It has been a little quiet on the blogging front lately, mainly because life has been far from quiet. I spent a wonderful week in Granny mode. This involved rather more heaving cases on and off trains than is ideal but it was worth it. Whilst on the subject of trains there was an unusual incident when the guard, having helped Edward’s buggy on to a train, dropped his phone on the track. Regular readers will know that I have form for this type of thing, so it was gratifying to see that even the ‘professionals’ make this sort of error.

Exciting news for next year, when I will be combining travelling with family history in the best possible way, as a presenter on the Unlock the Past Baltic cruise. Now where did I put those sea sickness tablets? On the presenting front I have been keeping up with technology by leading a Society for One-Place Studies Hangout On Air about Marriage Records. I will also be discussing finding elusive marriages at the next meeting of the North Devon Group of Devon Family History Society. More tackling technology as I prepare for my remote presentation on emigration for British Isles Family History Society of Greater Ottowa in September and yes it works! Last night’s lower key, local presentation was something special. Mistress Agnes and Master Christopher were appearing at Poundstock Gild House – what a truly amazing gem. Go there, visit, you will be in awe. In truth Mistress Agnes rather wants to live there. Check out the history of these Church Houses and go and soak up the atmosphere.

Isn’t it great to live in a friendly community? Today one of my neighbours helped me by extracting a baby starling from the inside of my fat ball holder – industrial strength wire cutters to the fore. Wildlife abounds in Mistress Agnes’ tiny garden, a friendly hedgehog was my latest visitor. I must say I am less enamoured by the army of flies who have taken up residence in the new conservatory and I have to confess to having adopted extermination tactics. At least, I am trying – some of the blighters seem to be immune to any form of fly spray. Yesterday another neighbour came to find me when she encountered some ancestor hunting visitors to the village. I was able to show them several houses where their relatives had lived, including my own. In return they showed me a memoir of a Victorian vicar of the village, written by their ancestor, that totally turns on its head some of the theories about the effects of non-conformity on community cohesion that I expounded only two weeks ago at The Devonshire History Society conference – fascinating.

I have hesitated before blogging about this because I still can’t believe it. My direct paternal line has had one Samuel Braund at its head since 1977. Since then I have found out more about this 6 x great grandfather and his descendants but have singularly failed to identify his parents, his date of birth or where he was born. He first turns up in 1741, when he gets married in Cornwall where he works as a teacher. I know from my work on the Braund One Name Study that he is likely to have come from Devon and my book on his life, Cornish Origins, even gave some ‘best guesses’ regarding his connection to existing Braund family trees.

FindMyPast have not been my best friends since the changes to their website that they laughingly refer to as ‘improvements’. Despite this, the addition of many more Devon parish register images to their site meant I could resume the hunt for Samuel. Braund of course has many variants. Most things that start ‘Br’ and have an ‘n’ somewhere near the end qualify. I identified a likely baptism to a Humphry and Florence Brand in 1716 at Sampford Courtenay. I then searched for other children of this couple in Sampford Courtenay and came up with Elizabeth, baptised 5 November 1718 and John baptised 4 December 1720; in both these cases the parents were given as John and Florence Brand. Now I was under the impression that Florence only became popular as a christian name following the rise to fame of Florence Nightingale and indeed, searching the whole of Devon for seventeenth and eighteenth century Florences, of any surname, revealed very few. Had she been Mary or Elizabeth, I would have been sceptical but this looked like the same family to me; was Humphrey a clerical error? I now sought to prove three things:- That these three Sampford Courtenay baptisms were the same family. That the Brands were Braunds in disguise. That this was the long sought baptism of my 6 times great grandfather, Samuel Braund.

The obvious thing to do was to look for a marriage between Florence and a Humphry and/or John Brand, Broad, Braund, or similar variation. Initially nothing was found. I did find a burial for a Florence Brawn on 30 June 1757 at St. Eustachius, Tavistock. Tavistock is the ‘big town’, some twenty miles south west of Sampford Courtenay but given the very unusual christian name, Florence, this looked like our lady and moved the Brand surname closer to Braund. I failed to find a burial for a Humphry or John but it looked as if Florence’s daughter, Elizabeth was also in Tavistock.

