The Persian Nightingale

By Madelina Forbes Mitchell

Madelina Forbes Mitchell’s memoir is an interesting read that gives an insight into her extraordinary life and the trials endured upon moving to Australia when it was in its infancy. Thinking this opportunity would lead to prosperity, Madelina and husband Fredrick arrived on land in Adelaide with two infant children on the 14th October 1838. Madelina has her fifteenth child Mordaunt Hankey Mitchell in White Hill, Bendigo,Victoria and finds work as an opera singer. Told via a series of vignettes, the reader is given a snapshot of time through the eyes of someone who was a little bit further up the aristocratic ladder than most of whom were sent to the Colony.
The language used is early to the late 1800’s.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Madelina Forbes Mitchell
• Release date: Dec 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310689642

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By Julian Eric Mordaunt Jones, great-great-great grandson of Madelina Forbes Mitchell (nee Smith)

4th March 2014

During my four years of transcribing these writings of Madelina Forbes Mitchell, I went to the State Library of Victoria, St Kilda Council, and the St Kilda Library to do research. I discovered that Madelina had lived at number 13 Dalgety Street in St Kilda. Records show she purchased the property in, or around 1890. It has since been divided into three homes. She lived there with three people: FG Drake, Charles E Gates, and B Hutchinson, MD. It was suggested to me that she was a boarder in the house, but from her writings and the quality of marble at her grave in St Kilda Cemetery, I was certain she had the money to buy her own home. After you read the material in this book and discover the astounding but difficult life she had, you can imagine the joy I felt when I discovered Madelina had the opportunity to live comfortably during her later years, in a home she purchased. What a remarkable woman!

The following was written by my mother, Annie Jones (nee Mitchell), who helped with the editing of this book in the final months of this four-year journey.

In this book, my son, Julian Eric Mordaunt Jones, continued the investigation into our family ancestry that was initially started by my mother, Elva Pearl Mitchell (nee Sharp). During his research, he came upon the grave of his great-great-great grandmother, Madelina Forbes Mitchell (nee Smith) in St Kilda. Ironically, the cemetery in which she is buried is just around the corner from where he was living. Julian was having difficulty finding much information about Madelina, so he went to her grave and asked Madelina to help him.

Three weeks later, much to his surprise, he received an email from a lady with the surname of Keating (nee Smith), saying she had something she believed belonged to him.

Mrs Keating said she had bought an old house, and the previous owner had been a hoarder. Among other artefacts, she found the original, handwritten story of my great-great grandmother, Madelina, and her grandmother, Charlotte Turner Smith, whom my grandfather, Mordaunt Ashfield Mitchell, had told me stories about over and over again as a child and young adult. I loved his stories. However, my siblings accused me of being attentive to his storytelling only because I wanted his money, and my mother said he was just a silly old man making it all up. Then she researched our family history and found out his stories were true. My interest in my grandfather's stories was more than money (I did not get any, anyway). To me, it was, and is, because they are the history of our family.

I loved my grandparents and knew my grandfather would not lie to me. More to the point, he was very proud of his family history. His stories were always consistent. He never made a mistake, and everything he told us has now been proven by finding this treasure — my great-great-grandmother's writings.

I was overcome with emotion reading Madelina's diaries. I laughed and wept for my poor grandmother as I read about the pain and anguish she went through.

Madelina Forbes Mitchell was a participant in the history of Australia in harsh and cruel times, and she endured suffering that is unimaginable to me. She talks of the colonisation of Adelaide in South Australia and the execution of the first criminal there. She relates how her family moved from location to location, including different states, and ultimately ended up in Melbourne.

My son and I feel ever so grateful that her children encouraged her to write her story and that we are fortunate enough to have it back in safe hands, where it belongs.

Annie Jones

Prelude

My great-great-great-grandmother, Madelina Forbes Mitchell, was born 27th February 1813 at Great Thurlow Hall, Suffolk, together with a twin brother. One of the nurses overlayed her brother, causing his death by suffocation at only four months old. I was never able to find the name of Madelina's twin.

Madelina's mother was Anni Petruse (the spelling is rendered as Petroose on an official document I have in my possession). On this document, it says that Anni Petroose was the grand-niece of the King of Persia, Fullah Alli Shan. Her father was Khan Petroose, a Persian Minister. Anni's mother isn't mentioned in the official document.

Nicholas Hankey Smith, the son of Benjamin Smith, was a rich West Indian merchant. His mother was Charlotte Turner Smith, one of the first well-known, published, female authors. Nicholas married Anni Petroose on 13th Aug 1806 in Calcutta, India. Upon moving to India, Nicholas had been named the Persian Ambassador and British Resident in the Persian Gulf commanding presidencies. He died on the15th December 1837 in Suffolk, United Kingdom.

