Seeing double – when family history gets confusing

by thehistoryinterpreter

Since returning from the frozen north, in between wall-to-wall Zooming and another weird allergic reaction incident (see below), I have been revisiting a branch of my daughters’ ancestry. It is so long since I last looked at this family that the documents that I wrote, telling their story and recording my research path and sources, no longer open. Fortunately, I have hard copies, so can retype. My version of this line stops with Thomas and Sarah Kear of St. Briavels in the Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire. Other researchers have extended Thomas’ ancestry further but this was all I was confident of and indeed still is, although I am pretty sure where it goes next.

Newland Church

Looking again at the evidence, I realised that there were two Thomas and Sarah Kears in St. Briavels and neighbouring Newland, having nine children between them from 1765-1789. The obvious way to distinguish between the two families was to assume that those baptised in St. Briavels were one family and those in Newland were another and certainly this did not lead to biologically impossible families. By now some of you will be wondering if this was in fact all one family, as did I but it was definitely two families; there are two burials for both Thomas and Sarah Kears, all in Newland. God bless them, both Thomases and one Sarah left wills and this sorts t’other from which. One Thomas was a maltster and the other a coal miner. Although both have sons called Thomas, the dates of their baptisms and a property that continues through the family makes it clear that the St. Briavels Thomas and Sarah are the correct ones for my daughters’ line.

Next to look for marriages of Thomas Kears and Sarah …….. . Yes, as expected, there are two, seven years apart, both in Newland, both a year before the baptism of the eldest child and guess what both Sarah’s have the SAME surname – James. Then of course there are the two Thomas Kears baptised in Newland within a month of each other in 1745……… almost certainly neither of which are the one I want!

It is always worth returning to old research. This time I discovered the sad story of a family member who took his own life and was drowned, according to the coroner, ‘asphyxiated by upper dentures’.

Ignore what is below if you are just here for the family history.

Now the weird allergy thing, sorry but some people did ask (never ask, never). Some of you will recall that, earlier in the year, I received free (but unwanted) botox courtesy of an adverse reaction to who knows what. Friday I was happily Zooming away, looking as normal as I ever look. An hour later I went to drink a cup of coffee and realised that my mouth was seriously swollen. Ring 999 said Dr Google. I was reluctant to do this so went for 111 instead. The call handler quickly decided that this was above their pay grade and I was passed to a paramedic who actioned the ‘super-fast, highest priority’, emergency ambulance. I explained the difficulties with finding my house and precise instructions were relayed. By this time, I was sat clutching the emergency epi-pen that I’d been given last time and the paramedic talked me through its use, in case I needed to self-administer it. I was once trained in the application of these things but it was so long ago that I had retained nothing of this potentially helpful information. After half an hour, the paramedic says he will get off the line in case the emergency ambulance needs to ring. I ask how long it might be. ‘Any time now, you are top of the list, as if you are having a heart attack.’ I have packed my emergency ‘going to A & E’ bag. I have arranged back up if I don’t get back in time to host a meeting in the evening and I am sat on the stairs with shoes and coat on and the door open. I debate how bad one has to be to use the emergency epi-pen. I can still breathe and talk, so I am thinking not now but of course once one isn’t breathing …….. After an hour and a half, the ambulance arrives, they’ve been deployed from another area due to volume of calls. Don’t get me wrong, I love the NHS and they do an amazing job in the face of ridiculous underfunding. I am also aware that the downside of living in the middle of nowhere is that emergency services don’t get to you so quickly but an hour and a half for absolute highest priority does seem a tad overdoing it. Just as well I wasn’t having a heart attack.

I was treated in the ambulance for an hour, give oxygen, medication was organised and as I didn’t seem to be getting worse, I was free to go, with strict instructions to seek urgent help if it recurs. Still absolutely no idea what is causing this and this time the rash (which came first last time) developed later and much less severely. Next step will be parting with copious amount of blood to see if they can work out what is going on. Ah well, life is never dull.

