Jessie Grant

JESSIE SHERRIFF - nee GRANT

1832 — 1915

The sun streaming in the large bay window of the tall, two-storeyed house in Heriot Row, Dunedin, fell upon a rather tired old lady sitting idly in her rocking chair, a footstool at her feet. She was dressed in black, after the fashion of the times, its sombreness relieved by a ponderous silver brooch and a narrow edging of white lace round the neck of the neat bodice which fitted over the long, full skirt. Her hair, grown thin and greying, was drawn rather severely down from each side of its centre parting to a knot at the back fastened with hairpins. Over her head she wore ă black crochet draping with long black ribbon ties falling loosely on to her bosom. Her steady blue eyes were getting rather dim now for she had seen 83 summers.

This house was built on one of the steep hills overlooking the city of Dunedin, and she never tired of the widespread view. Today, as she listlessly fingered her plain gold wedding ring, her mind slipped back some 46 years and she saw again the Dunedin of 1868 when she had first arrived in the country. Where now was a prosperous city with sturdy stone University buildings and schools, churches with tall, slender spires, fine shops and attractive homes and gardens spreading over the many hills, there had been only bush and swamp, scattered houses and horse drawn vehicles and she marvelled at the change and development. But as she mused the scene faded, the familiar household sounds about her quietened and her thoughts flew over the seas and over the years to Scotland, the land of her birth; to a small town of steep streets and grey houses in Perthshire – to Blairgowrie. How she loved the sound of that word, and she smiled gently to herself as she remembered its meaning. “The City of Goats”. Still another mile to the little village of Rosemount and here was the home of the Grants. Suddenly she was a girl again -a Grant – “Jessie Grant.” She was with her “ain folk” and she felt a warm glow of pride as she thought of the great Clan Grant to which she belonged. There were all her own family — she could see them gathered round the great dining table - her hard-working father, striving always to wrest a living from the land, presiding at the head; her Mother at the foot keeping a watchful eye on her lively family. It was as well the Mother could not see into the future, for of her eight children, one son remained in Scotland, another ventured forth to serve in the Crimean War, while the remaining four sons and two daughters were to obey an urge and sail thousands of miles across the oceans to found homes in a new land of which she knew practically nothing. She would have grieved deeply, too, had she known that her husband, lonely after her death which had possibly been hastened by the anguish of so many farewells, eventually followed his sons and daughters and was laid to rest in that far country. This had been a busy home – six days of the week there had been the usual bustle and commotion of a large family, but on the Sabbath quiet reigned, and in so far as was possible, all work ceased. The day was spent quietly at home and at church. Jessie could still remember those interminable sermons, when to sit still for hours on end was almost unendurable. But the faith that was instilled into their very beings at this early stage stood by them all their lives, and carried them successfully through many vicissitudes.

Jessie's mind was wandering. She could see the countryside over which she had loved to roam as a girl; into Blairgowrie and over the River to the village of Rattray. Then came flooding back to her memory stories she had heard of the romantic mansion of Craighall built high on cliffs, its many balconies and windows commanding a magnificent view over the surrounding countryside. This old house had caught the imagination of Sir Walter Scott to such an extent that he had used it in part, in his description of Tullyveolan Castle in “Waverley”.

And then she thought of that beautiful stretch of road out to Dunkeld, along which had come the young Edinburgh born David Sherriff. She had later married David and gone to live in the Scottish capital. As she had grown older she had been stirred to wonder about far away places, and so it was no surprise when her brothers, growing restless in the narrow confines in which they were compelled to live, had looked across the seas to another land where they might put their ideals and enthusiasms and capacity for hard work to more satisfying use. After long and anxious thoughts they had decided to go to New Zealand. First Peter, followed later by William, John, David, Ellen and Jessie herself at varying intervals. As the years passed, occasional letters from her brothers all now established in the Otago Settlements urged her to come out with her husband and little family of three – David, aged six, Charles, four, and Jessie, two. David, her husband, too, was restless, for his brothers had likewise left the Old Country, one going to South Africa and another to America. Eventually the decision to leave Scotland was taken. Great preparations began, cases and trunks filled with china, crystal, tools ,books, clothing and in fact all their treasured possessions, were nailed down and labelled. Arrangements were finalised, and on the 16th May, 1868, they embarked on the 800 ton sailing ship, the “Helenslee” at Glasgow, arriving at the Otago Heads after 97 days, a "pleasant voyage" so the report in the “Otago Daily Times” had stated.

