Over the last few weeks I have been hither and yon, speaking at a variety of venues and having the opportunity to learn at the same time. Firstly, the annual conference for the Society for One-place Studies. This was held in Manchester. I end up in Manchester more often than I’d like. Please don’t take this personally Manchester, you are bigger than a very small market town – too big. The Friday afternoon was to be spent on a guided tour of Manchester’s religious heritage. To begin with we did get a tad lost leaving the car park. Said car park cost more than I had earned that week but hey. The instructions were to ‘meet under the map’ at Manchester Victoria station. Map? What map? We wandered high, we wandered low, scanning the concourse for something that resembled a map. We asked a handy charity promoter who claimed he’d been there all week but had no knowledge of a map. Just as we were wondering if we were even at the right station we spotted the map. Clearly we weren’t wandering high enough. The map is set in tiles by the entrance and is of seriously impressive proportions. In our defence it is considerably above the eye-line but 0/10 for observation skills. Considering that this was Manchester and the last weekend in October, the weather was uncharacteristically kind. It didn’t rain and there was even a hint of sunshine. The tour itself was excellent and it was a pleasure to learn something about the city from an expert. This just highlights how much you miss just wandering around on your own (maps for example).

The next day was the non-conformity themed conference, with several thought-provoking presentations. Owen Roberts from Methodist Heritage did us proud, explaining the various resources they and their family of websites can offer. We heard about the impact of non-conformity on World-war 1 conscription and about Huguenot resources. The round-table discussion was very valuable and a chance to learn about the latest mapping opportunities. I finished off the day with my presentation about the impact of non-conformity on communities and their inhabitants. As a speaker, there are always talks you particularly like giving and others that, when they are requested, make you wish that you had taken them off the list. This non-conformity one is new for this year and when I was first asked to do it I wondered if I could really make something of it. At first I couldn’t. Then I realised that I didn’t need to talk about sources for non-conformist research at all. Light bulb moment! Shove all that boring stuff in a handout the size of War and Peace (abridged version) and talk about what really interests me: people. So this is a talk about how having options for worship makes a difference to people and places. At the moment I am quite liking this one.

Gratuitous picture from the early C20th – just because I can!

This was also my last conference as chair of the society. I really needed to step back from a few things to make time to do the other things properly. I felt that it was time to let someone else take the helm. I shall still be very much involved in one-place studies, an area of research that I am committed  to and I wish the new committee well. Next on the one-place agenda is a presentation of my online Discovering Your British Family and Local Community in the early 20th Century course for Pharos tutoring. This starts in January. Put it on your Christmas list why don’t you?

Home from Manchester to some more local presentations, mostly in Mistress Agnes mode. Then it was down to the soft south of the county for a Guild of One-Name Studies’ seminar about west country migration. We were rather cosily crammed into a conveniently located venue but this was another excellent day, with a programme of experts on various aspects of the subject. I always enjoy being part of a conference or seminar as this has the bonus value of being able to learn from others. What was particularly pleasing about this day, was the way in which our presentations dovetailed together, without any prior consultation. My contribution was about motivations for migration from north Devon. This is an old favourite and I have given it many times, although I vary the case studies.

Just four more talks to give before the Christmas break then, after that, it will be the mayhem of 2018 with 30 events booked already. To say nothing of Daisy. There are some very exciting Daisy developments, which I hope to reveal very soon. She also has some more finished chapters, which will probably be as much of a relief to Blue Poppy Publishing as it is to me. This week has seen me describe Victorian privvies, research C19th Methodist Sunday School songs and wallow in the horrors of a WW1 trench. Writing is never dull!

