You would think that there would have been little time for family history with all this gadding about hither and yon in recent weeks. After all, I’ve been away every month for the last five months and there are at least three more trips planned for this year. Time away from family history? Not a bit of it. There have been a lot of historical goings on lately. I’ve been giving talks as usual. It was a little while ago now but what a privilege to be part of the Society of Genealogists’ Mental Health day. I managed to find some fascinating case studies of those who spent time in an asylum. I was able to listen to some of the other excellent presentations but I must single out Dai Davies’ Remembering ourAncestors who died by Suicide . Do try to catch this if you can. They are presenting it again for the Pharos Anniversary Webinar week and I will be up again then on the topic of marginalised ancestors. I don’t think I’ve mentioned that I’ve been chatting to Andrew Martin as part of his Family Histories Podcast, talking about by straw plaiting ancestress and an elusive 3x great grandmother. You can listen in; I am part of series 11 along with some other great guests.
I host Zooms for more than one organisation and if I’m honest, not all the presentations hold my interest but there have been some fascinating ones amongst those I’ve heard recently. I particularly enjoyed ‘At Home in History – reflections on writing the history of domestic life’ from Jane Hamlett and Pam Vass’ ‘Kernow to the Crystal Palace. The Remarkable Ramblings of a Cornish Fishwife: Mary Kelynack and the Great Exhibition’. There are also some more potentially excellent talks to listen to in the diary .
Currently, I am coming to the end of leading my Pharos course on researching female ancestors, whilst at the same time, feeding back on students’ family histories that they have written as part of my writing your family history course; we’ve had stories of Irish brickmakers, handloom weavers and much more. I’ve been putting the final touches to my own biography (it has only taken fourteen years) and am enjoying supporting my new cohort of autobiography writers in the Society of Genealogists’ write your Life Story Club.
I am very excited that both Mistress Agnes and I will be contributing to this year’s All About That Place event. Then I’ve been submitting my proposals for Rootstech 2027, personning a local history exhibition and uploading some more stories of fatherless girls for A Few Forgotten Women. It is my turn to write the sample story for the next Forgotten Women Friday communal research day. I chose someone with a family name and managed to weave an account out of very few documentary appearances. Watch this space for the call for volunteers for that one. And there’s more, as one of my friends would say. I’ve been helping to get a co-authored book ready for publication and continuing preparations for the Devon Family History Society 50th anniversary conference, which is now a scarily short three months away.
Add to this the job we must not mention and I’m living my best history/family history life. Not roses but I do still have time to smell the flowers.
It always feels odd uploading holiday posts once I am safely back home but here is our final day in Wales. Today is our last day and we head north to Newton House, to tick the ‘National Trust property in Carmarthenshire’ box. We found this property a bit ‘alternative’. It is used more as a community space than as a way to share an historical narrative. Today the mothers and toddlers are meeting here and there’s a Disney film showing in the basement with a bed for viewers to lounge on. There is plenty of modern art work on display. This is in keeping with the ethos of the last owner Richard Rhys, who inherited the estate in the 1960s and turned it into a ‘castle for the arts’, holding festivals to showcase, music, art and craft. It also became a base for the National Theatre. The property was acquired by the Trust with no accompanying legacy for preservation or re-furnishing and it seem not a great deal is known about its history.
The current house was built in 1660 by Edward Rice on the site of a former Tudor hunting lodge and the Rice/Rhys family held it until it was given to the Trust. George Rice-Trevor, the 4th Baron Dynevor, was involved in trying to supress the Rebecca Riots, when rioters burned crops on the estate. These disturbances were similar to the south of England’s Swing Riots and took place between 1839 and 1843 as protesters objected high levels of taxation and the tolls that were levied on turnpike roads. Things that catch my eye include a mummified cat, allegedly hidden under the floor boards for luck, samples of old wallpaper and plaster, an elaborate papier mache ceiling and the mini biographies of former servants. There are also a couple of intriguing paintings. In one, the sitter ages by thirty years depending on which angle it is viewed from and another, of three children, seems to include ‘ghost children’. It seems this is not an overpainting. Officially, the guides have been told to say it is a trick of the light.
The landscape was designed by Lady Cecil Rice née Talbot in the mid eighteenth century and the park is a grade 1 site of special scientific interest and national nature reserve because of the lichens and fungi found here. The extensive Dinefwr estate is famous for White Park Cattle. We don’t see any but there are some deer in the misty distance.