Out and About

by thehistoryinterpreter

I have been home for a week and I have reprehensibly left you all in the wilds of Northumberland. So, for the one of you who is wondering what happened next, here goes.

We spent several days grappling with the lack of internet, during which time we managed to get the car fixed. Undeterred, we returned to Craster, to find it marginally less busy than on our previous visit.

Next, a glorious, sunny day during which we ventured back to the Keilder Forest. On the map, the home of one of my probable ancestors looked to be up yet another non-road. Based on previous experience and mindful that the car was newly fixed, I debated whether or not we should boldly go. My companion was undaunted, so off we set and we were rewarded with a proper road and spectacular countryside. My ancestors certainly knew how to pick the best spots. Talking of maps, these trips always remind me how much I enjoy following routes on OS maps. This is absolutely not the same as navigating, though I have been doing that too, as some of the places on our itinerary are too small to be recognised by the sat-nav.

As the descendant of a Northumbrian shepherd, I was fascinated by these round, stone sheep-pens

We then returned to my ‘one-place’ to photograph the eighty or so gravestones. Fortunately, these had already been transcribed by the local family history society, so it was just a case of taking the pictures.

Back at the van, we found that there was still no internet, meaning no work could be done, so we went for a walk round the nearby nature reserve. We’ve been to this caravan site several times before but as we habitually approach it from one direction, we had only just discovered this spot a few hundred yards beyond the site entrance. This meant that I could accomplish my Race for Life kilometreage (surely there should be a metric equivalent of mileage). It wasn’t very ‘racy’ but it was done and we got to see a huge flock of greylag geese as a bonus.

Our final day saw us embrace more hunting for ancestral houses. Against my better judgement my companion suggested that we embarked on a journey up a long and bumpy private drive as ‘we are almost there now’. These are occasions when I side down in the footwell and keep everything crossed that the owners are out. No such luck. A 4 x 4 approached from the opposite direction. We put on our best ‘we are stupid tourists’ expressions and were set to blame a faulty sat-nav. This is preferrable to admitting why we are actually there, as this often involves me in producing complete house histories gratis in exchange for a quick photo op. All is well this time as the 4 x 4 owner seemed totally disinterested in why we were up her drive in an area where households are currently not allowed to mix. There have been no follow ups to our adventures, so it seems that our covert photography has not led to us being reported to the local Farm Watch after all. Finally, internet was restored and I began to tackle the 210 emails that had arrived during the outage.

Then home. I was glad we went. It would have been all too easy just to stay at home but it was probably wise to escape briefly. It wasn’t as relaxing as usual and not ideal to be in a COVID hotspot but this was booked pre-COVID. Now I would be quite content to hibernate safely within my own four walls and garden until spring.

More Gravestones, Ancestral Homes and Non-roads

by thehistoryinterpreter

The holiday is over but due to the non-existence of the caravan site’s internet for several days, you think I am still stranded in Northumberland. All this happened a week ago; I promise you will catch up eventually.

What is life like in the frozen north? you ask. Bracing, I think would be an accurate term; windy, a bit drizzly and about 10 degrees. It turns out that the car’s funny noise means it needs a new alternator and that is booked in for four day’s time. Now all we need is for it not to break down completely in the interim. We drive out to the edge of the Keilder Forest for more gravestone hunting of ‘almost certainly my ancestors’ the Newlands and the Corbitts. All I can say is that I have not inherited their hardy gene. They must have been very resilient, trying to eke out a living here 300 years ago. The landscape is inspiring but forsaken and bleak. All I need to do is to find a tiny bit more evidence to confirm that John Hogg really was the son of Robert and I can claim this area as an ancestral home. All the evidence suggests that John son of Robert should be on my family tree but I am waiting for something further (which I may never find) before I ink him in.

