Cuddled up, snuggling  in bed at my Devitt grandparents’ house in North Caulfield, dawn would be beginning to break when I would hear my grandfather gently waking me up, bringing me a cup of tea with two milk arrowroot biscuits to greet the day.  How I loved to see him; how I enjoyed the safety of my grandparents home and loved their ritual of regular cups of tea with Milk Arrowroot biscuits.

Some years later, cuddled up, snuggling in bed at my uncle Lex Devitt’s unlined house on Tiger Hill, I would wake to hear him, cheerful always in the morning, boisterously crushing paper to light the open fire.  An antique iron urn with tap, water still warm from last night’s embers, sat on an old piece of railway line which doubled as a fender and hotplate.  For many years I’d wake hearing my uncle lighting the fire, though the electricity was eventually connected and the sound of a boiling electric kettle replaced the urn boiling on the hub.  A biscuit barrel full of Milk Arrowroot always had pride of place on his the kitchen table, occasionally mixed with equally enjoyed Arnotts Teddy Bear biscuits ‘for a change’.   My uncle would loudly and happily exclaim ‘Rise and Shine’ as he brought us our cups of tea with Milk Arrowroot biscuits.
 
My Grandfather and Uncle were clearly ‘morning people’.  Cheerful and ready to meet the day, they enjoyed the ritual of preparing a treat with which to wake up their family, leaving special memories to be cherished over time.

The Milk Arrowroot biscuits weren’t only an early morning treat, they featured at afternoon tea and supper, whenever we had a cup of tea and cakes weren’t available.  This was often – we weren’t really a ‘cakey’ family.  I wonder now whether the  experience of the Depression and the need to make ends meet meant that the ritual partaking of Milk Arrowroot biscuits became an inexpensive way to have a treat! 

My sister, who takes a while to wake up and loves to snuggle up in bed before greeting a busy day, is blessed to have a loving husband who always wakes up early and brings her one, if not two, cups of tea in bed, often with Milk Arrowroot biscuits, each morning.  What a treat, and what a joy to have a husband happy to carry on the family tradition.

I can never go past the biscuit shelves at the supermarket without thinking of my grandparents, uncle, and also my mother, whose shopping lists always included ‘Milk Arrowroot biscuits’, with the occasional change to ‘Nice’ or ‘Malted Milk’.  A deep sleeper who often took time to wake up, my sister and I would take turns in giving our mother a cup of tea in the mornings, letting her know the time as we gently tried to rouse her.  Always with a couple of Milk Arrowroot biscuits, of course!

Interestingly, when telling my sister recently that I thought perhaps I’d write about our family ritual of sharing cups of tea  accompanied by Milk Arrowroot biscuits, she shared her own memory of our grandmother suggesting she try the customary practice of introducing a milk arrowroot softened with milk to her daughter when she was making the transition to solid foods. 
Perhaps this is when we become addicted to the delightful if dubious practice of dunking Milk Arrowroot biscuits! 
 
Throughout my life a particularly deep and meaningful question has always arisen when having Milk Arrowroot biscuits with a cup of tea in public – to dunk or not to dunk!  Our family across generations has been one which accepted and thoroughly enjoyed the ritual of dunking.  We were, however, advised and well aware that we were not to dunk our biscuits when out in public!

I became impossibly sad recently at the thought that, as a 70+ year old spinster without children,  it is quite unlikely anyone will bring me a cup of tea with milk arrowroot biscuits to waken me when I am snuggling up in bed ever again.  It certainly hasn’t happened for a long time.  The last time was possibly in 2009 when my then 96 year old mother wheeled a cup of tea and two Milk Arrowroot biscuits balanced on the seat of her wheely walker into my bedroom at her unit, greeting me warmly to welcome the day.  It is a very special memory of her I will always treasure.

Many of the beloved human beings who shared the ritual drinking and dunking of Milk Arrowroot biscuits with me over time have passed on.  These days, the closest I get to being on the receiving end of a similar ritual is, when in hospital, I hear a tea trolley in the corridor and not long after am courteously asked, ‘Madam, would you like a biscuit with your cup of tea?’
 
Beverley Lee
2018-2019
(Prepared for 'Family Ritual' initially, then presented for another session drawing on items from our Ideas Piggy Bank, in this case imagine two Milk Arrowroot biscuits!)

When my sister speaks about researching our maternal grandmother’s 'Hooper' side of our family tree, she often mentions finding that the oral history stories our mother remembered were nearly always right on track. 

This possibility has been put to the test during my search for my paternal 'Lee/McCann' ancestors and the 'Devitt' arm of my maternal 'Devitt Hooper' line.  

You see, I thought I was from English and Scottish origins, with an Irish ancestor or two.  It has turned out, discovering more about my great grandparents and great great grandparents generations, that I am much more Irish than I thought.  My great grandfathers, Anthony Lee and Bernard McCann, John Edward Devitt, were all born in Ireland, as were my McCann (Kelly)  and Devitt (possibly Rourke) great grandmothers; and going back a further generation, ten of my sixteen great great grandparents were born in Ireland, two in Scotland, and only four in England.  

This led me to ponder a little about the depth of the Irish connection, to think about whether it has influenced me, if there has been some evidence of it in my own life.  If my father's grandparents were largely Irish, perhaps there will be some, however small, which might suggest this.

I've come up with one or two  thoughts which might be related - the first is that on the wall above our kitchen table when I was young was a framed illustrated poem which I loved to look at.  The illustration featured a road up to a house on a hill.   It has taken me some time to fully remember, but now I realise, and my brother has thought back to confirm, that it was 'The Irish Blessing'..."May the road rise to meet you, May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, The rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of his hand".   I wonder why it was there, who chose it, and why?  

Then, on St Patrick's Day at the Northo just a few weeks ago, my sister and I were singing along with 'Cockles and Mussels'... you know, 'In Dublin's fair city, where the girls are so pretty'... we looked at one another, quietly knowingly, as we recognized simultaneously that when we were little we would sit at the kitchen table after meals, singing this song with our father, who had taught it to us. 

A few days later I was telling this to my father's 90 year old Scottish born cousin Bill, who now lives in a nursing home setting in Vancouver, at which he laughed and said, that is strange, it was the song he had chosen to sing with his carer just that day.   Bill’s grandfather was my great grandfather – Anthony Lee,  born in Ireland, first appearing in the Scottish census in 1871 as a 12 year old soap maker after the family had migrated from County Roscommon in Ireland.  

I can remember that my mother saying that the Devitt's sailed to Liverpool from Dublin before settling in Newcastle on Tyne.  Indeed, it seems that my maternal great great grandparents did migrate to England from Ireland in the late 1840's early 1850's (the Irish famine migrations), that my great grandfather was born in Manchester in 1858 before the family moved to Newcastle on Tyne.  Perhaps that is why I've always loved the song 'The Rocky Road to Dublin' which describes the journey to Dublin and on to Liverpool  

So, sometimes it seems it is the family story, or the rather odd family tradition, the seemingly out of place artefact, which can add value to the search for meaning during a family history journey.

'Alive, alive oh... Alive, alive oh, singing cockels and mussels... '

Bev Lee
​April 9 2018