I have no problem in remembering remembering the 5th of November as it is my granddaughter’s birthday. This means I have to run the gamut of Christmas cards in order to purchase a birthday card. Choice is obviously limited at this time of year but why, oh why, is everything with granddaughter on it pink? She doesn’t like pink, she likes yellow. Even abandoning the relationship section in favour of the number section doesn’t help, here the choice is pink or blue, still no yellow. Having purchased a less than ideal, slightly pink, slightly blue, emphatically not yellow, card with a 4 on, I head for the checkout. I avoid the self-service section, that way madness lies. Remember, living as I do, several miles from the nearest supermarket, I am rarely let loose in the shops (my personal shopper aka a fisherman of my acquaintance hand delivers my requirements) so it is all a learning curve. It seems I have purchased sufficient items to be given a green plastic token, with which I can vote for a local charity for the supermarket to support. I stared at the plastic frame containing the columns of green tokens indicating where others had cast their votes. I made an informed choice. Do you think I could work out where to post the flipping token? I tried going in from the top. No, not a hint of a slot in which to post the token there. Eventually, after several minutes, I spotted a whole series of slots along the front. Who knew that shopping could be so challenging?

This year, some bright spark (could be a potential pun in there somewhere) decided that the village would have a guy competition, with each organisation creating an appropriate effigy, which was then to be displayed in the run up to bonfire night. After a bit of discussion, the history group chose local postman poet Edward Capern. I was proud that the letters he was holding were addressed to genuine village residents of the 1860s but I am getting ahead of myself. First, imagine the scene. Four ladies of a certain age attempting to stuff a pair of trousers with empty lemonade bottles (whose idea was it to create his limbs from bottles?) with slightly inappropriate results. We were a little early to put our creation in situ, so he sat in my kitchen for a week. No matter how many times I mentally warned myself that he was there, I never failed to jump in surprise when I saw him sitting in the rocking chair. Next was the hilarious attempt to install him in my neighbours’ garden. We accomplished a smooth lift from kitchen chair to garden chair (I’ve watched Casualty I know how these things work). Ok, so getting him out of the house was more of a challenge; his legs only fell off twice in the process. In the interests of the environment he is not being burned (too much plastic) so, now the day is passed, he will be dismantled into his constituent parts. Will all his limbs fit in my recycling box?

Today I have a visitor to my blog. Please welcome Wendy Percival, author of the Esme Quentin series of genealogical mysteries. Wendy featured in my historical novel advent calendar last December and you may have seen her article in Family Tree Magazine recently. Here is a chance to learn more about her and her work.

What made you decide to write about a genealogical sleuth?

I’d just stared researching my family history and I was also writing short stories at the time, but I wanted to start a novel. The idea of buried family secrets being at the heart of a story appealed to me and it made perfect sense that the central character who’d unravel the secret – whatever it was – would be someone with the knowledge to do so. Around that time, a call had gone out in the publishing press for older female protagonists, rather than the twenty-somethings which were dominating the market. So Esme was born.

The North Devon landscape features in your work; how important is the setting to your writing?

I always love reading books when I recognise locations I’ve been. But from a writer’s perspective, it helps, I think, for the setting to fit the story in some way.

The first Esme story, BLOOD-TIED, is set in Shropshire, where I began my family history research and the idea for the story evolved. The fictional town of Shropton was inspired by the historic town of Shrewsbury, with its fabulous old buildings and narrow alleys where many of my ancestors lived. It has a huge impressive park which became the setting for Esme’s sister Elizabeth’s attack. The beautiful Long Mynd, a heath and moorland plateau in the Shropshire hills, also featured and as Esme stands on the top, gazing into the mist and fog which has engulfed the area and obscured the view, it became a metaphor for Esme’s confusion in discovering her sister has a secret past.

As for the other books, the South West Coast is magical and having lived here for so many years now, I wanted to embrace it for its drama and atmosphere, so it was the perfect setting for the second story, THE INDELIBLE STAIN, where a museum ship, telling the story of 19^th century Devon convicts “banished from British shores”, is moored in the harbour.

I used the north Devon coast again in the latest book, THE MALICE OF ANGELS, adding in another local landmark, with its true wartime history, while applying a little artistic licence by moving it a bit closer to the coast!

Tell us something about your own genealogical adventures.

The first “adventure” started with the discovery of a death certificate from 1868 in the proverbial “box of old documents in the attic” belonging to my husband’s late parents. At the top it read, “Paddington” but then we realised it was Paddington, New South Wales, not London, England! As nothing was known about any family member going to Australia, in modern times, let alone in the 19^th century, it was very exciting. The steep learning curve to unravel the story behind it took several years but I found the process fascinating and I was hooked!

