Category Archives: Uncategorized

All at Sea

by thehistoryinterpreter

Yesterday
We are currently on the ferry heading for ‘south island’ aka the Isle of Wight. Not so much a holiday for us having lived there for 30+ years, more a catch up with friends and family. We were fortunate to get the ferry operative with a brain cell today. On arrival, 45 minutes early for our sailing, we were not told to drive round the block for 15 minutes complete with caravan (as has happened on previous occasions) we were very sensibly invited to embark on the half empty ferry that was leaving an hour earlier than our scheduled sailing. She did then rather spoil the impression of intelligence by peering in to the car and saying, ‘are there two of you travelling?’ I resisted the temptation to say, ‘the other six are in the boot.’Good job we are used to ferry travel because we have committed to another cruise. I am now officially on the programme for the 14th Unlock the Past cruise to Alaska in September 2018, along with a really great line up, many of whom are friends. The fact that this clashes horribly with the job we must not mention is a bridge as yet to be crossed.

And in my collection of weird emails today: from a well known online retailer ‘Please rate this item – did your Elsan chemical toilet capsule meet your expectation?’ What expectations does one actually have of a chemical toilet capsule?

We had the usual problems with the non-descent of our automatic caravan legs (that’s the legs that are allegedly automatic not the caravan). With their failure, we are now having to be careful not to both stand at the rear end of the caravan at the same time.

I managed to avail myself of the facilities on site and use the swimming pool before a quick (that would be very quick) paddle. We forewent the delights of the soft play and play park, reserving those for later visit, when we will be accompanied by person of a more appropriate age.

Today

May 1959

My first visit  to the Isle of Wight

We decided to continue our north to south transit of the Isle of Wight today. I recalled that my first visit here was 58 years ago and during numerous holidays and several decades of living here I have walked most island footpaths. Strangely though I didn’t complete a circumnavigation until after I moved away (although we did have an abortive attempt in about 1980). That done, we are now going north to south to be followed, if we survive long enough, by east to west. As we haven’t done a great deal of walking lately we restricted ourselves to a short stretch from Godshill to Whitwell. This was enough to remind me that last time I walked far I decided I needed new walking boots. Waterproof they are not. Somewhat soggy socked we trekked through a profusion of wild flowers before taking our ease.

Books, Talks and Lunatics – Family History Mayhem

by thehistoryinterpreter

It is Monday. I am dressed in my thermals with more layers on than I care to remember. The last time I’ve worn this many clothes it was minus 25 degrees and I was in Lapland. It can only be a Bank Holiday in England. It was my turn to be a ‘writer in residence’ at Bucks Mills. It was a truly lovely setting. I only knew that because I’d been numerous times before. On arrival it was difficult to see the sea through the mist (ok, let’s be accurate here – impenetrable fog). It was also bracingly cold. The day did brighten and there was a steady stream of visitors. To be fair, more were interested in the Cabin we were huddled in than our literary efforts but it was an experience.

DSCF3708The family were visiting so on the one day that constituted summer (Tuesday) we frolicked in gnome hats at one of my favourite local tourist destinations (really is best not to ask). Then it was time to practice what I preach and encourage my descendants to take in interest in their past. Lucy learned to arrange her first family tree. More inhabitants of its branches to add on her next visit.

Next, some time in the seventeenth century, shooting school children and the like. I was not originally supposed to be on the team for this particular school but one of my colleagues wasn’t well enough to attend so it was across the border to Cornwall for two days. A couple of gems from these sessions: Me to a group of 12-13 year olds: ‘Why do you think people had so many children in the seventeenth century?’. (I know, you’d think this would be asking for trouble but it is very rare that anyone mentions lack of contraception in graphic detail – though one girl did say ‘pleasure’ this time). Response: ‘If one child needs a kidney transplant then there are more who might be compatible.’ Oh to be inside the head of a thirteen year old. Or actually, maybe not. To make matters worse, this child had just sat through an hour on the medicine of our time! If he came away with the impression that Master Christopher is a dab hand at kidney transplants we are doing something wrong.

