A Hero in the family

On the afternoon of March 31st in the year 1876, a sleepy little village on the outskirts of Bristol was almost home to a tragedy on a large scale. Without the intervention of a local quarry worker, John Chiddy, The Flying Scotsman would have derailed causing the deaths of many passengers. John leaped into action when a large rock landed on the rails and using brute strength and great effort managed to dislodge it from the track, allowing the train to pass without any loss of life but his own. Sadly, he was unable to get out of the way in time and died immediately, leaving a widow and seven children.
The passengers had a whip round, and raised (even for those days) a paltry amount of money. Francis Richard Charteris, who was Lord Elcho and a Whig member of parliament was so angered by this that he brought the case of John's death up in the house. He was told there weren't funds available to stop John's dependants living in poverty, even though he perished in carrying out a heroic deed to save the lives of others.
Thankfully, the outrage didn't end there, and the public raised the sum of £400 which allowed for a cottage to be built at Hanham for the family. We certainly know John's eldest son James was living in Memorial Cottage in the 1911 census.
The cottage is still there today, the road it stands in, is named Memorial Road, and there is also a street named for John Chiddy, local hero.

John Chiddy is the fourth great uncle of my husband. We were so proud to have heard his story.

The Mirror Crack'd

"Out flew the web and floated wide-

The mirror crack'd from side to side;

"The curse is come upon me," cried

The Lady of Shalott"

(Alfred, Lord Tennyson, The Lady of Shalott) 

This verse sums up my day. I finally 'crack'd' the entire concept of the 'mirror' tree last night, and worked accordingly on the 'web' to further my DNA goal. I almost relaxed then, thinking that maybe I would reach my self-imposed deadline in August. 

Now for the 'curse'... In this case, the curse is that not enough people in the UK have taken a DNA test yet. All it would take now is one common ancestor hint for me to finally 'know my place'. 

The leafy green hint hasn't yet materialised on my DNA home page. All I can do is to try and practice patience now, and hold out for blind good luck. I wonder how the odds of the right person taking a DNA test would stack up against winning the lottery? 

One thing I've come to love on my journey through newly charted chromosomes is the support and care that others on the same journey extend. We celebrate good news and fantastic outcomes for each other when it happens, and we are there when it all comes crashing down, ready to commiserate with a stranger in pain. Even if some days you feel like you'll always be the bridesmaid and never the bride, it doesn't even occur to you to resent someone else's dream coming true.  

Posthumous Bush

From what I can glean, Posthumous Bush b. c 1676 in Bristol was my 8th great grandfather. He lived to be more than 90, which was a Methuselahlain task in the days before antibiotics.
Posthumous may have been named so, if he was born after the death of his father, but for at least 3 generations, the name was passed down through the family.
He married Elizabeth Speak, from Bath, at St Mary's in Bristol in 1696. Elizabeth and Posthumous set up home in Bradford on Avon and they had 8 children. Of those 8, at least 5 survived to adulthood, including my 7th great grandfather Francis.
Posthumous was a lanarius (woolworker),

One of his sons was non-conformist, and according to papers from Leicester University his son (another Posthumous) registered his home as a place of worship.
(The following text is taken from http://www.britishhistory.ac.uk/vch/wilts/vol7/pp4-51)
"Bearfield Congregational church, formerly the Countess of Huntingdon's Chapel, appears to have originated as an Independent society in or before 1787. In that year 'Bethel Chapel' was built at Bearfield and opened for worship by the Revd. Mr. Norman. Services were conducted according to the forms of the Church of England. Norman left the town a few years later. The chapel was supplied for a time by ministers from Bath, including a Mr. Bargest, but declined and was closed. The building was bought by Mr. Posthumous Bush of Bradford. Not long after, it was bought from Bush by the Revd. Thomas Watkins of Bath. Watkins, who had married a wealthy woman from the West Indies, settled in Bradford and built himself a house. He reopened the chapel for worship, built a new gallery, and gathered 'a good and respectable congregation'. He died in 1802, and was buried under the pulpit."

Both Posthumous and Francis owned land in Bradford on Avon, this can be seen in the Bradford land tax record of 1743.

The family still owned land in the area in 1841, this is show to be so in the tithe map of the area. (217/218 were owned by the Bush family)

(image from http://www.freshford.com/1841_tithe_map_list.htm)

Posthumous died in 1761, his will gave provision for his living children and a number of other beneficiaries, most bequests were for the sum of £30 or less. It seems that he wrote off a fair few debts owed to him by my 7th great grandfather, his son, Francis. This is shown in a section of the will. Francis was the executor. 

