#52Ancestors, Week 27, Independence

I’ve been struggling with this topic for almost a month. I don’t have anyone (that I am aware of) who fought in the War of Independence, and most of my ancestors emigrated as part of a family unit rather than on their own. The ones who did travel alone, travelled to join family already living at their destination.

So, since I didn’t have a blog (or even facebook) back in 2007, I thought I would document my solo trip to Scotland now.

I had started planning a trip to the UK because I had never been. Plans of an OE when I was young just never eventuated. I began planning, thinking I might make it a celebration for one of those significant birthdays. Turns out it wasn’t for a significant birthday – but it did happen.

Mum and Dad came with me, I think we were away about 4 weeks, but only together for two of them. At the beginning we spent time in Warwickshire, reconnecting with Mum’s family and exploring teeny hamlets and towns in Oxfordshire, Shropshire and Wales. Then to Somerset to do the same with Dad’s family.

Walking in the footsteps of those who had gone before us. My soul, feeling like this was where it should be. It just felt right.

Then we went our separate ways. Mum and Dad to visit friends in Wiltshire and London, then on to Ireland. We’d meet up again before leaving for a few days in Frankfurt on our way home.

I caught the train from Taunton to Edinburgh. This was going to be my adventure. I had booked the train tickets online before leaving New Zealand and had a rental car booked to be collected in Edinburgh. I had a map book, and I had already pre-booked all my accommodation.

So, I caught the train. I watched the countryside flash by my window not really sure exactly where I was. I had to change trains at Carlisle. The train from Carlisle to Edinburgh got delayed by an hour, maybe two, in the middle of nowhere because a freight train ahead had broken down and there was no way to pass. The guard came through collecting everyone’s details and by the time I was back in New Zealand a refund of my fare was waiting for me. Imagine THAT !

Anyway, it was later than planned when I disembarked from the train. Not dark, but getting toward dusk. I walked, following my paper map to the B&B I had booked. I think it was about 20-30 minutes. I probably walked the longest, most roundabout way, but I got there, checked into my room then found a wee pub down the road for dinner.

For the next couple of days I explored the city on hop-on hop-off buses, and by foot. I loved the architecture. I walked the Royal Mile, stroked the statue of Greyfriars Bobby, shopped and frequented Café Nero which also had an internet café (remember them ?). I could catch up on email news – and have coffee. I ate at the Hard Rock Café at least once.

Then it was time to pick up the rental car. And drive. In a place I had never been. Without a navigator. Without a GPS. But, I had places I wanted to see. Scotland was for Lauren – and for the book-geek in me.

I found my way back to the B&B and parked the car ready for the journey to begin. My plan was a very roundabout route to Glasgow; backroads, avoiding motorways with horrendous numbers of lanes and exits. I went south first, through Melrose, Galashiels, Selkirk, Ettrick and Yarrow. Following the steps of Lauren’s paternal grandmother’s family and Mary Queen of Scots. Traquair, Mountbenger and on. The plan was to go across country a little through Carstairs, Carluke then across to Larkhall, another family hamlet. But when I got to Carluke something was on in town, a parade of some sort and roads were closed all over and I couldn’t work out where I needed to go. So I doubled back for ages and then followed some signs to Glasgow. Suddenly before I knew it I was in a long queue of traffic; I had missed Larkhall and I was about to be on the M74. What the hell !

Thanks goodness for queues. They gave me an opportunity to study the map, work out which exit I needed. SIX or EIGHT lanes to navigate ! Once off I was in the city…with a million one way roads to manage. I’m not sure which was worse, navigating the one way system or the multi-laned motorway. Eventually I found my way to the next B&B up near the School of Art and parked the car for the night.

I didn’t look around too much. I was so annoyed about my foiled itinerary, and tired from driving that I just walked into the city and found McDonalds for dinner. You always know what you are getting with them, so always a safe bet on holiday. Best thing about B&B’s is the amazing breakfast in the morning. If you eat nothing else all day, at least you will have started out well.