I tried again for a marriage, this time searching for any marriages of ladies called Florence, to anyone, anywhere in Devon between 1680 and 1720. Working my way through the few options located Florencia Maritati and Johannes Braund marrying in Northlew on 1 May 1715. Northlew is ten miles from Sampford Courtenay and was not only home to a Braund family but a parish that I had identified as a possible origin for Samuel. A look at the image of the original marriage register was very exciting, the entry read ‘Johannes Braund de Sampford Courtenay et Florencia maritati sunt primo die Maii’. I was disappointed to relinquish the exotic ‘Maritati’ name; this was merely Latin for ‘married’ and no surname was recorded for Florence.

I was however now convinced that the three Sampford Courtenay Brand baptisms were a single family and also I was happy that they were indeed Braunds in disguise. It was looking more and more likely that I had the right Samuel but could I find any more substantiating evidence to prove it? I tried searching for Devon baptisms between 1710 and 1750 where the mother’s name was Florence, again ignoring the surname. Sure enough, up came two children who were indexed as the offspring of John and Florence Browne but on checking the originals, were in fact Brawnes. They were both baptised at Sourton, between Sampford Courtenay and Tavistock and were Humphrey, baptised on 15 January 1723/4 and Rebecca on 2 January 1725/6. There was a Rebecca Braund buried in the same parish as my Samuel who I had identified as a possible sister or sister in law. Rebecca’s age at burial made this baptism just three months too early but I felt as though I was getting closer. The inclusion of a Humphry amongst the children was interesting, perhaps this name had some significance and might account for the confusion over the father’s name in Samuel’s baptism entry.

The next move seemed to be to look for futures for the children of John and Florence, to see whether they fitted, or were incompatible with, my Cornish Braunds. Amongst others, I found a niece for the Sampford Courtenay Samuel called Rebecca, baptised in May 1761. My Cornish Samuel’s will mentions his niece Rebecca Hunt née Braund. Rebecca Hunt’s burial suggests a birth between August 1759 and August 1760, again close and of course she may not have been baptised as a tiny baby.

The identification of these two Rebeccas, related to the Samuel who was baptised in Sampford Courtenay, both of whom were very close to the ages of those connected to my Samuel Braund, meant that it looked as though John and Florence were indeed my 7 x great grandparents. Somehow though I just can’t bring myself to ‘ink them in’. I am not sure what I am waiting for in terms of additional proof but I seem to feel I need something more. Is it just that I cannot believe that I have made progress on this line after so long?

Then of course, if I do accept John and Flo and I think I do, there is the matter of proving who John was, in the absence of surviving Northlew parish registers for this time.

Some of you have kindly enquired about the home improvements. We are still tackling a final leak in the conservatory but it really is nearly finished. The trouble is with testing the efficacy of leak mending is that you need it to rain! A slight diversion last week however as I came down in the morning to find water pouring and I do mean pouring, through the kitchen ceiling. Yes that would be the kitchen ceiling that had just been painted. Stopcock turned off and the water slows to a trickle. Emergency plumber, bless him, arrives within the hour. He decides it is a problem between the water tank and the bathroom. He needs access to the pipe. Sadly also between the water tank and the bathroom are two bedrooms, containing between them twelve full height, crammed bookcases, to say nothing of other things and the carpets have to come up. Spring cleaning these rooms hadn’t been on the ‘to do’ list but most of the contents are moved to gain access to the recalcitrant pipe.