Persistent drizzle dissuades us from exploring or walking a mile each way to view the twelfth century Dinefwr Castle, which was in the hands of the Rhys family for eight centuries. The original castle, which was captured by Lord Rhys in about 1165, was built in the nineth century, who then had the current castle built. So it is back to the van for a final lazy afternoon before an uneventful trip home.
There were plans for three out of the four days of our stay, so a decision had to be made about what to do with the spare day. We are aware that there are parts of the country we’ve never been, so places have to be particularly special for us to be thinking of a return visit. With that in mind, we are unlikely to stay in this area again, so I chose a return visit to the wetlands to see the section we didn’t have the energy for last time. Today we are exploring the Millenium Wetlands, totally different from what we have already seen. This section is almost devoid of people and we pop in and out of various hides to see what we can see. I am making full use of the Merlin app, which tells me what I can hear, so I am counting those on my list. Excited to have very nearly but sadly not quite, been quick enough to photograph a chiffchaff, of which, Merlin tells me there are a great many, chiffing and chaffing away. List below for bird fans as usual.
The café was an obligation of course and then a hunting for something even more elusive than a rare bird, the lesser spotted and endangered species that is a bank of a specific variety. We establish the address and ask Sally the sat nav to take us to the nearest car park. Just a shame this car park is no longer operational. We find on-street parking, for one hour only, the bank, says Google maps on my phone, which has very little battery due to all the bird identifying, is a seven minute walk away and we safely locate it. This branch of this bank is due to close in a couple of months due to ‘nobody using it in the afternoons’. It is afternoon. We spend 40 minutes there during which time two harassed staff try to cope with at least two dozen nobodies, all with less than straightforward queries. In the end we give up waiting and rush back to the car just as our allotted hour expires.
The afternoon is spent using the one bar of wifi to try to uncover the story of a bigamist. Yes I know I said this was, unusually, a no family history trip but I fell over this in the process of solving a totally different query that popped into my inbox.
Birds seen: Goldfinch, Chiffchaff, Blackcap, Egret, Moorhen, Mallard, Blackbird, Jackdaw, Wood Pigeon, Great Tit, Black-backed Gull, Shelduck, Yellow-billed Duck, Re-breasted Goose, White-winged Wood Duck, Bufflehead, Snow Goose, a Puss Moth caterpillar and a Slow Worm (yes, I know the last two aren’t birds).
The weather forecast insists it will be 19 degrees and cloudy. We dress accordingly and set off for Weobley Castle. Oddly the sat nav thinks this is in two different places about half a mile apart and although I am enjoying following along on my OS map, it is hard to see where the entrance might be. Inevitably, we have opted for the wrong sat nav possibility and here we are in a farm. Destination recalculated and we arrive. There are some lovely views but to be frank, the possibilities for exploration here are a little limited. My travelling companion is fascinated by the remote lawn mower and is blocking it’s path with abandoned short scaffolding poles to confuse it. It would be harsh to say that this was the most interesting part of the visit and there is some historical information imparted, which I share with you now, with the usual proviso that this is what I gleaned and I can’t vouch for its accuracy. Regarded as a fortified manor, part of a series of Norman castles on the Gower peninsula, Weobley was described as ‘new’ castle in 1306, when it was held by the del la Bere family. A century later during a revolt on the Gower as a result of Owain Glyndŵr’s activities, Weobley suffered damage; the Welsh claimed to have ‘destroyed’ it. By the late fifteenth century, it was in the hands of Sir Rhys ap Thomas, who had been granted the overlordship of several castle as a result of his support for Henry VII during Henry’s efforts to claim the English throne. He instituted many improvements but the castle reverted to the crown when Rhys’ grandson was executed for treason under Henry VIII. It was then leased out as a farmhouse. In 1666, it was bought by Sir Edward Mansel and then passed to the Talbot family, being given into state ownership in 1911.
Weobley Castle’s possibilities exhausted, we decide to explore the south coast of the Gower and wonder if we can also take in Oxwich Castle. We can’t, it is shut. By this time the temperature has risen to the mid-twenties, the sun is beating down, we are ‘cosy’ and fairly in need of a drink and more urgently some ‘facilities’. Oxwich itself is heaving, with queues to get in the car park. We decide to try nearby Horton. All the coastal villages round here are approached via twisty, single-track roads, with occasional passing places. We are used to this. Not so other road users who clearly think their Nissan Micra is the width of a pantechnicon and has no reverse gear. Horton is equally lacking in options. Plan c is Porth Eynon. Car park located and himself heads off to pay for the parking ticket. This is always a technological challenge, involving reading things without the aid of reading glasses and potentially downloading apps. Ah no! This machine takes real money. The snag is that it doesn’t provide the necessary ticket in exchange. Never fear it takes cards. Having thus paid twice to park and ‘facilities’ availed of, we eat an ice cream and look at the beach. Our verdict on both – all very lovely but not a patch on what is 400 yards from my home. The drive back to the van is scenic, especially the road through Reynoldston. On the way, we pass a Harvester restaurant that would have been considerably more convenient than our Friday choice. Annoying that that eluded me when I asked Google for the nearest one to Llanelli. This is followed by another restful afternoon back on site, watching the swallows feeding their babies on the wing.
