White Christmas

Dallas's first white Christmas since 1926 and only Genevieve's second Christmas in the United States. I thought it awfully nice of Dallas to put on a festive display for me.

Family Not at Home Evening

There are many times of year when it feels like New York is at it's best. But December is special, with, as the song says, "City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style, In the air there's a feeling of Christmas." It seems a shame not to make the most of it, so on my first night back in the city, my friend John and I ventured out to enjoy the Christmas lights.

First stop, Rockerfeller City to see the tree and the angels,

and the snowflakes on Saks Fifth Avenue.


I love the blue tree lights at Columbus Circle

and the grand Christmas stars indoors.

And of course we went to Macy's on 34th Street. We didn't go up to visit Santa, but I'm sure he's the real one!

This year's windows celebrated writing letters to Santa. I don't remember if I ever sent a letter to the North Pole, but many years I got just what I wanted, so somehow he knew. Clever ole Santa!

Happy Christmas everyone!

I picked up a new book at the airport on the way to Jerusalem (the story of an old house on Bankside in London), and found a passage that beautifully conveyed my own feelings about searching out people's histories.

"The vast mass of men and women in every time do not leave behind them either renown or testimony. These people walked our streets, prayed in our churches, drank in our inns, built and lived in the houses where we have our being today, opened our front doors, looked out our windows, called to each other down our staircases. They were moved by essentially the same passions and griefs that we are, the same bedrock hopes and fears...

Witness to the living, busy, complex beings that many of these vanished ones were tends to be limited to fleeting references on pages of reference books that are seldom opened. Scant evidence, you may say, of lives as vivid and as important to the bearers as our own are today to us. But by putting these scraps together, sometimes, with luck, something more coherent is achieved. Pieces of lost lives are genuinely recovered. Here and there a few individual figures detach themselves from the dark and silence to which time has consigned them. They walk slowly towards us. Eventually, we may even see their faces." **

I went back to Bedford County Record Office yesterday to read the minute books from the Luton Poor Law Union. Huge registers where the Clerk recorded the day to day happenings at the workhouse and the maintenance of poor families in the area. The references to my family members indeed are fleeting, but I got a glimpse into some of my ancestors lives, sadly because it's the workhouse records, at some of the most distressing times in their lives.

Annie Maria Ward (my 2x great grandmother) admitted herself to the workhouse on the 28th of May 1917. She was 73 and for the aged and destitute the workhouse often served as a last stop. It says she was a Wesleyan, a former washerwoman, and the widow of James Ward, a well sinker. Annie lived four years in the workhouse and died on 15 May 1921 at 06.30. I've been told that hearts often fail in the morning when heart rates are low, and when I checked her death certificate it gave cause of death as cardiac disease. What a long, hard life she must have lived.

My 4x great grandfather John Woodcroft was born in the picturesque village of Whipsnade, but we found him as an adult living in nearby Kensworth. The Minutes record an examination - an inquiry into which parish should foor the bill for his poor relief - of John in 1855 and note he was legally settled in Whipsnade but had been living in Kensworth since Christmas last. What necessitated the uprooting of his family in the dead of winter? It notes that he had become chargeable - on the dole - because of his wife's sickness. I smiled to myself - poor John always had a sick wife. He worked his way through four in just 30 years. They just kept dying on him. Much sorrow for one person to endure.

My many times great uncle Thomas Osborn applied to the Board of the Luton Poor Law Union for the sum of 4 pounds 10 shillings to emigrate with his wife and seven children to Australia. I sympathise with his desire to start a new life half way across the world, and I admire his gumption for asking for the cash to do it.

The last story I followed in the records was that of my 3x great grandmother Mary Ann Rayner. We saw on the 1881 census that she was blind in later life, but I learned this was a condition she had all her life. Her eyes were examined at the behest of the Board in April 1853 to "determine if the girl's sight might be improved by undergoing an operation." Two weeks later they wrote to a London eye hospital inquiring if she could be admitted - in a moment of foresight they kindly noted the full name and address of the hospital in the Minutes. At this point I was getting anxious... would they make the investment and send her after all? On 13th of May her District Officer was instructed to take Mary Ann to the Central London Opthalmic Hospital. I was hopeful, but sadly the last entry two weeks late noted that the hospital had written reporting that "nothing could be done for Mary Ann Rayner and requesting that she might be removed." The trip to London was a dead end for Mary Ann, but it gave me a new avenue of inquiry. I shall contact the hospital (still treating eyes to this day) to see if their records survive. There may yet be more fragments of Mary Ann's story to piece together.

**from The House By The Thames by Gillian Tindall

Griff Rhys Jones is my hero. Along with William Tyndale, Ralph Nader, and whoever thought of putting peanut butter in M&Ms.