Another day and more ancestor hunting. This time though in a town, so slightly more adventurous. I enter the large town churchyard in search of a grave. I have no burial plan and there are hundreds of graves. What I do have is a photograph with a tiny bit of background that I am hoping to identify, in order to take my own photo. I pause just inside the entrance and hold up the blurry picture to indicate to my companion that we are looking for a grave near to a fence and a lamp post. I look at the grave immediately in front of me – and it was the one I sought! It also contained information that wasn’t legible in the photo. Definitely a win this time. For those who have been following my recent family history adventures, this commemorates Peter (he of the pig and the 5 women) his parents and two of his children, one of whom I had not been aware of before.

This success was followed by my first visit to a supermarket in more than six months. It was a smallish supermarket and it seemed to pass off without incident but I will be relieved to get back to home deliveries.

After braving the town, we feel in need of a socially distanced day, so it is off to one of my one-places for some covert photography of people’s houses. We are used to narrows country roads but my proposed route does take us to some ‘interesting’ places. Despite the fact that my companion is very keen on his ‘new to him’ car, he bravely goes where no self-respecting driver has been before. This is clearly not the place for the alternator to expire completely.

The non-road takes us past the ruined peel tower that might have been the home of the Hoggs who I hope are my ancestors. Some of the one-place farms are too far up drives to be photographed. Although my partner-in-crime expresses a willingness to turn up a front doors of strangers when we are in an area where visiting other people’s homes is forbidden, I am less keen. I am already aware that we have zoomed in to take pictures of farms displaying large ‘cctv in operation’ signs. I suspect the local farm-watch hotline is already buzzing with our descriptions.

This is the day when I should have been doing my alternative Race for Life. Given that my back is still not conducive moving much, I have decided to postpone my 5km run/jog/walk until I am nearer home. I have been ridiculously poor at asking for sponsors too, so if anyone has a few pennies to spare this is where to go.

Mills, Castles and Elusive Gravestones

by thehistoryinterpreter

Having arrived in COVID central, on another lovely sunny day, we set off in search of the many local mills once worked by the Eadington family. We wander round Lesbury and then on to Alnmouth, which is very pleasant. We have reasonable success in locating the sites on our list and most are away from the crowds anxious to enjoy the last day of summer. We get stuck behind a flock of sheep, some of which have gone rogue and broken away in the opposite direction. One man and his dog, or in this case quad-bike, it is not. ‘Hunt the mill’ does take us to places other itineraries do not reach.

The next day and the temperature has dropped by ten degrees. Undaunted we venture north in the footsteps of my great great grandparents who travelled across the border to Lamberton Toll for a Scottish irregular marriage. I am pretty sure they would have taken the coach that ran up what is now the A1, from close to their home right to the Toll. I know that the toll house no longer exists but allegedly there is a plaque marking the spot. Fail on that one. It must be a very well-hidden plaque. Heading westwards, we call in at Norham Castle, built in the C12th for the Bishops of Durham as an entertaining space. It was here, in 1291, that Edward I and his advisors chose John Baliol, from thirteen contenders, to be the Scottish king. There was significant re-building following damage in the 1510s when the Scots got a bit troublesome. It had been subject to many sieges over the centuries. My ancestors lived close to this castle and would have known it when it was a little less ruined than it is now. Until it came under state ownership in 1929, it had not been maintained since the Union of the Crowns reduced the threat from the North.

Then it is off to Norham church to search for some gravestones. This will be fine, we have plot numbers and a plan. We know where row one is, what we don’t know is which end of the row is number one, nor is it quite clear what constitutes a row amongst the randomly scattered stones. More by luck than plan, we locate two of the four. What I have neglected to do, is note the names on stones surrounding the ones I am interested in, which might be more legible. We have phones, in theory we should be able to find the website and look at the transcription. In practice, neither of us has mastered using the phone for internet searches so that is not an option. In any case the stones I am missing are 1720s and the transcription was probably done in the 1980s so it is likely that they are no longer standing or legible.