A short drive along the northern shores of the River Lougher and we are at the Llanelli Wetland Centre. We have a lovely wander round, popping in and out of various hides and unlike many of our forays to see wildlife, we do see a wide variety of wildfowl. The list is below if anyone is interested. There is also a distinct and pervading smell of cannabis at one point, although no other people are in view; very strange. Although much cooler than of late, it is a little on the cosy side and we repair to the café – hurray, coffee in sensible shaped mugs again. I was a bit disappointed to realise that we had actually only seen half of what was on offer but it really was too hot to walk another three miles or so round the other paths. The only negative was that they no longer supply paper maps. I do understand the need to save trees but I really can’t be doing with following a map on my phone. If it is big enough to read then I can’t see enough of it to work out where to go next. It would have helped if there were more copies of the map in places around the site. Note to self to print the map in advance if we ever come again to do the other half.
Then it is back to the van for a lazy afternoon. The adjacent Country Park is hosting Armed Forces Day, so we can hear military bands and World War 2 songs in the distance.
In the evening, we stroll towards the Country Park. This was formerly the site of a munitions factory. In 1881, the Explosives Company, based in Stowmarket, Suffolk, dredged the harbour, which allowed ships to bring in necessary construction materials. There were several tragedies, including an explosion in 1882, that killed seven workers, the youngest being thirteen and a fire the following year. There were further fatal explosions in 1917, 1920 and 1922. In 1914, a Glasgow Company set up a TNT factory on the site. At its height, during the First World War, there were over 6000 employees in the two factories, the majority of whom were female. Although munitions production closed in 1935, with a convalescent home utilising the buildings and the land becoming a camp for the children of unemployed miners, as the Second World War dawned, production restarted and more fatalities ensued. The factory finally closed in 1963, with the Park opening in 1980.
Rook, Mallard, Mute Swan, Black-backed Gull, Black-headed Gull, Coscoroba Swan, Australian Wood Duck, Blackbird, Wood Pigeon. Shelduck, Crow, Barnacle Goose, Chestnut Teal, Graylag Goose, Canada Goose. Moorhen, Magpie, Red-breasted Goose, Scaup, Snow Goose, Black-necked Swan, Sedge Warbler. The last one was heard only and I’ll fess up I can’t tell a sedge warbler from any other kind of small brown bird and in this case, we only heard it. I’m hopeless at birdsong too but this identification came aid of an app.
As caravan club frequent flyers, we are offered three night’s stay for the price of two. Always a sucker for a special offer, we look to see if, between the two of us, there is a gap in the diary. Fortuitously, there are a few days when we are both free, almost unheard of, especially at the time of the year but an opportunity not to be missed. A very short break in South Wales is planned. For once, this trip will have no family history connections at all. We are due to leave on what was the hottest day of the year, the hottest day ever in our part of the world and at our destination. Providence has it that we are delayed due to an urgent appointment, so our day of departure is due to be cooler, at least until the forecast changes and the view is that there will be another day of ridiculous hotness.
The job we must not mention firmly under control, thanks to a 4.45am start. By 8.30am, armed with plenty of water, we set off. This is as early as we can, given that the campsite has an earliest check in time of 1pm. I should say that a 4.45am start isn’t too far off normal for me, especially at this time of year and given that, after a stupidly hot night, I was not asleep anyway. As it was already 22 degrees, why not work? For my down-under friends who think our mid 30s temperatures are nothing to write home about, please remember that our houses rarely have air-con.
With the temperature in the car rising steadily, I enquire of the driver if the car has air con. I am reassured that it does but that he doesn’t know how it works. By this time, we are bowling along the M4 and it is 30 degrees. I consult the manual, handily stowed in the glove compartment. I fix the aircon, which now has the insurmountable task of cooling down what is a very hot car. We have a sat nav but it seems that while I was sorting air conditioning out I should have been navigating – who knew? A slight detour ensues. After a while, the air con makes a dent in the temperature but then we are stuck in traffic and from Port Talbot onwards, are crawling along at about 10mph for the next hour. As the traffic starts flowing, the outside temperature drops to a blissful 19 degrees.