Drowning in DNA

Well, short of a miracle, I think my DNA journey in the here and now may have come to an end. My self-imposed target won't be met, unless thousands of folk suddenly get the urge to test.
I'd like to say "comme ci comme ça" but that wouldn't be entirely truthful of me, and I've tried to be nothing but honest in my journey and my motives.
There are too many permutations to be able to be focussed and analytical. I think I've more chance of winning the lottery, and I don't use that expression lightly as all your 'pay out' depends on other people entering.
I have met some lovely relatives, I won't name anyone here, as it is a public blog, but having contact with you is worth the journey. You are family, DNA doesn't lie, unlike people :)
I will, however, not be giving up. There is still a wealth of information to be had through DNA matching. I can find out about the lives of my relatives (even without knowing with one hundred percent certainty, the nature of our relationship within a family tree), and as that is my main love, I'm still going to have a loving and productive swim in my gene pool.
Maybe one day, a test will be taken which will click everything into place, but until then I will congratulate other people on 'being a bride, while I remain the bridesmaid'.

"I see no reason that this could go horribly wrong!"

Today I have a few reflections on the 'Dangers of DNA'. There have been calls by law enforcement (mostly in the US) for access to biological information in genealogy DNA databases. Also, there is a movement to use the same DNA databases to trace unidentified bodies.
I think that both these things should be on an 'opt in' basis if they are ever realised. Imagine finding out that a close relative (a biological parent, sibling or grandparent) died a violent death, if you were an adoptee trying to trace family. A match comes up on Ancestry, or similar database, you respond, only to find out in the most impersonal way that something like that happened, or you were contacted by a member of the police to enquire after one of your close blood relatives who may be responsible for a rape or murder.

Things can also go horribly wrong for adoptees looking for answers, in my experience, there can be happy endings, but they seem to be a rarity. You may be treated with suspicion by people with close DNA matches, as they don't know what your motives are in contacting them. It needs to be handled with a great deal of tact and honesty. Some sites on social media actually advocate lying (sometimes by commission as well as omission) to matches when you first contact them as the word 'adoption' can cut off any further contact.  I really don't think dishonesty is the basis of any future relationship you may grow with someone. Being honest about your motives from the beginning, and telling people you have no expectations and no intention to disrupt families, is a fairer way to approach them, if you want their help.

You Shall Not Pass!

Some days are more difficult than others, when trying to solve a mystery in your family tree (we've spoken about brick walls before).
It feels like you are travelling down a dangerous mountain pass, picking up fragmented clues along the way as part of your quest. When all of a sudden, the road seems clear, and you can see your destination in the distance. You walk towards it, ready to grasp the knowledge awaiting you, when a knight steps in front of you in full armour, obscuring your view and telling you "You shall not pass". The knight fades, and so does the mirage of your destination.
The question is, what should you do? Carry on with your quest, or call it a day? I choose pragmatism, for each avenue you explore which turns out to be incorrect, you are eliminating a 'false positive' from the mix, thus, the waters become less muddied for future research. It feels like a pattern of detection that is Sherlockian, but unlike Holmes, it is impossible to be detached and analytical when something touches you so personally.
Today, is just one of those days where you feel like you have been assembling a jigsaw, you woke up knowing you only had half a dozen pieces to fit in for it to be finished, and when you sit down to finish it, you realise that the picture is wrong, so you have to rearrange some of the pieces.

Per ardua ad alta

When you undertake family history, if you are doing more than putting down a name, date of birth and death in a box, there can be times when you become very emotionally attached to the people you are researching.
They become people again, rather than data, as you gradually come to know some of their life stories, and you get to remotely share their ups and downs, generations later.
When I come across an ancestor or distant relative who dies before childbearing age, I place a cross in the suffix box, to denote an end of that particular line. I actually find it upsetting, and say sorry to them as I do it. It can be worse when a young relative has had their life cut short when they have fallen in the theatre of war. I think of what might have been for them. If they were unmarried before they went off gladly to protect their country, and fell on a foreign field without family to give them comfort in their final moments. The waste of a life not filled to potential is so sad. There would have been children unborn, perhaps they could have gone on to benefit humanity in a huge way? Instead, there was an empty void in a mother or sweethearts arms.
There are families who strove to raise children, and instead 9 out of ten offspring died within a 5 year period of each other, maybe from epidemics, or through having no defence against common ailments due to lack of adequate nutrition or sanitation in the family home... and yet, against the odds, maybe one survived their childhood and went on to raise families of their own. You sometimes wonder how they had the strength to go on - and sometimes triumph, in the face of adversity.
I've seen it written in the arena of social media, that if you are going to get upset about what you may find out in your family tree, then don't do it. I would disagree. I'd rather have empathy and be close to my ancestors - whatever their story, than be cold and clinical and use genealogy as a data collecting exercise.
Yes, there are times when I have to switch to researching another branch of my family tree for a few days because I've become too upset about the tragedies that have blighted the people I'm researching. But I go back and visit them after stepping away for that short while. Finding newspaper articles and searching the local and national timeline during their lives, is like popping in for a cup of tea and gossip, as you get a sense of what they would have talked about, what would have directly affected them as well. Also, sometimes if you are lucky, a newspaper article (or several) may contain some news about your relative (even if it is about them coming third in the local show for growing the best potatoes).

It's Genealogy O'Clock!

