FLORENCE YOUNG
Florence Young, my great-grandmother's sister (on my mother's side) was born in a gabled house in the little village of Motueka, near Nelson, New Zealand, on October 10th, 1856. Three years later, father Henry Young, third son of Sir Samuel Young, of "Formosa", near Cookham, England, sold his sheep-run in New Zealand's province of Canterbury, and returned home with his family.
As a young woman with strong Christian convictions, Florence felt called to the mission field, and set out on what would become a remarkable life journey. She left England in February 1889, en route for Australia, stopping off in India on the way and having all sorts of adventures, including being entertained by a young Rajah. In her book, Pearls from the Pacific, she described the scene:
"Immense rose trees, carrying thousands of blossoms, shady trees, and lawns kept in perfect order by an army of gardeners. The stables, too, with about forty beautiful horses, were a sight. The young Rajah's palace was furnished with oriental splendour, but it was amusing to see the slates and globes and schoolbooks in his study. And in the Rajah's bedroom on the floor, beside a gorgeous bedstead with rich silken hangings, was spread the duvet upon which he
really lay.
He was then sixteen years of age, and weighed sixteen stone. So he was encouraged to take much exercise, including tennis, and early morning rides. A boar hunt was arranged for my benefit. We drove at daylight a few miles in a four-in-hand drag to the rendezvous. Here eight elephants with shooting howdahs awaited us. We each had a native servant seated behind us to load the guns. I didn't shoot, though. About fifty native troopers with magnificent horses and accoutrements formed a long line, and circled round to beat up the game. It was a sight not easily forgotten."
Florence Young, photographed soon
after her arrival in China
Arriving in Queensland, Australia, where family members were pioneer sugar cane planters near Bundaberg, Florence soon was on her way again, this time to China. As a young missionary, she visited many places, including Shanghai. She was there when the Boxer Rebellion erupted in 1900. She wrote to my great-grandmother:
" . . . Rumours and threats are flying about. We go to bed each night with everything prepared for sudden flight. We have a ladder by the wall, and a few clothes entrusted to a friend of Siu-Li; but we are so hemmed in, that it is impossible to do anything secretly in China. . . If we are attacked, everything must go. I cannot write more now; and perhaps it is as well. . . Poor China ! The people are full of fears and Iying reports. If it is so here, so far from the scene of real conflict, how terrible it must be in North China."
It must have been very frightening for foreigners amid this sudden outburst of xenophobia. "The Empress' infamous Edict was pasted up in the street at An-ren, and many excited comments and discussions were overheard. Some one suggested that our new house would not be easily burnt. 'Oh, there will be no difficulty about that if every one brings a bundle of brushwood and some kerosene,' was the reply, 'It will burn all right.' Another time they were discussing the best method of dealing with the foreigners. 'We will take care,' they said, 'to shut the city gates, so that they cannot escape. The best thing to do will be to "shai" them,' (i.e., expose to the scorching sun). An unfortunate Roman Catholic priest had twelve months earlier received this treatment at Ing-t'eng, and nearly died from ill-usage."
After China, undaunted, Florence established a mission in the Solomon Islands, specifically because of her family's experiences with the indentured kanaka labour on the sugar plantations. Many family members, Youngs and Decks both, joined her and some paid dearly, thanks to Blackwater Fever. But the mission was established and a vessel "The Evangel" was purchased.
Schoolhouse at Wanoni, Solomon Islands
" ..a beautiful breeze, and soon we were spinning along, to reach a safe anchorage in the Passage at 4.45 p.m. With what joy and deep thankfulness we praised God, and sang together...Next day we sailed with a fair wind at last through the beautiful Maramasike Passage. The first part is very narrow, with precipitous hills on either side clothed with tropical verdure. Under the trees could be seen flitting from tree to tree the brown, naked forms of the natives, armed with spears, bows and arrows; others were standing on the coral rocks fishing. Further on the Passage widens, and becomes difficult to navigate on account of mud flats....On Saturday afternoon we anchored at Taka-taka (Deep Bay) filled up our water casks, and had a grand wash of our clothes. There was an ominous note on the chart, 'Natives here very treacherous and dangerous.' We were, of course, entirely defenceless; not a single gun on board. At night signals and calls could be heard across the still waters; but no attack was made and we spent a peaceful Sunday."
After China and the Solomons, Florence Young retired to a clifftop residence in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney. I never knew her. She died before I was born.
THE FIRST OF THE FEW
Author Denis Winter's exhaustive research (for a book called Fighter Pilots of the First World War) took him to West Hill Library, Putney, south of London. There he found writings by British war pilots- letters, mostly, to family and friends. In the following extract, a description of a dogfight (by a pilot called Lee) an unknown Begbie materializes from the past, for a final bow. I plan to track him down and name him here. It's the very least I can do.
"We waltzed round one another as if in a vicious, unbreakable circle. First Giles, then Begbie, then a scarlet and black Hun would rush in mad confusion, each sweeping through the stringy mass of tracer bullets, making it curl up as if in a whirlpool . . . It was an awe-inspiring sight of hurtling machines smashing through the sky at one another which developed into a game of snap shooting. There was not time to take aim ... Through the corner of my eye I could see my comrades taking pot shots. Suddenly I spotted a machine commencing to smoke, then burst into flames. I wondered if it was a comrade. It was. I recognized by the marking that it was poor old Begbie. A sudden feeling of sickness overcame me. Fascinated with horror, I momentarily forgot to fight. Poor old Begbie had to leave us without a wave of farewell. I had a final peep at him as I flew nearby. Thank God he looked as if he were dead."
MATTHEW BAILLIE BEGBIE
Matthew (1819-1892) was the grandson of Alexander Begbie (1690-1735) tenant farmer
of Houston Mill Farm and Phantassie Farm, near Begbie Farmhouse. (Alexander was my
great-great-great-great grand- father.) He was the son of Thomas Stirling Begbie
(1782-1872) who served under Wellington during the Peninsula Wars. He attended Guernsey
College and then Cambridge, where he received his BA and MA. He was a commanding
man--6 1/2 feet tall.
At the age of 39, Matthew was offered a judgeship, at 800 Pounds per annum, in faraway British Columbia, Canada. He accepted and arrived there in 1858. British Columbia at that time was a pretty lawless place, much like the "wild west" in the U.S. Begbie soon became the embodiment of law and order; between his arrival from England in 1858 and B.C.'s entrance into Confederation in 1871, he conducted 52 murder trials, handing down a death sentence to 27 of those convicted. He probably didn't deserve it, but he soon became known as "the hanging judge". He was most certainly "the terror of the rowdies"--- and in those faraway goldrush days, there were rowdies a'plenty here. Matthew was a firm believer in the swift, but fair, execution of justice and would sometimes hear cases dressed in his robes while astride a horse. In camp, en route to some mining town, he baked bread and chopped wood and on Sundays would lead hymn singing by the campfire. Hymns, perhaps, and a tot or two besides--one of his first registrars recorded this note after a night spent with Matthew en route to another case. "Glorious fun--- drunk, drunk, drunk."
Knighted for his legal work as Chief Justice in this wild frontier, Matthew Baillie Begbie wrote in his will (in 1894) "I desire no other monument than a wooden cross be erected on my grave..." But desire it or not, a monument exists, and a big one too--- snow-capped Mt Begbie, which overlooks the town of Revelstoke, B.C.