Since then, I’ve uncovered stories of illegitimacy, bigamy, convict transportation, many sad stories and some shocking ones. The latter being my 3x great grandfather who was hauled up in front of magistrates accused of “assault and cruelty” to my 3x great grandmother, in collusion with the housekeeper, with whom he was having an affair, resulting in at least one child.

I love using the process of family history research to learn more about social history of the times, and the thrill of uncovering “secrets” which our ancestors must have assumed would be long forgotten. One of those is the discovery that my maternal Great-grandfather was living a double life – two “wives” and two families – for several years in London in the 1880s, until my great-grandmother found out and he was given his marching orders. He and his “alternative” wife ran off to Australia and went on to have many more children.

It is exciting to hear that the third full length Esme Quentin Novel, The Malice of Angels, is now available. What can you reveal about the plot?

It begins with Esme being approached by Max Rainsford, an old colleague of her late journalist husband, Tim, who died years before in tragic circumstances while investigating a story. Max wants Esme’s help on a cold case murder of an old soldier that he and Tim had worked on when they were rookie reporters. Esme’s not keen to rake up the past so declines.

But circumstances force her to get involved when, while researching into the mystery of a friend’s aunt Vivienne, a nurse who disappeared during WWII, she stumbles upon a disturbing connection between Vivienne’s past and Max’s murder case, and its implication of a link to Tim’s death.

Esme has to decide which direction she wants to go – back away from her distressing past to avoid the hurt it will cause her? Or face her demons to discover the truth?

If you could go backing time, what period would you choose and why?

There are lots of periods of history which fascinate me – around the civil war, Tudor times (I loved C J Sansom’s Shardlake novels), early 1800s, 1920s – but with so much of my family history research taken from the Victorian period and feeling that I “know” those ancestors best, I’d love to go and “walk with them” in their time and develop that familiarisation.

Apart from writing and family history, what fills your time?

Reading, obviously! Gardening, catching up with friends, walking, especially the coast path and exploring the fantastic locations here in the South West in our campervan. Occasionally I have a sudden urge to be “creative”, usually with textiles or making jewellery with Fimo (a cross between plasticine and clay) and/or beads. And I’ve recently started to learn to play the ukulele!

Will we be hearing more about Esme in the future?

I’m sure I won’t be able to keep Esme down for long. She’s bound to stumble upon some buried secrets sooner or later – you know what she’s like! In fact, I’ve an idea brewing already…

I am having to play a serious game of catch up with my blog posting. We return to the adventures with a 3½ year old to report on a trip to a donkey sanctuary, which was full of, needless to say, donkeys. I was clearly expected to know the names of every donkey present. This was followed by negotiating a ridiculous diversion in order to purchase many varieties of garlic at a garlic farm. You’d be amazed at what can be combined with garlic, with varying degrees of success: ice cream, chocolate and beer to name but three.

Day 6 found us minus the 3½ year old, who had departed for home. We fought the remnants of tropical storm Brian in the most exposed spot on the island. This sadly saw the demise of my Niagara Falls red plastic poncho, as it was whipped to shreds by the gale. I suppose I had done well to preserve it for two years.

I finally reacquainted myself with my house for a couple of days. During which time I viewed some very interesting local history documents, chatted to my Writing and Telling your Family History students for the first time and gave a talk to a group of local metal detectorists (as opposed to a group of metal detectors – which is what I wrote originally – that would just be weird). We were billed to give our normal seventeenth century social history talk but decided to change the focus to concentrate on metal objects. This turned out to have more scope than you would think. We spoke of armour, of weaponry, of instruments surgical and of torture (fine line between the two anyway). We had cutlery, cooking pots, plates and mugs to allow us the opportunity to talk of the food of the time. All in all an interesting slant on what we do.

There was also the incident with the village guy (as in Fawkes) competition but I think I will save that until I have recovered from visiting a not yet 2 and a very nearly 4 year old and it is the appropriate day.

