Category Archives: Uncategorized

Christmas Trees, Christmas Markets and day three of the Historical Novel Advent Calendar

by thehistoryinterpreter

christmas-tree-2016-1This month, our village is staging a Christmas Tree exhibition. Local groups and associations were challenged to decorate a tree that reflected their activities. Never one to resist a challenge, the history group set out to create something that would be representative of what we do. We debated using vintage tree decorations, which I have but they are too precious to leave unattended and anyway they would be inhabiting my own tree. In the end, our tree became a real joint effort as two members were charged with sourcing a natural ‘tree’ aka suitably shaped branches and greenery. Another member was to provide sand to secure the ‘tree’ in its pot. We did have difficulties with this as an unseasonable three day freeze meant that the sand pile was impenetrably solid. A gravel substitute was found. My contribution was the decorations. For these, we printed out small portraits of former residents, taken from our photograph collection, within seasonal frames. We abandoned the initial idea of putting the names on the reverse side as we feared that the stability of the tree would not withstand viewers trying to access the names. Instead, we provided a key to the identities of those on our ‘decorations’ to put beside the tree and instead put seasonal images on the reverse of the laminated ‘ornaments’. Glittery ties and ivy in lieu of tinsel finished off our entry. It has already attracted favourable comments and now we await the result of the vote for the ‘best tree’ in the New Year.

Now I must stop writing this and venture out to set up the history group stall at the Christmas Market. Fortunately, I only have to move our historical books to the chapel next door and it will be fun to mingle with my neighbours for the day, looking at the produce on the other craft and food stalls and generally starting to feel Christmassy – a season that I love, even though I am not a fan of the weather that accompanies it. Having said that, I don’t think I could get my head round Christmas in blazing sunshine on the beach along with my down-under friends.

For today’s historical novel advent box I would like to open the novels of Anya Seton. She was the first adult historical novel writer I read, having, at the age of eleven, just watched a television adaptation of her Dragonwyck. During my early teenage years I eagerly worked my way through her whole output. An American author, Seton’s works are nonetheless often set in England and stretch from Roman Britain (Mistletoe and Sword) to the Victorian Era. I still re-read her books, admire her careful research and enjoy the slightly mystical slant that some of the novels have. Green Darkness is one such, time slipping between the sixteenth century and the present. This is one of my favourites and her teenage novel Smouldering Fires adopts a similar approach. Several of her novels are based on real characters; for example The Winthrop Woman tells of early emigrants to America and Devil Water is set at the time of the Jacobite Rebellion. The latter instilled in me a great love of Northumberland decades before I was able to visit that county. Seton may now be considered old fashioned but I can still get lost in her narrative. Who will I draw from the ‘box’ tomorrow?

The Midnight Adventures of an Historian. Latest DNA news and the contents of my second advent box are revealed

by thehistoryinterpreter

You may remember that, last year, I inadvertently applied to present webinars for Ontario Genealogy Society and failed to correctly assess the impact of the time difference. This saw me – yes, the me who is normally asleep by 10pm and never sees midnight, even on New Year’s Eve, presenting to a Canadian audience beginning at what was midnight my time. Last night I got to do this again. This time, not only was it midnight but the temperatures outside were doing a good job of replicating those experienced by my audience. In order to get the maximum bandwidth I am not in my cosy wood-burner heated living room, nor still in my relatively balmy bedroom but in the arctic spare bedroom. I suppose the upside of this was that the temperature helped to keep me awake. My session on historic causes of death seemed to go well – if you can judge how well you are doing when you can neither hear nor see your audience. At any rate, there were plenty of questions and some lovely comments at the end. In a peculiar brand of masochism I have agreed to present a webinar for next year’s series too!

Yesterday I posted my DNA kit. Thanks to a helpful suggestion, I opted for ‘genealogy kit’ on the customs form. It turns out, had I listened to the instructional video, that would have made a similar suggestion. Instructional video? I thought I had done well getting someone else to check the written instructions. I had to persuade the young man in our Greendalesque mobile post van that I actually needed a customs form. ‘It is quite small you won’t need one’. Really? No way was I having my DNA end up on one of those border force TV programmes, so I insisted on having a form, which he struggled to locate. Perhaps that was why he had suggested not bothering.

