Adelaide, South Australia. | Dec. 12th 1860.
Dear Tyndall,
It is now twelve years since you and I met last,2 12 years! —a little age in itself but big enough to look back in wonderment at the various changes reverses and turnings up of matters sublunary. And as far as our own particulars of incident play. I have no doubt that (at least on your part) many sheets of paper would be interestingly covered. I would have written to you before this did not the vain idea take possession of my imagination of returning to Ireland in decent time to play there before you an apology, but things were ordered otherwise—Matters and men changing spoiled my plans. So it was with no little chagrin that I had to wipe away the fair picture that was then before me.
The thoughts of returning to one’s native clime from any place are of course rich with a thousand convictions, but in a distant region such as this—brown, barren, and hot wind-dried, with no green spots for the eye to rest on—no lake to reflect at “<1 word omitted> eve” the figure of the stag—no—but enough, it is not Ireland consequently full of imperfections. In such a region then living but not loving, must not the feelings be doubly keen—the memory minutely faithful, that scroll has all delineated on it vividly and fresh back to childhood. Memory! how much has been said and sung of that ethereal part of our composition—how pleasing to look back upon its line, and how much more pleasing and satisfactory must it be when the whole can be traversed free from blemish or dark spot, ’tis one of the many gifts to man, and one of the many proofs of an all-pervading Deity. I am not aware of your religious views now—once indeed I could readily measure the exact amount of this ingredient enclosed within you, ’twas easy work, for like my own the space was waste—void of the verdure that ever throws a warmth and freshness o’er one’s life. I however am a little changed in these matters—that is I think more seriously of late than I had been in the habit of doing. Mistake me not Tyndall for always a strange animal, but man of the present day is wonderfully so. It would be rashness and folly to suppose that he is now engaged in a game of chance—the very exertion of proving it such is now more difficult than ever, and few there are who dare exert. But look at the ease, simplicity, and grace of the argument on the other side. This present day as one ascends and gathers strength and force, the other falls, still gathering <1 word omitted> as it rolls along in its dark career. One carries with it civilization and happiness—the other chaos and death. One leaves the spirits buoyant with a hope of a glorious eternity in which friend will again meet friend—the other covers the spirit like a pall fostering therein a miserable misgiving, a weight growing heavier under uncertainty till bowed down earth takes her own, the talent never left it. The philosopher is indeed a true one that has and cherishes the creed of the Christian, and who can plant his standard of hope firmly beyond the abyss of all doubt. Well I shall conclude this strain by assuring you again, in case I may stamp a false impression, that I am no Saint. So now for a word or two about the Australian Tidmarshs’. I arrived here as one Tidmarsh only in July 1849 a few years afterwards, and by a process not known to you in chemistry I “<1 word omitted> and resolved” myself into two, which anon and with the assistance of time has become five, and this is at present the family circle, but should any part of the circumference be <1 word omitted> disconnected, no doubt the link or links will in due course take their places. Now in order to find bread and butter for the above, I follow the highly respectable calling of a soap and candle maker, and which I shall very probably pursue for some years to come, or at least till I find myself possessed of sufficient means to ship the circle centre and all, and be once more an Irishman,3—and then I shall give you the very particulars of my ‘strange eventful’ life out here. I write now for the purpose of renewing our correspondence, say a letter every six months this I should be satisfied with provided you send me in the interim a few papers. You will perceive by this that I have not been much accustomed to letter writing, at the same time assure you that I am still Jack. I don’t know how it may be with you, whether you have grown a phlegmatical, dogmatical, critical sort of a fellow, abounding in pomposity &c. &c. or that you are the same as when we met in that ‘sweet village’4 where dwelt a doctor’s daughter.5 —The same as when we swam its harbour—climbed its sandy cliffs. —The same as when at midnight Ginty’s6 tongue went fast and hotter grew “discussion”. The same as when at eve, and in that long room, and before the presence of old Youghal’s very elite so dark and fair so sweet and pie-ous everything was settled,—but perhaps I had better shift the scene, taking you by the Sibyl of the raven plume,7 and leaving you pierced8 in the fortress of Ferguson Street.9
In conclusion I must ask you to give me information of Hurst,10 and any of our friends that you may know the whereabouts of—*enclosed is the fac-simile of your ancient friend. Send me yours in return, that I may see what a good looking old man you have made.
Good bye, Tyndall and believe me | Yours very sincerely | J. Tidmarsh.
Address—| John Tidmarsh & Co. | Adelaide.
*This was intended—now accompanies
RI MS JT/1/TYP/11/3874–6
LT Transcript Only
Jack Tidmarsh: John Francis Tidmarsh (nicknames Jack or Tid) (1824–1906). He joined the Irish Ordnance Survey on 11 May 1840, working in the 5th Division, C District under the command of Lieutenant George Wynne, and worked closely with Tyndall in Youghal, where he lodged with him and William Ginty, and again in Kinsale and Cork, where Tyndall enjoyed the hospitality of Tidmarsh’s family. He was separated from Tyndall after being transferred to the English Survey on 20 May 1842, where he worked in the 5th Division and undertook field work in Lancashire, Yorkshire and Westmoreland. In the summer of 1843 he contemplated emigrating to the Cape of Good Hope to take up a job with relatives, but instead remained in England where, by 1845, he was employed, alongside Tyndall, making surveys for the West Riding Union Railway. At this time, he and Tyndall were once more lodging together in Halifax. In March 1849 Tidmarsh emigrated to Australia, settling in Adelaide, where he initially worked as a surveyor and valuator for the city’s first building society and later prospected during the Australian gold rush in 1852. He established a successful candle and soap manufacturing company, although overwork impaired his health. (‘Death of Mr. John Tidmarsh’, Register (Adelaide), 12 November 1912, p. 6).
It is now twelve years since you and I met last: when they were both surveyors, based in Halifax.
and be once more an Irishman: it does not appear that Tidmarsh ever returned from Australia.
that ‘sweet village’: possibly Youghal, in southern Ireland, where they were stationed as assistants on the Irish Survey.
a doctor’s daughter: not identified.
Ginty: William Ginty (c. 1820–66), one of their surveying colleagues and a close friend of Tyndall.
the Sibyl of the raven plume: Ellen (the ‘lady of the raven plume’), a love interest and romantic ideal of both Tyndall and William Ginty, whom they presumably met while stationed in Kinsale in County Cork in the summer of 1841 (see Tyndall Correspondence, vol. 1).
pierced: doubtless a reference to the two beauteous Piercy sisters in Halifax. On one day in early 1847 Tyndall recorded the attractions of Miss Piercy— ‘that type of beauty which the young Mahommedan expects to meet in heaven’ —and Miss Fanny Piercy— ‘an excellent piece of physiological workmanship’, Journal, RI JT/2/13a/173.
Ferguson Street: the lodging house in Halifax in which Tyndall and many of his friends stayed in the 1840s (see Tyndall Correspondence, vol. 2).
Hurst: Thomas Hirst.
Please cite as “Tyndall1752,” in Ɛpsilon: The John Tyndall Collection accessed on