The site is lovely, on the edge of a country park, close to the beach and with swallows swooping and diving. I have already sussed out which pitches have the chance of a wifi signal and despite the traffic delay, we are early enough to secure one before the site fills up tonight. Next, coffee and what passes for lunch, eight hours after breakfast. A robin pops in the van to say hello.
Lured by a 40% off main meals offer (cheapskates again you see) the plan was to head to the not actually very nearby Harvester in Swansea for an evening meal. Initially, we were going to go in early and look round but a combination of the extended journey time to get here and us just wanting to chill means we leave early, being aware of rush hour traffic but not early enough to look round. This Harvester is situated in a huge retail park. We are well aware just how huge, as it takes half an hour of driving round and judicious use of Google maps to locate the Harvester, which is well hidden behind trees. The sat nav just took us to the retail park, which appears to all share the same postcode. I thought afterwards that I should have gone for What Three Words – hindsight and all that. Good job we left early. We eat far too much. It is free dessert Friday but sadly we can’t avail ourselves of that offer and the 40% off. I never thought that mini desserts would be on my radar but with your mini dessert you get coffee as well and bonus points for Harvester as it is served in a proper shaped mug, not one of those wide cups where the coffee loses heat and which is hard to balance, even though I have no trouble at all with my grip.
No pictures were taken on this day so here is a bonus bird picture taken 2 years ago.
It hadn’t been the greatest of weeks. I’d been looking forward to the Fisherman’s Friends Festival for best part of a year. When I looked at our tickets, to my horror, I realised I’d somehow booked a campervan ticket and not a caravan space. The pitches are the same size and the same price but clearly I do not have the right ticket. My frantic ‘help’ emails were not answered. I feel physically sick. We can’t think of anyone with a handy campervan we could borrow. I run through the possibilities, which include sleeping in the car. We can’t park the van elsewhere and come in for the day as we don’t have a carparking ticket and once on the campervan site received wisdom was that you wouldn’t be able to leave. We’d booked a few days in Cornwall beforehand but instead of enjoying this, I anticipate more sleepless nights.
We move to our caravan site. Thinks aren’t getting any better. This is not the caravan site I thought it was, nor the one I probably should have booked. So not the one nearest to the festival site, nor the one with the lovely view of the sea, whose only downside was that you had to have the pitch next to the laundry to get wifi. This one has wifi but zero television signal. That’s ok, I have my computer (not enough wifi for TV streaming) and my companion can just sleep instead of sleep in front of rubbish TV. Once pitched, we drive to the showground where the festival is being held to see if my fears can be allayed. Someone, whose decision it won’t be, says she’s sure it will be fine. I am not reassured. She also says she will contacted the ticketing folk, whose base seems to be in Switzerland and they will let me know if there’s a problem. I am still not reassured.
Tuesday 19 May 2026
Despite unseasonably cold weather and threatening showers we decide to make the most of our time in Cornwall. It is definitely the sort of day to go somewhere with some indoors, so no strolling along the coastal footpath. We opt for a return trip to Trerice, where we’ve been a couple of times before, so here is not the place to write about it in much detail. My eye was caught by the knot garden, a nifty sealing wax dispenser (no home should be without one) and a late sixteenth century set of oak Kales, which are similar to skittles and the cheese (ball). The game was first recorded in 1509, when there were ten pins, although this set has nine and were arranged 1,2,3,2,1. Due to the gambling that became associated with the game in Tudor times, laws had to be passed ensuring that bowling greens were licensed and it became an expensive and therefore high-status, game.
We listened to a talk by a volunteer, braving wind and showers that eventually drove the talk indoors. There was a farmhouse on the site in 1230, when John Treise was in occupation. By the fourteenth century, it belonged to the Arundell family and we heard about a confusing succession of John Arundells. By the time we got to John Arundell Vth, I was feeling a bit dizzy and had rather lost the thread. I think it is a combination of a stressful few days, not just because of the ticket issue, a high pollen count and very humid weather. I went for a restorative slice of cake and then we decided to cut our visit short so that I could lie down in a darkened room (well a caravan at least), stopping only for supplies at a supermarket near us. I did note that the current Trerice was built in 1572 by John Arundell Vth, that the family supported the king in the English Civil War and that the window of the Great Chamber contains 576 panes of glass that date from the sixteenth century, as does the plaster ceiling in the upstairs room. From 1760 the house was in the hands of tenant farmers and fell into disrepair.