51amm97hjtl-_sy344_bo1204203200_The historical novels out of my advent box today are the books of my friend, local author Liz Shakespeare. Liz writes evocative stories set in Victorian North Devon. These take their inspiration from real characters and are meticulously researched. Fever: a story from a Devon churchyard recounts the anguish of the families in my neighbouring parish of Littleham, as the community is overwhelmed by an epidemic. A gripping story and plenty of social historical context, with a health history aspect that appeals to my interests. Another novel that recreates the era and the locality in striking detail is The Turning of the Tide, which is set in Clovelly and Bideford. It follows the life of Selina Burman who is rescued from the workhouse by a local doctor with an unusually modern outlook. Liz has also written a beautiful set of short stories All Around the Year, inspired by the Devon landscape. Her oral history of Littleham The Memory be Green was garnered whilst she had the opportunity to speak to those who remembered the early years of the twentieth century in her home parish. Not only is this a fascinating account but it could be replicated in other communities. Liz is currently taking pre-publication orders for her forthcoming novel The Postman Poet. This tells the story of Edward Capern, who walked from Bideford to Buckland Brewer on his daily round, resting in my house before making the return journey and penning poetry whilst he did so. My account of Liz’s re-enactment of Capern’s journey can be found here.

My DNA Adventure and I open the first of my advent boxes

by thehistoryinterpreter

 

dscf3504I was finally enticed by FamilyTreeDNA’s seasonal sale and purchased myself a family finder DNA kit. I am still not quite sure why I have done this but I never can resist a bargain. This morning, I was up early to provide my sample. The company advises doing this before you put in your dentures. That’s no problem, hopefully it will be a number of years before I will be inserting any dentures. It is also though supposed to be before breakfast. I am not much use before breakfast but I am very law abiding so taking the test has to be done very early, so I can eat. It is the first duty of the day, well after checking social media that is. I enlist assistance as I am notorious for not reading instructions. My assistant does not have his reading glasses with him – this is going well. I begin scraping away at my cheek with vigour whilst my assistant times the required 30-60 seconds. My jaw is unnaturally locked in an open position and it is really difficult to do this without dribbling. No one tells you that, or is it just me? About twenty seconds in I realise that I am using the flat side of the implement instead of the scrapy side. I fail to communicate this to my assistant by means of strange gurgling sounds (I am still scrapping and he is wondering why I haven’t stopped when the suggested number of seconds is up.) Sample safely ejected into phial provided, I start again with the other cheek.

dscf3505The waste bits of the scraper look like they have potential for turning in to instruments of witchcraft torture – excellent just what we need. No, seriously, this is not a joke. Deed done. Dilemma. How should I fill out the customs declaration? I am dubious about the etiquette associated with sending bodily fluids through the post. Can I legitimately classify it as a ‘gift’?

I have thought long and hard about who this ’family finder’ might find; the possibilities are limited. It is really designed to link you with 3rd-4th cousins, or closer relatives. Ok, who is that likely to be? I have no siblings, no first cousins and only six second cousins (those with whom I share great-grandparents). These are all on the same side of the family and two of them are adopted, so from a genetic point of view that leave me with four people, whom I already know, to match with. I must not neglect the ‘removeds’. These four second cousins have between them six children (my second cousins once removed), all of whom I know of. I believe one or two of them have produced children (my second cousins twice removed) but these are babies and unlikely to be looking for DNA matches.

I track back to my third cousins (shared great great grandparents). There are eight possible couples who have produced remarkably few descendants who are my third cousins. We are now in the realms of cousins who I have only discovered through family history. Over the 39 years that I have been seriously tracing my family (yes I was an infant when I started) I have looked for, contacted, or become aware of, third cousins on all of these eight branches; watch this space to see if DNA can turn up any more. While I am waiting for the test results, I will try to go back over these eight sets of great great grandparents and their descendants, to see if there are any I have missed. For now I can tell you that Philip and Mary Woolgar née Cardell had four children and I believe I have brought all their descendants’ lines down to my own generation or beyond. This is the line where I have second cousins but we are the only ones in our generation, so there are no third cousins on this line at all.