Jessie remembered even after these many years that the little ship had received a severe buffeting from the strong winds encountered in the Channel, not a very propitious beginning. Soon, however, there had been delightful days of unclouded sunshine when the stiff sea breezes whipped colour into the faces of her children; there was the trying heat of the tropics. making their sleeping quarters almost unendurable. She could still see in her mind's eye the vivid sunsets, and her first sight of the Southern Cross, Scotland had seemed very far away that night. There were terrifying storms during which the “Helenslee" had shipped large quantities of water, which flooded the decks, stove in the boats, and carried away portions of her starboard bulwarks. After those storms they had given prayers of thankfulness for a safe deliverance from danger. There were, too, the weird “boat" noises to which they had to get accustomed, as well as the close and inescapable proximity of the passengers with their complexity of natures and personalities. They had all grieved when a tiny seven-month baby had died, but on the whole there had been little sickness on board. And so the weeks passed. Then came the day when the cloud ahead took substance and the cry swept round the ship “Land ahead”. All was excitement as the passengers crowded the decks, eager for a glimpse of this new country that was to be their future home. Then they hurried below to sort out and pack their belongings ready for the arrival.

As the man David gazed at the bush clad hills of Otago Harbour, he silently prayed that he would soon be able to found a home for his young wife and family. Jessie, at his side, her eyes sparkling with excitement, was resolved that she would not be found wanting. The boys, David and Charlie, grown taller on the voyage, stood silently by, awed by the dark gloom of the hills, while little Jessie clutched her mother's hand, too young to understand anything of the new experiences awaiting them. Before long the settlement revealed itself – the long, low barracks, the cluster of buildings along the foreshore, and the many houses spreading up the hillsides. In the last few years, owing to the Gold Rush, Dunedin's population had increased from 2,000 to nearly 10,000.

She recalled how exhilarating it had been to walk the streets of Dunedin, rough though they were, and to explore the town, much of it still swamp and bush. Jessie could still remember the cutting August wind and she had drawn her shawl tighter round her shoulders and tied her little bonnet more firmly under her chin. They had been keen to be on their way to Outram where they hoped to settle, so arrangements for the coach trip were quickly made and once the ship was unloaded and their baggage and bundles gathered together, they were rattling over the hills and across the Taieri Plain to the home of Peter now settled at his farm “Gowrie”. That had been a happy reunion helping greatly to ease the hours of homesickness. Her brothers had been avid for news of Scotland and she and David keen to hear of life in this new land.

From the outset she had loved this strange country – the wind-swept Taieri Plain, the near-by bush clad mountains and the rushing Taieri River which at first had been something of a disappointment, its waters once clear as crystal now a dirty, muddy colour due to the gold workings in Otago Central. It was, however, the comradeship that existed amongst the settlers that endeared her to the place. All families were known to each other, griefs and joys were shared by friends and neighbours and always there was a helping hand in times of adversity and anxiety. Indeed, in later years, when the sons and daughters of these early settlers would meet in distant towns and cities, the conversation would range for hours over their childhood memories and deep interest would be shown in the well-being of such old families as the Borries, Snows, Wyllies, Buchanans, Chisholms, Rutherfords, and the Grants of Gowrie and of Clairinch, etc. And they would discuss the fine old Doctors who, in all weathers, would tramp the hills or ride their buggies or horses to attend the settlers in times of sickness, and the Ministers who had led them, and the schoolmasters who had taught them.

David, of course, was anxious to get his family settled in a home and himself started in business. Much discussion followed as to the suitability of settling in Outram, a small town on the banks of the river. Earlier in the year there had been a disastrous flood with loss of life, most of the townspeople had been flooded out and many precious possessions ruined. However, the decision to remain in the town was taken, and David bought a shoe store with house combined. He took a great pride in his workmanship, worked long hours and was held in high regard in the town. There was little transport in those days, the roads were rough, muddy and often flooded, so footwear for men, women and children, had necessarily to be strong and well made. He knew the agony of the ill fitting boot on the long tramps the settlers were compelled to make and, in his way, he tried to ease the burden of his fellow men.