Just a recap of my week. Firstly, I've spoken to some new cousins over the past couple of weeks, some distant, some not so distant, and if any of them are reading my blog, I would like to say a sincere thank you for either contacting me, or replying to my emails. It's been great 'meeting' you in cyberspace, and I really hope we will stay in touch an get to know one an other a little better.

I've been busy making copper bracelets, by hand.. I love working with metal jewellery, in the way my ancestors would have done. It is therapeutic and enjoyable. This week I designed a bracelet of twisted and spiralled copper wire.

Last Monday, my routine pretty much included walking the dog, making jewellery, baking bread and cake, putting together a slow cooked casserole for dinner, doing the last week of my Futurelearn genealogy course and researching my family tree in the times in-between.  I work on the tree daily, and try and fit it around all my other tasks. Then 'genealogy o'clock' kicks in. Basically, at around 10pm, I am driven to research, sometimes until around 3am.
If you are reading this and are new to drawing up your family tree, here is a health warning, it is addictive! Even more so, if you decide to have your DNA tested. But it is worth every moment you work on it. You will feel like you are getting to know long dead relatives, and feel like a part of a community. There are dozens of groups on Facebook which have members who will help you out with the benefit of their experience, or just give you moral support should you need it. Don't be afraid to ask questions, or for help. We all started somewhere.

The Wisdom of Solomon?

Solomon Palmer was born in Taunton, Somerset, in 1830, he married Iset Rich b. 1833 in Over Stowey on December 2nd 1853. Solomon was at that time working as a labourer in the Over Stowey parish.
It was a tempestuous relationship to say the least, and led to several court appearances for both of them.

In 1860, at Overstowey, along with two other Broomsquire relatives, Henry and George Palmer, Solomon ends up in court again for theft.

In 1862 Iset appeared at court for stealing £8 worth of gold and silver jewellery from a shop in Holford when the couple lived at Kilton.

In 1864 the tables were turned and for once Solomon was the victim, he was robbed of 30 shillings by a woman he met in a public house. I'm sure Iset's retribution was swift.

In 1870, Solomon Palmer Jnr (son of Solomon and Iset) was sentenced to penal servitude for 7 years.

In 1876, both Solomon and Iset were up in front of the bench for public annoyance, and Iset for assaulting another woman.

In Othery, on August 9th 1879, there was an altercation between Solomon and Iset, that resulted in him going to prison for 9 months.

In 1885 in Taunton, Solomon and Iset fought again, with Iset bringing charges for assault against Solomon and him accusing her of hitting him around the head with a poker. He didn't have the money to have a warrant issued against her, so no charges were brought. Iset claimed his head injuries were caused by him falling over when drunk.

In 1885, Solomon was charged with stabbing his son James during an argument.

1886 saw Iset in court once more on charges of fighting with neighbours. One alleged that she threatened to run her neighbour through with a knife. She was bound over to keep the peace on this occasion.

The year of his wife's death in 1888, saw Solomon convicted of stealing some 'cooked tripe' (It fell out of his coat when accosted by the police) he was jailed for 6 months and given 6 months police supervision. This was the 22nd time he had been convicted of a crime, and was 67 years of age. Iset would have died around the time Solomon was released for this offence. 

Solomon was found drunk and incapable in a field after falling into a river several times whilst under the influence of cider in 1891.

I am related to both Iset and Solomon, and thought I would tell their story. It is a hard life when you are born to poverty, but Solomon (a Broomsquire, which by then was a dying way of country life) somehow managed to provide a living, by hawking goods. Some personalities have a catalyst effect on others and unhealthy relationships are formed. I think in this case, that may be the answer to their violent relationship. 

Poverty

(Poverty by Gustave Doré)

William Turner (my third great grandfather) lived in Roper's Lane in Bridgwater. He was a worker at the brickyard. The work was hard, intermittent and paid very little in the way of wages. Some of the houses in this area were slums. There is a very good article from The Bridgwater Times which is transcribed below outlines what his living conditions would have been like when he was living there with his young family. By 1867 James' wife Mary Ann Crane had given birth to 8 children.
In 1849 a cholera epidemic swept through the streets where they lived, and in St Mary's Churchyard, graves which contained corpses were left open, ready to receive the next bodies. My fourth great grandfather James Bishop died in Honeysuckle Alley of cholera aged 47.
George Burge who is mentioned in the report, is also a distant relative.