scan0002I am hoping to open a history themed book on my ‘advent calendar’ (aka blog) for each day of advent. Some of them will be written by people I know so, to make it fair to my author friends, the order is being decided by drawing the names out of a hat. Today’s offering is The Cruel Mother by the late Sian Busby, which was recommended to me by our of the participants on my ‘Telling your Family’s Story’ course. Don’t be put off by the book’s title, which is taken from a folk song. It is a true story of the author’s great-grandmother, who drowned her infant twins during a bout of puerperal insanity. This may not sound like a laugh a minute and it isn’t meant to be. It is however a brilliant insight into early twentieth century attitudes to mental illness and the repercussions that this incident had down the generations. It also tells the story of Sian’s attempt to sift fact from rumour as she sought to understand more about her family’s secret past. If you are interested in human behaviour, social history, psychology or family history you will enjoy this book.

A World of Missing Things – or the latest episode in the diary of a scatty historian

by thehistoryinterpreter

Today a fisherman of my acquaintance requested help with collecting his car from the garage. Today was also the first frost of the year, that would be a very hard frost. I donned as many layers as possible, allowing for the fact that I had to be able to move my arms. I broke the ice on the muddy puddle that passes for a pond in case the resident frogs, Fred and Freda, were struggling to breathe. F & F were sensibly conspicuous by their absence.

074 23 January 2013 Me at Samiland 2

Not Actually Today But You Get The Idea

Inevitably, the car windscreen was iced up, although bizarrely this was on the inside not the outside. De-icer. De-icer, hmmm. I was car-less last winter. I haven’t needed de-icer for more than a year. It must be in the boot. Can I remember how to open the boot of this car? This is not as ridiculous as it sounds. Oh, ok, it is ridiculous but here is my excuse. I have to park with the back of my car hard up to a wall so there is no room open the boot. The back seat is my boot. The boot however does have things in – like de-icer. I debate prizing the parcel shelf off to gain access to the boot from inside, then opt for moving the car forward (despite not being able to see where I am going) in order to open the boot, which, it turns out, is accomplished by the conventional method of turning the key. No de-icer. Then it dawns on me that my de-icer is in a car graveyard somewhere on the south coast. I take out a second mortgage and burn up half a tank of petrol so I can leave the engine running while the windscreen gradually defrosts, aided by some judicious rubbing on my part. This leaves delightful smears through which I peer as I negotiate ice and blinding sunshine on my journey, the sun also creates migrane inducing flickering as I travel between the trees.

Other adventures today include becoming an Amazon seller. I have been heavily publicising my books in the hope that they will make suitable items for Santa to slip in stockings, not just of friends of friends but folk in the world beyond. I am therefore keen that my magnum opii should be available on the site of a well known online bookseller near you at the proper prices, not three figure sums. If you want a thing doing …….. so following a suggestion from a friend, I began the process of setting myself up as a seller. Step 451 ‘enter your passport number’. Sets off to get passport. No passport in the place where passports live in my house. Minor panic ensues. This rapidly develops into a major panic as I rifle through every folder in the box of official papers, tossing bills, bank statements and guarantees around with frenetic abandon. Stop to think – you know, that ‘When did you last have it?’ thing. Light-bulb moment, when I nearly used it to renew my driving licence online (gory details of this saga are available in an earlier post). This means my passport has not yet reached the top of the ‘to be filed’ pile upon which it was tossed after this abortive mission. Passport duly retrieved.

Several steps further on and an automated telephone call requires me to put the number I can see on my screen into my phone. I kid you not, this number begins 999 (quick translation for US readers – this is the equivalent of 911). Are they having a laugh? I do this and ‘verification has failed’. I am to try again or speak the number. There do not seem to be any blue flashing lights at my door but I opt for the latter and there I am, an Amazon seller. So you can now buy my books on Amazon at the prices that they are meant to be. Sales direct from me are still preferable but all sales are welcome. Did I mention that it is only 25 days to Christmas?