This incident coincides with the saga of the parcel. I am tracking its whereabouts on the internet. To be fair the first time they tried to deliver it I wasn’t in. It is rescheduled for the following day. As I am moving the contents of the two bedrooms I have things to do so staying in isn’t a hardship. I am at home, the front door is open, the back door is open. Strange then that the tracking tells me that they have tried to deliver the parcel at 3.15 and I wasn’t in. I ring the firm and explain that I was indeed in. I acknowledge that my house isn’t easy to find and provide a phone number so the driver can ring for assistance when he arrives in the village. 5.40 and the tracking says they have tried to deliver it again and I wasn’t in! I ring again, more assertively now. There is no note of my phone number on the paperwork. I give the phone number again and instructions on ‘how to find my house’ (park outside the Methodist Church) and also ‘how not to find my house’ (do not pay any attention to the Sat Nav). The receptionist is not impressed that my address contains no road name; this is clearly somehow my fault.

The next day dawns, this is not a day when I had planned to stay at home but I do. Finally I get a call from the delivery man. He, like others of his ilk, is incapable of identifying a Methodist church when he sees one (clue – it says ‘Methodist Church’ outside) and is parked up the road outside the Anglican church. I walk up to relieve him of the parcel and explain where he should have been. It turns out that he has been trying to deliver to the house over the road. He seems to have identified a property, with no apparent name or number, in roughly the right area and has gone for it. Obviously asking at the heavily signposted, nearby shop was not a possibility. Never mind he says I know where it is now. In the next sentence he tells me he only has another week in the job. So I am fine for future deliveries from this firm for the next week only. I didn’t ask if his new job required initiative of any kind.

I seem to be famous. Reviews of my two new books were accompanied by an interview in the recent Your Family Tree Magazine. Although I am not about to retire on the strength of the royalties both seem to be selling well. In the fast moving world that is family and local history I am already collecting information for second editions. So some interesting websites that have been drawn to my attention recently include:

A Gazetteer of English Place Names. The ability to search and download the surviving Irish census images free of charge. And the mapping section of the Family Search website. Finally, with my forthcoming talk at The Society of Genealogists in mind, something on the history of witchcraft.

Posts will be spasmodic for the next month while I am busy with the job that I am not allowed to mention on social media – so of course I won’t. This job involves travelling to a northern industrial town some 270 miles away and it requires me to do so twice. Never my favourite destination it is particularly unappealing at this time of year. Bank Holiday weekend, the first day of the school half term and the world and all his wives are on the road. No way would I be undertaking this sort of driving but my trusty companion is manfully acting as chauffeur. It takes us five hours to progress 150 miles along the M6 and M5. We play put and take repeatedly with the cars in the neighbouring lane. A small child’s teddy waves at us. We wave back. This happens several times, much to the glee of the child. Then my driver realises that he has a Papa Smurf toy on his dashboard. There is a good reason for this. Let’s just say any resemblance between Papa Smurf and my chauffeur is purely deliberate. Papa Smurf waves cheerily next time the child passes us. We did inadvertently wave at the wrong car at one point but we are used to being thought slightly strange.

We stop at services, along with everyone else who is hoping in vain that the congestion will lessen whilst they are off the road. There is barely a parking space and I try to manoeuvre myself back in the car without opening the door into the closely parked and exceedingly expensive looking car in the next space. Somehow I manage to bang the door into my nose. An interesting looking black eye begins to develop.

These trips to the north involve an inordinate amount of food. The all you can eat breakfasts – and yes I can eat quite a lot, the three course evening meals, lunches – I never eat lunch. All this is designed to make me semi comatose just when I need to be alert. The bedroom in the motel is clearly designed for northern climates. Sadly this is a hot and humid spell and it is impossible to get the night time temperature below 23 degrees.

Back home I have been victim of a couple of mail order situations. I am advised, on the basis of my previous ordering patterns, that I may be interested in a ‘skinny see through bandage dress’. Who on earth decided that my mundane books, household and stationery purchases might fit me for such an item? Then there is that moment when you realise that the vital packaging for returning a mail order item is in the bin under a layer of rice & chicken bones.

I have been silent on the house renovations recently. They are almost done. Somehow moving from ‘almost done’ to actually done always seems to take a very long time. I did purchase a smart TV, sadly this did not come supplied with an operator smart enough to work out the subtleties of all its features.