1848 The Bridgwater Times

"George Burge, who lives in the first house I entered,
is an invalid, suffering from sciatica and
rheumatism, and totally incapable of working at his
trade, that of ship's carpenter. He has a sick wife,
and five sick children; the family and dwelling
exhibited a complete picture of want and desolation.
The parish allows this family 5s. and five loaves per
week, equal to about 7s. 6d.; out of this sum is to be
deducted 1s. 6d. a week for rent, leaving for the
decent subsistence per week of seven individuals just
6s., ‒ less than 1s. per week for each member of the
family. In the workhouse the average cost per week
of each pauper is 2s. 6d.. The house is approached
from Mary Street by an entry of about four feet in
width, at the end of which is a heap of ashes, and
there being no convenience attached to the house,
this heap serves the purpose of a water closet, and is
exactly opposite the entrance to the house, leaving
but a narrow space to enter the doorway. The house
contains two bedrooms upstairs, one of which is so
out of repair that rain and wind have ingress, and it
is consequently uninhabitable. There are also a
room and a back place on the ground floor. There is
no water on the premises, the inmates being obliged
to get it as they can. The premises want light,
ventilation, draining and cleansing. The rooms are
about twelve feet square, and all the family sleep in
one room.. .
In the next house I visited live a man and his wife
and six children. It contains one room and a small
pantry on the ground floor; upstairs there are what
are called two bedrooms, the landing of the stairs
forming one of them. The room downstairs measured
about ten feet by fifteen feet; the pantry is about four
feet deep – the two bedrooms are over the lower
room. In one of them sleep the eldest daughter who
has left her service through ill health and who is
about twenty-two years of age – her brother, about
sixteen years of age and four other children; in the
other the father and mother. The pantry is close to
the churchyard and instead of a window has an
aperture of about eighteen inches square stuffed up
with hay. There is no privy to this house and no
water on the premises. The smells of the new-dug
graves are frequently very offensive. I use the words
of the wife – "On one occasion when a grave was
opened, I never smelled such a breath; the flesh of
the former body was taken out with the hair on, and
the jaw bones were perfect. The coffin had been
broken in. I have seen children playing with human
bones outside the churchyard walls." There was no
back outlet."

Sometimes I marvel at how my ancestors managed to survive conditions like these, but survive and thrive they did.

Looking up the In-Laws.

Sometimes when you go 'tree-blind' on your own branches, it is nice to sojourn to another persons tree.
Yesterday, after several hours of finding cousins on the White and Dando lines, I decided to look for my husband's grandfather, specifically his war records. I'm sure that (for those astrologically minded) Mercury went into retrograde early, as technology I use every single day didn't want to work for me, and it took another researcher (she is brilliant!) to find what I couldn't find, even though it was exactly where I expected it to be.

Back to the grandfather-in-law. He was born in North Street, Bedminster in 1895. When he left school he worked for the brewery directly across the road as a bottle washer.
Ashton Gate brewery was originally a business set up by Thomas Baynton, and after his death in 1865 it became a company.
Bill, then went to war, joining the Somerset Light Infantry (who were known as Prince Albert's Light Infantry) as a Private. His war record seems to be exemplary, in fact, he was mentioned in dispatches, being a First Lieutenant when the Great War was over.
He returned to Bristol, married and had several children.
In WW2 he was a fire watcher. One family story was that he was blown clear down a Bedminster street when an incendiary device detonated.

What's in a name?

Today I came across a fifth cousin once removed on my tree. He was born in June 1916 during World War 1, and named Verdun Mesopotania Humphrey [sic]. There were many children born in that time named for campaigns and battles their relatives fought (and died) in. His father had died at sea before his birth, and his uncle died a month after his birth in the Balkan Theatre.
Verdun went on to emigrate to Australia and the Master of the P&O ship Benalla which he sailed on, was Captain Sheepwash.
I've mentioned before that when there is an unusual name, I'm driven to find out more about the person behind it.

(*Image cw39.com/)

I found the following information about Captain Sheepwash and his career, also on the torpedo damage the Ballarat (on which he was the supernumerary chief

officer) took in 1917

Living in the Past

"Living In The Past"

Happy and I'm smiling

walk a mile to drink your water

You know I'd love to love you

and above you there's no other

We'll go walking out

while others shout of war's disaster

Oh, we won't give in

let's go living in the past

Once I used to join in

every boy and girl was my friend

Now there's revolution, but they don't know

what they're fighting

Let us close our eyes

outside their lives go on much faster

Oh, we won't give in

we'll keep living in the past

Jethro Tull 

I've been living in the past for the last 12 years or so. I first got interested in researching family history when I (with the help of a friend) took advantage of the infancy in internet genealogy to start a tree for my husband, which started me on a journey of discovery that I've been utterly in love with ever since.
I started my tree in earnest just a year or so ago and am engrossed in finding out the social history around my ancestors lives, in a quest to bring them back to life. 

And the walls came tumbling down!

Every family historian will relate to the image above, in relation to one or more ancestor. 

We all come up against brick walls. Sometimes we chip away at them for years to find that one tiny bit of information that will undermine the structure and bring down bricks and mortar, and sometimes, they crumble at the first touch. 

When you encounter a brick wall, sometimes it is best to take a vacation, or a few day trips away from it, and concentrate on another area of your research. It saves you getting really frustrated and fed up, and also, if you look at it with fresh eyes, the barriers can break. 

It only takes a new transcription of a hitherto unseen parish register, or a fellow researcher posting a link you haven't seen to crack the wall, enough for you to pull it down. 

Think outside the box, look for single name studies and see what other people have posted, I found some fascinating social history about a line of my family I previously had no personal knowledge about just this week. 

