North Sydney Council’s archive holds an unusual piece of local history – three locks of hair taken from renowned children’s author and illustrator May Gibbs (1877-1969), one as a baby and two as an adult.
The very fact that human hair retains much of its original colour and lustre after death goes a long way to explaining how people throughout history have considered it to be a symbol of life itself. Locks of hair have long held religious, superstitious, and sentimental significance.
A child’s first haircut is a ceremonial occasion in certain cultures and religions. And even for those with no particular cultural affiliation, it is often still a significant milestone and an opportunity for sentimental parents to preserve their baby’s first curl for posterity.
The first of May Gibbs’ locks in Stanton Library’s archive is a little golden curl, folded carefully within a small piece of paper, labelled ‘Baby May’s hair, 15 June 1878’. Born on 17 January 1877, May would have been a 17-month-old toddler when this lock was snipped, presumably kept by her mother Cecilia Gibbs.
It is believed May’s mother, Cecilia Gibbs, cut this lock of her daughter’s hair when she was 17 months old.
Giving a lock of hair to someone has also long been considered a sign of love and devotion, especially before an impending separation.
The other – very sizeable – samples of May Gibbs’ hair in North Sydney’s collection were taken as an adult. One even still has a small gum leaf nestled within it, a poignant reminder of the author’s love of the Australian bush. May’s handwritten note reads, ‘My hair, The light at 20 years, The darkest when shingled ab[ou]t 30, M. O.K.’
Although she gives her married initials – May Ossoli Kelly – Gibbs only married Irish mining agent Bertram James Ossoli Kelly in 1919, aged 42. So, even if J.O. Kelly subsequently kept the ‘locks’ amongst his own possessions as love tokens, they were not initially cut for that purpose.
Perhaps they were intended as mementos for family members, while May was studying and working overseas? Perhaps May kept them for artistic purposes, to finesse her portrait painting style? Perhaps the hair was cut at times of particular significance in her life, preserved as tangible memories? Or perhaps her confidence in her impending commercial success led her to create souvenirs of the future?
The memories of Gibbs’ cousins, Neil and Marian Shand, who donated the archival material to Stanton Library, do not, however, point to an artist of inflated ego: “May was considered shy but she really was not… She just wanted to be left alone to get on with her writing and drawing. She also hated to be treated as a curiosity. She had a big hat to wear in the garden with two holes, so that she could see the ‘gapers’ at the gate and they could not see her face.” [ORANA, May 1989, p.61]
Whatever May Gibbs’ reasons may have been for keeping her hair, a part of her physical body will be preserved for posterity to remind us of her life, as surely as her body of work.
Historical Services, North Sydney Council.