Let’s get that brick wall down

Breaking Through the Brick Wall in Family History Research

Every family historian encounters it eventually: the brick wall. One moment you’re confidently moving backward through generations, names and dates lining up neatly, and the next—everything stops. Records disappear. Names change. A person seems to materialise from nowhere and vanish just as mysteriously. It can be frustrating, especially when you’ve invested hours, months, or even years into your research.

A brick wall often forms for very human reasons. Our ancestors migrated, changed surnames, lied about their ages, avoided authorities, or simply lived in times and places where records were poorly kept or later destroyed. Wars, fires, floods, and administrative neglect have erased countless lives from official documentation. When this happens, it’s not a failure of your research skills—it’s a reflection of history itself.

The first step in breaking through a brick wall is to pause and reassess. When progress stalls, it’s tempting to push harder in the same direction, but that often leads to circular research and repeated dead ends. Instead, step back and review what you know to be true. Separate proven facts from assumptions. Ask yourself where each piece of information came from and how reliable it is. Many brick walls are built on a single unexamined assumption.

Read over all the documents you have. It is amazing what can be missed when you are not looking for it. Analyse every piece of information it gives you. The names on obituaries or witnesses to an event, an informant: they are all important pieces of information that can lead you further. If you haven’t already purchased full transcripts of documents then I suggest obtaining them. Relying on hints in a subscription platform and not reaching further to official indexes can limit the information you obtain.

Next, widen your lens. If direct records are missing, look sideways. Research siblings, neighbours, witnesses, employers, and associates. Families rarely lived in isolation, and indirect evidence can be surprisingly powerful. A land record, newspaper notice, court file, or church register may mention your ancestor in passing even when a birth or marriage record does not exist.

It’s also important to remember that spelling was fluid and identities were flexible. Names were written phonetically, altered for convenience, or deliberately changed to fit in or start anew. Try searching with creative variations, initials only, or even first names without surnames. Consider how accents, literacy levels, and record-keepers might have influenced what was written down.

Use your DNA and follow your shared matches. Your DNA results are a second family tree and can support the tree you have or give you new clues. It is the type of jigsaw puzzle that provides unexpected rewards and crack a brick wall.

Brick walls can also be emotional. Family history is personal, and when answers don’t come easily, disappointment can creep in. This is where patience becomes part of the research process. Sometimes new records are digitised, DNA matches emerge, or fresh perspectives appear—but only if you give yourself time and space to return later with new eyes.

Finally, remember that breaking through a brick wall doesn’t always mean smashing it completely. Sometimes the breakthrough is learning why the wall exists and accepting that not every question will be answered fully. Even then, you gain something valuable: context, resilience, and a deeper appreciation for the complexity of real lives.

In family history, brick walls are not the end of the story. They are invitations to think differently, research more creatively, and honour the fact that our ancestors lived lives far richer and messier than any record can capture.

The Tragic Death of Dixie Downing

Newspaper archives can uncover many aspects of a person’s life, but they can also uncover stories that are a surprise and even national news. Norman Niddrie married into the family in the 1940s, but it was his earlier life that was splashed across the news.

On the night of 28 January 1939, the small town of Tumut, New South Wales, was shaken by a violent incident resulting in the death of Michael Joseph “Dixie” Downing, a well-known local figure. Earlier in the evening, Downing was seen around town, including at the Woolpack Hotel. Witnesses last saw him alive around 10.20pm at the Excelsior Cafe. Around 10.50pm, William Thomas, owner of a nearby fruit shop, heard a commotion behind his store. When he walked out to investigate, Thomas found Norman Niddrie attempting to lift an injured Downing. Sergeant Nightingale was called to the scene, where Downing, barely conscious, stated someone had hit him but couldn’t identify his attacker. Dixie was taken to Tumut hospital and died from his injuries the next morning.

As the investigation unfolded, conflicting accounts emerged. Niddrie initially claimed he had found Downing injured and tried to help. However, under further questioning, he changed his story, admitting to an altercation with Downing. According to Niddrie’s second statement, Downing had attempted to pickpocket him. In response, Niddrie pushed Downing, causing him to fall against an iron fence. Niddrie maintained that he had no intention to seriously harm Downing and tried to help him afterward.

Dr. John Wharton Mason, who examined Downing, found extensive injuries including fractured jaws, bruising on the skull, arms, and chest, and a ruptured lung. Dr. Mason testified at the inquest that the injuries were consistent with multiple kicks and were too severe to have been caused by a simple fall.

