Behold the time-travelling magic of overlapping lives

My message to kids is to speak up: ask grandparents whatever you want to know. And to grandparents: your job is to instil endless wonder, curiosity and awe in your stories.

How far back can first-hand family stories reach?

On one of our family’s regular visits to my grandmother’s house in Western Victoria in 1968 (when I was 11), a single comment was made that has stayed with me all these years.

My grandmother said her family had come over early and worked on stations. That was it. That was the statement. But it was sufficient to have me intrigued. Come over from where? When precisely? Which (sheep) stations?

I didn’t ask at the time – which I regret – but I have since learned that her story was true; her family, originally from Ireland, came over from Tasmania in the late 1830s; they worked as station hands for more than 100 years.

In that moment, my grandmother passed on family knowledge to the next generation. It wasn’t so much a sliding door moment as it was an overlapping of lives, hers with mine. And now more than half a century later, I recall the pride with which that story was told.

My grandmother died eight years later. Her life overlapped sufficiently in time span and geography with mine that there was opportunity for stories to be passed on to the next generation. I have read books, scanned original documents, soaked up all I could about how my family came together. But nothing is as compelling as a story told by a grandparent to a grandchild. It’s like real-life time-travel that reaches back decades, centuries even.

I love the idea that this was a first-hand account of how we got here. It connected me with the 1830s in a single statement via an intermediary whose life overlapped – briefly, lovingly – with mine. The concept of overlapping lives gets me thinking about the “reach” of family stories. How far back can first-hand family stories reach? An 11-year old arriving on the First Fleet in 1788 might carry stories of the voyage into their eighties. What are the chances of that person living a long life and eventually being in close proximity to their 11-year-old grandchild – and of that grandchild then living into their nineties?

This sequence of overlapping lives means it was possible for a 93-year-old in say 1947 to have heard (as a kid) a first-hand account of the voyage of the First Fleet. The “reach” of a first-hand account, meaning grandparent to grandchild, in this example is around 160 years.

It depends on the inclination, the geography and the lucidity of the grandparent to tell their stories, and on the curiosity of the grandchild. Although my experience is that curiosity is never a problem when a loved grandparent starts talking gleefully about their youth.

It also requires both generations to be in the same place for a period of time. And it requires unbroken familial relationships. Overlapping lives is a game of chance. I can only imagine the pain of those who lose connection with their heritage, with the past via grandparents whose lives are cut short for whatever reason.

For the disinclined, such stories are little more than ramblings. But for those of us who are curious about our heritage and who want to ensure that the stories of Australia and of its people are carried on, the concept of overlapping lives is utterly compelling.

My message to kids is to speak up: ask grandparents whatever you want to know. And to grandparents: your job is to instil endless wonder, curiosity and awe in your stories.