Various history projects are progressing nicely. My lovely ladies who are recording their memories of 1946-1969 have become a really cohesive group and are meeting up in various regions. Some submitted Mass Observation Diaries for May 12. What a wonderful idea. We could also record our lives on an ‘ordinary’ day for the benefit of our descendants. What did we wear? What did we eat? Wouldn’t it have been great if our ancestors had done this for us? Excited by the forthcoming work on the servicemen of the first world war with the local school. It is great to help the community become involved in enjoying history.

As regular readers will know, recently I have spent time trying to discover as much as possible about those who perished in the fishing disaster off Clovelly in 1838 and their descendants. This was made more difficult by the paucity of records. The only list of names was in a local paper (subsequently repeated by other publications) and proved to be inaccurate. Although villages of origin were noted in conjunction with the names, there were no ages. As about half the bodies were never recovered, these victims have no death certificates and no burial records, which might have given further clues. Strangely, some seem to have burial records but no death registrations. Even allowing for the fact that some may have been registered as unknown deaths and subsequently identified in time for burial, this seems odd, especially as there were inquests. It was of course very early in the days of death registrations but this does not seem an adequate explanation.

As a direct result of the tragedy, The Shipwrecked Mariners’ Association  was formed 175 years ago and they were celebrating this milestone with the unveiling of a plaque commemorating the victims of the 1838 disaster. As the research progressed there were hints of a royal involvement in the event. Initially this was all very hush hush but eventually it transpired that I and the descendants I had unearthed, would be invited to meet HRH Princess Anne, the Princess Royal. Great in theory but this involved posh, not only do I not do ‘posh’ but this was the sort of posh that was compatible with standing on a windy and possibly rainy, quayside having descended a steep cobbled street. Fortunately hats were deemed unnecessary and in the end the weather was kind, although my version of posh did not really go with flat shoes. I was tempted to send Mistress Agnes in my stead – warm and comfortable at least – but Master Christopher was reluctant to accompany her so she had to attend disguised as her twenty first century self.

When the date of the event was set it was too good to be true, the day after the end of our annual Braund family reunion. Braunds would be descending on North Devon from near and far and may want to stay to witness the unveiling. Some Braund Society members were already involved in the day as descendants of the victims. A swift bit of negotiating and I gained permission for others to attend.

Shaking Hands with Her Royal Highness

On a lovely day I assembled in my designated position on Clovelly quay where I was to introduce some of the descendants to HRH. Having unveiled a fountain at the top of Clovelly, the Princess descended the cobbles and spent five minutes or so talking to each of the six assembled groups on the quay. HRH had clearly done her homework and spoke in an informed way to each group. The memorial was unveiled and a Cornish shanty group ‘Stamp and Go’ sung a song composed especially for the occasion. I thought my job researching the descendants was bad enough but when the composer contacted me for help with information, prior to writing the song, I knew who had drawn the short straw! My response went along the lines of, ‘Good luck with that one’. Not much scanning or rhyming potential in ‘Shipwrecked Fishermen and Mariners’ Royal Benevolent Society’ but they did a great job.

The Braunds who were expecting only to spectate were thrilled that the Princess stopped to talk to them on her way back up the quay. Two of them appeared on the local news, even though the BBC manage to mis-spell one of their surnames.

So I can now add shaking hands with a Princess and talking to her about research to the list of unexpected experiences to which my research has led.

The dictionary tells us that a zealot is one ‘who is fanatical and uncompromising in pursuit of their religious, political, or other ideals.’ Here is not the place to discuss the two unmentionables ‘politics and religion’ but other ideals maybe. In my ideal world people would engage with and preserve the heritage that surrounds them. They would value their ancestry and be interested in passing on the stories of preceding generations. Most people who undertake historical research as a hobby would agree that it very swiftly become much more than a hobby and yes, we may well own up to the ‘fanatical and uncompromising’ label. Anyone who has stuck with me from A all the way to Z during April can probably tell that, for me, history in all its forms is an obsession. Yes, it has taken over my life – although I enjoy making room for my other interests, not least of which are my wonderful family, my home and garden and the great outdoors – both near and far.