I did go back into the centre of town next morning, in search of a better sports bag type bag to carry my stuff and to look at the Information Centre and souvenir shop quickly. Then I was on the road again. Fortunately I had booked a B&B which had great access onto the road I needed to follow to get to the Highlands.

Next stop Fort William…with many quick stops on the way to capture the scenery. I stayed at a private B&B for a couple of nights and drove to Mallaig and the Silver Sands at Arisaig. I had to stop at the Glenfinnan monument on the way back, because earlier it was off limits while filming was taking place for “Maid of Honour” a movie with McDreamy from Greys Anatomy. I remember there were Harry Potter fans there too since the Glenfinnan viaduct features in those movies.

Churches, and churchyards, the Clan Cameron museum – there is lots to explore there. Next I was off to Aviemore, but I drove north to Fort Augustus, Drumnadrochit, a little diversion to Beauly and then to Inverness and Culloden. Listening to Leona Lewis and Rihanna (Umbrella-ella-ella) on the radio. It didn’t take as long to get to Aviemore as I thought, so I had a bit of time to wander about the town.

It’s a ski town, in the Cairngorms, but it was mid summer when I was there. Glorious sunshine. Don’t let anyone tell you it rains all the time in Scotland. NONE the whole time I was there. The next morning I was heading back to Edinburgh, my whistlestop tour was almost over.

So with stops on the way at Pitlochry, Perth and Linlithgow I was back in Edinburgh.  Found my way to the car rental place and a cab back to the city for one last walk around. I had changed my accommodation too, choosing somewhere closer to the train station as I was on an early morning train to London the next day.

It was an amazing time, I hadn’t got lost  - really – just driven a few extra miles in a roundabout fashion occasionally, and I had a list of places I wanted to come back to, if ever I had the chance.

Next morning, early, I was in a cab  then on the train ready for the next part of my adventure which included 2 days at the tennis. Queens – Stella Artois – in West Kensington near Barons Court station, the week before Wimbledon. Andy Roddick won that year, the last year it was known as the Stella Artois Championship.

So, there you have it – Independence.

#52Ancestors, Week 30, Colourful

Fire engine red, flaming red, red, ginger, orange, auburn, chestnut, strawberry-blond, pink

Shades of this hair colour run through my family, linked to the recessive gene MC1R. It is mostly in my maternal family.

Two of my cousins have it, my brother, my mother, her sister and both their maternal aunts and their mother too.

Going back further it seems to have been in my maternal great grandmother’s family, even in black and white photos you sense some of those cousins and siblings shared the gene.

I have a feeling that I have heard that my other maternal great grandmother also possessed these gloriously coloured locks.

I love it, I wish I had it. I hoped (long ago) when I was pregnant that if I had a girl – she would have it. But no. We do both have some “warmth” in our natural hair colour, so maybe it is still lurking their in our DNA.

Of course, with it, come freckles, fair skin, generalisations about temperament and flippant insinuations that “it’s because you’re a redhead”.

Maybe I will get it one day – out of a bottle. I can always go back to the dark side if it truly isn’t me.

#52Ancestors, Week 29, Music

Music is everywhere. From the chirruping tweeting of the birds in the garden, buzzing bees and other wildlife to the cacophony of other more industrial objects, cars, planes, machinery.

I had piano lessons, learnt recorder, tried to learn guitar. I have a collection of vinyl, cassettes and cds bought over time to play favourite songs and bands. Some digitising might need to happen to still enjoy cassettes though.

Radios and record playing were part of growing up with family and friends. Concert going and live music at pubs. In the car too, on the radio, cassette or cd.

Now there are iTunes and Spotify enabling us to take our music with us – anywhere – without wires and cables.

But it is all in our heads still, stored away in our mind’s filing cabinet waiting for that little trigger to suddenly make it the only thing we can think of (and hum and sing) for DAYS !

Other people in the family played instruments in the past too; violin, saxophone, piano. Others sang and danced on stage or just at family gatherings.

It’s the rhythm of life.

