Thursday 28 February 2019

Pansy Ommanney (1898 - 1975) – Artist, poet, inventor

Liz Tobin found me a poem about Airships and sent me the link. I ched out the website and contacted Art Lowry, who has researched Pansy.  Art says: “Born in Holywood, Dunfriesshire, Scotland in 1898, Pansy’s parents were Major William Graham Chambers (formerly William Goulay Dunn and from a famous golfing family) and Nina Grace Chambers (the publishing family).

By the time she was three, Pansy and her parents were living at Glenbrittle Lodge, Minginish on the Isle of Skye. The family travelled to Canada in 1911, living on Vancouver Island, before returning to London in 1915. Pansy had three brothers, Robert Laing Chambers (a trooper of the 1st Australian Light Horse who was killed in action at Gallipoli on 18 May 1915) and Murray Goulay Chambers,  and a sister, Nina Iris Grahame Chambers.

On 15th July 1919 Patsy married Patrick Gream Nelson Ommanney at the Holy Trinity Church, Brompton, London. At the time of the marriage Patrick was a Major in the RAF, ex-Lieutenant, RN and former commander of the rigid airship R27.

Pansy was an artist and a poet – probably from a young age. Her verses were published in "The Tatler", "Sphere", "Windsor Magazine", "Chambers’ Journal" and "London Mercury". Much in the same style as the poetry of well-known airship advocate Dame Sybil Grant, a collection of Pansy’s poetry was published in a book called "Tunes On A Barrel-Organ" in the 1920s. As well as poems of love and loss as might be expected, there is one poem with a strong airship theme…

Find out more here:  http://www.ns11.org/featured-area/pansy/

With thanks to Liz Tobin for finding the link to the Art Lowry's article about Pansy, which has the following poem about airships:

“We! (A Forecast)”

We are the pride of nations
(The world stands by to gaze),
Fearing our power and wondering,
They watch us on our ways.

Silent our strength, untried as yet,
Though we may light world fires :
Questing we ride the elements,
The winds hiss through our wires.

O little ships of ancient days
We watch you down below,
Trade is our job, but war a game
We somehow seem to know.

Where we might help a little ship,
Or watch it sink and die…
Turning, the airship, long and grey,
Slid back across the sky.