Part of my session involves ‘make-overs’ – giving the little darlings seventeenth century clothing to don on top of their uniforms. I hand a young lad a pair of breeches – with the usual dire warnings about fastening the waist tie with a bow so he doesn’t get irretrievably knotted in (the consequence of which is that I make him go in to lunch wearing the breeches). Helpfully, as usual, I inform him that there’s no need to remove his shoes (never a good idea to encourage thirteen year old boys to remove their shoes in public). I fail to add that bit about not needing to remove his school trousers ……….

Somewhat rashly I had also agreed to revisit the wonderful venue that is Devon Rural Archive (again to fill in for someone who was sick) on the evening of the first day in Cornwall. The journey was considerably shorter if we went straight from Cornwall to the southern edge of Dartmoor, rather than returning home first so, sat-nav at the ready, off we set. We knew from experience that we needed to consciously avoid the Tamar toll bridge so when asked by Sally sat-nav ‘Do you wish to avoid tolls?’ we naturally pressed Yes, expecting to be directed across the Tamar somewhere in its northern reaches. Not so. We had neglected to instruct the sat-nav (and indeed she had neglected to enquire) not to take us on any vessels. One crossing of the Torpoint ferry later and we were heading back in to Devon.

My talk, which was on the Civil War in the South-west, is never quite what the audience expect. They come to hear long lists of battles, the victors and the vanquished, which, quite frankly, bores even me. What they get is something very different. No spoliers, book me and find out!

Someone, who shall remain nameless but it wasn’t me, decided we’d go home via the shortest, rather than the quickest, route. Won’t be trying that again. Unfortunately the vehicle that is large enough to transport the pikes and armour that we required for the school does not have a means of charging a sat-nav. Somewhere truly in the middle of nowhere it whimpered and died. Ever the Girl Guide, I was prepared for this and we resorted to that wonderful invention, a map. We didn’t get lost but it did take an inordinately long time. We finally got home about sixteen hours (and five hours of presentations) after we left it.

Books. I promised you books. The Institute of Heraldic and Genealogical Studies have made Coffers, Clysters, Comfrey and Coifs: the lives of our seventeenth century ancestors book of the month (this means it is 15% off). I always worry that this is because they’ve landed themselves with loads of copies they can’t shift but they assure me it isn’t so. Daisy is actually making progress; bet you thought I’d abandoned it. A chapter finished today. Bit of a gruelling account of an instance of diphtheria in 1914 but I don’t want to give too much away.

This week also brought the not unexpected news that Who Do You Think You Are? Live will be no more. So the last chance for me to say that you can now download the handouts from my WDYTYA?L talks. Actually you can get them on my own website but should you want those from others you will need the Society of Genealogists’ link. And lunatics? Well the above is probably enough lunacy but I have spent a fascinating time looking at the patient case books for Bethlem Hospital (from whose name we get the word Bedlam). These are available on FindmyPast. Genuki have also made a list of Exminster Asylum patients available, which includes one of my very minor Daisy characters. There are several there I need to investigate in more detail. It may even turn the minor character in to a more major one. I am fascinated by the history of mental illness and indeed illness in general. If you feel the same you might like to sign up for my online course on the history of medicine, In Sickness and in Death: researching the ill health and death of your ancestors. This starts in August.

Lots going on over the next couple of months. I will try to keep you up to date.

Writers in the Cabin

by thehistoryinterpreter

The seven authors in our writers’ group are eagerly anticipating our forthcoming ‘Writers in a Cabin’ residence. Will we cope with the lack of electricity, phone signal and sanitation? How will we interact with the resident insect life? Will anyone want to come and say hello? As yet, all great imponderables, although some of us have already made up their minds about the spiders. In the hope of persuading you to spend time in a very special place and of course increasing the footfall for us, may I encourage you to read on?

