Prescription and medication notes that were inside the Gladstone bag that belonged to Nurse Emma Warburton. 1) a recipe and instructions for rheumatoid arthritis 2) medication for corns 3) a prescription from the Moorabbin Pharmacy, John Wilson, Cheltenham dated 22 October 1917.Documentsnursing, midwife, emma warburton, cheltenham, moorabbin, city of moorabbin, mentone, child birth, rheumatoid arthritis, prescription, moorabbin pharmacy, silk corn cure

Brian was born in Melbourne in 1949. Early life was spent in the stimulating bush environment in Montrose. Ramon Horsefield saw a spark and Brian began to paint in oils at the age of thirteen. He contunued tuition with Graham Moore, in class and at night classes. An Art Diploma at Swinburne was not completed. This did not crush his creative spirit and he resumed tuition with Graham Moore. Within a few years he was winning prizes. Many and varied jobs allowed him to survive whilst aspiring to become a full time painter and bring up his growing family. In 1977 Brian resigned from his last employment as a picture framer. He leased a shop in Main St, Mornington and set up classes. Brian taught painting and had his own studio behind the school. Later he was to move and build his "bushland gothic" home in North Warrandyte. Here he developed his reputation as a painter. Brian had his first solo exhibition in 1979. Many more were to follow. He has won many prizes, was a finalist in the 1992 Moran Portrait prize. The Alice Bale Scholarship which he won, entailed a year traveling and studying in Europe. Brian returned home in 1996. Sharing his skills with many students over the years, he taught privately and at various art societies. His oils, pastels and charcoals capture the light of landscape, portrails and nudes. In 2012 it will be thirty-five years since Brian has had a "real job". At times this has been really difficult. He is now semi retired after suffering from Rheumatoid Arthritis for a decade. Now he paints what he loves to. His portraits capture the very essence of the sitter. In 2009 he remarried and moved back into the bushland of North Warrandyte. 'Duet' by Brian E. Armstrong was donated by the Artist to the Eltham Copper Butterfly Appeal Auction.Oil on canvas painting depicting a 'Duet' scene with two children. One is shown playing the flute whilst the other is playing the piano. The painting is fashioned in sombre colours and muted tones, with alternating tones of violet prominent.Signed- Brian E. Armstrong '87 On label - artist's name: Brian E. Armstrong Address: 844.2925 Title of Painting: Duet Medium: Oil on canvas On Frame: 82 enclosed in circle. 31 1/2. C Enclosed in circlebrian e. armstrong

[from EDHS Newsletter No. 75, November 1990:] WALTER WITHERS PLAQUE At long last we have unveiled our plaque in the Walter Withers Reserve. The function was attended by a number of members and friends of the Society and descendants of the Withers family. Following the unveiling, the group proceeded to the Eltham Shire Office for afternoon tea and a small exhibition of Withers' paintings arranged by Andrew Mackenzie. The unveiling was performed by Mary Owen, a grand-daughter of Walter Withers. Her speech provided an interesting personal perspective on Withers and is repeated in full here: I feel somewhat overwhelmed by the responsibility of paying tribute to the man you have all come to honour today. I have the feeling that most of you probably know more about him and his work than I do. Walter Withers died nearly seven years before I was born and so I never knew him. Sadly, although other members of his family inherited some of his talent, I was not among them and I know very little about art. This is doubly hard to bear because my husband had some ability to draw and my second daughter also has some talent in this direction. My children are all artistic - mostly in the field of music inherited partly from their father - a Welshman who sang like a Welshman - and partly from my grandmother, Fanny Withers who, I believe was no mean pianist. However all this talent gave me a miss and for many years I felt a complete ignoramus in the fields of the arts. It was not until I was nearly fifty years old that I walked into a gallery in Brisbane and, as I wandered around the room, suddenly one picture leapt at me and I knew instantly that it had been painted by my grandfather. I had never seen the picture before and it gave me quite a shock to find that I had recognized the style of painting. I realized then that I had absorbed more than I realized simply by living with pictures and with people who painted them and talked about their painting and the painting of others. When I was a child I sometimes spent school holidays with my Aunt Margery Withers and her husband, Richard McCann. Aunt Marge painted me several times but I'm afraid I was a restless subject and