven't, we're now back in Dunedin, and happy to be home. Our time away was starting to get just a bit too long, so we came home about ten days earlier than planned.
We had a great time away, with a few ups and downs thrown in, but all in all it was worth doing, and certainly gave us a chance to get to know some of the younger members of the Goodson clan (Celia's family), most of whom we hadn't seen since our wedding, when they were all children. And we met their children as well, and can now put names and personalities to the faces.

Some people never grow up!

John Stokes and Celia Crowl get involved in the (children's) lolly scramble.
Madeleine Stokes thinks it's a great joke.

A few quick notes about the Reunion

We’ve finally had a family reunion. Not on a large scale as yet, because there were plenty of people not there, but we still had around thirty at the dinner last night (Easter Sunday) and some fifty at the informal get-together and lunch today. Jacinta and Daphne did most of the organising, but I think it helped that the blog had been up, and the emails had been going out, since last year. The other thing that triggered it further was that Peter and Jane Ryan were coming over for a trip to the South Island, so that gave us a definite excuse.
We had a meal together last night at The Station Café in Mosgiel – it’s literally the old Mosgiel railway station done up.
On the Ryan side there were Anne and her mother, and her daughter Sophie, and Peter and Jane. I haven’t seen Peter since I was in my mid-teens, back in the late fifties, I guess.
On the Stokes side, there were Des, Mary and Paul Fraher, and Paul – who came in after the meal was finished – and Debbie with her Japanese husband, Hide (pronounced, roughly, Heeday). They’ve only been married about a year.
Daphne was there, along with Jacinta and Dave, Jennifer, Trish and Ross, Teresa and Bob – and Bob’s mother, Peggy – and Denise and Malcolm. The three teenage boys were there too, until they went to Jacinta’s to watch tv: Matthew, Hamish and Finn.
And there were some Crowls: Celia and yours truly, and Stef, Abby and Ben. (Louise and Jacob were in Invercargill.)
We had a buffet meal and there was a good friendly atmosphere, especially considering a number of people didn’t really know each other well.
Today (Easter Monday) we went to the East Taieri Hall from around 11.30 for a bring-a-plate lunch. Being a Hannagan do, of course there was plenty of food…!
I think the only person who wasn’t there today from last night was Peggy. Otherwise the same bunch came, along with John Stokes and Lucy, and their three kids, Madeleine Monica, George Louis and Eloise.
Raymond and Bernadette also came, with Andrew and his wife of a month, Sian (I presume that’s the spelling, although they were pronouncing it Sharne to my ear), and Matthew.
More Crowls came: Dominic, the three little Stewarts: Jenna (who’s birthday it is today as well), Mykala and Luke, and the big Stewart: Doug. Abby also brought Thomas.
Jacinta’s three boys were there: Jack, Charlie and Oscar. And Denise’ daughter, Chloe, came too, and did face-painting on the little kids.
And one last arrival, who makes the number to fifty by my reckoning, was Monica Stokes. Des went and got her after lunch. It was great to have her there, particularly since the home she is in is so close to the proceedings, and having all of us going to her might not have been so convenient.

Couple of Crowl grandchildren

Lucy Baker on the right - so uninspired by her bath, she appears to be falling asleep.

And to the left, her slightly older cousin, Jacob Crowl.