And in my Life this Week…… history and other weirdness

by thehistoryinterpreter

This week I had an early doctor’s appointment. Early is easy, I can do early, especially now I have rediscovered my lost-for-months pocket alarm clock that has been sneakily hiding in a rarely used bag. Appointment was 7.40am. Doctors is a 20 minute drive away. I wake up before 6am as usual and turn off the alarm (set for 6.15am – who needs it). I start my day (aka check emails and social media). There’s a handy little clock in the corner of my computer screen. I really should learn to look at it more often. Suddenly it is 7.06am. I am still in bed – arrrrrggh. Undaunted, I am out of the house by 7.15am. Then I realise that although I know where I live (fortunately) and where the doctors is, I go so rarely that there is a piece missing in the map in my head that should tell me how to get from one to the other. Luckily automatic pilot works and I arrive in time.

‘Early appointments’, I’ve been warned, mean that the doors are locked and I have to be ‘buzzed in’. I fail to grasp the logic of this. Are mad receptionist threatening maniacs only abroad before the hour of 8am (after which time the doors are unlocked)? And if I were said mad receptionist threatening manic would I announce myself as such on the intercom? And another of life’s mysteries, how can the doctor be running twenty five minutes late when I can be no more than appointment three?

Returning from the doctors, I decided that today was the day for making the Christmas cakes; running a bit late with this this year. As regular readers (amazingly there are some) will know, cooking is not high on my list of enjoyable activities, or indeed my abilities. I do however ‘do’ Christmas cake, usually several Christmas cakes. This year I have managed to convince myself that I really don’t need four but two will be sufficient. Cakes happily in the oven I get on with my day. After the required time, I check the cakes and decide that one could do with a little longer to cook thoroughly. I leave it in the Rayburn which is on tick-over (for non Rayburn/Aga users this means it isn’t actually turned on but is still warm). I return to the fascinations of my real life. The next morning I come downstairs to get breakfast and spot a Christmas cake on the kitchen table where I had left it to cool. That’s funny, I think (turns out it is hilarious), where is the other Christmas cake? Realisation dawns. It is still in the Rayburn. The well cooked cake is quite dark and I think ‘solid’ would be a good description. Even my usual remedy (disguising the burned bits by turning it upside down) will be inadequate. Helpful Facebook friends make suggestions as to what to do with this creation, most of which involve copious amounts of alcohol – not sure if that is for me or the cake. I will be making another cake but I have found a volunteer to consume the middle if I cut the edges off.

It has been another week of dealing with incompetents. Just one of several examples:
Me to prospective venue on the telephone: ‘We would like to book your venue for 21 November 2017’
Venue: ‘We will email you’
Venue (by email): ‘Here are the dates we have available in February.’
The months have been changed to protect the guilty.

Last weekend was a rare occurrence. I went to a concert. The performers were Chris Conway and Dan Britton and I had been invited on two counts. Dan’s family were involved in the 1838 Clovelly fishing disaster, that I had researched in 2013 and some of the songs were related to the incident. I was also attending with fellow author Liz Shakespeare, in order to sell books. What a great evening.

Writing tasks this week have included finishing off lessons for my forthcoming online course about twentieth century family and local history research – don’t neglect more recent decades folks, you could even do a course ……… I have also written a guest blog, ready for my appearance on Jenny Kane’s website on 9 December, so look out for that one. Two of my blog posts (here and here) have now appeared on the In-Depth Genealogist’s website and I am writing the next in my series of articles about women’s work for their magazine. I’ve met with our lovely authors’ group again. That’s work right? Surely drinking coffee and eating cake is work.

booksNext week I am being interviewed for Tiverton Radio. So, amidst the pre-Christmas busyness and posting out books for discerning Christmas shoppers, it is all go. On the subject of books, a well known online book retailer has my books at ridiculously high prices at the moment. Don’t let this deter you. Buy from the publisher, even better buy from me but please don’t pay above the cover prices that are listed here.

