‘Wit and grit’: Digging into her ancestry, Kathy Lette realises where she’s from

Is there anything more boring than ­people poring over books about their ancestors until piles of dandruff form around their ankles? It’s only when family members die that most relatives show any interest; where there’s a will, they’d really like to be in it!

So, when the SBS ancestry program asked me “Who do you think you are?”, I really didn’t know the answer. Aussies are not that good at looking in the rearview mirror. Mainly born of immigrant parents or convict stock, we’re adept at reinvention and adaptation. But my dear mum is 92 and I thought she might enjoy a hunt for some designer genes. So I put aside my scepticism and embarked on this genealogical adventure.

And what a magical mystery tour it turned out to be. When the film crew arrived on my London doorstep, I had no idea where we were headed. Did I need to pack my snowsuit and thermal bra … or bikini and snorkel?

During my initial on-camera chat, I was asked what I hoped to discover. My ancestral knowledge is based on extensive documentation … in the form of some vague stuff my rellos told me. Australia’s inverted snobbery means that if you don’t have a felon in your family tree, you must quickly graft on an extra branch. My father’s ancestor, Joshua Peck, was transported to the world’s largest open prison in 1788. He married Mary Frost, transported on the Second Fleet, making me the crème de la crim.

On my mother’s side, all I knew was that my formidable grandma had raised five children while working full-time as a teacher, had piercing blue eyes and died aged 101. Many DNA-detectives long for a royal connection, but I had high hopes for a right royal rascal branching out of our family tree – and maybe a suffragette sprig or two.

I was sent upstairs with instructions to pack for both hot and cold climates. Now, as a writer, I like to be in charge of the narrative – but I had no idea where this story would take me. I was flying by the seat of my pants so much, I’d soon have Frequent Flyer Pant Miles.

First stop? Stavanger, Norway. What? Why? Dashing to the airport, I made a mental list of my Norwegian knowledge – fjords, Grieg and Ibsen. I knew a little about Vikings too, mainly that they were very attractive and regularly washed; which is no doubt why they secured many a Yorkshire maid to wed. Oh, and Munch’s Scream … which is pretty much how I looked when the producer refused to tell me more about my mother’s ancestral home.

As our plane circled down over glistening lakes carved by glaciers into steep mountain gorges, I ruminated on the fact that history is just that – his story; until recent times, women have been runners-up in the human race. This is why I had to become my own sleuth, Sherlock Holmes-ing together the jigsaw puzzle of my mother’s past through archives and documents.

I wasn’t so much Inspector Morse as Inspector Norse as I uncovered a long line of strong, independent, Valkyrie-type females. Defying convention, they courted controversy, literally, by defending their rights in the courts of law. Seduction, betrayals, heartbreaks, illegitimate children, fallen women (did they fall, or were they pushed?) … the drama that unfolded made an Ibsen play look like Mary Poppins.

Until recently, copulation meant population and wedlock was little more than a padlock. But to give birth to illegitimate children was far worse. My three-times-great grandmother and then her daughter in turn had to face this shame and stigma. As I read about their struggle for survival and dogged pursuit of the men who’d abandoned them, my scepticism evaporated. Pained by the poignancy of their plight, I was not only deeply moved by the ferocity with which they fought for their children’s rights but could feel the echo of their resilience in my own advocacy for my autistic son.

As I learnt more about the wit and grit with which my female forebears faced life’s adversities, I felt a strong genetic resonance reverberating through my strong, clever and capable grandma, mother, three sisters and yes, in me too. I could clearly see the building blocks of my own character, in particular my tendency to leap into the saddle of my feminist high horse.

My father’s story proved equally illuminating. Much to my astonishment, my ancestry quest whisked me to the US state of Virginia, where I found myself catapulted into the kind of picaresque, page-turning escapade that could have been penned by Voltaire or Victor Hugo. In short, Joshua Peck’s hair-raising adventures before his transportation far surpassed his Australian exploits. The backdrop to this rip-roaring, rollicking yarn was the War of Independence. Open-mouthed, I followed a trail of bureaucratic breadcrumbs that led me from indentured servitude on the plantations, into the ranks of the American Patriots, through blood-soaked battlefields, into POW camps, on spying missions and finally back to London.

I’d always suspected my convict ancestors were guilty of one thing only – not running fast enough. But court records disclosed that Peck was charged with stealing a detested officer’s uniform and lampooning the pumped-up ­buffoon. I nicknamed this part of our shoot “Peck to the Future” because I could definitely hear Joshua’s larrikin, rascally “cooee” ringing down through the centuries. Did this explain my comic inclinations and need to make mischief?

Telescoping back in time left me profoundly changed. I’d been disarmed, charmed, ambushed by emotion, surprised, intrigued, astounded and humbled by history. I’d felt my ancestors’ hands reaching out to me, helping me understand my place in the world.

If you, too, feel the genealogical drive to explore your own history, make sure to strap on a psychological seatbelt, because you’re in for one hell of a ride.

Kathy Lette’s episode of Who Do You Think You Are? premieres on SBS on May 21.

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