Writers in Cabin flyerNestled at the bottom of the hill in the little fishing hamlet of Bucks Mills, lies The Cabin. This two-roomed hut began life as a fisherman’s store before being acquired by Judith Ackland’s family. Together with her friend Mary Stella Edwards, Judith used the building as an artists’ retreat for half a century. The solitude and spectacular views across the rugged North Devon coastline make it ideal for those seeking inspiration. Now in the care of the National Trust, the Cabin is almost exactly as the artists left it in 1971.

From 29 April – 1 May, it will once again be a setting that encourages creative talents to flourish. Between 10.00 and 4.00, the seven members of the North Devon authors’ group will take it in turns to use the cabin and its wonderful surroundings as their muse. The work of all these writers is rooted the past, in the local landscape, or both. They look forward to discussing their work, both past and forthcoming and signing copies of their books. This will be a unique opportunity, not only to view inside The Cabin, which is rarely open to the public but also to talk to enthusiastic and friendly authors about their writing.

The Writers in the Cabin will be:

Ruth Downie writes crime novels set in Roman times. Ruth’s book Medicus has recently attracted a ‘Discovered Diamond’ award for historical fiction.

Susan Hughes writes books set in the first half of the twentieth century. Her debut novel A Kiss from France was long-listed for the Historical Novel Society Indie Award 2017. She is now writing her second book.

Wendy Percival is the author of mystery novels featuring genealogy sleuth Esme Quentin, which include The Indelible Stain, set on the North Devon coast, near Hartland.

P J Reed is a poet and author who writes of the beauty and ethereal nature of the changing countryside. Her latest anthology Flicker was published last month.

Liz Shakespeare’s books are inspired by the people, history and landscapes of Devon. Her latest novel The Postman Poet, which was launched last month, is based on the true story of Edward Capern who composed poems and songs whilst delivering letters in Victorian North Devon.

Pamela Vass writes North Devon based fiction and social history. Her novel Seeds of Doubt debates whether the Lynmouth floods of 1952 were an Act of God or the Act of Man.

and Me!

Who Do You Think You Are? Live Days 2 and 3

by thehistoryinterpreter

Day 3? Day 3 is not yet over – how can she be posting about Day 3 already? Read on and all will be revealed.

Day 2 dawns and we wend our way back to the NEC. This time the motorway is kind to us but the shuttle bus fails to play the game, or indeed turn up at all for twenty minutes. Finally, back in Hall 2, I spend a couple of busy hours promoting online genealogy courses on the Pharos stand then, after a little more chatting, it was another expert’s session with an interesting enquiry about a will that appeared to have been proved twice, fifty years apart. In the interests of pacing ourselves, we sneak out a little early to rest aching feet, backs and vocal chords.

Day 3 brings its own problems in that a fisherman of my acquaintance wakes up barely able to move, having pulled a muscle in his back. I assume my ‘care in the community’ role and tie his shoe laces for him. Today is the day that Master Christopher and Mistress Agnes are due to make an appearance, so we are fully equipped with our seventeenth century costumes. Sadly, one of us is not currently equipped with the ability to dress himself unaided, particularly as his costume involves thigh boots. We need a safe place to change. Normally, we would both repair to our respective gendered toilets but this is clearly not going to work today. We discuss the relative merits and demerits of the ‘fully accessible’ toilet and the baby change area, both of which seem gender neutral. The disabled toilet wins, clearly one of us is not currently fully abled. Amidst groans of anguish, we manage to transform Master Christopher into his seventeenth century self. We hope that no one has been listening outside or spots us emerging or they may be wondering what we were up to.

A successful few hours of networking follows. Actually it was a little too successful in some respects. I approach one of the big companies who are exhibiting to request that they may part with 35-40 of their promotional bags for us to use at a conference. The lady in charge eagerly presses a box of 200 bags upon me. I demure, I really only want 40 at the most. She insists. She is on a mission and clearly has no intention of taking this box back with her. Have you any idea how large, or indeed how heavy, a box of two hundred bags is? I stagger along to stash my loot, wondering how well this is going to go down with my chauffeur.