Still Writing, with some Speaking and Listening too

by thehistoryinterpreter

The week began with a bang at the Society for One-Place Studies conference, which this year was held in Swindon. What an enthusiastic group; I came away really fired up to take my own one-place studies in new directions. The first part of the proceedings was a fascinating visit to the Historic England Archive, a real treasure trove this one. As the majority of their holdings are photographs they need to be kept in very cool conditions. We entered the cold storage area at six degrees, having been told to dress warmly. I’ve done the ice hotel, this was as nothing but I did wonder why the staff member who accompanied us was still in a short-sleeved dress. By way of contrast, our conference room on the Saturday began the day with additional heating and a thermostat set at 30 degrees. The temperature restored to a more acceptable level, it was fascinating to listen to our five speakers for the day talking about aspects of their one-place study. I have to say, apart from the obvious attractions of the Historic England Archive, Swindon does not rate highly on my list of must re-visit places. Just too many people, too much traffic and too few or too expensive car parks. To be fair to Swindon, they have tried to make the most of their heritage as a railway town but it is still a town and as regular readers will know I just don’t do towns.

This must be the week when programme secretaries fill their 2017 calendars; I have taken a record number of bookings and will be crossing the country as usual next year. I am relieved that the description for my Tracing your Elusive English Ancestors talk for Who Do You Think You Are? Live now matches the title. Great to see so many friends amongst my fellow speakers. Bookings are now open and early-bird offers are in place. I have also been a writer in residence in some small way. Sitting in our ‘authors in a café’ café and hoping I would not be talking to myself or the resident pigeon. As it turned out I was able to chat away for most of the morning. So thanks to John who came and stayed and others who said hello. I even succumbed to the delicious cake. I wonder if my Zumba fees are tax-deductable? After all if I wasn’t ‘forced’, purely in the line of duty, to eat all this cake……

I am the editor for the journal of our Braund Family History Society. Sometimes this writes itself, on other occasions, such as the issue for this quarter, for ‘edit’ read ‘write’. Just to prove that I am already encouraging my descendants to be creative I am reporting a conversation with Edward, aged 2¾. Conversations with Edward often have a surreal tinge but he understands that Granny does writing and I was asking what I could write to fill ten pages of a journal that was already at deadline minus a few days. “You could write a list of my vehicles, Granny.” So next time you read something from me that begins “Orange tractor, blue digger …….” you will know the source of inspiration.

Forget super moons, you may have observed some porcine shapes in the skies yesterday because, wait for it, I took a ‘day off’ to do some of my own family history. I discovered more about gg granny’s ner-do-well brother, who had more than one brush with the law. On this occasion he was in trouble for dumping the comatose body of his lodger on the steps of the workhouse – brilliant stuff.

CoverThe festive season must be upon us. I am surrounded by bubble wrap and brown paper, parceling up copies of my books that are to find their way in to the stockings of folk across the globe. Although Remember Then, which wasn’t even born this time last year, has sold better than I could have hoped, more copies are available – that would be quite a lot more – most of which are being carefully nurtured under the bed in the home of a fisherman of my acquaintance. Take pity on a fisherman – buy a book. Actually buy any book, not just mine, get the world reading again.

It’s Only Words – more about writing

by thehistoryinterpreter

178-9-august-2014-sunset-at-north-ledaigAs the Bee Gees’ lyric continues ‘and words are all I have’. In a week when many around the world are feeling impotent, frustrated, angry, riddled with hatred – so many emotions – I feel the need to adjust the focus. I put my faith in the ripple effect, if I can change the fragment of the universe that surrounds me perhaps it will, by osmosis, have a wider impact. In the interests of realignment, this is not going to be one of my rare political posts, I have said all there is to say before. My post that I wrote during the aftermath of the EU referendum is equally appropriate to the debacle that is the US election.

Today’s post is about progress and positivity but about conflict nonetheless. What weapons do I have to take into battle? What am I able to do and hopefully do well? I write, I stand up and talk to large audiences without a qualm. Sometimes I dress in strange outfits so to do. Mostly, I talk and write about history; how is that relevant to the present, let alone the future? How can I be a warrior for change when I am so rooted in the past? When I applied for college, part of the interview process was to write an essay entitled ‘Why Study History?’ I have largely forgotten the words I used then but they obviously struck home as I was accepted. It was the 1970s, I know that the Irish Troubles and their echoes and reflections of earlier events were part of my response; the details no longer matter. The value of history has not changed. Those who study history are not slightly strange individuals whose work is mere self-indulgence. An understanding of what has gone before is essential to our current well being. That is why those particularly personal branches of history, family and local history are so relevant. By learning where we have come from we become more firmly grounded, we have a sense of belonging, of well-being, we can better comprehend where we are going. We really do need to take heed of George Santayana’s telling statement that heads the home page of my website: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to fulfil it”. An understanding of the past informs our actions in the future. It teaches us to analyse, to think critically, to be aware of the need for proof and to be wary of propaganda. The universal lack of these skills has been blatantly self-evident this year.