‘Is being a Rockstar like winning the Piston Cup Granny?’ asks the non-resident 3½ year old. Those who are unfamiliar with the Piston Cup have either not spent five seconds in Edward’s company, or the modern world of Disney has passed you by. I tell Edward that it is probably just as exciting, although I don’t see myself as Lightning McQueen.

I am taking a day off from finishing the Travels with a 3½ year old because I would like to pay tribute to all my wonderful fellow Genealogical Rockstar medalists. Congratulations to everyone who was awarded or nominated, you are all stars and I am proud to call many of you my friends. To say that I was incredulous, dumbfounded, astonished, all those things, when I heard that I had been awarded the UK gold medal for a second time, especially in such illustrious company, would be an understatement. It was several hours before I stopped expecting a message to say it had all been a mistake, in a similar vein to the Oscars.

There are of course more important things in life and work but inevitably you think, ‘Wow’ or even ‘Double wow’. Of course I am thrilled, honoured, grateful to have won. I am, after all, if I am honest, just the teensiest bit competitive. I am however seriously rubbish at self-promotion. I am indebted to those who voted for me and spread the word. Thank you. To think that people feel that I have made a significant contribution to the genealogical world gives me a warm fuzzy feeling and makes me very humble. Thanks to John Reid who undertakes the thankless task of organising the annual vote. See my post of 16 October for my comments on the process.

What I find more encouraging than the award itself are the private messages that people have sent, explaining why I attracted one of their votes. It has led me to reflect on my life as a family historian (still a more accurate term for what I do than ‘genealogist’ I feel).

It is 54 years since I drew up my first family tree.
I am now in my 5th decade of serious research.
43 years ago my school 6th form ‘liberal studies’ (you wouldn’t call it that now) led me to conduct my first local history project.
I have, so far, spent over 40 enjoyable years learning about history, heritage and related subjects, including, because I am officially bonkers, deciding that a PhD would be a good idea.
I have completed 35 years researching on behalf of others, often voluntarily but sometimes in exchange for money, yet I still can’t stop myself getting carried away and putting in far more hours than the client has actually paid for. I get every bit as involved in other people’s families as I do my own.
I have clocked up 35 years of inspiring my children (and now grandchildren) to take an interest in the past. This has extended to encouraging other young people to value their heritage.
I have spent 31 years serving on family and local history society committees at a village, regional and national level.
… and 31 years of teaching others about family, local and social historical topics. Tonight sees the first ‘chat’ with the latest cohort on my Pharos Writing and Telling your Family History course, so my role as an educator goes on.
Countless years of writing articles, books and random blog posts.
I’ve been on TV and radio several times.
It is 10 years this week since I was first Mistress Agnes.
Having administered a DNA project for 10 years, this year I finally took my own first DNA test, firmly entering the exciting world of genetic genealogy.

What will the future bring? Having only a few years left to retirement age (unless the government moves the goal posts yet again), I am beginning to be more selective about where I expend what is left of my energy. I can’t imagine ever ‘retiring’. Next year promises to be particularly exciting, with overseas speaking engagements and a novel publication date to look forward to, to say nothing of a whole new role in the job I must not mention.

Does this make me a rockstar? Not in the slightest and I certainly don’t do it for fame or fortune. It is what I love. My random historical life is still evolving and continues to be challenging, absorbing, all consuming. I often say that I either work 100 hours a week or just spend all my time enjoying myself. That others feel that they have benefited along the way, is gratifying. I am not a rockstar. I am merely one of many who are trying to encourage people to take an interest in their heritage. I am just an historian having fun and hopefully sharing my enthusiasm on the way.

Although I am now back home I realise that, in my exhausted state, I have left my readers on tenterhooks wondering if I survived the holiday with the 3½ year old. Incidentally, if you have ever wondered what a tenterhook is (and who hasn’t?), it is indeed a tenterhook not a tenderhook. This refers to the hooks used to stretch bleaching linen on the tenterground – never say you don’t learn something with which to impress your friends when reading this blog. I suppose, depending on the friends, you may bore them rigid, if so, you need different friends!

