Henry Hickmott - To Western Australia

To Western Australia

The returns from farming at Lalbert were not as first expected due in part to drought conditions and the continuing rabbit menace. In 1909, Henry and Elizabeth sold their land at Lalbert and sailed to Western Australia where they had purchased a farm, that they named 'Dingley Dell', at Pingelly just outside Brookton. At Brookton Henry again became actively involved in the local community, serving as a founding member of the Brookton Farmers and Settlers Association and its President for two years and a patron of the Brookton Swimming Club. On 21 October 1914, he was elected as the member for Pingelly in the Western Australian Parliament where he sat for three terms before being defeated at the 1924 election. During the First World War, Henry also served on the Brookton Repatriation Committee which raised funds and other support for the soldiers and their dependents, and helped returned men find employment.

On 16 April 1923, Henry Edward's wife, Elizabeth, died while visiting her son William Henry Hickmott and his family at their farm near Ouyen in the Mallee district of Victoria. Two years later Henry married Sarah Ellen Clarke in Perth. It is not known whether they had any children. On Sunday 18 January 1931, Henry Edward was killed in a farming accident. He was laying rabbit poison on his property when his cart hit a stone and he was thrown to the ground, breaking his neck. His funeral took place the following day and he was buried in the Methodist section of the Brookton Cemetery. His second wife Sarah Ellen Hickmott died at East Perth on 4 October 1957, aged 87 years.

Read more about this topic:  Henry Hickmott

Famous quotes containing the words western and/or australia:

    The true use of Shakespeare or of Cervantes, of Homer or of Dante, of Chaucer or of Rabelais, is to augment one’s own growing inner self.... The mind’s dialogue with itself is not primarily a social reality. All that the Western Canon can bring one is the proper use of one’s own solitude, that solitude whose final form is one’s confrontation with one’s own mortality.
    Harold Bloom (b. 1930)

    I like Australia less and less. The hateful newness, the democratic conceit, every man a little pope of perfection.
    —D.H. (David Herbert)