Well crafted words provoke reactions, emotions, they are powerful weapons for good or evil, they need to be well chosen. So, what have I been writing lately? Most of my output has not been of national import, although I like to think that the way in which I expressed my opinion in a letter to BBC’s Newswatch, was one of the reasons that an extract from it was read. My first two articles for The In-Depth Genealogist’s Magazine have been submitted. The column is about women’s work and will be an eclectic mix of descriptions of household tasks and paid work. So far I have written about making clothes and munutionettes; next stop laundry.

I have been encouraging others to write too. My ‘Writing and Telling your Family’s Story’ course for Pharos has come to an end and I was privileged to have an enthusiastic band of students. The course is being repeated in February; bear this in mind if your New Year’s Resolution is to finally put fingers to keyboard. I have also been writing another course for Pharos, this one is about researching families and communities in the first part of the twentieth century. It starts in January and you can sign up now. These are online courses so can be taken from any location.

Oh and words also have to be accurate. I am pleased to have been chosen as a speaker at Who Do You Think You Are? Live again in 2017. Tickets for workshops (including mine on Tracing your Elusive English Ancestors) can now be booked. Currently, the description of my session does not match the title! I am trying to work out if this is better or worse than two years ago when my ‘Creating your Family’s Story’ was billed as ‘Creating Your Family’ – it did sell out though!

What else have I let myself in for? Our little group of North Devon authors are trialing ‘writers in residence’ sessions in a local café and I’ve volunteered to be the first victim. So I will be in Latte and Lunch café on Bideford Quay on Wednesday 16 November between 10.30 and 12.00 chatting about what I have written and what I am creating now. I will also have details of the output of others from our group. I really don’t want to look like Billy no mates so, if you are local, do come and grab a coffee and make it look like a crowd. As an incentive, the cake is yummy too!

And finally….. The news has just broken that one of my all time favourite artists, Leonard Cohen, has died. There was a man who knew how to weave magic with his words. Even if his musical style is not to your taste his compelling lyrics need to be read as the poetry that they are. Halleluya may be the most well known and it one of my favourites but for today, The Guests seems appropriate.

Armour and Authors in the Kitchen, a Plague Rat in the Hall and a Rock Star in the Corner (warning also contains political comment)

by thehistoryinterpreter

History first but I hope you will read to the end. Yet again I am aware of just how weird my life can be. How many people have a kitchen full of armour and plague rats in the living room? So far during this weird historical week I have watched a fisherman of my acquaintance walk round one of my ‘one-places’ on Channel 4 TV’s Great Canal Journeys. He did a great job and as a direct result there was a noticeable spike in the hits on the Bucks Mills page of my website.

Then there was our Swords and Spindles seventeenth century fun day. Part of the activities involved making cardboard plague rats, so I had to do a trial run first. As I commented on the Swords and Spindles blog, ‘safety glue’ is a description that is only 50% accurate. Safe it may be, glue it is not. Hence eyeless, noseless rats abounded – no chance with the tails and whiskers, I used a reputable brand of adhesive tape to affix those. Our team was out in force to entertain the hordes, well to be honest hordes might be a tad of an exaggeration but those who came stayed for hours and were very enthusiastic. Now the armour lies in the kitchen ready for its annual oiling by my non-resident armourer.

As for the author in the kitchen – my friend and local historical novelist, Liz Shakespeare, has written a novel about the life of Edward Capern, postman poet, who used to walk from Bideford to Buckland Brewer and back on a daily basis delivering the mail. He would wait in the village, writing poetry, before his return journey. Liz’s meticulous research has discovered that it was my cottage where he rested. Liz decided to follow his route and undertake the walk herself. I was proud and pleased to be able to offer her hospitality, reflecting the actions of my predecessor in this house, Mrs Ley. I have to report that no poetry was penned whilst she was here. Her report of the walk is on her website and makes me sound like some sort of domestic goddess. I wish to put on record that I cook twice a year, chutney and Christmas pudding/cake, she just happened to call in on one of these two days. Now to look forward to her book launch in March. What of my own novel writing efforts? Well, some progress is being made. November is allegedly novel writing month and some people are attempting to write 50,000 word novels in thirty days. I won’t be joining them but I do plan to increase my output if I can.