used to sit reading a book and look up grudgingly when she wanted to paint my eyes. During the September holidays my aunt and uncle were busy preparing paintings far the annual exhibition of the Melbourne Twenty Painters, to which they both belonged. I remember how important I used to feel when they took me along to the Athenaeum Gallery on the Friday night before the opening to help hang their pictures. There were many artists there but the two I remember are perhaps surprisingly both women: Miss Bale and Miss Tweddle. I remember how cold it used to be up in that gallery at night. They used to heat water on a gas ring to make tea and Aunt Marge used to bring sandwiches and fruit for our evening meal. Everyone seemed to be poor in those days and no-one dreamed of going out for a meal. It was a case of make-do - even to cutting down frames to fit pictures or cutting pictures to fit the frames. They had to use the same frames from year to year if the pictures didn't sell. The opening was an exciting event for me. I felt I was privileged to meet important people - people who knew a lot more than I - and Uncle Dick would get quite merry after a couple of the tiny sweet sherries which were always distributed. I realise now that quite a lot of "art talk" rubbed off on me during my visits to the Athenaeum and during my stays with my aunt and uncle. I suspect that much of our most useful learning comes this way and those of us who have had the privilege of associating with artists, writers, philosophers and other thinkers have a richness in our lives of which we may be unaware. Walter Withers was a prolific painter and, although he painted for love of it, I suspect that the need to provide for his family drove him, like Mozart, to greater efforts than he might otherwise have achieved. Reading old letters and articles about the Heidelberg artists, I have come to realize something of the constant strain placed on many of them - particularly Withers and McCubbin - by poverty and the need to make ends meet. Withers was ever conscious of the need to provide for his wife and his five children and there are touching letters to his wife, regretting that he was not able to earn more for them. In addition to his painting, he worked hard at teaching and illustrating and, as he grew older, the strain began to tell and his health deteriorated. He seems never to have had a very strong constitution and suffered from rheumatism, which must have made painting quite painful at times. His eldest daughter, Gladys, was eventually confined to a wheelchair with rheumatoid arthritis and I have a tendency to arthritis myself, so I am particularly aware of what this could have meant to him. Recently I found a short letter written by my mother to her mother, Fanny Withers on the anniversary of her father's birthday in 1919, in which she said: "Poor old Dad, I often think now what a lot he must have suffered. His life was too hard and too strenuous for him. He had too many chick-a-biddies, I think. He wasn't equal to so much town life and train journeys with so many delicacies as he had. Since I have been ill, I have realised what he must have felt like.” He certainly drove himself to produce. He travelled all over Victoria by train, buggy, bicycle and on foot and for a time he travelled from Eltham to Melbourne every day by train, although later he lived in Melbourne during the week and only returned to Eltham for the weekends. My mother died seven years after her father's death, when my twin sisters were 10 days old and I was 16 months. So I never knew my mother or my grandfather. But my two aunts, Gladys and Margery, sometimes took me to stay with Gan Withers at Southernwood in Bolton Street . No cars in those days and it seemed a very long hot and dusty walk from the Station. Three memories remain with me of Southernwood. One is the well at the back which I found quite terrifying; the second is Gan killing a snake - even more terrifying. She was a formidable woman, my grandmother and a great ally and support to her husband. I think she was the business end of the partnership. The third memory of Southernwood is my grandfather's studio – down what seemed like a toy staircase inside the room. This and the big walk-in fireplace stayed in my mind from the age of about six until I saw them again about forty years later when the house was being used as a Sunday School. I just wish that money could be found to purchase this old house for the City of Eltham so that a permanent museum could be established in memory of a man who did so much to put Eltham on the map of art history. Recently I have become interested in family history and spent some time in England, Ireland and Wales looking for traces of my ancestors. I realized then how important it is to have records of people who have contributed to our society. We forget so soon and it