Published by Melbourne Books
Level 9, 100 Collins Street,
Melbourne, VIC 3000
Australia
Copyright © Dolores San Miguel 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publishers.
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication entry
Creator: San Miguel, Dolores.
Title: The Secret Love Letters : A Family History.
eISBN: 9781922129642 (ebook)
Subjects: San Miguel, Dolores—Family.
Johnston, Fay—Correspondence.
Love-letters.
Courtship.
Families.
Immigrants—Australia—Biography.
Melbourne (Vic.)—Social life and customs—
20th century.
Dewey Number: 920.72
www.facebook.com/TheSecretLoveLettersBook
Digital Distribution: Ebook Alchemy
Conversion by Winking Billy
This book is dedicated to my Mother and Father, my daughters Hayley and Charlotte, and my Grandparents, Antonio and Rebecca San Miguel, and William and Annie Johnston.
Acknowledgments
Once again thanks to my wonderful publisher, David Tenenbaum, for letting me tell yet another true life story. My daughter, Charlotte Callander, for a brilliant job as editor. My loyal assistant, Josephine Simmons, who has been by my side right from the start of researching this book, I would have been lost without her help! Her incredible job putting together the Family Tree on Ancestry.com, a long and arduous task!
My eldest daughter, Hayley Callander, for her support and encouragement, my good friend, Debbie Nankervis, who put me up in Sydney, and was with me as we traipsed around the city on my research there.
I also thank Jennifer Elder, from the Box Hill Historical Society, who put me in touch with my cousin in Queensland, Annette Blight (nee San Miguel). Sue Barnett, of the Surry Hills Historical Society, who has solved a few mysteries for me and been very supportive. Juris and Ilona Briedis, current owners of St. Abbs, they graciously showed Josephine and me through their beautiful home. Ann Simpson, former owner of Hartland, in Elmie St. Hawthorn. Thanks to Peter Rhoden, of Xavier College, and Julianne Barlow, of Genazzano Convent, for their patience and help.
Maudie Palmer, current owner of Green Ivies, for allowing my cousins and me, a tour through her delightful home. My nephew, Greg San Miguel, and my sister in-law, Jeanette San Miguel for the photos and some amazing ancient letters.
My ‘new’ cousins on the San Miguel side, Annette Blight, for suppling a bundle of important documents, and her sister, Linda Jane Johnson. David, Chris, and Rodney Allen, for photos and documents of great value and importance. Silvia Vidal Marti, my cousin in Barcelona for her research there.
Thanks to my cousins on the Johnston side, Ron Johnston, for the photos and history he supplied, Phil Johnston, for his support and hospitality over the years, and Jenni Higgins (nee Johnston) for her support. My ‘new’ Johnston cousins, Mary Ellen Webb (formally Beryl Mitchell) and her daughters, Lynden Thiessen and Alison Webb. Without everyone’s help this book would be missing some very important pieces!
I stood looking out of the lounge room window. The rain had finally stopped and small droplets trickled down the glass panes, in rhythm with my tears. Mum and Sister Hill, the kind, elderly nurse who had helped Mum look after my father for the last year or so, waited in the bedroom with Dad. She had been with Mum last Monday when he took another stroke around five-thirty in the afternoon. Dr Wilson was called and recommended Dad be moved to a private nursing home. Mum and Sister Hill tried all night to find one with a vacancy, all to no avail. Finally, a friend of my mother’s with a few connections arranged a bed at Heatherleigh Private Hospital nearby in Hawthorn, for today, Wednesday.
The ambulance pulled into the gravel drive, and I watched the two officers emerge. I knew Dad would never return home and I was overwhelmed with sadness. I had no idea how sick he was while I was away in England for the last two years. Mum had kept it quiet, so as not to ruin my trip. I had arrived back late December of 1973, and Dad was totally blind by then. Today was 6 March 1974, so we’d really only had two months together.
I remembered how excited he was when I rang from Barcelona last year on his birthday, 23 July. I had just arrived back from meeting his relatives in Alella, a little village in the hills on the north coast of Barcelona. It had taken some detective work on my part to find them, as Dad’s memory and recollections of his family had faded after his first stroke. Mum said he had cried with happiness after the call, and had carried the letter I had sent of the events in the pocket of his pyjamas.
From December of 1971 to December of 1973, I lived in London with my boyfriend, Paul Thompson. In the summer of 1973 we bought an old Bedford van and set off for Europe. During our time in Morocco we met an American girl from California who wanted to share petrol expenses and get a lift to Spain. She spoke and wrote fluent Spanish, so I gave her the details about my father and the San Miguels and she wrote it all down in Spanish. When Paul and I arrived in Barcelona, my main aim was to find my Spanish relatives, and as I had no address or name other than San Miguel (the Spanish equivalent of ‘Smith’), it would take a combination of luck and a miracle!
We were staying at a campsite just out of Barcelona. On Monday 23 July, we found our way to the foothills of Alella just as the Bedford van conked out. Paul found a garage nearby but had to wait for the mechanic to arrive, so I set foot along the road to the village of Alella. Two women came out of a house, so I showed them what the American girl had written, gesturing my lack of the language. They read it, spoke to each other, and ushered me into their car where we drove to the village.
We knocked on one door of a family with the name San Miguel, but they were not home. Their neighbours indicated that they would be coming back soon, however, so they gave me a chair to sit on for my wait. I thanked the two women and the neighbours and sat in the sun, admiring the cobbled streets and beautiful old buildings. Very soon the San Miguels returned, but unfortunately they were no relation. The husband had an idea, however, and drove me to another house close by. I was taken up a large, winding staircase where an elderly woman sat, dressed in almost Victoriana attire. She was eighty-eight years old and spoke perfect English, as she had lived in Melbourne fifty years prior. She told me that she had relatives by the name of Carlotta Sands who lived in the Melbourne suburb of Surrey Hills, and who knew the San Miguels. She spoke in Spanish to my driver and explained that he would be taking