In September, John Reid of Anglo-Celtic Connections announced the results of the annual international competition to find genealogical ‘rocks stars’. I recorded my thoughts on the competition at the time and I was honoured to be listed fourth amongst British and Commonwealth nominees and fifth in Europe. Given that I have never spoken to a US audience and more than 50% of the votes come from the US I was very pleased with this. This year the voting system changed; to feature in the British list you needed to live in Britain and the nationality of the voter was not relevant. This week John issued ‘Rockstar Extra’ lists, showing who would have won under the old system. This was based on the nationality of the voter. Thus those on the British list might live anywhere in the world but were voted for by British voters. Amazingly, this placed me in gold medal position for Britain. I am stunned and hugely grateful to all who voted, thank you.

46333_10150271881405182_2126896_nI normally subscribe to the view that politics has no place on this blog, or on my social media feeds. That has never been their purpose. They are though also a reflection of my life and for the second time this year, I find myself moved to express my profound sadness at the hatred, invective and xenophobia, along with downright ignorance, that I have seen or heard expressed over the last few days. Tolerance and empathy are words that appear to have dropped from the lexicon. I fear for my descendants growing up in a world of hate. If you are reading this, I would ask you to stop and think, show compassion, treat people as individuals not as an amorphous representative of a particular race or religion. Do not believe the un-attributed, unsubstantiated media-fuelled drivel that is being circulated. Peace begins with ourselves and we need it to ripple outwards to those with whom we come in to contact. Fortunately I know that most of my friends feel as I do. If, on the other hand, you are unable to love your neighbour, when ‘neighbour’ extends to all in despair or need, wherever they happen to be, please don’t leave a comment, just quietly take yourself to a different sphere, virtual or literal, from mine because there is no room for you here.. The picture that accompanies this blog is illustrative of peace, love and beauty. Please share the emotions and the picture with those whose lives touch yours. If that makes me sound like a hippie, then guilty as charged and proud to be so.

A Week of Historical and other Weirdness

by thehistoryinterpreter

Some of the more bizarre happenings in my recent life include a surreal game of Guess Who (you have to guess the identity of the person depicted on a card) via Skype with my 2½ year old grandson. After the more standard questions ‘Have they got curly hair?’ and ‘Have they got a hat?’ we had ‘Are they an acrobat?’ and ‘Do they like peanut butter?’ Note to self – MUST hurry up and create a family history version of this game using old family photos.

Then I had to renew my driving licence as the picture is ten years old. Good excuse for the DVLA to relieve me of £17. Allegedly I could do this online and they would magically harvest my photograph and signature from that on my passport even if the passport photo is the same as that on the ten year old driving licence????

Next, an email inviting me to look at documents that had been left for me in Dropbox. I didn’t recognise the sender but a quick Google (other search engines are available) of the unusual name revealed the identity of the person who wanted me to see their files. Can anyone think why the American woman’s basket ball coach would possibly want to send me anything via Dropbox?

And in a restaurant chain near me, I view their newly revamped menu. I quite like this chain as they provide nominally ‘free’ salad. My dressing of choice is ‘red devil’. In the absence of this on their new ‘sauce bar’ I opted for ‘Triple H’.  If you are ever tempted to ladle copious amounts (or even a mere dribble) of Triple H sauce on your salad, don’t, just don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I like hot and spicy but this defied description. Hating waste I ploughed my way through half a bowl of Triple H bedecked salad and two litres of water (yes, I know that isn’t the ideal solution) before admitting defeat.