is amazing how often, within two generations, names, dates and many details are forgotten. We are fortunate that so many of Walter Withers' works have been bought by galleries and that people like Andrew Mackenzie have taken the trouble to search out people who knew him and to write about him and his work. And I am very grateful to the Historical Society of Eltham for recognizing the importance of having a permanent tribute in Eltham to the contribution made by Walter Withers, who loved Eltham so much and who has assured this lovely district a place in the annals of history. I am indebted to Kathleen Mangan; the daughter of another famous Australian painter , Fred McCubbin, - featured in The Age this morning (thanks again to Andrew Mackenzie) for the most apt tribute to Walter Withers. Kathleen is not well and she rang me a couple of days ago, regretting that she could not be present today “to pay tribute” as she said, “to Walter Withers for I always think Walter Withers is the spirit of Eltham.” Thank you, Kathleen. And now I have much pleasure in unveiling the plaque commissioned by the Eltham Historical Society from Bob McLellan of Charmac Industries to commemorate the life and work of Walter Withers, the spirit of Eltham. Mary Owen, 13 October 1990.Three colour photographswalter withers rock, walter withers reserve, mary owen

[from EDHS Newsletter No. 75, November 1990:] WALTER WITHERS PLAQUE At long last we have unveiled our plaque in the Walter Withers Reserve. The function was attended by a number of members and friends of the Society and descendants of the Withers family. Following the unveiling, the group proceeded to the Eltham Shire Office for afternoon tea and a small exhibition of Withers' paintings arranged by Andrew Mackenzie. The unveiling was performed by Mary Owen, a grand-daughter of Walter Withers. Her speech provided an interesting personal perspective on Withers and is repeated in full here: I feel somewhat overwhelmed by the responsibility of paying tribute to the man you have all come to honour today. I have the feeling that most of you probably know more about him and his work than I do. Walter Withers died nearly seven years before I was born and so I never knew him. Sadly, although other members of his family inherited some of his talent, I was not among them and I know very little about art. This is doubly hard to bear because my husband had some ability to draw and my second daughter also has some talent in this direction. My children are all artistic - mostly in the field of music inherited partly from their father - a Welshman who sang like a Welshman - and partly from my grandmother, Fanny Withers who, I believe was no mean pianist. However all this talent gave me a miss and for many years I felt a complete ignoramus in the fields of the arts. It was not until I was nearly fifty years old that I walked into a gallery in Brisbane and, as I wandered around the room, suddenly one picture leapt at me and I knew instantly that it had been painted by my grandfather. I had never seen the picture before and it gave me quite a shock to find that I had recognized the style of painting. I realized then that I had absorbed more than I realized simply by living with pictures and with people who painted them and talked about their painting and the painting of others. When I was a child I sometimes spent school holidays with my Aunt Margery Withers and her husband, Richard McCann. Aunt Marge painted me several times but I'm afraid I was a restless subject and used to sit reading a book and look up grudgingly when she wanted to paint my eyes. During the September holidays my aunt and uncle were busy preparing paintings far the annual exhibition of the Melbourne Twenty Painters, to which they both belonged. I remember how important I used to feel when they took me along to the Athenaeum Gallery on the Friday night before the opening to help hang their pictures. There were many artists there but the two I remember are perhaps surprisingly both women: Miss Bale and Miss Tweddle. I remember how cold it used to be up in that gallery at night. They used to heat water on a gas ring to make tea and Aunt Marge used to bring sandwiches and fruit for our evening meal. Everyone seemed to be poor in those days and no-one dreamed of going out for a meal. It was a case of make-do - even to cutting down frames to fit pictures or cutting pictures to fit the frames. They had to use the same frames from year to year if the pictures didn't sell. The opening was an exciting event for me. I felt I was privileged to meet important people - people who knew a lot more than I - and Uncle Dick would get quite merry after a couple of the tiny sweet sherries which were always distributed. I realise now that quite a lot of "art talk" rubbed off on me during my visits to the Athenaeum and during my stays with my