#52Ancestors, Week 28, Travel

Travel. It has to be number one on my list of things I like to do. If only I had a bottomless pit of money to go with my passport. I’d be off.

Where did this restlessness and curiosity come from ?

In my recent history, I guess you could say I come from travellers. Not travellers like gypsies – but that could be an interesting twist in the tree – travellers like migrants.

Less than 200 years ago, my ancestors took opportunities offered to them by the British government to set sail for the other side of the planet, to a place they had never seen. A place I imagine many of them had never heard of. For what ? To be pioneers in a new land, where everyone was equal, where class wasn’t as limiting – to be British in another land; building the Commonwealth.

What a giant step they all took. Most of them came from families who had lived in the same hamlets and parishes for generations. They came from different backgrounds; glovers, sailmakers, frame knitters, agricultural labourers, millers, bakers, military, domestic service, farmers and landowners. There must have been other factors, not just the lure of new opportunity.

This migratory, adventure seeking behaviour has found it’s way in to my DNA. My most recent ancestor to leave England was my grandmother in 1929. Her family were travellers too. One grandfather and his brother left the rural agricultural life and joined the railways as they were exploding across Britain and offering opportunities of employments and travel to not just the upper and middle classes. Her other grandfather left the a similar rural life and moved north finding employment as a jaunting car driver or car man. A career path followed by his youngest son who was a coachman and taxi driver as the automobile industry was just beginning.

In New Zealand, too, automobiles were becoming popular and many holidays were taken exploring the countryside, by my great grandparents, grandparents and parents.

When we were little, our holidays too involved cars and travel; to the beach, the lake, three trips to South Island for the summer holidays covering every corner, others to the east Cape, Northland, Coromandel and Taranaki. Don’t leave the country until you have seen it all !

Even in the 1960’s there was international travel; my grandparents travelled to Australia to visit, my aunt too with a friend from work, my other grandmother took cruises to the islands and around the world.

In the 1970’s my grandmother and her sister travelled back to England, plus a bit of Europe. Mum and Dad travelled to Australia and on their second trip took us along too. Then they were off to the UK and Europe, reconnecting with family and exploring. Crazy Kiwis driving all that way in ONE day !

Australia, Fiji, England, Wales, Scotland, Germany, USA….plenty more places I have left to see or revisit.

Is all of this why a love of a road trip has manifested itself in me ? I was never much interested in driving when I was young – but now, I love it.

Jump in the car at any opportunity, go exploring, discover where you live, what’s just down the road, find the interesting places, not always the popular crowded places. See your country like a tourist does. Sometimes just drive for three or four hours to visit people or have lunch in a different city.

Because you can.

And why not ?

#52Ancestors, Week 26, Black Sheep

Are there truly people who are black sheep ? Isn’t that label just a judgement we have cast upon someone who chose a different path to the norm, or to us ? Do they see themselves as misfits and rebels ? Or as progressive and adventurous ?

Anyway, I can’t think who to write about for this. My brickwall people aren’t really black sheep, they are just secret keepers, or actually too normal and not attracting attention to get themselves documented and more easily found.

So, I’m going out of the box again, way out on a lateral tangent with this topic. I saw something recently that said about 7% of American adults (16.4 million !) actually thought chocolate milk came from brown cows.

Black wool comes from black sheep, white wool from white sheep; are there actually rainbow coloured sheep out there somewhere in a paddock I’ve not yet found ? I don’t believe so. But now that I have segued myself to where I want to be, let’s talk about knitting.

People have been knitting for a long time, fashioning items of clothing, working on a frame and making blankets and the like. Soldiers knitted in the trenches and in past centuries many men knitted alongside their womenfolk.

My Bartlett forebears were glovers & sailmakers from Somerset. My Coopers were tailors – did they knit too ?

I remember both my grandmothers knitting and crocheting. My mother and my aunts all knit too. Skills they all learned while young, passed on by their mothers. I learnt to knit too although I have never been a great producer of knitted garments. It is something I do sporadically. Scarves, jumpers, cardigans, baby booties, bonnets, dresses and hats, blankets.