So what else have recent days brought? Firstly, the mystery of the missing gravestones. On rechecking the memorial inscriptions of the local churchyard that we completed three years ago, looking for additions, we found that two large slate stones had disappeared. It seemed that their removal was recent, as the holes in the ground showed no signs of grass mowings or water. No one seemed to know why the stones had disappeared. They were huge and heavy. I provided photographs as ‘evidence’. We began looking for someone with a hernia, broken suspension and a new slate worktop. Bit of an anti-climax, it turned out that they had been legitimately removed by a local stonemason for refurbishing. Strange than they didn’t tell anyone though!

captureThere have been a couple of strange Twitter conversations. Who would have thought that one could follow the course of the Battle of Hastings on Twitter? Then another seventeenth century addict posted a woodcut of the time (censored here) depicting what appeared to be a medical procedure. There followed a discussion as to exactly what was going on: vasectomy? (surely not) circumcision? (probably not at this date) who knows? Note that the patients appeared to be smiling! Answers on a postcard.

Then I have been compiling a full risk assessment of our living history activities ready for our Family Fun Day next week. You have NO IDEA how dangerous it is. Will you trip over a long skirt, inhale glue when creating a plague rat, drop a bucket on your foot or a pike on your head? Will you have a heart attack from the weight of our armour or strangle yourself with our bodice laces? Are you up for all this danger? Join us if you dare.

Serendipity or ……….?

by thehistoryinterpreter

You know those weird ‘meant to be’ moments when a facet of your family history falls in to place and it seems to be more than just co-incidence? There are even suggestions from the scientific community that memories can be passed on through our DNA. Genetic memory or not, there are certainly some inexplicable twists of fate that lurk within the stories of some people’s family history research trails. Often we find that our skills, abilities and interests reflect those of our ancestors. To be honest, we’ve an awful lot of ancestors out there; it probably isn’t too difficult to find someone who shares your musical ability or your love of dressmaking. I feel drawn to certain landscapes and parts of the country. Many of these have ancestral connections but my ancestry spreads over most of the counties of southern England, with a few rogues from the north, so again not much of a co-incidence.

Serendipity then. Here is my hairs standing up on the back of the neck tale. I spent most of my adult life living on the Isle of Wight. I chose to live there and have an affinity to the island but as yet, no ancestral connections, although my parents went there on honeymoon (no I wasn’t conceived there!). Although both my children were born on the island, neither was christened there. The elder was baptised in a Buckinghamshire village during a brief, work related, three years that we spent living in that county. The younger was christened, far from home, at the annual church service arranged by our one-name society.

ann-howe-nee-stratford

Great great grandmother Anne Howe née Stratford

Several years after we returned to the island from Buckinghamshire I took another look at my paternal grandmother’s side of the family. This was decades before online research made life easier. My uncle, by then deceased, as was everyone on this side of the family, had been adamant that his grandmother came from Cumberland. It made some sort of sense, her husband was from Northumberland. After diligent searching I found her, not in Cumberland but in Buckinghamshire. At the time I was living there I had no knowledge of any ancestral links to the county. She was born fairly close to where I had been living. In those days, the only way to see the census returns was to travel to London, so it was some months before I could take this any further back and reach the next generation, my great-great grandmother, who, the census revealed, had lived in not just the same county, not just in the same village but in the same road that I had inhabited for three years.

 

We so nearly didn’t live there. At the time neither I nor my husband drove. The houses we had been looking at were all in the town where he was to be working. Typically, in the days before online house-hunting, the estate agent had also sent details of properties that did not meet our spec, one of them was this village property about five miles out of town. A colleague offered to drive us out for a viewing and we were hooked. Thus my elder daughter was baptised in the same church as her 3 times great grandmother, although we did not know it at the time.

Even my current home has a family history connection. I had decided to downsize and relocate to North Devon but had not yet started to search seriously for a new home. We were visiting Devon and taking someone round parishes that had connections to their ancestry. We drew up near the churchyard. This was churchyard number seven. It was, inevitably, pouring with rain. By this time I was losing the will and in need of drying my socks on the car radiator so I remained in  the car whilst my companions plunged knee deep in wet graveyard. I looked up and saw a For Sale sign. After six months and various trials and tribulations, that are an almost essential concomitant of UK house buying, I moved in. Do I have any ancestral connections to my current home? Well – and there will be questions on this later – my 4 times great grandfather’s, sister’s, husband’s father was baptised here – I’m not sure that counts!