In the third week of June 1859, Charles George Gisby was coaxed, squalling, into this world in the prosperous Victorian seaside resort of Margate. But young Charlie was not born into that prosperity. His birthplace was a house up a narrow lane called Alkali Row, which was then (and still is today) no more than an insignificant gap between the grand facades of the buildings on King Street sweeping down to the harbour.
In a lifetime spanning nearly eighty years, Charlie would rise above his humble origins. He would become a fisherman, a shopkeeper and a businessman. He would serve in the defence of his country during the Great War. He would meet and marry two striking women, and suffer the dramatic loss of one of them. And he would father four fine sons, one not so fine and a daughter. His story and the story of his five sons are narrated in this family saga.
It is a saga rich in colour and drama. Wars are fought in the course of it. There’s a memorable patriarch. There are untimely, mysterious and tragic deaths. There’s a plane crash and an accidental suicide. And there’s a larger-than-life cad and bounder.
Charlie and his sons may have been “ordinary people”. But this is no ordinary saga.
In a lifetime spanning nearly eighty years, Charlie would rise above his humble origins. He would become a fisherman, a shopkeeper and a businessman. He would serve in the defence of his country during the Great War. He would meet and marry two striking women, and suffer the dramatic loss of one of them. And he would father four fine sons, one not so fine and a daughter. His story and the story of his five sons are narrated in this family saga.
It is a saga rich in colour and drama. Wars are fought in the course of it. There’s a memorable patriarch. There are untimely, mysterious and tragic deaths. There’s a plane crash and an accidental suicide. And there’s a larger-than-life cad and bounder.
Charlie and his sons may have been “ordinary people”. But this is no ordinary saga.