There was a house attached to the shop – the “front” room and a bedroom faced the street, with further bedrooms off the long passage which ran the length of the house ending in the large kitchen, the hub of the home in those days. A large piece of ground surrounded the building and David soon had it laid out with beds of vegetables, flowers and fruit trees. Jessie quickly had her belongings unpacked and with the advent of furniture, had her home warm and cheerful for her little family, for it can be very cold indeed on the Taieri Plain. Both David and Jessie were very quiet living people. To Jessie her family was her life. They took little part in the concerns of the community, yet were always interested in the town's activities. Their Church, the West Taieri Church, was close to their hearts, and they gave to their family a firm Christian upbringing. Every Sunday saw them all in the family pew, and she could still see her David, as was the procedure in those days, standing through the prayers, his head bowed reverently. She smiled a little to herself as she recalled that if David “no agreed wi' the Minister's sermon” ... he let it be known.

David at this time was well built, broad shouldered, with thick wavy hair brushed out on the sides. He was clean shaven, but as the years progressed, he followed the fashions of the day and grew side whiskers. He was very fond of snuff and always wore a little silver snuff box attached to a silver chain, which also carried the keys to his watch.

And so the years passed – three more sons were added to the family, William, Robert and James, better known as Bill, Bob and Jim. The boys grew and all had their chores, chopping the wood, coaxing the kitchen range with the bellows to make the morning "parritch”, then the rush to school. They had a large and well kept garden in the centre of which was a fine, wide spreading apricot tree. In the summer there were gooseberries and red, white and black currants to be pulled and cleaned and in fact, Jim, in later years, steadfastly refused to eat a gooseberry having, as he said, cleaned and eaten so many in his young days. She remembered, too, David's love of roses, and how his rose garden, with its tiny hedge of boxwood, had been widely known and admired.

Her brothers had all scattered – John was farming down near Balclutha at Waitapeka, David was in Taranaki, while Peter and William were near Outram on their farms, “Gowrie” and “Clairinch”. As a result their sons and daughters were frequent visitors at “Aunt Sherriffs”, as she was known. Sometimes it would be a hungry lad on his way home from school wanting a "piece” to help him along, in those days “bread and jam.” She, too, would often visit “Clairinch” and she recalled her fright on a visit to her niece Margaret at “Balmoral” when a spent bullet from a careless shooter on the hillside nearby shattered the window by which she sat.

Suddenly she shivered, remembering the day their home had been burned to the ground. The fire had started in the neighbour's house, and there had been no hope of saving anything. It had been a grievous loss but her eldest son and daughter, David and Jessie, had helped them rebuild.

Her boys and girl had all done well at the Outram School – Jessie had been “dux” and the boys had won prizes from time to time. Three of the boys, David, Charlie and Jim, had been very fond of music, and many were the sing-songs they had had in their home. Charlie, in particular, had been gifted with a magnificent voice and could be heard “half a mile away”. He also loved to play the cornet. Bill was the actor and comedian of the family, and throughout their lives they all carried a great love of Scottish music. And now she sighed as she thought of the day when, after a painful and lingering illness, Charlie, at the age of 21, had passed away, his glorious rich voice stilled forever.

David, the eldest son, had trained as a carpenter and then gone to Australia in search of work. He had been joined by Betsy Ann Myles, his fiancee, and they were married in Melbourne, and here two of their three children were born. Eventually David had come back to Dunedin and become a teacher of Art at the Otago Boys' High School and of Woodwork at the Dunedin Technical College, buying this fine home in Heriot Row. She remembered with what joy she had greeted her first grandson David, usually called Dugald, and her first granddaughter, Jessie, on their return to New Zealand.

Had she been able to look down the years she would have been with pride that one of Dugald's sons and her great-grandson, Ernest China Sherriff, had decided on a teaching career and had passed through the Dunedin Teachers' Training College and the Otago University, and the addition been a keen Youth Worker in the Presbyterian Church. The Second World War was at this time raging and at the age of 22 he joined the Fleet Air Arm being sent to Canada where he served with distinction and gained the rank of Sub-Lieutenant (A). He was then posted to the United Kingdom. Then she would have grieved deeply that this fine, handsome lad at the age of 25 had met his untimely death just prior to being posted abroad, and was buried in Roseneath Cemetery, Invergordon, Scotland, not so very many miles from her own town of Blairgowrie.