Just a word about future family historians, why not write a journal or get a pack of information (or scrapbook) together about your life, and add anything you can remember about your recent ancestors or descendants? That way, it can be passed down to a new family historian, or if nobody in your family is interested in it, you can file copies with the local records office or local family history society. If you think about what you would have liked to have known about your ancestors, it should guide you to know what sort of information to put in your journal. 

Gone to be a soldier

I was just writing a return email to a newly found cousin, and thought I'd share some of it on today's Blog post.

"It is fascinating to find out about your ancestors, even if you didn't know them. Just last night, I found out information on a second great uncle who died in Palestine in World War I - there are records of all the campaigns he was involved in, complete with a list of medals he was awarded (and remember, although, maybe distantly) he will be related to you as well through me). So I then went and looked at the details of the Palestinian and Egyptian theatres of war.
It is so much more than a name on a piece of paper. They are the blood in our veins and we are a result of (mostly) generations of their love." (*Slightly edited)

Clifford Turner died on the 18th April in 1918 (next week will be the 98th anniversary of his death). He was a Lance Sergeant. Clifford was just 21 at the time of his death.
Here is a list of the medals that he won.

Here's to a brave young man, who laid down his life, that others may live in freedom. 

I use the term, 'putting flesh back on the bones' a lot in relation to my research. It is (for me) the most interesting thing about my family history. To be able to 'see' them in context and know what issues of the day, locally, nationally and globally, would have affected them, or made them happy or sad, breathes life into them. 

I wonder did Clifford dream of the green hills of Somerset to sustain him through the cold dessert nights? 

Relatively simple?

The DNA matches are coming in. I have now made contact with several cousins. Unfortunately, (apart from one match with a 3-4th cousin who I share a common ancestor with) the rest, we have yet to establish that. I'm not sad about that for a second, when you have to work for something it is satisfying, and it gives me the pleasure of doing more research.
I am so happy to have found relatives who share a blood link to me.

(*image https://www.tumblr.com/search/book:%20the%20old%20curiosity%20shop)

Now, what was sleep? It's been so long I've forgotten :) I love Monday. It is my busiest day. I get up, walk the dog, phone a friend, make, prove and bake a loaf of bread (and usually a cake), do my weekly Futurelearn genealogy course, and then work on the family tree - Oh and sometimes make jewellery as well. I expect I will be at the tree until at least 2am, when I read for an hour just to wind down (may I recommend the Clovenhoof series by Heide Goody and Iain Grant? The funniest books I've read for years, and pure escapism - and there is a new book out on Thursday!). 

Blessings to all 

Alysa

ad integrum salutis lacte

In my best pigeon Latin, I dedicate today's blog to the uncertainties of an unbroken line (in terms of fidelity) on a family tree.
I'm a third cousin to someone who was quite a well known celebrity and I always wondered how tenuous that link could be, that all it would have taken was one affair or 'moment' to sever a branch on the tree. I find out from DNA that the line wasn't broken that way, so it is the nearest to knowing that we are actually related.
The pigeon Latin actually means uncorrupted by the milkman (according to Google Translate, anyway).

(No source for this pic of the late, great Benny Hill)

(*With apologies for stereotyping milkmen everywhere) 

D(NA)éjà vu?

A more esoteric theory popped into my head yesterday, about my journey. The concept of déjà vu has always fascinated me. I've experienced it since childhood on probably thousands of occasions. It is a feeling most people get at some time or another, some more frequently than others.
I've also been drawn to events and times in history and don't know why. I research these things avidly.
When I got my breakdown from Ancestry, I've noticed that places within these values have featured strongly in my research over the years. To me (and it possibly is a stretch), it suggests an ancestral memory hidden in your DNA.
In earlier posts I shared my predicted ethnicity (re-shared below), and how I was

amazed at the results because I was expecting mostly Europe West with GB and maybe traces of Iberian Peninsula, and then got the Scandinavian/Irish results. Since I was very young, I've been fascinated by the myths, sagas and history of both. I've even written a course on Elder Futhark runes. 

Breaking News?

I find this 'Breaking News' from the BBC astonishing on so many levels. One being it is a personal matter, and not exactly earth-shattering to anyone other than the people involved, and the other being that Justin Welby's mother is still alive, and details of her 'liaison' are being shared for public consumption by the BBC, obviously with The Archbishop of Canterbury's blessing. 

There is something sleazy (a la Jeremy Kyle) about the whole thing. I'm blogging about my journey with my DNA and family tree, but don't care to share details which may upset living relatives of people who have passed within living memory. It's called respect. 

Why do DNA testing?

(*Image University of Leicester) 

I suppose there are a plethora of reasons for wanting to get your DNA tested for genealogy purposes.
The first thing people generally do, is to upload their raw data to sites that match DNA with cousins. What puzzles me, is when they do that, and are given matches, or receive emails from people they have close matches with, do they choose to ignore them?