Back to day 4. When you are 3½ travelling on a train is fun. You don’t actually have to go anywhere. Thanks go to the train driver who waved to a small boy making him very happy. We travelled up the line, we travelled down, we stopped to watch hovercrafts and I explained that the train was even older than Granny – hard to believe I know. Then for some reason best know to herself my daughter decided to relive her youth and swim in the sea at Sandown beach. This is England. This is October. She did have a wetsuit but there was incipient storm Brian and rain to contend with. Small person Edward contented himself with a swift paddle. We did however pass the house where Mummy grew up and the building site that used to be the hotel where Granny once worked, all reminders that there is a past.

Just because dashing about the beach didn’t put a dent in a small person’s energy levels, we returned to the camp site to play a rigorous game of football. The liking for energetic games definitely does noyt come from my side of the family. Then to get value from the hot tub we tried it out again in the rain. Yes, we are officially crazy. I can report that hot tub chemicals take the coating off one’s glasses (as in ones you wear not ones you drink out of), good job I was planning to take out a second mortgage to get new ones.

You can tell how exhausting all this travelling with 3½ year olds is, as there is no energy left for blog writing. Day 3 was meant to be a more relaxing day and not just for my benefit. If this is relaxing………. Anyway, we started with a quick session in the on-site pool and adjacent soft play. Retrieving ball pit balls should be an activity in every gym. After this, some food at Culver Haven where we should have been able to admire spectacular views. I am sure they were there somewhere amidst all the mist and howling gales. This was actually where I had my wedding reception, so I am told. As I had measles at the time, I was unable to fully appreciate it. Anyway, my parents also walked this part of the coastal path on their honeymoon, so a double family history connection.

Next stop, the beach for a bit of beachcoming and hunting for fossils and dinosaur remnants. The only discoveries were in Edward’s imagination. It is our turn to host the extended family travelling toy, Captain James, knitted to represent a nineteenth century family member. He has been round the world several times, in the company of various hosts. This responsibility involves posing him in various locations and reporting back for the benefit of his blog. At least with a 3½ year old in tow one doesn’t feel quite so conspicuous wandering around with a stuffed doll. Then a quick game of Guess Who with Edward, reminding me that I am going to create a set using family history photos one day.

We are staying in our caravan but the others have a chalet, complete with hot tub. It seemed rude not to test this out, despite the cool outdoor temperatures. At least the hot tub itself lived up to its name, even if getting in and out was a trifle bracing.

You can see how stressful all this holidaying with 3½ year olds is – this ended up as a webpage instead of a blog post – now in its proper place! Today the delights of Blackgang Chine, billed as the country’s earliest theme park; it opened as a pleasure park in 1842. I first visited at Edward’s age (a few years after 1842) and we have been returning ever since. In my day it was a garden with a few lights and plastic gnomes. Much of the park of that time has now disappeared under many cliff falls but further inland the climb-on fibreglass dinosaurs, talking litter bins and toadstools of my children’s era have been joined by animatronic dinosaurs, a dodo valley (needs to be seen to be fully appreciated!) and an underwater world, lacking in water. As I first visited with my parents and grandmother, five generations of the family have now laughed at themselves in the hall of mirrors, got lost in the maze (although I know the secret) and climbed through the crooked house.

So, apart from yet more dinosaur conversations, with dodos thrown in, how did we relate this to history? Well, we spent the day taking photos that replicate those of earlier generations taken in similar positions. Unfortunately I only have the modern ones here, so you can’t get the full effect but believe me we have a whole series of ‘my children sat on toadstools’ photos, to which I am now adding ‘my grandchildren sat on toadstools’ images. I also have a picture of me aged three holding a cuddly toy and this is, I believe, the same spot although the gnomes have now been replaced by a dinosaur.

After a quick trip to see friends, we drove to the Dinosaur Museum, where we were met by the newly arrived Martha, Rob & Edward. We headed off to see bits of dinosaurs, models of dinosaurs and other fossily bits. Cue explanation of how dinosaurs were real once but aren’t now, as opposed to things like Gruffaloes (Gruffalos ?), which are pretend. Slight niggle at the back of the brain that maybe Gruffaloes could be viewed as a form of dinosaur but I let that pass. Edward has fun ‘excavating’ bits of dinosaur and enjoying the interactive exhibits.