In an effort to find out more information about Madelina, I posted notes and requests on the Internet. I found out that Madelina used to live only blocks from where I live in St Kilda. From my initial research, I discovered that she lived in Dalgety Street, St Kilda, off the famous Grey Street, in a home called 'Taranaki.' I then discovered that she was buried just one block from my home, in the St Kilda Cemetery. I went to her grave and placed colourful flowers on her resting place. I stood there and spoke to her, asking if she could in any way deliver more information about herself to my doorstep. My request was really a last plea, having searched high and low, only to find repetitive details about her life. Just that day, I'd viewed a special on Charlotte Turner Smith (Madelina's grandmother) on YouTube, and left a note on the site asking for guidance.

Shortly thereafter, I received an email from an Annette Keating (nee Smith), in Victoria, Australia. Annette had seen my request on YouTube, and assumed from the wording that I was a relative of Madelina's. It was so exciting to hear from someone who knew of her. Annette said my way of expressing myself sounded like Madelina. Annette also told me that years ago, she was renovating her home with her husband, Craig, and they stumbled upon two pieces of cardboard that had Madelina Forbes Mitchell's autobiography between them. Annette held onto these pages. Some time later, Black Saturday fire threatened their family home. Craig made the decision to fight for his family home and ultimately saved their family treasures and Madelina's Diary.

I am truly grateful for this miracle — that my great-great-great-grandmother wrote in such vivid detail about her life, and that those fragile pages made it to me from the distant past, surviving a house fire in the process. What a gift!

As a descendant of Madelina and a witness to her life in her writing, I feel I have to share her inspirational journey. I feel I have an obligation—because of my love and respect for my ancestors—to publish the story of Madelina's life as an early settler in Australia. She certainly was a progressive woman for her time, and her story inspires the reader as we follow her through the good, the sad, and the humorous.

Madelina's story has most certainly invigorated my mother, Annie Jones (nee Margaret Ann Mitchell; she changed her given name upon marriage), a direct descendant of Madelina, and myself. In reading Madelina's words—stories told over 200 years ago—I see so many of my mother's traits and attributes. It's as if history is repeating itself right down the line from Charlotte, whom, we believe, had congenital osteoarthritis, as did Madelina, my great-grandfather Mordaunt Nicolson Mitchell, and as does my mother.

In what turned out to be the final year of her life, Madelina Forbes Mitchell's children requested she write an autobiography. What follows is that document.

1

Madelina's Story

The opening letter:

To my beloved sons and daughters,

At your request, my dear ones, I have endeavoured to relate a few incidences of my eventful life. All are true. I trust you will read this with both interest and pleasure. As you know, I am a very old woman—within a few months off eighty—and although my hand is now my memory of past events, I thank God, both fresh and good. I have curtailed many circumstances that would otherwise render this narrative far too lengthy and, being my own biographer, it is unavoidably egotistical. However, such as it is, I hope the perusal of it may give you some gratification that will amply repay me for the effort it has cost me in writing it.

Your loving Mother,

Madelina Forbes Mitchell

2

How My Parents Met, and Their Early Life Together

My father was the son of Benjamin Smith, Esq, and his wife, Charlotte, the celebrated authoress whose memoirs have been already published. He was grand-nephew to the well-known and clever minister, Lord North, through whose interest he entered the civil service of India. For a short time previous, he served as a Middy (abbreviation for midshipman) under Lord Chocran (afterwards Lord Dundonald).

He inherited rare abilities from his mother, and a rich vein of humour and will from his grandfather, Mr Turner. While in India, he became acquainted with the Duke of Wellington, then Marquis of Wellesley, and whose friendship he possessed during his life. He always visited my father during the shooting season. I ought to have been a very lucky woman, for this grand, old man often held me on his knee when I was a child. However, it did not tend to my future prosperity.

Soon after my father's arrival in Bombay, he was appointed Ambassador to the court of Persia for being an accomplished linguist: speaking Persian, Arabic, Armenian, Hindi, and other Eastern languages. He was well fitted for the responsibility of such a position. It was here that he first saw my mother (Anni, daughter of Khan [Lord] Petroose and grand-niece to the then King of Persia [Fullah Allah Shah]), whose romantic marriage I must here relate.

Being much at Court, my father learnt of the intention of placing my mother in the Harem - a thing of horror and dread to all handsome Persian girls. My father—who by chance saw her on a balcony and fell in love with her—knew that by the laws of Persia, the men of that country dare not touch an Englishman's wife. He waited on her father, proposed to marry his daughter, and was accepted.

At a certain hour, she was brought into the presence of her parents, her future husband, and the priest, attended by her maidens. Her face was covered by three veils, the first of which was lifted at the commencement of the ceremony; the second when the ring was placed on her finger (an emerald of great value now in my possession, left to my eldest son, William, at her death); and the third when the service was concluded. She was but thirteen years of age. The marriage was legalised a second time by an American priest and lastly in Bombay by an English clergyman. So great was the regard of the King for my father that upon leaving Persia, he took the shawl worn around his waist and presented it to him as a token of his esteem and friendship. This shawl, a crimson one, is nine yards in length, I have kept as an heirloom for my family. It is so fine it will pass through a finger ring. My father then proceeded to Seynd, being the first Ambassador that had been there. On asking King Joacham what he would like from Europe, he replied, A gun, a role of red cloth and a little white nussie. (Probably the word here is 'nissi',