Home via a couple of Scottish churches which involves a gate-related incident. Mindful that we are in a COVID hotspot, I attempt to hook the gate open with my foot. I achieve this and my companion exits the church yard. As he does so, he pushes the gate open further. Sadly, my foot is still wedged in it at the time. As I am wearing wellies in order to scour wet churchyards, I fail to hop backwards sufficiently swiftly and end up sinking to the ground grabbing the gate that I had been at pains not to touch in the process. It really is easier to stay at home. Fortunately, we have plenty of hand sanitiser. The car is making a bit of a weird noise. It is going and there are no warning messages but it looks like tomorrow will involve a trip to a garage. We do have form for getting stranded miles from home.

The Great Escape Begins

by thehistoryinterpreter

So, in the run up to departing for the wilds of Northumberland, I indulge in what was apparently some over-zealous gardening and am rendered almost immobile by a pulled muscle in my back. This means that many of the ‘must do before I go’ jobs take twice as long as usual, or don’t get done at all. Let’s be honest, it’s taking half an hour to get out of bed. The days have been punctuated by numerous Zooms, including C17th presentations for The Institute of Heraldic and Genealogical Studies and a panel chat for Family Tree Magazine – you can watch it here. By the time I got to the panel I’d already been presenting for two hours, hence the regular swigs of gin water.

Having been out of the house a mere handful of times since March it does seem rather out of character that we decide to head to Northumberland just as it hits special COVID measures. The plan is to be in the middle of nowhere in the north of the county and restrict ourselves to driving/walking in isolated areas. Definitely no tourist attractions/pubs/restaurants and with luck, just one shop visit – it will be my first for six months.  We are also on stand-by to bale out at any point. In the interests of avoiding public toilets, which are in any case non-existent in the wilds of Northumberland, we have purchased what is basically a bucket with a seat attached. I am still not quite sure how using this in the boot of the car will go, even though it is quite a big boot. Not being able to bend will make it even more ‘interesting’ than it might otherwise have been. Said purchase did mean that Amazon, bless them, sent the usual ‘Would you like to share your experience of …..?’ email. Ermmm, are you quite sure Amazon? Anyway, it is, as yet, untried; I’ll let you know how it goes.

I also have a new phone, this is a proper phone, one that, in theory, does things apart from make phone calls. The operator is still playing catch-up but I am gradually increasing my ability to make it do things. I even occasionally remember to charge it and turn it on.

On the way north, we call on some descendants and meet at a National Trust property. This counts as very adventurous for me and we have duly pre-booked. On arrival at the entrance the man fails to find my name on his list. I have helpfully printed out the tickets and I rummage in my bag for these, only to find that I have inadvertently booked for a different day! By this time, the other half of the party are already inside. I ask if I can inform them of the problem. Whilst I am confessing to my blunder, the fisherman of my acquaintance somehow blags our way in, partly due to his powers of persuasion but helped by my life membership and his status as a National Trust volunteer. Phew. A lovely sunny day and some glorious flowers, although I prefer the wildflowers to the dahlias. It was lovely to spend socially-distanced time with the family. Onwards and upwards.

Family History Excitements and Jumping on the Scottish Bandwagon

by thehistoryinterpreter

My book launch two weeks ago seems to belong in the dim and distant past now. It went very well thank you, with 120 Zooming in. Thanks go to Devon Family History Society for hosting. The book is selling steadily and I am starting to get some lovely feedback. If anyone could face popping a teeny review on the dreaded Amazon I’d be grateful, as this open doors to other reviews. You don’t have to have bought the book from Amazon, you just have to have bought something from them. Reviews elsewhere are also welcome of course. In case you’ve missed all this book news and if so where have you been? details are here.

Plenty of news in the Family History world. 2021 is going to be exciting. Rootstech, for which I am an Ambassador once again, is to be virtual and free. This really is a chance to embrace the Rootstech experience without going to Salt Lake City. 25-27 February are the dates to save and you can register now. I am also proud to be joining my down under friends as a speaker for the Family History Down Under conference in March. This too is a virtual event, with a great international line-up.

Then those of us who have done Ancestry DNA tests had our ethnicity estimates updated. These are of course just that – estimates but it seems that the whole world is now Scottish, not just me. My own estimate changed very little, 5% moved from England to Scotland but there are many reports of increased Scottishness appearing in people’s estimates. See here for my take on ethnicity estimates.