Wednesday 20 May 2026
Having recently spent some time listing all the different National Trust properties I’d been to (74), I was keen to see if there were any Cornish ones close enough that I had not ticked off the list. East Pool Mine was one but that is closed for repairs, however, I was alerted to Trevithick Cottage, open by appointment only. I’ve had a fascination with the mining engineer Richard Trevithick (1771-1833) since reading the Poldark books in the 1980s, so was keen to go and booked without incident. We found it without too much trouble, aided by asking a local and after a bit of a fiddle trying to park so as not to upset the neighbours, we were shown round by the current tenant. The granite and cob cottage dates from about 1700 and has a grade 2* listing which applies to the cottage and associated outbuildings. The thatch is traditional long-straw thatch, which I know from my straw-plaiting endeavours is very hard to acquire. The cottage was Trevithick’s family home from the age of two until his marriage; his father was a mine captain at the nearby Dolcoath mine.
Thursday 21 May 2026
Another day another National Trust property, this time Lanhydrock. This too was a return visit. We were last here four years ago but my travelling companion has no recollection of it at all. I had forgotten quite how far it was from the car park to the house but it seems I am not as feeble as I was on Tuesday as I make it there and back without coming over all unnecessary. Lanhydrock was the home of the Robartes family, purchased by Richard Robartes in 1620, using money he’d made supplying both fuel and credit to the nearby tin mines. There was a disastrous fire in the 1800s and Thomas Charles Agar-Robartes spent the equivalent of 8∙7 million pounds restoring it. At the same time, he built a new modern kitchen block, where twenty five people worked, there weres a further fifteen indoor staff and forty estate workers. The displays name some of the staff and tell us a little about them. The kitchen designs were based on a book by Robert Kerr, The Gentleman’s House. I continue my research into caramel magnum quality, I fear I will need a few more before passing judgement.
Friday 22 May 2026
We are now in the position of needing to leave this caravan site before the incoming vans arrive at 1pm, yet not arrive at our destination half an hour away before 2pm. Even given that we are not the fastest driver in the west this is a logistical problem. Normally we’d ask to stay late on the site and that’s usually not a problem but the road to the site is single track for much of the way and we really don’t want to meet something larger than a car coming the other way as new holidaymakers arrive. I try to stem my ‘will we be allowed on site?’ stress as much as I can, as well as running through plans b to z in my head. Inevitably, we arrive two hours too early and understandably, are told to go and hide until the appointed time; two more hours before I know our fate. We find a road wide enough to park and still let the bus pass (just) and feel just a tad conspicuous doing so.
The witching hour arrives and we approach with trepidation. I haven’t obeyed the instruction to display our sticker from five miles out, as it clearly says campervan and with the best will in the world, a campervan we are not. We join a short queue and are waved in through the gate. I flourish our not yet stuck sticker and say ‘we aren’t actually a campervan’. 10 out of 10 for observation me. ‘Doesn’t matter’ says the guy in hi viz. Well what a shame someone didn’t reply to my frantic emails ten days ago to that effect and allow me to enjoy the anticipation and excitement in the run up to the weekend. Through the gate then, that’s the first hurdle but we still aren’t on a pitch. We are guided to another queue, which turns out to be the queue for accessible camping. We haven’t quite reached that stage yet so our driver needs to perform a neat manoeuvre to get us on to the field and we are in! Finally, I can start to enjoy myself.
We wander round to exchange our tickets for wristbands, so now I don’t have to worry about losing the tickets. Next, a recce of the site to see what’s what, investigating the craft tent and deciding that there’s a lot of lovely things we can do without and then listening to some folk musicians on the bandstand stage. We return to the van for sustenance and then head back to the bandstand for some of the fringe acts. ‘We don’t need the ponchos’, I declare. We listen to The Port Isaac Gulls, a female acapella group. It turns out we do need ponchos and I send my stalwart companion back for them while I chair save and hope that the few drops of rain don’t materialise into much more. Next up is a female duo Sound of the Sirens. We stay for the opening numbers from 1940s band Company B before bowing to the descending fog, falling temperatures and drizzle and call it a day, returning to the van to warm up. The rest of the country is in the midst of a heatwave, not so here, which may be just as well. We have new neighbours as the previous ones hadn’t paid for electricity, so were moved to where they wouldn’t be tempted to just plug in. We are not the only caravan masquerading as a campervan.
