Florence's parents, St Helier and Anne  migrated from Ireland and settled in Wagra in Gippsland Victoria to farm sheep and wheat. St Helier had several brothers who were already established in the region;  William Henry, Henry Turner and Charles Harte.  Florence was their fourth child and she was born in Moyhu Victoria.   Her older siblings were Louisa Alice, Ernest St Helier, and Mabel Minnie.  There were two younger children, Percy Garde and Laura Lily. All were born in Victoria.   The family eventually moved to Lismore where they settled in a house 'Glenmore' on Dibbs St.  Florence's sister Louisa became a teacher as did her brother Percy.  Florence received her teaching qualification in 1900.  She is likely to have taught until 1904 when she married Charles Sydney Dunlop.  (I just love the detail in the wedding descriptions of the time. See below). ​Then they were off to Gunnedah for Charles teaching post. After Gunnedah he was posted to Upper Copmanhurst.

Florence must have gone home to her family in Lismore for the birth of  their first child Douglas Victor.  Norma Peard was born in Grafton and Neville Raymond too was born in Lismore.   In 1913 Charles was posted to Forbes.  Unfortunately the family was only there for three months when Neville contracted Typhoid.  He died in April at three years and three months old. (so many threes!) Florence's brother Percy took  over the teaching in Forbes and the family  relocated to Auburn in Sydney.   Laura Ruth was born the next year in 1914.     In May 1913 Florence's father St Helier  died but the family notice says that his daughter Mrs Dunlop was unable to attend due to illness.  Obviously she was grieving her beautiful boy who had only just died and what a shock to lose her father only the next month.    It must have been a terrible blow.  (Her other son Douglas also died quite young, in 1937 at 33 years old. He left a widow and two young children.)

Florence died in 1931 of breast cancer.    Her death certificate stated that  she  had  malignant breast; secondary malignant in liver and lungs.  She had been sick for 15 months.  
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Below the notices there is a factional piece that I wrote about Florence

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Florence lay on her side and looked out the window at the elm tree.  The sun was filtering through its branches sending dancing leaf clusters across her white counterpane.  ‘How beautiful life is.’ Florence thought.   She rolled onto her back, grimacing at the pain, to look up at the clock above the dresser. Time seemed to move so slowly now; a tortuous drip of long tedious moments.  She remembered when her life was so full the days flew by.  As a young teacher she had wanted the best for her charges and had put in 150%.    Marrying Charles had ended her career and caring for her husband, the house and her children became her full time job.  She had loved being a mother and adored her three children. She had relished the afternoons when they’d tumbled through the front door after school clamouring for food and talking over one another in their excitement to tell her bits of their day. Now two of them adults, she was proud of Douglas and Norma who had both become teachers and the way they’d supported each other in their studies.  Norma was still so young really, only twenty and such a serious girl.  She’d had to carry a lot of responsibility while Florence was unwell.   Laura was still a teenager but no bother at all. Her sunny disposition and sense of humour lightened the mood in the house. 

Florence’s heart squeezed in her chest and tears welled in her eyes.  She wasn’t ready to leave the world yet and life with all of its joys and sorrows.  All the grandchildren that she would never meet.  She turned her head to look at the gold photo frame on the bedside table. Little Neville with his blond curls and sweet sailor suit. He’d only been three when cruel death had snatched him from her arms and she was thankful she had the photo taken before he was buried.   She felt comforted by the thought of seeing her baby boy again. and her father too.  She had been in the throes of grief when her father died only a month after her son, barely able to comprehend  that he too was gone.  Much later when life resumed some thread of routine again,  she had drawn solace at the thought of her father, Sainty, looking after little Neville in Heaven. 'Her father would be happy that his girl Flossie would soon be with them', she thought.

​Florence blew a kiss to the photo and whispered, ‘I’ll be seeing you soon my lovely boy.’, then she rolled over again to look at the window with its waving green shapes and golden light.