I remember my first attempts which involved either lots of dropped stitches and holes needing to be rescued and repaired by my patient teachers, or rows where extra stitches seemed to multiply exponentially when they didn’t need to.

Sadly it is a skill which I haven’t successfully passed on. I’m still working on that. Kids don’t wear knitted homespun garments now, like they used to. Perhaps the children of hipsters and eco warriors will once more, in the future.

Here in Australia, there seem to be woollen mills everywhere. The wool industry is alive and well. In New Zealand it seems to have become very artisan and expensive, sheep farming appears to be not be as common as it was when I was younger. Dirty dairying is on the rise. (Seriously how much milk does a tiny country need ?)

Anyways, thanks for passing on these skills to me, Mum and Nana. Maybe one day I will be a super knitter too. Maybe I’ll start a knitting club, or classes to teach others. Although I do remember once attempting to teach my Brownie pack to knit and nearly tearing my hair out, so maybe not 20 students at a time ! Perhaps I should have learned this rhyme

In through the front door

Run around the back

Down through the window

And off jumps Jack.

Maybe that would have made the task clearer for them all. Meantime, I’m off to finish a jumper I have taken over and dream about one day when I’m feeling more settled and I can knit (and craft) to my heart’s content.

Baa baa black sheep

Have you any wool ?

Yes sir ! Yes sir !

Three bags full.

One for my master, one for my dame,

And one for the little boy who lives down the lane.

#52Ancestors, Week 25, Same Name

Who to choose ? The repetitive use of the same small pool of names was one of the first things to captivate my interest in family history. That and the custom of naming subsequent children with the name bestowed on their non-surviving elder siblings. I've picked three, all slightly different examples of "same name".

My 2x great grandfather James Davys, coincidentally born 193 years ago this week (26 June 1825), was the 4^th James Davys in a row of direct ancestors. He broke the pattern, only giving his name as a second Christian name to one of his sons. But it was back a generation later, when his son Francis named his eldest son James and started it again. That James has a namesake in every subsequent generation and was my Dad’s uncle. So although the same name continued it was no longer part of my direct line.

In 1870 my great grandmother’s aunt Harriett started something I bet she never expected. She named her second daughter Minnie Mildred. Six years later Harriett’s elder brother George named his eldest daughter Minnie Mildred. In 1880 Minnie was #32 on the top 200 names for girls in Britain and Mildred was #106, so relatively popular I guess. The first Minnie Mildred emigrated to New Zealand with her parents and named one of her own daughters as her name sake in 1896. George’s family however took the name to a whole new level. His daughter Minnie Mildred bestowed her name, including her maiden surname on one of her daughters in 1895. George’s son William named one of his daughters Minnie Mildred in 1905, and included the surname of the first Minnie Mildred. Then George’s son Arthur gave the name to his fourth daughter in 1910. There was another, just Minnie, in 1898; granddaughter of George and Harriett’s elder brother Henry. William’s daughter Minnie (1905) went on to give one her daughters a different variation in 1934. His son William emigrated to the USA and named one of his daughters Mildred Langford in 1922. Maybe it is still carrying on…who knows ?

Minnie Mildred Langford b 1870

Minnie Mildred Kelsey b 1876

Minnie Mildred Kelsey Evans b 1895

Minnie Mildred Lang b 1896

Minnie Kelsey b 1898

Minnie Mildred Langford Kelsey b 1905

Minnie Mildred Kelsey b 1910

Mildred Langford Kelsey b 1922

Mildred Kelsey Wotherspoon b 1934

Harriett’s line / George’s line / Henry’s line (none of the abovenamed are living)

In this same family there are at least nine occurrences of William Henry as well. Hmmm.

Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth. The first two I understand – since Elizabeth #1 died in infancy. Why though name the third daughter Elizabeth as well ? I believe it is an error as the younger one later seemed to become Eliza. Just to make things slightly trickier to untangle Elizabeth #2 and Elizabeth #3 (Eliza) went on to marry brothers.