Saturday 23 May 2026
The site was surprisingly quiet last night and the gentle hum of the nearby generator wasn’t a problem. We listen to the ‘Ahoy Rise and Shine’ session, intended for children. This was led by Rob Punder of Entertainingly Different and was actually a good example of what it was. It brought back memories of summers on the beach when my children were small and being entertained by United Beach Missions. This is the first festival that I’ve been to since I was seventeen. I channel my inner flower power generation self and relive my youth by buying clothes that I would have worn then – 70 is the new 17 right? I do (just) resist the temptation of a felt pixie hat complete with toadstool and oak leaf decorations. The acts begin in the main marquee at midday with a set from the Fisherman’s Friends. Mindful of our senior status, we take chairs. This does mean that we are behind those with the stamina to stand, so it is a case of hearing the acts rather than seeing them.
Porthleven Town Band bring back more memories of summer weekends, this time watching the girls playing in a brass band. The band also has some excellent singers and their rendition of Cornwall my Home, with a male voice choir vibe, was incredibly powerful and moved many people to tears. You can listen online but it doesn’t fully convey the highly charged atmosphere in the tent. Definitely one of the stand out performances of the weekend for me. Bear in mind they are a band not a choir. Next up, The Longest Johns of the viral weatherman song fame, Irish singer Sharon Shannon and then Seth Lakeman. We returned to the van to eat, finding the Fisherman’s Friends film was on television. Then it was back to the marquee for headliner Jules Holland. We didn’t stay too long, just enough to say we’d seen him. Thick fog had descended with the darkness again.
Sunday 14 May 2026
We went to support the children’s entertainment again. This put us in the right place to see Fisherman’s Friends member Marcus Bonfanti, with a blues set; he was accompanied by his daughter Isabella for a couple of numbers. We were in time for the second half of the Splann ceilidh band in the main arena and managed a Gay Gordons and a mammoth set of Strip the Willow without too many ill effects. They were followed by the Cornish choir the Oggymen, who were up there with our favourite acts. Peat and Diesel followed, excellent musicians but a bit too heavy metal for us. Another highlight was Skippinish and I splashed out on a CD, which I got signed. The evening was Kate Rusby from Barnsley and then an hour to wait for Fisherman’s Friends. We’d decided that we would stand, so that we could at least see the band. The crowds formed straight after Kate finished and we found ourselves four rows from the front. This worked well in the beginning. Unlike a theatre, you could sing along at full volume and not be heard and jig about a bit. It was certainly a great atmosphere. This was however the day that the heatwave finally reached Cornwall and half way through I’d already been standing for two hours. I had to bail out to the side of the arena where I could sit down and fell some fresh air. Nonetheless, it was a great weekend. The following day, we left early to avoid the Bank Holiday traffic and heat and were home by 10am. Would we do it again, on balance, yes I think we would if we could.
This post is a few weeks overdue as life has been even more hectic than usual but a recent ‘big’ birthday was time for reflection. Having very nearly completed my memories of my life up until now, there has been a great deal of looking back. I’ve been working on this for twelve years, since I attempted to keep up alongside the lovely group of ladies who helped me to produce Remember Then: memories of 1946-1969 and how to write your own. Since then, I have helped several more groups, each time vowing and failing, to keep up but making a little more progress each time. My most recent attempt was with the Write your Life Story group that I lead for the Society of Genealogists. This time I so very nearly made it. I hoped to have it completed for my birthday but I am just half a chapter short. I am 410 pages and over 114,000 words in. I can’t imagine anyone will want to read it but it has been fun and important to do. Some of it, with redactions, is on my Granny’s Tales site. Having said that no one will read it, people clearly have nothing better to do, I have had positive feedback from those who grew up where I did, or who went to the same schools as me. Our personal history overlaps with the history of others, so our memories have a relevance for local and social historians, with the caveat that memory can be flawed. The series of monthly Monday afternoon online sessions with the Society of Genealogists starts again in June if you want to join the fun.
In the course of looking back I got diverted down a rabbit hole when my daughter alerted me to some free ‘Travel Visualiser’ software that allow you to map which British counties you’ve lived in, stayed in and visited. About twenty years ago, inspired by an American friend who was trying to spend a few days every US state, we decided we’d do the same for English counties. For the first few years, this was a concerted effort then it drifted into abeyance, although were continuing to add counties by default. This is my map so far. I have been very conservative about where I’ve stayed. If I’ve just stayed for a weekend conference and not looked at the surrounding area, I haven’t included it as stayed. Equally, I haven’t included a couple of counties where I stayed as a child but only went to the beach. It is also really hard to work out where you’ve passed through.