On the way out of the museum we pass through the door and view a landscape with a lake and grasses and an apocalyptic sky like none I have ever seen. I kid you not, it took me a good few seconds to realise that this was the real outdoors and not a post-dinosaur diorama. I later learned that skies at home were red with sand blown up by ex-hurricane Ophelia but here, further east, they were indescribable. The atmosphere was similar to that at the time of a solar eclipse. No wonder our ancestors thought phenomenon like this heralded the end of the world.

A wander along a windswept beach led Edward to hunt for fossils of his own. He did light upon a large holey rock, which inevitably we then had to lug with us for the rest of the walk. Martha, who fields the many questions of Edward on a full time basis and has obviously come across this before, reveals that the holes are caused by, in Edward speak, little creatures poohing through the rock. This is actually about right. How have I lived to this great age without knowing about piddocks?

It is that time of year again and each year I can’t quite believe it when I see my name alongside so many ‘greats’ of the genealogical world, several of whom I am honoured to consider my friends. Yes, the voting is now open for this year’s genealogy rockstars’ poll. This time the shortlist has been drastically reduced and I am humbled to see that my name is still amongst the nominees. For those of you who are unaware of this annual phenomenon, I will explain. This is this sixth time that John Reid, of the Anglo-Celtic Connections website, has risked bouquets and brickbats in order to undertake the thankless task that is organising an international poll to find what he calls the ‘rockstar genealogists’ of the English speaking world. ‘Rockstars’ are, in John’s words, “those who give ‘must attend’ presentations at family history conferences or as webinars, who when you see a new family history article or publication by that person, makes it a must buy. If you hang on their every word on a blog, podcast or newsgroup, or follow avidly on Facebook or Twitter.”

Initially, the vote was designed to help conference programme organisers to ascertain which worldwide speakers were likely to be popular and it does fulfill that function. Each year, despite John’s best efforts, the poll leads to some criticism.  Complaints usually run along the following lines: Are those who do well really ‘the best’, or are they just those who are most active on social media? Or, worse still, are the medalists merely those who are able to command hosts of non-genealogist mates to blindly cast votes in their favour? As regards the first, I would argue and I think that John would agree, that being active on social media in this field is part of the criteria for rockstardom. John has done his best to reduce the second problem of block voting but the best way to ensure that the ‘right’ people do well is to cast your vote for those that you feel are most deserving. To make the poll truly valid more people need to vote. Each year, by far the greatest number of votes come from the US. That’s great America, please keep voting but the rest of the world need to take part in greater numbers. By casting your vote, or votes, you are helping to ensure that the genuine rockstars reach the top of the national and international lists. I could choose not to mention the poll because, let’s be honest, it does smack a little of electioneering but I risk that criticism because I want to spread the word that this competition exists, so that the result fairly reflect the opinions of the greatest number of people. Those who need to vote are people who have a genuine interest in and knowledge of family, local or social history. Obviously I would love it if you felt that I was deserving of one of your votes, it would be disingenuous if I tried to imply otherwise but genuinely, what is most important is that you vote for someone who is worthy of genealogical rockstardom. The voting window is now open and is very short. You only have until Saturday 21st October. This is the link that you need. Please pass the message on.

Why is this blog entitled ‘Rockstar Genealogist: Rockstar Family Historian’? It is because I prefer the term family historian, which I somehow feel has more gravitas. I know that the precise definitions vary in different parts of the world but to me a genealogist searches out the basic pedigree but a family historian looks beyond the names and dates to investigate the social, local and national historical context that brings our family stories to life.

Anyway; a final word. Please vote but please, please, also honour all those unsung heroes of the world of family history, those who help to keep our local societies going; those who offer their time and expertise quietly, freely and unstintingly. They may never feature on a list of rockstar nominations but they are every bit as vital to the wonderful world of family history.