Midwinter weekend on an island off an island surrounded by other islands

So, it is that midwinter time of year again. Always special to celebrate the solstice of shortest days and longest nights and look forward to when it happens again, but in reverse.

It is a pretty special day for a birthday too.

Anyway, this year we went to Hobart for the weekend. Not my idea - I'm all about NOT spending money at the moment, but Lauren had planned to go for the midwinter festival held there (Dark Mofo) as her treat to herself for her birthday. She said I could tag along, so I thought - why not ?

We'd been watching the weather so were prepared for the cold and rain - and it was such a refreshing change to the dry dry dry climate in central Victoria. It hampered some of our activities, but we had rented a car, so managed not to get too drenched or be constant icicles.

We had an early flight from Melbourne, so we had gone on a shuttle on Friday night and stayed at the airport. Not the greatest Holiday Inn we have ever stayed in, but convenient. The weather on arrival was crisp, but the sun was out and the rain clouds looked far enough away to not spoil our exploring.

We had a little wander around the Salamanca Market 300+ stalls selling food, drink, bric-a-brac and handcrafts - most locally made. Travelling only with carry-on makes you a discerning shopper though.

We were pretty hungry, no breakfast because of the early start, and you might remember we have had hangry travel experiences before. So we found somewhere - with the perfect name, and as it turned out perfect food.

We managed to get almost all the way to the top of Mt Wellington - part of the road was closed - but we got to the lookout anyway. By the time we walked back to the car the rain had arrived. Only a fine drizzle. The cloud and mist hung about the hills, it's a long time since we have seen that ! Scotland; Wellington.

On the way down the hill we stopped by the Cascades Brewery for photos, not tasting and then the Female Factory. We wandered about in the mizzle thinking about the women who had spent time there, sent to the other end of the planet mostly for petty misdemeanours centuries ago.

We stayed in Battery Point which looks so English you could imagine just being transported back to Georgian times. It is just a 10 minute walk to the city centre. 

I had coffee and cake with Christina Henri who is running a project to memorialise the 25000+ women transported to Australia as convicts between 1787 and 1868. It was wonderful to meet her and handover the bonnets I had made for the project.

Dinner was at the Winterfest on the waterfront - in the drizzly rain. Outside there were foodtrucks selling all sorts of deliciousness and inside there were more food and drink choices. Also inside was the seated banquet. Long, long tables adorned with candles and bathed in red light, people enjoying each others company. Such an awesome idea.

By now the rain had really begun to set in, so we braved the crowds to get some delicious donuts from Lady Hester Eats and an orange & cinnamon hot chocolate with coconut milk to take back to our private hotel.

 an iron for every adornment you could imagine (lace, frills, fluting) new admiration of laundresses

Sunday we went to an exhibition each which we enjoyed separately then set off for a drive. We had hoped to go to the miniature village Old Hobart Town in Richmond but the rain put paid to that. Then some poor navigating led us on a very roundabout journey to Oatlands. Had we been thinking more clearly we should have just taken the opportunity to drive to Launceston and explore there as well. (Next time). 

Carrington Mill, Oatlands

We'd thought about going to Bruny Island, so after a stop at the Old Kempton Distillery we carried on to Kettering. But it was late in the day, and the weather really was looking like a ferry trip might not be the most fun thing to do.

After a night time wander along the foreshore we found our way through the city to pick up pizza for dinner from Amici. Delicious. 

Monday we went back to Solstice for breakfast because it had been sooo delicious on Saturday, then drove to Port Arthur stopping at the Tessellated Pavement on the way. The tide wasn't right but we got some photos anyway.

 A fossil ? Or petrified wood ?

Port Arthur was a much larger site than I had thought, we wandered about on our own wishing there was a little more information on display. Pretty tricky holding an umbrella and camera while trying to read a foldout paper map. It is amazing that so much has survived there...but there is still potential to develop the experience further in my opinion; especially for independent visitors who don't want to join over-sized walking tours where you struggle to keep up or hear what the guide is saying. We didn't have time to spend in the visitor centre either as we had to get back for the flight home.

...and then we were home.