On the subject of Scotland, I still haven’t added any ‘born in Scotland’ ancestors to my tree. It looks likely but I am waiting for more supporting evidence. Really exciting news though. After more than forty years of searching, I have found that my great great grandparents did get married after all – sort of. In preparation for heading north, I reviewed my Northumbrian ancestry for the nth time. This branch is the one that gets stuck first. I am pretty sure who my 3x great grandparents are, I just need more evidence (a bit of a theme you’ll notice). For those who’d like all the details of this sorry search, I’ve written about it before. My great great grandparents, John Hogg and Elizabeth Pearson, were not married in the 1851 census and apparently married by the time their daughter was born in March 1854. Despite four decades of not finding the marriage, I am always optimistic so I tried again. This time though a glimmer of hope. Family Search led me to a notice in the Newcastle Chronicle recording a marriage of Mr John Hogg and Miss Elizabeth Pearson on the 13th April 1853. The names and date were right but was this my great great grandparents? They were not of the class to put a notice in the newspaper and they were in the Morpeth area not Newcastle. Finding the actual article was a challenge. It didn’t show up in a newspaper search on FindmyPast; I had to look for the individual newspaper and then find the page. The column was one of those in a margin, so distortion meant that it was not picked up by OCR. The snippet made it clear that this was the right couple as both were ‘of Espley’, a small Northumbrian hamlet where I knew they were living in 1854. Helpfully, it gave the place of marriage ‘Lamberton’. A quick google revealed that this was not the breakthrough I had been hoping for. Lamberton Toll was the location for Scottish irregular marriages; a less well-known Gretna Green. I suspect they travelled there because he was 23 years her senior, with children as old as his new wife and she had already had two illegitimate children. Perhaps that was why they put the notice in the paper,because they didn’t have an official certificate. It was an odd paper to choose though, why not pick a Morpeth paper, which was their nearest town? Some records of Lamberton Toll marriages do survive, sadly not for 1853 though, all that there is is an index. So there is my hope of confirming John’s father’s name gone (I was so hoping that it was Robert). The only faint chink in the brick wall is that John’s first marriage is also missing, was that another irregular marriage?

The moral of the story is don’t give up. At least I have a date and a place for the marriage if not the vital father’s name. The next post may come from the wilds of ancestral Northumberland, might just sneak in a quick trip to Lamberton!

Lamberton Toll

The Tale of Peter Pig-owner and should I buy a kilt?

by thehistoryinterpreter

There’s so much going on at the moment, of which more another time but for today a tale that shows you can still find something new, even after over forty years of family history research.

Yesterday I should have been giving my presentation ‘Madness and Melancholia: the mental health of our ancestors’ a final run through (incidentally still time to come along to this one if you cross my palm with £2.50) but my early morning email trawl dictated otherwise.

An email from My Heritage ‘You’ve got Record Matches’. Sorry My Heritage John Parr of Devon and Johann Jakob Parr are not the same person. Nor is Richard William Braund of Cornwall the one in Melbourne. Their third offering did catch my eye. An extract from a history of Alnwick, Northumberland, published in 1866, referring to Peter Eadington a miller. Now, lurking on my tree is 4 x great grandfather Peter Eadington, miller, not of Alnwick but of Norham, some thirty miles north on the Scottish border. I knew that Peter’s daughter lived in Alnwick after she was married but it hadn’t occurred to me that there might be an earlier family connection.

Although my DNA and tree have been uploaded to My Heritage, I don’t have a subscription so couldn’t look at the record but I found a free copy of the book online and could see that this was too late for my Peter Eadington. Nonetheless it set me thinking. about family connections with Alnwick. Firstly, my Peter Eadington was a bit of a lad. He was a miller in Norham between about 1788 and 1805, during which time he had six children by three different women. One, Alice, he appears to have been married to, although no marriage record has been found. His two eldest daughters were probably born within weeks of each other. His story, as was, is available here but now of course it needs updating.