Mistress Agnes and Master ChristopherNext a photo call. Mistress Agnes and Master Christopher have been selected to promote a future conference. I am not sure quite what sort of attendee we may attract but our souls were duly stolen and our portraits painted. I should point out that the photograph on this blog is not said promotional photograph. No prizes but I am waiting for the eagle eyed to spot what is ‘wrong’ with this picture. More interesting conversations follow and contacts are made. By this time, Master Christopher is in some parlous state and needs to revert to his twenty-first century self. On the way to accomplish this mission we pass a stall selling back massaging machines. You are correct in your assumption that this has nothing whatsoever to do with family history and there are rather more unrelated stands than would seem desirable this year. I guess spaces have to be filled. It was somewhat incongruous to see a seventeenth century character wired up to modern technology but the lady doing the demonstrating seemed keen to have her photograph taken with us. The pause at her stall did ease Master C’s predicament long enough for him to get changed. We repeat the fully accessible toilet exercise in reverse. This is trickier than our earlier escapade as, by this time, there are rather more people to avoid. A couple of hours later and it really is time for him to lie down in a darkened room, or at least lie down. Not only do we have enormous, heavy boxes of bags to transport but other display materials as well. Taking what appears to be part of a stand out of the hall before close of play is tantamount to a hanging offence and as for trying to bring a car through the security cordon in order to load it before the appointed time….. In the end our plight is heeded and indeed one of the security guards is clearly concerned to see that our wounded soldier is going to drive. Believe me this is safer than the alternative of letting me loose on a motorway in a car that I am not used to. Fortunately we only have a very short journey back to the van. So sorry to all those I didn’t get a chance to see or say goodbye to. There is always next year.

Who Do You Think You Are? Live Day 1

by thehistoryinterpreter

Yes, Yes, I know it is the end of Day 2 – give me a break, it’s pretty full on all this networking lark. For once no trolleys were harmed in the process of our Who Do You Think You Are? Live experiences (see previous blog post for links to further details). Today (that’s of course now yesterday) was my busy day. On arrival we were guided to a car park that was as far as possible from the hall as the NEC complex allowed and took the shuttle bus down the hill amidst many folk who looked like they were in for a fun day at some form of transport convention or what appeared to be an OFSTED conference.

I hastened to get my presentations uploaded ready for later in the day (Miss Efficiency me) and was flattered to be remembered from last year by one of the technicians. Then it was off to the experts’ advice tables. Always a good plan to offer to be an ‘expert’ as it does at least ensure that you are able to sit down. I did have one of those ‘arrgggh’ moments. My appointment sat down early for their twenty minute slot, as my previous satisfied customer had gone away early. ‘I don’t know anything about my great grandfather Joe Brown’ (the name has been changed to protect the guilty but it was an equally common name). A large sheaf of typescript, which appears to have been taken from Ancestry is proffered. This contains dates of birth, marriage and death, entries in every applicable census, parentage, spouse and offspring of the ancestor about which the enquirer ‘knows nothing.’ ‘It says here he was born on 6th January 1870’, say I, ‘where did you find this information, was it from the family?’ ‘Oh that’s definitely right.’ says the enquirer.  I pursue the named parents, finding their marriage index entry. I explain how to get a marriage certificate and how that should hopefully give Joe Brown’s grandfathers’ names. I find Joe Brown’s father in more than one census. I find Joe’s spouse’s line back to grandparents. ‘You haven’t told me anything about Joe,’ is the response. I point out what we had discovered. ‘Oh but I knew all that already.’ I gritted my teeth and resisted the temptation to point out that I had not only answered the question he had asked but also the question he should have asked – what more could be expected, great granddad’s shoe size? Well that was thirty minutes of my life wasted then.

Sheridan Parsons

Photo by Sheridan Parsons

It was then time for my first talk, twenty minutes on inspiring young children to take an interest in history and heritage. This session was the best kept secret of the convention, somehow having been left off the website and display boards. Nonetheless it did attract an audience of more than one and led to a very interesting contact. Then it was pretty much straight off to my full length presentation in the main studio. Mustering ‘rent a crowd’ is no longer possible now these sessions are charged for. Nor can you rely on acquiring an audience from those who need to rest their bunions after a long day on their feet, so I was worried about speaking to an empty hall.