This then led to me wondering how many National Trust, English Heritage and other tourist attractions I’d visited. I refused to re-read 57 diaries again so this depended on photo albums and the holiday diaries I’ve kept in more recent years, as well as looking at my collection of guide books, which I no longer add to. I’ve probably missed a few. I use a total of 40 English Counties as I include the Isle of Wight separately. Counting just properties, rather including than countryside, my total so far is 74 National Trust properties in 29 counties and 47 English Heritage sites in 22 counties, with particularly good coverage of Cornwall, Devon, the Isle of Wight and Northumberland. I can also tick off a total of 43 Isle of Wight tourist attractions, quite a few of which are no longer open.
I am proud of what I have achieved in the last *0 years. There has been joy and sadness but I am very much a glass half full person. Yes I have regrets but I aim to have as few as possible going forward (there’s a song in that somewhere). Aware that I am now on borrowed time and my body will already no longer allow me to do quite as much as I used to, I am cramming in as much as I can, while I can. There definitely needs to be a sequel to the story of my first *0 years. Apart from the Norwegian cruise and the family visit to Centre Parcs, which were part of the birthday celebrations, recent weeks have included a whirlwind family history based week away and an extended family reunion weekend. No wonder this post is delayed.
In the interest of bucket list ticking, I arranged to go riding on the beach up the road, as a birthday present to myself. The local stables do this regularly and I quite fancied having a go. Never mind the fact that I’ve only ridden once since I was seventeen. A friend said ‘did you canter?’ Canter? She jests; I was going as slowly as possible and clinging on for grim death like a tenacious limpet. As I didn’t want to go faster than very slowly I had to book a whole ride, which would usually be for several people, to myself. The weather was very windy and drizzly, which was a shame and horses seem to sway a lot more than they used to. I had a large but placid mount who belied the name Spirit. The staff at Follyfoot Stables were fantastic and took loads of photos which display varying degrees of me looking wet, cold and petrified. I was slightly concerned, as it was very expensive because I was paying for a solo session (which would have been good value per person for six people), that I might love it so much that I’d want to make this a regular thing. Fortunately, it was just that little bit too scary. I was very glad that I did it but once was enough and I am quite content to hang up my riding boots (I don’t actually have any riding boots) forever.
Reaching *0 is a privilege not granted to all and I am determined to ‘seize the day’ and make the most of the time I have left. Looking forward, there more to do while I still can. We are off to the Fisherman’s Friends Festival shortly. Festival-going is also something I’ve not done since my teens. Not looking forward to the 11pm finishes but hey. More caravanning in order to tick off a few more counties is in the diary for later this year. I’ve arranged to go to Iceland and there’s a couple more overseas places I’d like to visit. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ve probably left it too late for Madagascar. I want to see as much of my nearest and not so near dearest as I possibly can and I’ve been on a mission to catch up with as many old friends as possible. I send about eighty Christmas cards each year and some of the people I have not seen for decades. I am therefore on a quest to remedy this if possible and I am having my photo taken with them as I go, so that I can create an album.
I’ve taken on a small additional role for the job we must not mention, so hope to continue with that for a few more years. I am carrying on giving talks hither and yon, mostly online. In a way, I’d like more free evenings but then I think, yes I can do another one. I really must learn that when ‘no’ is in my head, ‘yes’ should not come out of my mouth. This applies to more than just talks. There are family history stories still to be told and I am toying with the idea of another postgraduate qualification. If successful, this would mean that I had one from universities in England, Ireland and Scotland. I am still determined to get back to spinning (the textile kind not the extreme gym activity). I definitely want to make more of living where I do and not suddenly realise that the summer is over and I’ve barely seen the sea. I am trying to cut down on some of my voluntary roles so that I have time to just relax, when I discover what that is.
Each year since the 1980s, the first May Bank Holiday weekend has been the time for members of the extended Braund family to reunite in North Devon. This year we had visitors from Australian and New Zealand, as well as those joining in from the USA on zoom. This occasions are always an opportunity for eating far too much but we also try to see some of Devon’s historic sites. This year’s offerings included a guided walk round Bideford, which has a fascinating history and an outing to Knightshayes Court. Knightshayes was the home of the Heathcot-Amory family from 1872-1997. The family’s fortune was due to the bobinet lace making machine invented by John Heathcote. This made the process much quicker and therefore more profitable but was very unpopular as it required less labour, so put people out of work. Forced to move from his native Midlands, John Heathcote took over a disused woollen mill in Tiverton and located his lace-making factory there. The factory still exists but has passed into other ownership. It was his grandson, Sir John Heathcote-Amory, MP for Tiverton and later a baronet, who used his grandfather’s fortune to commission Knightshayes in order to demonstrate the family’s wealth and status. William Burges was appointed to be the architect of this Gothic Revival style stately home but when his ideas proved to be too extreme, he was replaced by John Dibblee Crace, whose designs were out of fashion before they were finished. Various features were dismantled and stored by the family and the National Trust have been able to restore some of this to reflect Crace’s vision. The house was requisitioned as a hospital for the wounded during both world wars.