So, the whole of yesterday was spent following this Bright Shiny Object, with some success. During the course of twelve hours’ research I found, amongst other things, that Peter, whose baptism and marriage still elude me, was sometimes called Patrick, as was his first cousin Peter/Patrick, who was also his brother in law. Ancestry tree owners have these two beautifully muddled and today’s task is to decide which of the two married Sarah Dodds. I am almost certain it is my Peter, in which case he lied about his age on his marriage bond, probably because he was nearly twenty years older than Sarah. Personally, I would have been a bit more worried about his chequered past but hey. Unfortunately, this makes him the right age for cousin Peter/Patrick. The will of his father, David, freely available on the North East Inheritance database, was key to all this but because it is not on Ancestry, it has been ignored and therefore the Peter/Patrick name change has not been picked up. Also key is a family gravestone in Alnwick cemetery. The great piece of luck is that all this came to light BEFORE I am due to stay just outside Alnwick. With the luck of 2020 it would have been after, although there is still time for a regional lockdown to sabotage the trip. The bad news is that there are nearly 600 gravestones in Alnwick cemetery – ah well at least we will be socially distanced.

I now know that he, or possibly cousin Peter (I need to check who was at which mill and what time) owned a boar that, when killed, weighed 52 stone. Thanks British Newspaper Library. The ubiquitous Ancestry trees claim Scottish ancestry for both of Peter’s parents. I still have to satisfy myself that this is correct. If it is, they will be my first direct ancestors born outside England, which is very exciting.

Beside this, last week’s discovery that my grandfather’s first cousin was an actor with the fingers of his right hand missing, who performed with Cary Grant, pales into insignificance. William Smith is, after all, a bit harder to trace. So don’t tell me your family history is ‘finished’ there is always more to uncover.

Now back to who married Sarah Dodds?

St. Michael's, Alnwick

St. Michael’s, Alnwick

Book Launches, Boats and a side dressing of Crime

by thehistoryinterpreter

Busy, busy, busy. It has not all been work though. I spent a week going out with half my family; some weird activity that I’ve not done since March. This involved a spectacular face-plant (mine) on the football field, building sandcastles in the drizzle (effective for social distancing) and watching an excited boy catch his first fish. This particular expedition did involve running the gauntlet of a crowd of irresponsible idiots who clearly felt that being on holiday entitled them to abandon any concept of COVID awareness but we survived. Although it was lovely to see the sea, I am still much more comfortable staying at home and have no great longing for meals out, the pub or the hairdressers. I did get Martha to hack a bit off my hair while she was here but I could have managed without. It went like this – a little more off this side to even it up, oh now a some more off that side, oh and a bit off just here but she did a good job.

DSCF4414.JPG

This week it has been full on book marketing. Only three days until the big day and the excitement is mounting. Devon Family History Society have kindly offered to host my launch talk, when I will be describing how I researched the story of a seventeenth century town and its inhabitants, in order to write Sins as Red as Scarlet. This means spaces at the talk are available, so contact me now if you want the secret code to attend via Zoom. Those on the Devon Family History Society virtual talks mailing list will get the link automatically. Not only does Sins as Red as Scarlet greet an unsuspecting public on that day but an audio book version of Barefoot on the Cobbles becomes available too. Thanks to the lovely folk of Circle of Spears who have done a brilliant job. I seem to have cracked uploading to Amazon so Kindle versions of Sins as Red as Scarlet can be pre-ordered now and print-on-demand paperbacks for those outside the UK are in the pipeline. You will be able to order UK paperback versions but please don’t. Come to me instead, you’ll get a better quality, signed copy and I’ll pay the UK postage. Or go to a bookshop or my lovely publisher.

There are other exciting things on the horizon. On 5th and 6th of September, I am joining other local authors for two days of talks about various aspects of crime. My session will focus on the C17th but there are sessions that will appeal to lovers of history, folklore, literature, psychology, vampires, Agatha Christie and much more. At £5 for a ticket to listen to as many of the sessions as you choose, that can’t be bad.