John Boeren

Photo by John Boeren

In the end, this was a sell out session with over two hundred people who had parted with real cash in order to hear me talk about finding elusive ancestors. This included several friends who had turned out to support me – thank you. My worries that the audience would demand their money back if they couldn’t find their elusive ancestors by the end of the session were unfounded. I did explain that I had left my magic wand at home. Despite something very weird happening to the formatting of my slides as they translated to the double screen, the talk did seem to go done well and I had a large queue of questioners outside the studio afterwards.

 

On the strength of the book sales after my talk, I then invested in the most expensive bottle of water in the world, in the form of a ‘free’ gift as a recompense for purchasing a Living DNA kit. This involved a charming young man watched me scraping the surface off the inside of my cheek, all in the name of discovering where my geographical origins might be. At the end of a long day we joined in a world record attempt for how many people you can cram into a shuttle bus and then crawled along the motorway back to the caravan to collapse in preparation for doing it all again tomorrow.

More Talks (by me and others), Another Award and Time with Friends

by thehistoryinterpreter

After three hours of non-stop chatter on Friday, whilst single-handedly womaning the registration desk at the Guild of One-Name Studies conference, my errant voice had all but deserted me. This did not bode well for my presentation on Sunday. Cue throat sweet overdose. To be fair, there were others assigned to the registration desk but they were needed at the main reception to welcome folk in, leaving me to fling bags and badges at what seemed to be a never ending stream of delegates alone. I took a much needed break and attempted to learn more about autosomal DNA with Barbara Griffiths. Having been hard at work all day, we forewent the pleasure of one of Alan Moorhouse’s fiendish quizzes and repaired to the caravan.

IMG_0704a.jpg

Photo by Peter Hagger

The following day, it was back to the melee by 8am in order to greet the new day’s delegates. We were provided with our room ‘key’ (card), which bizarrely depicted Peppa Pig – nope, no idea. The chance to actually inspect said room was not forthcoming. During the AGM, I was surprised and honoured to be presented with a Guild ‘Award of Excellence’ for an article I had written about a member of the Braund family, whose census entries were an amazing work of fiction. I was very glad that fellow awardee, Marie Byatt, was also in the audience. At least this spared me from smiling inanely at the camera, clutching my award, on my own.

The first presentation of the day was Suzie Cox who told us about the archives of the P & O company. This was followed by Ian MacDonald’s story of the Mewburn family. I then chaired Kim Baldacchino’s session on the Navy in Malta. There’s another destination on the future holiday list then. The final presentation was by Michelle Patient from New Zealand, with some interesting insights on migration. The two hour special general meeting that followed meant that preparations for the banquet had to be swift and we finally got to inspect our room. We were provided with water (free) in an £8 bottle and a coffee making machine but no kettle. We never did tackle the learning curve that may have allowed us to boil water in order to a) fill a hot water bottle or b) dilute ginger cordial (good for non-existent voices). Despite leaving the banquet at what for most people would have been an early hour (the middle of the night by my estimation) sleep eluded me.

After no more than two hours sleep I was required to be alert and audible enough to give my own presentation. This actually seemed to go remarkably well (I did at least stay awake). I promised to pass on a few websites from the talk, although the complete handout can be accessed here. Three of my favourite finds were the British Southern Whale Fishery  database, with 13,500 entries from 1775-1859. The details are mainly taken from The National Archives’ Board of Trade records. Then there is the list of  Lost Trawlermen of Hull. Finally a record of Hastings’ fishermen, which not only provides a list from 1623 but also records nicknames of later fishermen. How do you fancy being related to these characters: Tambourine Jack Cobby, Hard Pudding White, Rum Cheese Tassell, Whip-me-naked Gallop or Licksnot Sutton? Bob Cumberbatch followed on with a session on Caribbean surnames. We then had video presentations from Peggy Chapman and Tessa Keough on Canadian and US records and the day ended with Jean-Marc Bazzoni entertaining us with tales of the London Dock Police. All in all another great weekend, the best part of which was the opportunity to be amongst friends.