I've taken the DNA plunge for a number of reasons, but the icing on the cake would have been that I was in touch with newly found family members around the globe, the filling in of my tree, being incidental to that.

For those undertaking autosomal testing, here is some advice for when you receive your kit in the post.
(*It is what worked for me, and I got my results first time around, rather than re-test, as many have to)

1.Do your test first thing in the morning. Before having a drink, brushing your teeth or eating.
2. When you spit in the tube, make sure that it is filled to the line with saliva, if there are bubbles, make sure they are over the top of the fill line, as when they pop, there may not be enough saliva for the testing.
3. Mix in the regent (as per directions) and post (if you are the same as me, wait on tenterhooks until the results come in).
4. Don't get despondent about waiting a few weeks, as like I said in an earlier blog-post, when you finally get them, it will have been worth the wait, it's honestly like being a child in a sweetshop :)

Digging in the DNA

As I go into day 3 of my DNA journey, I start to look at my test results in more detail.
Now, I'm an historian, not a scientist and all this is ground-breaking technology for me. This is difficult, a little like a five year old child getting a book on nuclear physics as a birthday gift. But..... I progress in understanding a little every day.
I uploaded my raw file to Gedmatch and the results that come back are amazing. I had a very private fear, for more than ten years, and in 1.4 seconds that fear was allayed, just by clicking one (of many) applications within the website.
It gives several ancient origin predictors, that was fascinating. The original chart from Ancestry gives a prediction for the last thousand years or so, but the Gedmatch shows percentages of things like neolithic group predictors. (I'm probably using the wrong scientific language to explain this, but like I mentioned, I am new to it, and not yet au fait with the vagaries or terminology).
I have thousands of distant cousin matches, and that will increase as more and more people take DNA tests for genealogical purposes.
I hope lots of people will contact me. The jigsaw of my life, that was missing both the outline and core pieces should slowly start to fill up. It feels like I have the four corners now.
It's one of the most fascinating paths I've ever taken, and it is a joy to walk it.

A slice of 'Pie in the Sky'

Yesterday, I was transported back to childhood. My pie chart (the results of which I blogged about in my last post) took me back to a wonderland of imagination about my genetic background.
Because I was firmly expecting more Western European and Iberian Peninsular results, the mix of Scandinavian and Irish really excited me. My imagination took me to Dublin, and to the wars fought there with the Vikings. Did one of my long ago direct ancestors sail there for war and end up marrying a local girl? Maybe one of my ancient family members wrote the Leabhar Cheanannais (Book of Kells), or one of the other early books Ireland is famed for? Perhaps I'm descended from Brian Boru?
Of course, none of that will be true, but it did give me a chance to daydream.
The pie chart was like getting a really nice free keyring when you buy an expensive car, or the plastic toy in the box of cereal - the one you waited days to get, eating breakfast you didn't even particularly like. Very unimportant in the scheme of the larger picture, but a very nice gift, nonetheless.

And the DNA results are in..........

All my ancestry research so far has quite firmly kept my roots in Somerset. Not that I've minded that, as Somerset is one of the most beautiful, diverse areas in the world. Many of my direct ancestors came from The Quantocks which was the first area of outstanding natural beauty in the country. I love Somerset with a passion. 

If you'd have asked what I expected to find before I took the test, I'd have said "Cut me in half and Somerset would be stamped through me like a stick of rock". I thought my percentage of GB would have been slightly higher with the rest made up from West Europe and the Iberian Peninsular (which are the two trace regions I have with 4% and 5% respectively).

The Scandinavian and Irish ancestry were the areas that surprised me the most. Not that they aren't welcome! They are, I am thrilled. I've looked at DNA maps of the British Isles and it seems quite unusual for the Scandinavian element to appear in the West Country (although not unknown, or even extremely rare).

I am yet to find a direct ancestor who wasn't from England, and I have over a hundred direct ancestors in my tree. 

I feel like a child in a sweetshop this morning, not knowing where to start, which bit to unwrap first, in regards to my results. The ethnicity pie chart was the first thing I saw, thus the first thing to excite me. It wasn't the reason for me taking the DNA test though, just an interesting aside. 

Here are the full results 

A dark day in my tree.....

Have you ever made an unforgivable error on your family tree?
I did just that a couple of weeks ago, when I was researching at 2am. I found double entries for one family (in my favour, there are lots of branches, and they tended to have children with the same names as cousins) and decided to delete one branch to put the tree right. Sound okay so far? It made perfect sense at the time, to get the virtual shears out and prune. Problem was, I pruned the wrong branch - they were the ones who had all the links to my ancestors. I had them twice on the tree as we were related through more than one ancestor, and I've managed to do the tree quite a lot of damage (it is repairable, but will take weeks of nurturing to get it flowering again).
I'm never making the mistake of being ruthless in the early hours of the morning again. I will also be backing up the tree more frequently.