I will also be giving two presentations for the Institute for Heraldic and Genealogical Studies in early September. The seventeenth century again and one-place studies in the C19th. Places are limited on these so book early etc. etc..

As for the autumn, wait and see!

A Botox Related Tale – aka medical update

by thehistoryinterpreter

An update – thank you all for your concern. The allergic reaction excitement continues. Pleased that the rash seemed to be receding, I went to bed last night only to wake up today to an image of seriously botched botox, staring me in the mirror. Mindful that my email from the doctor said ‘if it goes to your face go to the doctors immediately’, I drag a fisherman of my acquaintance from his bed so he can come and collect me to drive my delightful trout pout to the hospital; the doctors’ surgery being closed on Saturdays.

I am duly ummed and ahhed over. I was a bit disconcerted that the doctor didn’t think my mouth looked swollen. I know she doesn’t know what I normally look like but seriously, do people actually have upper lips stuck out this far without cosmetic intervention? I am given some steroids, about 8 tablets all to be taken at once – seems a bit extreme. I suppose now I will be able to train for sports such as weightlifting.  I am ‘monitored’ for two hours. By this time I have been sat in my mask for four hours without respite. They sure aren’t fun, especially if you only have one with you. Wear them though folks, it is important. I am called back to the consulting room. ‘Has it gone down?’ I am asked. Well being as my mouth has been covered in a mask for the last four hours and I don’t have access to a mirror, I have no idea. I opt for, ‘It is probably about the same.’

I am free to go, with more medication, a ‘just-in-case’ epi-pen and instructions to follow up with my GP. I decide I will do the handwashing thing. Forget twenty seconds, even two seconds is a challenge as water only comes out of the tap when you are pressing it and there is no plug in the sink. I fail to successfully master rubbing my hands together under a running tap when one hand is pushing the tap down. I decide against using my foot to press the tap. I head to the pharmacy. I am handed my drugs. ‘This will keep you awake’ she says; just what an insomniac needs. Well, I suppose it will counteract the ‘this will make you feel drowsy’ one.

Time to summon the fisherman of my acquaintance from wherever he has been lurking to try to avoid car park charges. Being a former Girl Guide I am well prepared. I have my emergency phone with me. The only trouble is it seems to have been deactivated because I haven’t had to use it in an emergency, or indeed for any other reason, for some considerable time. I can still make emergency calls. I am not sure dialling 999 for this purpose will be welcome. It seems it will still allow me to text. I send a progress report. The trouble is I have never quite got the hang of how you do spaces, so all my words run together and capitalisation is random. Unfortunately, the recipient, who hasn’t got his reading glasses, struggles with ‘HavEbeeNmoniterDfortWohourscAngohoMenowphOnenOtwoRking’. Reception are willing to phone on my behalf and back home I go.

My fingers are also a bit swollen but I have been able to remove my rings, in case they get worse. One finger has had a ring on it continuously since I was eleven. If feels really weird. Still no idea what caused this but as of this evening I do look less pouty. Sorry/not sorry there is no photographic evidence. It was not a pretty sight and I did have other things on my mind! God bless the NHS, all this has cost me precisely zero. Even if I’d had to call an ambulance, zero. Worth every penny of our taxation and I for one would be happy to pay more tax to support it.

The Day the Chippings didn’t Arrive and what Happened Next

by thehistoryinterpreter

Having personfully carted 64 boxes of books into the house on Monday, it was all systems go for the tonne of chalk chippings, due to arrive on Tuesday. Tuesday dawns. The email arrives, ‘Your order is out for delivery and will arrive today’. By 6pm I am wondering what ‘today’ means and if I can go to bed, having been up very early in case they arrived at 7am. The office is allegedly open until 8pm. I try telephoning, ‘we are unable to advise on delivery times over the phone, please email’. I email. Zero response and zero chippings.

