Tag Archives: migrant life Australia

Feb 3, 2026 · 11:16 am

a photograph tucked in a letter…

I found this lovely photo of Nanna Francesca’s Sydney cousins and friends tucked in with a letter sent to her in Brisbane in the 1950s. The way news was shared of a new baby and baptism celebration back when it wasn’t common to hop on plane (and who could afford to take time off from work anyway).

In Italy, they’d all mostly lived in the same town, often a short walk from each other’s houses. Now, different situations meant sometimes living vast distances apart in Australia and, plane fares aside, even an interstate phone call was terribly expensive, if you actually had a phone yet.

I can just picture Nanna Francesca finding this letter in the mailbox and opening it while still standing out in the sunshine. Perhaps smiling to see the photo tucked inside. Happiness maybe mixed with a little melancholy at not being able to be there in person.

There’s so much I love about this photo. The togetherness, the joy in creating their own music and a new life held aloft – the baby perhaps the first born of the next generation in this new country. I notice the older generations are not there, they are back in Italy, and so new connections are being created all the time in Australia and held close, friends becoming like relatives too. All the while, holding onto that much-loved and familiar Italian life as well, which the new generations will also come to love. Connections new and old. ❤️🌠

books, libri…

The parties ‘under the house’…

I’ve been ‘hunkered down’ working on the next book but so you still know I’m here, 😊 I thought I’d delve into the old photo box to see what might be nice to share and this one caught my eye. Mainly because of the wattage in Nanna Francesca’s smile. She looks so happy!

This was taken at one of the parties she and Nonno Anni held under their house in Brunswick Street. There’s something beautiful, and poignant, in how those who migrate forge friendships in the new place where they live. These friends becoming like family too when other relatives are far away on the other side the world.

The area under their house was perfect for a row of trestle tables, mismatched and borrowed chairs, the old, second fridge full of drinks, an old stove to cook the pasta and fry steaks. People brought what they could; home-baked biscuits, bottles of beer, a couple of watermelons, flagons of homemade wine, oranges peeled at the table. And there was always music, singing, even a bit of dancing. It didn’t matter if the food wasn’t fancy, the cement garage floor had oil stains from the car (reversed out for the night) or it was among the stumps under the Queenslander, it’s purely about togetherness and joy.

What’s lovely about the couple hugging in this photo is I remember she was an absolute sweetie and he loved her dearly but was usually pretty formal and not one to muck about like this. I think all those in the photo are gone now and it just makes me want to keep preserving as many of their stories and this lovely era as much as I can. 💙✨

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Tagged as Australian history, how parties used to be, Italian Australian history, Italian Australian migrant history, Italian Australians, Italian migrant life, Italian migrants, Italian-Australian, migrant life, migrant life Australia, parties at home, parties under the house, Queenslander houses

Aug 2, 2022 · 11:48 am

Inklings of the past…

Bisnonna Francesca… a companion post to the previous on Bisnonno Domenico. Likewise, I didn’t get to meet her yet each photo has a little to reveal and brings the past somewhat closer in that moment. A rare photo, circa 1930 (bottom right) shows Francesca in Palmi, Calabria with her mother, Soccorsa, the baker and her daughter (Nanna Francesca). The three who lived together for years after Domenico was in Australia. And then (top left), just Francesca and her daughter, soon to leave to join him in 1934. She and her mother had worked hard to help raise the ship fares, determined as she was to be reunited.

I long for a photo of Francesca in her Applethorpe kitchen, cooking at the wood-fired stove, but sadly there are none. Often, I find her standing a little way behind in photos or to the side so it’s nice to see her front and centre (top right) with family and friends happy at harvest time.

For, by the photo of her and Domenico, it wasn’t long before he died, she becoming a widow at only forty-six. Sadly, their orchards were sold and she moved to her own house in the city – Teneriffe, Brisbane (bottom centre) but missed the farm and her life in Stanthorpe. At a picnic day with friends and family (top centre), still wearing her dark, mourning clothes, again Francesca stands to the back, as in many photos. Dad told me she remained heartbroken at losing Domenico and it truly must have affected her heart for she died just over a couple of years later, aged only 50.

My truly favourite photo of her is one of happiness (centre). She stands in her orchards and it seems light is falling upon her. To me, what’s most beautiful is her bare feet. My great-uncle, Vincenzo tells me his mum was always walking barefoot in the orchards and I love this so much. Her feet on the ground, feeling the earth. For someone who worked her entire life from a very young age and with no holidays, thankfully it seems there were these small moments of beauty in the everyday. 💛

Companion post –
Clues in black and white… Domenico

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Tagged as Applethorpe history, Australian migrant history, family history, first generation migrants, growing up Italian Australian, half Australian half Italian, Italian family stories, Italian history Stanthorpe, Italian migrant family life, Italian migrant history, Italian migrant history Queensland, Italian migrant photographs, Italian migrant stories, Italians Australia, Italians Queensland, migrant life Australia, old houses Teneriffe Brisbane, old photographs, Stanthorpe Italian stories, walking barefoot, women migrants, women’s stories

Jul 21, 2022 · 5:09 pm

Clues in black and white…

When writing of the past, two of the most valuable things I can hope for are handed-down spoken stories and photographs. I never knew my bisnonno, Domenico yet each photo can say so much…

In his work clothes (top left), one knee patched, behind him his Applethorpe orchards on land he’d hand-cleared, long before he could afford the horse.

Below, just a teenager in his navy uniform, this studio portrait in Palmi at the time of WWI. (For most of his life a cigarette never far from his hand – he smoked Capstans).

Other photos reveal the camaraderie of the migrant men in Australia. Their evident love of music and dance in those rare times they weren’t working and could get together, Domenico often asked to play his guitar. Bonds built up in the years they’d been compelled to be apart from family in Italy, and now reunited with wives and children, WW2 over, the future promising.

In the centre photo, Domenico stands between two fellows, well-dressed, behind them the truck he’d bought – that sign of success for many. By this time he owned the farm, had his wife and three children near, a first grandchild. It must be one of the last photos of him. Domenico only lived to be fifty-three but by then, the risk he’d taken in emigrating to Australia with so little, knowing he could never again see his parents and relatives back in Italy, had set up a future for ongoing generations of his descendants. It never fails to impress me what these first generations of migrants accomplished.

Companion post –
Inklings of the past… Francesca

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