On the marriage of my 5th Great Grandparents

A Church was built in centuries past

Where the ancient yew tree grows 

'Twas there the groom walked down the aisle 

To wed the fair Ashbrittle Rose

James Giles and Jane Rose were wed on 5 April 1815 in Ashbrittle, Somerset. The Yew Tree overlooking the Church is said to be England's oldest, at 3,000 years of age. 

It would have overlooked my ancestors baptisms, marriages and deaths since the Church was built there in the 15th century. 

The Ballad of Alice Bellringer

The crystal catches the last of the evening light

and gently kisses you on the face with a rainbow 

Softly fading to nothing as the clouds come 

leaving a memory of the fleeting beauty of the sun 

The autumn leaf that falls from the tree 

Sacrificed itself to the crunch under your shoe 

I heard it did so willingly

Even the spider weaves her web 

In the coldest of places, so that frost diamonds 

gleam for you in the morning 

before they melt away to nourish the plants 

in the frozen soil of your wilderness 

Flowers bloom with jewelled colour

among the canopy of shelter, like faerie lights 

The heady perfume of jasmine will bathe you 

as you walk upon the land

Alysa Blackwood-Bevan 2016 

(*Picture credit Promotional: Eidolon of Blossoms)

For my cousin, the poet

The inky blackness embraced you

Like the flame embraces the moth

The stars were the only diamonds

You needed to adorn you

You were born knowing

Your true nature

And how to conceal it 

Behind enigmatic eyes 

While others strived 

To find their inner balance

Yours came as naturally 

As the sunrise in the morn 

None would have guessed your depths

Unless they were drowning in your wake

Midnight is your name, twilight is your time 

The shadows are your playground

Moon Child 

How can one born to darkness shine so?

All is Not quiet on the Western Front

There can be very little in genealogy more distressing than coming across family members who died in the Great War.

What comfort could be gained from a name carved on a local war memorial? A grave in another land near to where they fell, would have been too far away for a mother or young wife to take flowers. The thought of a filed filled with dancing red poppies, so lauded in poetry, would have to serve as a reminder. So the war memorial was the nearest thing to a grave that grieving relatives had.

When you find a mother who has lost more than one son to the battlefields, you wonder how they had the strength to go on.

Eric Bogle wrote the lyrics to the famous song Green Fields of France (also known as No Man's Land) in 1976. The words sum up the sadness of those fallen too young.

Well how do you do, Private William McBride

Do you mind if I sit here down by your grave side?

A rest for awhile in the warm summer sun,

I've been walking all day and I'm nearly done.

And I see by your gravestone that you were only 19

when you joined the glorious fallen in 1916.

Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean

Or, William McBride, was it slow and obscene?

CHORUS:

Did they beat the drum slowly?

did they sound the pipes lowly?

Did the rifles fire o'er ye as they lowered you down?

Did the bugle sing 'The Last Post' in chorus?

Did the pipes play 'The Flowers o' the Forest'?

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind?

In some loyal heart is your memory enshrined

And though you died back in 1916

To that loyal heart are you always 19.

Or are you just a stranger without even a name

Forever enclosed behind some glass-pane

In an old photograph torn and tattered and stained

And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?

Well, the sun it shines down on these green fields of France,

The warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance.

The trenches are vanished now under the plough

No gas, no barbed wire, no guns firing now.

But here in this graveyard it is still No Man's Land

And the countless white crosses in mute witness stand.

To man's blind indifference to his fellow man

And a whole generation that was butchered and downed.

And I can't help but wonder now Willie McBride

Do all those who lie here know why they died?

Did you really believe them when they told you the cause?

Did you really believe them that this war would end war?

The suffering, the sorrow, some the glory, the shame -

The killing and dying - it was all done in vain.

For Willie McBride, it's all happened again

And again, and again, and again, and again.

Did they beat the drum slowly?

did they sound the pipe lowly?

Did the rifles fire o'er ye as they lowered you down?

Did the bugle sing 'The Last Post' in chorus?

Did the pipes play 'The Flowers o' the Forest'?

I dedicate this to all in my tree who fell in war, and to those who were left behind to grieve for the soldiers who fought for our freedom from tyranny, in the hope there will be a day we wake up as a race and realise the futility of war and fight no more with our fellow man. 

Coincidences in genealogy

Several weeks ago, I started some research into the family tree of a friend. It was a very direct line that he wanted drawn up, so I started looking. It led me to a place in Brewham, where I found that some of his relatives had been involved in a witchcraft trial there, as both complainants and the accused. At least one family member was executed for witchcraft, although the manner of her death isn't given (it was more likely to be from hanging rather than burning in that period though).
Now, here is where it gets interesting. I decided to give my own family tree branches a well earned rest and add some of my husband's family (from an old tree I'd done more than ten years ago) as research has moved on and there are many more sources to look at on-line.
I discovered that my husband and friend shared a set of 4th great grandparents, making them fifth cousins.

(*Creative Commons Attribution Share-alike license 2.0)

My Beautiful Somerset

My Beautiful Somerset is a tribute to my Ancestors from the county and their descendants who live there to this day.