Next up a couple of days’ rest. Rare is it that I can describe days with Edward as a ‘rest’ but sandwiched as they were between the conference and Who Do You Think You Are? Live, they did seem comparatively restful. So, I have helped to pitch tents, identified wildlife and spent a day at the Birmingham Think Tank. This was followed by a trip to L**l’s for supplies. A staff member trundled by with a large wire trolley full of yoghurts and other goods to be put on shelves. Regular readers will remember that Who Do You Think You Are? Live is, for us, not infrequently accompanied by wheels falling off things (see 2013 and 2014) and yes dear reader the wheel fell off this trolley leaving groceries descending or suspended precariously. A fisherman of my acquaintance leapt to the rescue and was to be seen supporting trolleys and grovelling on the floor trying to refix wheels. Meanwhile I continued shopping and attempted to remain unobtrusive. P.S. I am still shamelessly touting for an audience for my two Who Do You Think You Are? Live talks on Thursday, especially the one at 2.15 in the Education Zone, which does not yet appear in the programme – come and find out how to inspire young people to take an interest in history – this one is free!

Awards, Book Sales and Young People and Family History

by thehistoryinterpreter

IMG_20170328_132302_467Well, what a busy week it has been. Firstly, preparing my presentations for the Guild of One-Name Studies conference and Who Do You Think You Are? Live. I have come across some great websites whilst working on the former, which is entitled Ship to Shore: sources for researching coastal communities and their inhabitants but no spoilers. For those who aren’t at the conference, all will be revealed next week. Then the really exciting news that I have been allocated an additional presentation slot at Who Do You Think You Are? Live. So at 2.15pm on Thursday 6 April I shall be in the Education Zone talking about Give me a child until they are seven: young children and family history. This is a subject that is very dear to my heart and Edward has been helping me with some of the slides. This is a free, no need to book session but it hasn’t been publicised so please spread the word. It is such an important subject and I don’t want an audience of one. I have the large hall to fill for my second session at 3.15pm The Ones that got Away: tracing elusive English ancestors. There are still some spaces for that one, says she, shamelessly seeking support. Most importantly, if you are there, do come and say hello. I shall be there on all three days.

Then I’ve been writing an article for The In-depth Genealogist about the history of prostitution, well the column is about working women. It has made my internet search history look a bit dodgy. I have learned the hard way that it is best to go for ‘Prostitution in Victorian times’, rather than ‘Victorian Prostitution’. I could but won’t, give you some interesting information about shady goings on in Victoria Australia and Victoria Canada. I managed to restrain myself before searching for ‘copyright free images of prostitutes’.

Next, I attended the excellent book launch event for Liz Shakespeare’s Postman Poet and the accompanying CD by Nick and Becki (with a small contribution from a fisherman of my acquaintance). It was a brilliant evening and I have already started the log-awaited book. I even got VIP treatment and an honourable mention on the strength of providing my kitchen.

Then it was off to the ENT department for the next instalment in what has now become the ‘what Janet hasn’t got wrong with her’ saga. This time it was to determine why my voice periodically sound like a frog on steroids (one drug that has not yet been suggested). Turns out my knowledge of anatomy is more rudimentary than I thought. In order to look at my voice-box, I had a camera shoved up my nose. This is a strange sensation and not to be tried at home, particularly not if you use a Canon G7X. Allegedly all looked fine and the verdict was that I seem to have somehow learned to talk using the wrong muscles (but weirdly not all the time). Nope, I don’t understand it either. I am now being sent for speech therapy. I am viewing this as Continuing Professional Development and wondering if the travel costs to the hospital are tax deductable.