The next day I try ringing again, this time pressing #1 for sales. That’ll get them to answer, thinks I; a potential customer. Nope, more automated voices exhorting me to email. I spot a tab on the website marked ‘track and trace’. I’d dismissed this as some kind of COVID response. After all if you could track your delivery it would have said on the ‘your delivery is on its way’ email. Wouldn’t it? Well, it turns out no it wouldn’t. I duly track and trace. ‘We attempted delivery at 16.32 yesterday.’ You so didn’t, at least not to my house. I do know I am not the easiest property to find. Not having a road doesn’t help (there really isn’t a road, not just no road name). There had been a helpful box on the online order form regarding delivery instructions. I had written a three volume novel in this box, beginning, ‘on no account use sat-nav’ (that way madness lies) and ending with, ‘ring this number if lost.’ Had one of my neighbours been left with a dumpy bag of chippings that were surplus to their requirements? There are only six houses in my postcode. I can see three of the others, no chippings. I email one of the other two. No, no chippings there or next door (the 6th address).

Finally, an email. ‘Sorry for the delay. Your delivery will arrive today.’ By this time, it was all getting a bit deja vue. I should add that, because of the not having a road thing, these chippings would need to be put in place pretty quickly after arrival. Tuesday, the promised delivery day, was dry. Wednesday the second time around promised delivery day it was ******* with rain. 4.30pm, still raining and the chippings are deposited on a driveway that does not actually belong to me (but is where they are meant to be). I email apologies explaining that they will be moved asap. 7pm, my trusty assistant, who has been twiddling his thumbs for two days waiting to trustily assist, brightly says, ‘It’s stopped raining.’ Anyone who knows me will know that by 7pm I am not just past my best but I am practically comatose. I could think of things I wanted to do more than shovel and spread a tonne of chippings, like pulling out my finger-nails one by one maybe? With a sigh we set to and prove that two geriatrics can spread a tonne of chippings in under an hour. One of us was shovelling and wheel barrowing, the other was doing the seriously skilled levelling aka half-heartedly pushing a rake about. I am not prepared to say which was me but I don’t recall touching a spade.

We collapse. My arms feel a bit itchy. During the night most of my body from knees to neck becomes covered in a scarlet rash and boy does it itch. Small bumps appear on my flesh. What with the itching and an irritating fly in my bedroom that alights on my face every time I doze off I don’t get much sleep. The next morning. No. I don’t seem to be dead. Dr Google suggests I probably won’t be, unless it spreads to my face, in which case I might go into anaphylactic shock. Oh great and any ambulance would probably have as much difficulty finding me as the chippings lorry driver. I email my doctor’s surgery and wait for the words of wisdom. ‘Attach a photograph’ it says. It is barely daylight, my artificial light is at best dim, this could be tricky. So if anyone saw me at 6am leaning out of the window to get more light, photographing my arm, you’ll know what all that was about.

I wonder if I have any no-scratch mittens. I don’t. I start to feel a bit dizzy. I am trying to decide what on earth I could be allergic to. No new soaps or soap powder, not eaten anything odd. The only slightly unusual activity has been the chalk levelling. I refuse to believe I can be allergic to chalk. For a start, I didn’t really touch it much and my hands are one part that is relatively unaffected. Add to that, I am a veteran chalk riddler, dating from my days as a neolithic house builder. I had no problems then.

My doctor is due to contact me within 36 hours. I probably can’t cope with this for 36 hours. I can try the walk-in centre. I check to see if it is open. Paragraph one of the website, ‘Your local walk-in centre is closed due to COVID’. Paragraph two, ‘Please use the walk-in centre.’  Hmm. I opt for the chemists. This is quite brave as, apart from a few trips to the mobile post van and one visit to the tiny community shop next door but one, I’ve not been near a shop since March.

I show the pharmacy assistant my rash. She is clearly impressed, ‘that looks really bad’. She defers to the pharmacist who suggests antihistamine. I escape, drugs in hand. Progress report. A bit better today. Not better better but fewer/smaller red patches, though some new ones have appeared and they certainly itch. The anti-histamine ‘may cause drowsiness’. They aren’t wrong. I feel as if I have been drugged. Oh. That would be because……..

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