She thought now of her daughter Jessie, who had grown up into a handsome girl, gifted at dressmaking. She had been very attached to her parents and her brothers and had remained in the home until she married. She was devoted to her Church and taught in the Sunday School for many years.

The spirit of adventure which had brought the parents over the ocean to New Zealand in turn took back the third son, Bill, to England, where he found work as an engineer in a large nursery garden, and married an English girl. Although he never saw his family again, he kept in constant touch with them all and was delighted to welcome to his home in later years several of his nieces and nephews. Fortunately Jessie was never to know that he was burned to death in tragic circumstances.

Bob wandered from the home in search of work – first to nearby farms, and here she drew in her breath as she remembered that he, or was it Bill – after the lapse of so many years she couldn't be quite sure – had saved Jessie Wyllie from being gored to death by a heifer of which she had made a pet. Later he moved on to the West Coast where he married. He was now employed on the N.Z. Railways, and was eventually transferred to Palmerston North where he finally settled.

Jim, the youngest, went from his home in Outram to Invercargill and Dunedin to work and study for Accountancy, coming home frequently at week-ends and always, Jessie, his Mother, had been at the door waiting to welcome him – a memory he carried with him always. He had a love of “parritch”, of oatcakes, of"plum duff”, girdle scones and “raisin bun”, the heavier the better,” all surely cultivated in his early home life. He would tell, too, of the haggis which his Mother used to make. He loved to buy sweets for his family, and then make up a “poke of sweets” for each child. Another quaint custom from a Scottish home. His love of his Church was the mainstay of his life which was spent in the service of others. His home in Auckland was always filled with music, especially Scottish music, surely encouraged and developed in his home in Outram. Birthdays he always gaiety and happiness for him. insisted on celebrating and Christmas and New Year were always a time of gaiety and happiness for him. The great grief of his life was the loss of his only son, Alan Grant Sherriff as Prisoner of War at the hands of the Japanese. Alan had been on the staff of the New Zealand Insurance Co. and been transferred to Singapore. When the Japs invaded that island he was taken prisoner and kept at Changi Camp in Singapore and later moved to Kuching in Borneo. Towards the end of the Jap war he was sent to Labuan Island where he died in 1944. This tragedy saddened the last years of his Father's life.

It seemed strange that although all Jessie's brothers who had come to New Zealand had settled on the land, none of her sons had followed suit. Inherent in them all, though, was the love of flowers. Jessie, the daughter, had married a farmer, and always, despite the demands of a large family and a busy farm life, had a garden her children love to remember. Bill worked amongst plants and grape vines, Bob owned a large and productive orchard, worked only in his spare time, while Jim had a deep and abiding love of roses, and when buttonholes were in fashion, always wore a rose on Sundays.

The thought of the roses lingered in her memory, then she stirred and slowly returned to the present – a tired old lady. She gave a sigh and opened her eyes, to find her beloved daughter-in-law Bessie, wife of her eldest son David, gently wrapping a rug around her knees. Her knitting needles had slipped to the floor and as Bessie picked them up, Jessie wondered if she would ever have the strength to finish that sock for Bob. He much preferred her hand-knitted sox and so her needles were seldom empty. Wearily she smiled at Bessie who had lovingly cared for her these past ten years since her David had been laid to rest. Yes, she pondered, she had come far in her lifetime. She and David had crossed the seas and had brought up a family in a new land, taught them a Way of Life to which they all quietly adhered, and made it possible for her grandchildren to live in comfort and with luxuries by them undreamed. David had been to her a loving and steadfast husband and an upright and devoted Father to his family, and the memory of Jessie and David lingered on in the hearts of their daughter and their sons all their days.

And now, Jessie and David, we, the grandchildren and great-grandchildren, regret that we never knew you. From this distance we look back in pride and admiration at your courage, in thankfulness for your Faith, and in gratitude for the opportunities you have made possible for us, and hope that each of us, in our own particular way, is worthy of you.