Back to the dictionary and we learn that a fanatic is ‘a person filled with excessive and single-minded zeal’. Like any ‘fanatic’ I am single-minded about my history and I do want to share it with anyone who will listen. This doesn’t mean I want to bore people rigid with stories of my research – I want to encourage others to take an active part in history for themselves.

I like to think that my ‘audiences’, when I share aspects of the seventeenth century as Mistress Agnes, are entertained as well as informed. Just because I try (sometimes!) to make history amusing does not mean that it is not good history. I aim to get others to participate in history in an active way – then history does the job for itself – they are hooked!

I hope that some of these A-Z posts have been thought provoking. It has been hard work but fun. Normal blogging service will now resume, with less frequent posts and random musings about my historical and occasionally hysterical life.

Unusually, I was interested in family history before my seventh birthday and was seriously researching in my early twenties. At a recent local history talk that I gave, my most enthusiastic audience member was an eight year old boy – brilliant. If we believe that it is vital to enthuse younger generations with our love of history and family history, rather than just hope that, with all the other competing interests, they will enthuse themselves, what can we do? Having worked with young people, both in and out of a history and family history context, I believe that the spark is there now, young people ARE interested. I could spend the rest of this post trying to prove this to you but I believe there are more important things to be said. I promise they are interested or they could easily be persuaded to be interested, if approached in the right way. In that case, why are most local and family history groups made up of wonderful people who are nevertheless, predominantly of retirement age? Here is the crux of the matter – young people are not interested in doing things OUR WAY.

Be aware, be very aware, that young people have the attention spans of gnats and they expect things to be immediate, bite-sized, visual and interactive. That’s fine you might say, I can do modern technology, I have a website. Websites are great but not if they are effectively a 1970s textbook on line. Young people want a young people’s website. Look at Devon Family History Society’s Acorn Club website pages. They are designed for young people and most are not Devon specific.

One of the best ideas for involving young people came from a family history student of mine who wrote a series of illustrated letters to his ten year old grandson, as if from his grandfather (the boy’s great great grandfather). These involved a certain amount of Victorian local and social history research but worked wonderfully. If your descendants aren’t likely to read letters there are always emails, blogs or text messages!

Have a look at the television series ‘Horrible Histories’ – now presented by Stephen Fry and featuring such delights as ‘we sell any monk dot com’ and ‘The V factor’ (auditions for a Viking rock band). Yes, personally I preferred the books that spawned this TV series and the excellent, interactive website that goes with it and I do have to confess to being irritated with the leaping from Aztecs to the first world war and back to the Tudors (young people have enough trouble with chronology as it is) but here I am not following my own advice. I am a book person, young people, sadly, often are not. I must not want them to do it my way. Start with the TV programmes and the website, maybe that will lead on to the books. I’ve yet to find a 7-13 year old who doesn’t like this series.

For young people who will sit still for more than a millisecond, you could create a photograph album together. Most family tree software will allow drop-line pedigrees with photos which could also help. I know many of you do try to involve young people but for those who feel that it isn’t possible to interest the younger generation, that just isn’t so, it just has to be done THEIR way. Get them young. Give me a child until they are seven and I will give you the person who will want to inherit your historical research. Over to you.

If you want to hear more on this theme, book me for my ‘Harnessing the Facebook Generation’ talk or I can advise on running a young persons’ day for local and family history groups. Several books have been written to encourage younger family historians. Particularly recommended are Anthony Adolph’s Who am I? The Family Tree Explorer (Quercus 2009). Emma Jolly’s Family History for Kids (Pymer Quantrill Publishing Ltd. 2007) and Jane Starkie’s Hw 2 *t Ur Fmly Hstry (FHP 2008). There are a number of “fill in the gaps” family history books for younger children. Zap the Grandma Gap by Janet Hovorka (Family ChartMasters 2013), with its accompanying workbook and website is full of ways in which adults can help to inspire the younger generation with a love of family history.