Flowers picked from the gardens and grounds appear in most of the rooms, together with details of the flowers that have been used and the name of the volunteer who arranged them. A beautiful crewelwork bedspread was worked on by Lady Heathcot-Amory, who invited her guests to add a few stitches. There was an exhibition dedicated to Joyce Heathcot-Amory née Wethered, who was a well-known championship golfer, renowned for her swing. She turned professional and was inducted into the World Golf Hall of Fame.
We will do it all again next year by which time I may have lost the weight that I put on this year.
A distinct downside of the Rookesbury Park caravan site is the one bar of wifi and zero phone signal. This meant that, on arrival at the Marriott Hotel, venue for the 47th Guild of One-Name Studies conference, I needed to upload two photobooks for printing before my pre-paid vouchers ran out. This had to be carefully timed so the resulting books didn’t arrive while I wasn’t at home, so I couldn’t do it earlier. This and the fact that I was ostensibly ‘helping’ meant that I missed Brian Swann’s opening presentation about resources for Portsmouth Shipping.
I was glad to be able to listed to Frances Hurd’s ‘Sex, Violence and Alcohol: after effects of the Great War’. I hadn’t realised that then a shell-shock diagnosis relied on physical, rather than psychological, symptoms. This was followed by a fascinating presentation from graphic designer Sarah Houghton, ‘Representing the People: envisioning the hidden history of the Portsmouth suffragist movement’. This was fascinating. Sarah has created wonderful animations about the march of the suffragists from Portsmouth to London and has also recreated some of the banners that they carried. Do check out her website.
I started day two with one of the fringe talks, Valerie Brenton on finding teachers’ records. This was a good summary and deserved a wider audience. Next up was Paul Carter with ‘Making your Research Manageable’, whose verdict on AI was that it was useful as a clerk but dangerous as a judge. Continuing the AI theme, was John Thew, who illustrated what might happen when someone tried to use AI to do their family history, particularly if that person wasn’t very skilled in providing suitable AI prompts. The take away was that humans are still significantly better at making genealogical connections than AI.
Nick Barrett held the after lunch spot, providing hints for Medieval and early modern resources. One of my favourite presentations was Sally Gardiner’s ‘Who was Ann Elizabeth Epitaux’. Sally had purchased a sampler at auction and her U3A group had worked collectively to trace the ancestry of the person who was named on it. Considering that Ann Elizabeth had ancestors who were Jones from Wales, they did remarkably well. I was then part of a panel fielding questions about the future of family history. There was plenty about AI, which is clearly the hot topic.
The Gala Dinner followed. By the time I had joined the drinks reception queue, they’d run out of orange juice. I asked the staff member, who looked about twelve, who said he would bring it to my table. This did not materialise so I asked another waiter – possibly thirteen this one, who asked if I wanted it in a glass. Well yes, not sure swigging out of bottles is the done thing at a gala dinner. He then produced a jug of orange juice for two of us but still no glasses. The after dinner speaker was Harry Rothery about the Mary Rose. I’ve heard talks about the Mary Rose before but probably so long ago that Harry wasn’t born. It is fascinating what has been done recently. I may put Portsmouth Dockyard down for a revisit.
Then it was Sunday. After an ecumenical service, it was my turn with a new presentation ‘Preserving the Past for the Future’. I was pleased with how it went and the resulting book sales. Then I listened to Daris Williams’ presentation, entitled ‘Is AI the new Snake Oil?’, with a very balanced view of the pros and cons. He said that the hope is that all the records on Family Search will be searchable via the full text option by the end of the year.
A break from the focus on technology was Howard Benbrook’s talk on the Hampshire Swing Riots, although, as he pointed out, there are parallels to be drawn between reactions to threshing machine’s and to AI. A useful website that he recommended is www.theenglishprojectcaptainswing.org. Back to technology for the afternoon with ‘Navigating Modern DNA techniques’ from Donna Rutherford and Sophie Kay describing the open source software Gephi. This enables you to visualise your DNA matches but could also be used for other kinds of networks.
Then it was all over. We said our goodbyes and look forward to reuniting next year, when the conference will once again be in Portsmouth.
The History Interpreter - Janet Few 