My Beautiful Somerset

Gorges, coves and raging sea

A county of diversity 

With valleys, tor's and golden sands

Marshes, moors and much woodland

Ancient yews grow next to graves

And witches lay in deep dark caves

Great bridges over chasms span

And other marvels made by man

The levels fill with nesting swans

Local inns ring with folk songs

From rolling hills to flattened downs

That house our villages and towns

Perry, cider, mead and beer

Are brewed, matured and bottled here

Orchards rich in fruit and flower 

In landscape rife with leys of power

Alysa Blackwood-Bevan 2016

The Silent Scream

(*Image from www.leopoldmuseum.org)

Anybody who is researching a family tree will be aware of the times that the lack of progress with certain family lines can infuriate you. Your research seems to come to a full stop, no matter how many different sources you are looking for in parish records, nothing is coming to light. 

It can be made more difficult when there is already some faulty research in existence, along with Chinese Whispers of family or local oral tradition. 

I'm in the middle of trying to cut through a fog of myths about a distant relative, who, long ago, committed a terrible crime. Lots of sources exist about him, and the events surrounding the case... But what is true and what is not? 

That he committed the crime is not in doubt. It is confusing about how he received folklore status and was thought to be a victim, as the brutal way he killed his wife of only a few weeks shouldn't award him that accolade. 

The parish records of the time have his birth, marriage and death, but don't show a brother being born to the same parents as him, instead, a first cousin with all the correct details. Unlikely that the record transcriptions would be that wrong. That set my mind on a tangent, and I wondered if fostering was as common in the lower classes at the time. As a foster brother may well be referred to as a 'brother'. 

He is also said to have had an illegitimate child, but this isn't recorded either in the parish records and they are full of other examples, so it would have been entered. 

It is possible that I will never untangle the history behind the mystery, but it is fun (even if frustrating) to try. 

The Sword of Damocles is suspended by a single thread (of DNA)

Have you ever started a chain of events in motion that could either be wonderful, or on the other hand, like being immobilised and made to watch a car crash you'd orchestrated yourself?
That is how I feel today, having sent a DNA sample off for autosomal testing. My journey to find my ancestors has been fraught with obstacles since the beginning, and the people I have found in my family tree feel hard won already. I feel a connection to some of them, which strengthened as I've found details about their lives. And now I'm half dreading something on the test leading me in a different direction. All it takes is one infidelity and those names you have started to cherish on a branch of your family tree, may not be yours any more.
On the upside I could find a new connection to common relatives on a side of my tree that is a total unknown.
Strange and unsettling time. All I can do is hope the results are worth the worry.

"Honouring" my Ancestors

My ancestors and blood relatives have become more and more important to me as I research my family tree.
It is amazing to look at their lives and deaths and put flesh on their bones, so they grow into something much more than a sterile name in a computer generated programme.
I see the pain, the love, the loss and the short or long lives. Several ancestors only managed to raise one or two children past the age of five (due to disease, poverty and poor diet I would guess).
The census returns or occasional notations in the parish registers alluding to their jobs wasn't particularly diverse. I have lots of agricultural labourers (not unusual for Somerset folk), brick yard labourers, dressmakers and factory hands followed during and after the industrial revolution.
Very early on in some branches of my tree, I can see families who had farms and land while their siblings, nieces and nephews lived in relative poverty in comparison. There are also instances of families with a good income losing everything within one or two generations.
I have broom squires and tenant farmers, one of my grandmothers from the nineteenth century married into a family who went on to own a brewing empire.
Many of my ancestors would have been good, honest working folk, who attended Church every Sunday, paid their tithes and contributed to society. Some were not so good. I have a diverse range of forebears and distant cousins whose criminal activities ranged from murder, manslaughter, sheep stealing, larceny and (most sadly of all) felo de se (self-murder).
I've thought a lot about these folk who did what they did to get by, when you are surviving hand to mouth with no relief available, you do what you have to do to stop your family from starving.
There was recently a discussion about whether you should honour all of your ancestors, or just the ones who did good things. I think I choose to 'honour' mine, by remembering they were human, and not looking at their history in a revisionist manner. Remembering them as fallible, flesh and bone men and women who sometimes made mistakes and sometimes did fantastic or wicked things in their lives.
Here's to you all, the righteous and the rogues...  I'll life a glass to you at Samhain just the same.

Do we ever reflect upon the honour 

Of walking in the dust of ancient civilisations? 

In the shadows of our ancestors

Our steps in the footprint of theirs

Our hands touching the same stones? 

Your tree of life has branches on 

With our ancestors as leaves 

That have floated to the ground 

And become renewed 

The roots go deep and grow strong

When we nurture them 

They are our roots too 

As what went before is intertwined 

With now 

Plant your own tree

And strengthen it with love 

Remember the names of those gone before 

And write the names of those still to come 

In the stars 

Do not mourn the fallen leaves for long 

For when they fall, they feed the roots

And become immortal

They are etched in your memory 

Instead, share their story 

All falls eventually, save love