Jerusalem

The flight over was a laugh. I was in a middle seat with my new pals Ofer and Andrew on either side. Ofer headed off home to Beesheba but I rode on to Jerusalem with Andrew and friends who were on their way to a conference for the week. They were staying in the new town so we grabbed dinner and then I made my way down to my digs in the Old City. First view of the city walls at Jaffa Gate was pretty impressive.

In fact the best way to see Jerusalem is from the walls - you can walk the entire length except along the Temple Mount - and I’m surprised there weren’t more people, I had them practically to myself. First morning I walked along the southern walls, with views of the Armenian and Jewish Quarters, and Mount Zion.

You know how much I love cemeteries (professional hazard). And cypress trees.

In the afternoon I walked along the Via Dolorosa to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I’ve been in a lot of magnificent churches but this one is something else. It looks so unassuming from the outside, squeezed into that little square, but once you’re through the door it’s a strange world.

Morning two I went to the Temple Mount. How strange to stand in a place you’ve heard so much about, that’s the source of so much controversy and conflict, and experience a calm and quiet morning. Dare I say it, but my impression was of how peaceful it was.

You can never have too many artistic shots of palm trees.

Well it’s the best I can do for artistic!

And so after a day and a half I’d seen pretty much everything, got lonely and fed up, changed my flight and buzzed off home early. Traveling on your own is pretty rubbish really. Jonathan needs to come from Atlanta - I miss my favourite little (sorry, medium-sized) traveling companion.

2 days in

Still miss Lucy and co here in England, but no use moping. I've been getting on with some research. Yesterday made my first visit to the UK National Archives. Got my red reader's ticket and ordered up some documents. One volume was a giant crumbling register book for soldiers mustered into (right phrase?) the British army in the 1860s for the India campaigns. They gave me quite gloves to wear, I felt like a proper researcher. And I'm pretty sure I was the second youngest person there.

Today I went to the Bedfordshire archives looking for something that might tell me about my 3x gt grandmother Kitty Osborn, mother of seven fatherless children. Quite an accomplishment for the 1840s. I only made it through a fraction of what's available. I need another day for sure. I'm on the hunt and it's really exciting!

Tomorrow is a leisure day and then on Sunday I'm off to Israel for four days. I've been studying up: guide books, maps, Matthew, Mark and John.

It feels awfully strange being in England and Lucy and the kids aren't here. I miss them terribly.

I discovered I make a pretty lousy New York tour guide. Perhaps I fail to appreciate some of the things that a city like New York has to offer, but really the reason I came here is the people, not the place itself. And I met someone terrific this week, ironically not an American, but a Brit. Would probably never have got to know him in England, we both had to be thousands of miles from home. It's funny how that works.

I suppose being here has really made me appreciate home even more. I'm leaving for England on Tuesday and I'm so excited just to be there. I don't care if the plumbing is a bit naff and the train to London costs $51. Alright I do care, but it'll be worth it. I'm excited to do some family history research with my Mum. That's another thing I have to thank New York for. Despite growing up with Mum's great interest in our family background, it never really clicked for me until I got here. Now I'm dying to spend some time with her going over censuses and old parish records and just sharing our passion for it all.

I have a long list of things to research while I'm there, so family if you're reading this - and you should be! - watch this space for news. And of course pictures from Jerusalem. None of border checkpoints (yeah, hadn't thought about those) as I don't fancy getting shot, but tons of everything else.

Some recent pictures of Andrew

With my auntie

Growing teeth

Looking less like a baby and more like a little boy every day

Tearing around on my dump truck

With my big brother Jonathan

What flavour crisps am I craving today?

Sainsbury's flower shaped prawn cocktail

I was looking closely at the 1910 census for John Ducie because I just read that the 1910 schedules often indicate whether someone was a veteran of the Civil War. And instead discovered that where it states whether someone is married or single, wife Ellen is listed as M1 (first marriage) and John Ducie is M2.

Today was Jonathan's first day on the school bus. He loved it.

All smiles, drool and red hair

New acquisition

Great grandfather Alfred's World War II draft registration card.

Andrew has a rusk moustache.

Bovee Jet Set - the next generation

Two Go to Ireland

I chose Mayo because it’s where some of our family originated. But I knew there would be very little to see (as it turned out, nothing) related to them so I decided I just wanted Jonathan to see that part of Ireland and to get him thinking about his ancestors nation and lifestyle, if not their specific lives and locations. Our trip covered some of the remotest parts of Western Europe and we spent much of our time on the Atlantic coast. Lots of crashing waves and gusting winds. And we saw an awful lot of sheep!

