Page 84: Letter from Clara

Page 84: Letter from Clara

Sorry I haven’t posted for a while, it has been very busy lately. This is an exciting entry because it reveals key clues from which I have been able to find out the identity of the diary writer.

Between pages 83 and 84 I found a letter folded up. It is basically a poem, along with some writing that has been scribbled out. I can't make out what has been scribbled out, but I do wonder who scribbled it out (the writer or the sender), and why.

The letter is from someone named Clara to someone named Lin. I assume that the letter was recieved by Lin and that as the letter was found in her diary she was the author of the diary. This means that Clara was the not the author of the diary, which is a pretty safe bet because the handwriting is different.

The letter in itself wouldn't be very helpful, but with the diary it is a vital clue.

Several posts ago we looked at a loose piece of paper that was on page 73. It was a wedding acceptance. To see it again blown up big click here. As you can see it contains a surname (Boultbee) which we decided was the surname of the author of the diary. This was supported by the name on the front cover of the diary (click here). Up until now I haven't been able to make out the initials on the front cover but I now believe that they are L.J. which stands for Lina Jane.

After several searches, I googled Clara+Boultbee which opened up a massive can of worms for me leading to me finding several helpful websites including this family tree. On it I found several things including two sisters named Lina Jane Boultbee and Clara Boultbee. I am 100 percent sure that the diary belonged to Lina Jane and that she was the one writing in it. I will continue to research Lina but here is a little bit of what I found today-

Linas father (George Parkyns Boultbee) managed a farm near Swansea, during which time Lina was born in 1863. She had quite a few brothers and sisters. The family lived in Swansea until 1868 when they moved to Table Cape in Wynyard. There, it is believed, George managed a 350-acre farm until his early death in 1877.

Lina was born in 1863. Which means she was 14 when her father died. She did not marry and died in 1952 at the age of 89. She is buried at the Wivenhoe cemetry. It appears from the electoral rolls that she moved around a little but not very much and she basically stayed within two electorates her whole adult life.

Here is a photo of Lina Jane Boultbee-


Putting a face and name to the diary gives me a lot more reverence when I hold it, as well as when I read it. Knowing that she lost her father when she was relatively young and that she never married in an era when marraige was seen as something women aspired to makes me wonder how these experiences informed her diary writing. Particularly certain poems she includes, like this one: Standing Alone. I hope she had a happy life.

Stay tuned to this blog because I will provide a lot more research later. We can now safely say that Lina did not live in Launceston as previously thought, though she may have travelled back and forward a little. I found one family tree that included both her name and my own name. Having a name will open up a lot of information, if you find any let me know by commenting.

It is amazing how this tiny little letter opened up a lot more information.

Here is what was written-

Page 84: Letter from Clara transcribed

For dear Lin with Claras love

(there is something scribbled I can't make out)

If I had known

If I had known in the morning,
How wearily all the day,
The words unkind would trouble my mind,
That I said when you went away,
I had been more careful darling,
Nor given you needless pain,
But we vex our own with look and tone,
We may never take back again.

For though in the quiet evening,
You may give me the kiss of peace,
Yet it well might be that never for me,
The pain of the heart should cease,
How many go forth at morning,
Who never come home at night,
And hearts have broken for harsh words spoken,
That sorrow can ne'er set right,

We have careful thought for the stranger,
And smiles for the sometimes guest,
But oft for "our own" the bitter tone,
Though we love our own the best,
Ah! lips with the curve impatient,
Ah! how with the shade of scorn,
'Twere a cruel fate, were the night too late,
To undo the work of the morn.