On the good news front, copies of Putting your Ancestors in their Place: a guide to one place studies are now in short supply. It must be the recent publicity. At least, I think this is good  news. I hadn’t really factored working on a revised edition in to the diary. Then even more excitement as I receive a letter to say that an article that I wrote so long ago that I barely remember has been short listed for a British Association for Local History Award. I feel like I’ve been nominated for, if not quite an Oscar, at least a Brit Award. So The Impact of the Bible Christians in Rural North-West Devon: a force for unity or division? must have gone down well. Devon History Society is well represented as another article in the same edition of their journal was also nominated. There are usually about eight nominees chosen from hundreds of local history articles. Now I am just working out if I can possibly get to London to collect the certificate that all nominees are awarded. Fortunately I don’t think I need to prepare a speech that thanks my agent, my family and my dog and makes telling comments about the current political situation.

Now We Are 40: family history reflections

by thehistoryinterpreter

Cargreen shop old postcardBefore anyone suggests that I am not wearing well, or wishes me Many Happy Returns (do people still say that?), I am, sadly, not celebrating my 40th birthday. This week I enter my fifth decade of serious family history research. It was March 1977 when I took myself off, alone, to Cornwall to visit my father’s ancestral village for the first time. I arrived by public transport at a B & B some six miles away. All I can remember about this was that the proprietor chatted incessantly about her late husband’s role with the electricity board. The next day was Sunday. Said small ancestral village not being overly well blessed with Sunday public transport links (there weren’t any) I decided I would walk. I am still of the opinion that Cornish miles are longer than those elsewhere. I plucked up courage to enter the local pub (think lone female, 1977, rural pub) and ask if there was anyone of my surname living locally. It turned out that half the village were related and I was ‘adopted’ by members of the family instantly. They even had a car to take me back to the B & B.

Forty years on and the family history world has changed beyond recognition, not always for the better. The hobby/obsession has shaped my leisure time, my friendships, my working and academic life. I am still of the opinion that an understanding of history is crucial to our well-being, both personally and as a nation, as a world. Only this week a ‘think tank’ (who no doubt were paid a small fortune to work this out) suggested that schools should teach children to recognise fake news. Schools have been doing this for centuries. The subject dear think tank is called history. It teaches the ability to evaluate sources, to recognise the role of propaganda, to think critically – or at least it should. The very personal brand of history that is family or community history, gives us a sense of self, a sense of place. ‘Lone Tester’ has just posted a very interesting blog entitled ‘Are you a Genealogist or a Family Historian?’ I have long-since realised that ‘genealogist’ and ‘family historian’ have different meanings in different parts of the globe and perhaps the way in which the terms are understood also varies according to how long an individual has been researching. To me, genealogy is the basic family tree and family history is the wonderful contextual background, setting those individuals on that family tree into their time and place.

Whilst on the subject of putting our ancestors in their place, I was pleased to see what a great job Family Tree Magazine made of my article on One-Place Studies in their latest issue – than you Family Tree Magazine.

…. and the latest in the ‘what does Janet not have wrong with her?’ saga – having been x-rayed last week, still no idea. Am I alone in thinking it ironic that I was greeted by the radiographer with ‘Hello, are you all right?’ I was tempted to reply ‘Yes, I’m in full health, I am just sitting around waiting to get zapped with radiation for the fun of the thing’.

Researching, Writing, Speaking and Making Lemonade

by thehistoryinterpreter

It has been a week of giving and preparing presentations and there are two more forays into the seventeenth century still to come. It began last Saturday, with a webinar for the Surname Society on tracing emigrants and immigrants, which, apart from the inability of participants to ask questions, appeared to be hitch free. Thanks to the organisers, this will be available on the Legacy platform before too long. Then final preparations for my session on coastal communities ready for The Guild of One-Name Studies’ conference. A certain degree of smugness because my session for Who Do You Think You Are? Live on finding elusive ancestors is already done. So that I am not elusive, I will tell you that will find me on the Thursday, April 6th, at 3.00pm. You can book for this one you know – I am in the big hall, I don’t want to have to resort to rent a crowd! Seriously, some sessions are selling out, so don’t hesitate to book for your favourites.