Our first bit of fun was the airport, Knock Ireland West Airport. After landing we came to a stop at the end of the runway, we turned around and taxied back up the runway to the terminal. As we pulled into the two-airplane-sized parking area, we watched the other airplane do a 180 degree on the spot and just as we got off our aircraft the other plane came roaring down the runway for take-off just feet from us. Jonathan and I agreed this was the coolest airport we’d ever been to!

I shalln’t write an exhaustive account of our holiday, but just give the highlights. These were Jonathan’s favourite parts of the trip:

1. Downpatrick Head
A sea stack broken away from Mayo’s northern coast. We had a bit of a bumpy drive to get there (never take a wrong turning in rural Ireland unless you have powerful shock absorbers). The coast is riddled with caves and as we walked up to the edge to see the stack we passed several spots where the caves have collapsed and the spray from the crashing waves blows up through the aperture.

2. Lighthouse and seashore
Jonathan has never been to a lighthouse and that was his only must-see. So I drove him to the tip of the Belmullet Peninsula to see the Blacksod Point lighthouse. Jonathan was intrigued by a snall plaque on the wall (just visible on the wall) that commerated a weather forecast the lighthouse sent for D-Day in 1944. We then walked down onto the beach where we collected seashells and Jonathan played cat and mouse with the waves, games we repeated up the road at Elly Bay, at Achill and at Roonagh Pier.

3. Croagh Patrick

The holy mountain where Saint Patrick fasted for 40 days and nights in the seventh century. The mountain is 765 meters high and we made it to about 100 meters, a decent victory for a 9-year-old and his auntie who rides the elevator to her third floor apartment. It afforded us a stunning view of Clew Bay and it’s dozens of grassy islands.

4. Museum of Country Life
We stopped at the National Museum of Ireland's branch in Castlebar which describes and displays the traditional lifestyles of rural Ireland. I thought this would be the best way to learn something about our own family, which we did. And Jonathan was delighted with his 8 out of 10 score (later upgraded to 10 of 10) on the quiz on traditional farming techniques - he would have made an "excellent" farmer.

Some other highlights for me were the playground in Newport

and the bleak beauty of the Dooagh pass.
The Mayo landscape features dozens of mountains, many along the coast, and all of them bare of trees and bushes, and covered just in bracken and grass, kept short by the ubiquitous sheep that cling to the steepest of inclines. There were sheep everywhere, in gardens, on cliff tops, on the lakeshore, in the middle of the road...

And lastly, there were the scars on the landscape where the peat turf has been dug. In most places the grass has long since grown over, but the troughs where our forebears cut their fuel are still clearly visible. And it's not just a feature of the past. Most cottages we passed, even the most prosperous looking homes, had stacks of turf drying under tarps in their gardens. An interesting link to the past.

Here is the complete set of photographs.

Finally the 10-day forecast covers my holiday and there's no snow or rain predicted for Mayo and Galway. Hurrah!

I have just found my first Osborn in the Kensworth-Flamstead-Studham-Whipsnade area. Robert Osborn, in Studham, in 1592 or 34 Eliz (the 34th year of the reign of Elizabeth I), four years after the Armada and England still in it's "Golden Age".

I'm studying the village of Kensworth and it's families. Nearly a quarter of my English ancestors are connected with this village (about 5 miles to the west of Luton). I know the family names, but it's not always easy to sift out the people from whom your are directly descended. And there are some interesting characters from this area as well. So I reckon if I want to isolate the ones who are most relevant to me, and to try and piece together their stories, it might be worth taking a look at the whole village and it's history. It's also a bit of an exercise in research and genealogy. And an excuse to spend time in the research library on 42nd street. I have good reasons for that.

So the Osborns (along with the Pyes and Sharps and Philpots and Hollands and Chipperfields and Scriveners and Crawleys and Binghams and Gilbys) are one of my Kensworth families. Robert Osborn may not be a direct ancestor, but he's starting place. Perhaps I'll work my way down to an Osborn I know I'm connected with and perhaps not. It's still exciting!

This picture makes me ridiculously happy every time I look at it....

... which is at least 10 times a day!

And we're back!I

We had our work "holiday" party on Thursday. I was chatting to my colleague and friend Anna Marley who asked if I knew any other Mormons at Mercer. I said no, had never met or heard of any. It turns out this was a nifty coincidence in the making...

A new temple worker walked into the dressing room as I was changing for my shift last night. Upon seeing me, she smiled and introduced herself and asked did I work for Mercer. She said she had seen me at the party the night before. She had recognised me, and at first thought she knew me from work, but then realised she had seen me some months before at her ward doing a training session on the new family history website.

So there we have it... there are at least two Mormons at Mercer! AND we work on the same temple shift.