aunt and uncle. I suspect that much of our most useful learning comes this way and those of us who have had the privilege of associating with artists, writers, philosophers and other thinkers have a richness in our lives of which we may be unaware. Walter Withers was a prolific painter and, although he painted for love of it, I suspect that the need to provide for his family drove him, like Mozart, to greater efforts than he might otherwise have achieved. Reading old letters and articles about the Heidelberg artists, I have come to realize something of the constant strain placed on many of them - particularly Withers and McCubbin - by poverty and the need to make ends meet. Withers was ever conscious of the need to provide for his wife and his five children and there are touching letters to his wife, regretting that he was not able to earn more for them. In addition to his painting, he worked hard at teaching and illustrating and, as he grew older, the strain began to tell and his health deteriorated. He seems never to have had a very strong constitution and suffered from rheumatism, which must have made painting quite painful at times. His eldest daughter, Gladys, was eventually confined to a wheelchair with rheumatoid arthritis and I have a tendency to arthritis myself, so I am particularly aware of what this could have meant to him. Recently I found a short letter written by my mother to her mother, Fanny Withers on the anniversary of her father's birthday in 1919, in which she said: "Poor old Dad, I often think now what a lot he must have suffered. His life was too hard and too strenuous for him. He had too many chick-a-biddies, I think. He wasn't equal to so much town life and train journeys with so many delicacies as he had. Since I have been ill, I have realised what he must have felt like.” He certainly drove himself to produce. He travelled all over Victoria by train, buggy, bicycle and on foot and for a time he travelled from Eltham to Melbourne every day by train, although later he lived in Melbourne during the week and only returned to Eltham for the weekends. My mother died seven years after her father's death, when my twin sisters were 10 days old and I was 16 months. So I never knew my mother or my grandfather. But my two aunts, Gladys and Margery, sometimes took me to stay with Gan Withers at Southernwood in Bolton Street . No cars in those days and it seemed a very long hot and dusty walk from the Station. Three memories remain with me of Southernwood. One is the well at the back which I found quite terrifying; the second is Gan killing a snake - even more terrifying. She was a formidable woman, my grandmother and a great ally and support to her husband. I think she was the business end of the partnership. The third memory of Southernwood is my grandfather's studio – down what seemed like a toy staircase inside the room. This and the big walk-in fireplace stayed in my mind from the age of about six until I saw them again about forty years later when the house was being used as a Sunday School. I just wish that money could be found to purchase this old house for the City of Eltham so that a permanent museum could be established in memory of a man who did so much to put Eltham on the map of art history. Recently I have become interested in family history and spent some time in England, Ireland and Wales looking for traces of my ancestors. I realized then how important it is to have records of people who have contributed to our society. We forget so soon and it is amazing how often, within two generations, names, dates and many details are forgotten. We are fortunate that so many of Walter Withers' works have been bought by galleries and that people like Andrew Mackenzie have taken the trouble to search out people who knew him and to write about him and his work. And I am very grateful to the Historical Society of Eltham for recognizing the importance of having a permanent tribute in Eltham to the contribution made by Walter Withers, who loved Eltham so much and who has assured this lovely district a place in the annals of history. I am indebted to Kathleen Mangan; the daughter of another famous Australian painter , Fred McCubbin, - featured in The Age this morning (thanks again to Andrew Mackenzie) for the most apt tribute to Walter Withers. Kathleen is not well and she rang me a couple of days ago, regretting that she could not be present today “to pay tribute” as she said, “to Walter Withers for I always think Walter Withers is the spirit of Eltham.” Thank you, Kathleen. And now I have much pleasure in unveiling the plaque commissioned by the Eltham Historical Society from Bob McLellan of Charmac Industries to commemorate the life and work of Walter Withers, the spirit of Eltham. Mary Owen, 13 October 1990.Two colour photographswalter withers rock, walter withers reserve, mary owen