I have had the opportunity to put my elusive ancestor finding techniques into practice this week, whilst helping a friend. I really enjoy going back to the early stages of a research journey. Part of this hunt involved a possible change of surname and an individual, with a rather too common surname, who grew up in care but find them we did. One satisfied customer.

Writers in Cabin flyerI have done some #Daisy writing, honestly, I really have. Whisper it quietly, one chapter even got finished. For reasons best known to myself I decided that I wanted to insert an anchor symbol into the text. This was not as easy as I feel it should have been and in the process of attempting to use the ‘special characters’ function, my screen turned on its side. Not wishing to adopt a permanent crick in the neck, I had to work out how to undo whatever I had just done. Let’s just say it took a while and at one point I was standing on my head but normality has returned to the screen of my laptop. The publicity flyers have arrived to advertise our Writers in a Cabin weekend. Do come and say hello. If you want to chat to a particular one of us, watch out on individual writers’ websites for when they are ‘on duty’, as there isn’t space for us all to be there all weekend.

The lottery that is good health once you reach a certain age has handed me a few lemons lately. Whilst I am busy making lemonade, it has meant that various appointments with medical personnel have been required. To make sense of this story you need to know that it is a cardio-thoracic issue (probably) – I watch Holby City, I can do technical terms. Two letters arrived on my doormat, with different phone numbers to ring for appointments 1. Cardiology 2 Diagnostics (a scan think I). It would be just too simple for the two things to be on the same day. Cardiology booked no problem. I ring Diagnostics ‘Where would you like to go for your hearing test?’ I just restrained myself from saying ‘Pardon?’ Last I heard that was the one bit of me that was still working! Turns out it was a clerical error.

Women Authors, Women Ancestors, Women’s History

by thehistoryinterpreter

On International Women’s Day it seems appropriate to have a female themed post. As the mother of daughters and the grandmother of a granddaughter (and two super-cool grandsons who must not be left out), I am ever mindful of the maternal line. I have already outlined who these women are in a post I wrote to celebrate the arrival of the newest generation. Since then I have confirmed two earlier generations, so we now have an unbroken line of eleven generations of women, stretching back to the early eighteenth century. What were they like these women? What sort of life did 5 x great grandmother, Ann Fitch née Palmer lead? She married at seventeen and then spent the next thirty years producing twelve children. Her daughter Elizabeth Oliver lived to be ninety five, no mean feat. I am still hoping that I may be able to extend the direct maternal line further back into the shadowy past of rural Essex. Or perhaps my autosomal DNA will highlight fellow descendants of some of the earlier generations. In the the absence of much biographical detail for most of these women I content myself with finding out out the social history of their time. So I know what sort of clothes they probably wore, something of their household routine, how they might of cooked food for the family and the homes that they may have inhabited. Of course, I would love to know more, to now what they looked like, whether I would have liked them, if I have inherited any of their characteristics but it has to be a ‘glass half full’ scenario and I am thankful that  at least know their names and I can commemorate their existence.

My general interest in women’s history, led me to write my Ladies First Column for The In-Depth Genealogists’ Going In-depth Magazine. This column investigates the working lives of our female ancestors, covering both paid employment and household tasks. It is often easier to research the occupations of the men in our families, so I enjoy redressing the balance and putting the ladies first.

DSCF3606Today, intrepid members of our Authors in a Café group ventured out of their usual haunt to combat fog, drizzle and the steep street of Bucks Mills, in order to recce the venue for our up-coming Writers in Residence weekend. We are all very enthusiastic about the inspirational setting, if less enthusiastic about the ‘rest room’ facilities, or lack of the same. So if you enjoy chatting about books and writing and want to experience the spectacular North Devon coast, do drop in at The Cabin, Bucks Mills on 29 April, 30 April or 1 May between 10.00am and 4.00pm. Who knows which of our merry band of seven you will encounter (possibly with their legs crossed)? My ‘shift’ is the morning of Monday May 1; come and say hello, copies of all our books will be available for purchase.