The case went to trial at the Central Criminal Court in Sydney on 17 March, 1939. Norman Niddrie, aged 24 at the time, was charged with murder. He pleaded not guilty. In the opening statement, the Crown Prosecutor presented the events of the night, including Niddrie’s drinking at the Woolpack Hotel and the subsequent encounter with Downing in a back street near the hotel.

A key piece of evidence was Niddrie’s statement to the police: “Dowling went to put his hands in my pockets, and I swung hard, knocking him against an iron fence. I had no intention of hurting him.” This statement aligned with Niddrie’s earlier claim of self-defense against an attempted pickpocketing.

After the case concluded, the jury considered the evidence and returned a verdict of manslaughter, rather than murder. Mr. Justice Maxwell, presiding over the case, sentenced Norman Niddrie to three years imprisonment for the manslaughter of Michael Joseph Dowling.

Unravelling truth from lies

August is Family History Month and it is a great time to get back into researching a branch of the family tree or taking a free course from the thousands available. I am at the end of the process of unravelling truths and non-truths left in a trail of documents by my 3x great-grandmother. She did a great job of erasing her daughter Eliza and Eliza’s father from her life. It worked so well that the majority of online family trees, the local historical society and even her descendants believed her.

If you believe the obituary and death certificate for Margaret Wogan, who died in Young, New South Wales, in 1924, you would think that Margaret:

  • came to Australia in 1850 from County Meath, Ireland with her parents at age 14
  • married Hugh Henry in Bathurst and raised four children
  • arrived in Young in 1861 with Hugh and her four children, Christopher and Mary Ann, Catherine and Margaret
  • married Martin Gill and had three children, Bridget, Julia and Martin.

I had started looking for the parents of my 2x great-grandmother, Eliza Fox. Her birth certificate told me she was born in Hovells Creek in 1860 to Margaret Wogan and William Fox and they had married in Tumut in 1858. But Eliza was missing from the obituary and death certificate of Margaret and there was no mention of William Fox. Bridget, who was attributed to Martin Gill in the obituary was also the daughter of William Fox, born in Young in 1861. Bridget used the surname ‘Henry’ on her marriage and children’s birth certificates. Hugh Henry didn’t know of the existence of Bridget, he was still in Bathurst.

Photo: Margaret Wogan circa 1880

Unravelling the discrepancies and mysteries involved using online records, newspapers articles, obtaining all certificates of her children and her relationships, as well as digging in the archives of the family history society. Assembling a timeline helped to analyse what was fact and what information could be discarded.

Once finished, the research was used to build a timeline and the truth emerged. The truth about Margaret was she:

  • left Ireland at age 14 as an orphan as part of the Earl Grey Orphan Immigration Scheme. Her parents were not alive.
  • married Hugh Henry at Bathurst aged 16 and had four children: Christopher, Catherine, Mary Ann and Margaret.
  • left Hugh in Bathurst some time in 1859 and met William Fox in Hovells Creek
  • gave birth to Eliza in 1860 at Hovells Creek, William Fox registered the birth. Hugh Henry died in Bathurst later the same year.
  • arrived with William at the gold fields near Young with five children. She was five months pregnant with Bridget, born in 1861 in Young. William Fox registered Bridget’s birth.
  • gave birth to Julia Gill in 1865, the father noted as Martin Gill stating she married him in Bathurst.
  • appeared in court in 1865 in a dispute with a neighbour. She appeared as Margaret Henry, not Margaret Gill, despite stating she had married Martin in Bathurst.
  • married Martin Gill in 1866 in the Congregational Church. He gave his name as Francis Gill, never having used that name before, but perhaps to distinguish from the name given in Julia’s birth registration.
  • gave birth to her eighth child, Martin in 1870
  • re-married Martin Gill in 1873 in the Catholic church.

I can understand why Margaret didn’t tell the truth on official records. She was an Irish Catholic orphan who had committed adultery and given birth to three illegitimate children, not the actions of what was considered respectable in colonial Australia. Eliza Fox used the Fox name throughout her life and married an older man that Margaret didn’t like. Perhaps these are the reasons Eliza was erased. Despite the path she took Margaret successfully manipulated the facts, returned to the Catholic Church and, after her death, was remembered as ‘a grand old pioneer and a lady widely known and respected.’