Branches - My Tree

 

We are like trees, doing our best to stand firm yet entwining our roots with others to make us stronger, though sometimes it can pull us down. We stretch our branches, reaching out, growing a sheltering canopy of leaves to conceal and protect. The sanctuary of a close family.

Searching my family tree became almost a full-time occupation in the early 2000s when I was coping with illness and recovering from surgery. The task kept me busy and distracted me from pending treatments. As I delved into genealogy websites I was able to piece things together and solve the mysteries inherited from my aunt. A large, dog-eared brown envelope was crammed with old paperwork giving me clues and a starting point. It wasn’t easy and not quick. Days became weeks spent on the trail of a particular surname which I didn’t recognise but understood it to be significant because it cropped up a lot in my aunt’s stuff. The penny dropped with a loud clunk when I eventually discovered where it slotted into my family. A ‘eureka’ moment, indeed, and there have been more, along with frustration but lots of fascination. My mission is far from complete. I still explore and try to keep on the track of whatever branches I’m following, though I admit it is easy to become diverted. With the help of someone, not a family member but connected to me by a marriage which took place more than a hundred years ago, I discovered that the groom turned out to be a scoundrel. For weeks I felt guilty by association, even though the person is not of my blood-line and it all happened long before I was born. I would like to visit the war graves of those I have found to be resting in Belgium and France, fallen at the Somme and Passchendaele.

It isn’t all about ancestry. There are plenty of current, live directions to follow. Sometimes, I feel like my closest branches weigh heavy with the burdens of everyday living and I hope for better times ahead for those concerned. The present situations cannot last forever. “This, too, shall pass.” Said a wise person.

I found this poem online at Poem Hunter. It’s by Pia Andersson.

My Tree

My tree will know it all
The tree of my childhood
With the endless branches
And the many whispers.

My tree remembers
The girl with the wind in her hair
The girl with the crazy laughter
The girl with the fear of living
The girl I used to be
Before.

In my tree
I can see the world
But no one can see me.

My tree remembers me
The girl I used to be,
Before.

                       Pia Andersson

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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For the Record - Put It Straight

 One glorious summer afternoon, a few years ago, my husband and I were on my ancestry trail in Manchester's Southern Cemetery. I had done some groundwork online and had a print-out map of the burial grounds with my family members plot details marking locations.

There can be lots to learn from headstone inscriptions, things not recorded elsewhere. I took time to make notes, take photographs and have a silent word with my dear departed ones. There are some interesting folk in my bloodline and this cemetery has four if not five generations of my paternal line. How handy for me that they are all in the same place. It makes adding branches to the family tree so much easier. All was going well until I couldn't find my four-greats grandfather, Benjamin. The number for his resting place was a multiple burial pauper's grave with a list of names which didn't include him. This couldn't be it. From my genealogy discoveries, I knew Benjamin to be a successful,  wealthy man with no suggestion of hard times at the end of his life. It looked like the end of my journey - until we realised that the cemetery records office was still open. I went to ask for help.

If ever I had a lucky day, this was it. Someone checked online and got the same information I had, which was clearly wrong. Within minutes, I was sitting at a desk with a huge register in front of me, in awe of the beautifully hand-written burial records in magnificent copperplate. With Benjamin's full name, date of birth, date of death and interment, I found his grave number straight away. Online details end with an E, in the register with a K. I could see what must have happened when the details were transferred to digital. The style of writing had a flourish on the capital K which could easily be mistaken for an E. I mentioned my possible discovery to a staff member.

With the revised details, I found Benjamin's resting place, complete with a headstone befitting the gentleman I considered him to be. I went back to thank the office staff and tell them my findings. They thanked me - had I not queried Benjamin's grave, the error might never have come to light.

My poem:

I'm really having fun in here,
Line after line it seems quite clear,
Data input made a mistake.
Let's put it right for all our sakes.

Please can we put the record straight?
It's all gone wrong on column eight
And what's been listed as an E
Is actu'lly a K, you see.

I wish I had all afternoon,
Sadly, I have to go home soon,
But now you know what has gone wrong,
You can put Ks where they belong.

PMW 2021

Thanks for reading, keep safe, Pam x

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Fat-balls - Feed the Birds

Spending time in Dumfries & Galloway is always intended to be restful and peaceful and that’s exactly what we find at the lodges where we choose to stay. A favourite pastime is watching the birds feasting on the fat-balls and seeds that we provide. We feed the birds at home, but hardly get chance to enjoy the results of constant topping up. It’s different when we’re away. A morning consists of relaxing after breakfast with a coffee on the veranda, or inside if it’s chilly, reading yesterday’s paper or a Kindle. Reading material is soon cast aside as bird watching takes over. Depending on the time of year, we may repeat this in the late afternoon. The lodges are surrounded by evergreen trees and huge rhododendrons offering plenty of branches to hang an assortment of feeders.  

We were there in November for a much needed break. My father-in-law had passed away the week before and the funeral arranged for our return.  We looked forward to the family gathering that was always a highlight of our visits. I had started to be ill in the days prior to our trip and hoped the Scottish countryside air and time to rest would help me pick up. It wasn’t to be, but we still enjoyed our stay.

Health permitting, our spring time visit will go ahead. It’s a good time to watch the red kites at their feeding and conservation station nearby or at Galloway Forest. What I’d really like to do, more than anything, is fill seed feeders and fat-ball holders, hang them up and wait.

As we’re in his domain and it’s nearly Burns Night, I chose this poem,

 

 

O stay, sweet warbling woodlark stay,

                                      Nor quit for me the trembling spray,

 

                                       A hapless lover courts thy lay,

 

                                       Thy soothing, fond complaining.

 

 

Again, again that tender part,

                                      That I may catch thy melting art;

 

                                      For surely that wad touch her heart

 

                                       Wha kills me wi' disdaining.

 

 

Say, was thy little mate unkind,

                                      And heard thee as the careless wind?

 

                                      Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd,

 

                                      Sic notes o' woe could wauken!

 

 

Thou tells o' never-ending care;

O'speechless grief, and dark despair:

                                      For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair!

 

                                      Or my poor heart is broken!

 

 

                                                                  Robert Burns  1759-1796

 

 

 

 

Thanks for reading, Pam x 

 

 

 

 

 

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