My Ancestral Village in Scotland

Day 326 : November 22, 2010

Until I started doing some research on my family history, I had a rather hazy and romantic notion of my Scottish ancestors. My Scottish grandmother entertained me with the poems of Robert Burns, and tales of Robert the Bruce and all the clever ways that he escaped his enemies. My grandfather sang sentimental Scottish songs like “My Laddie” and “My Ain Wee Hoose,” and we listened to records by Harry Lauder, Jo Stafford and Andy Stewart, and one of my mother’s favorites, the soundtrack of “Brigadoon.”

Lucy Goes to ScotlandBut my notions of Scottish village life were largely based on a special episode of “I Love Lucy” called Lucy Goes to Scotland, a spoof on Brigadoon. It’s a fantasy episode, in which Lucy dreams that she visits Kildoonan, the village of her McGillicuddy relatives, where she’s warmly greeted with singing all around, and then informed that every thirty years a terrible two-headed dragon comes around looking for a nice McGillicuddy to eat, and it’s just about time. Lucy is rescued from her fate by Scotty MacTavish MacDougal MacCardo, who is really Ricky Ricardo in kilts. I was very young when I first saw this, and although I knew it was silly, I loved it and thought that someday, like Lucy, I’d go find my family’s village.

My grandmother was born in Aberdeen and my grandfather in Ayrshire, and they had met and married in Glasgow. They had both moved to the big city and then to America, but somehow I had the vague idea that all the generations before them had lived in little stone cottages in the countryside, surrounded by fields of heather. I thought I would someday visit the ancestral villages of my Ross and Rennie relatives, where I’d find crumbling church registers recording births, marriages and deaths back to the Middle Ages, and a graveyard with tilting old stones marking the graves of my ancestors. Perhaps these graves were being lovingly tended by the grandchildren of the brothers and sisters and cousins who stayed in the village, who would invite me home for teas and shortbread.

But as soon as I started following the trail of documents online, I discovered that the past wasn’t like that at all, at least not for my ancestors. They moved around a lot, from town to town within a region, to Scotland’s crowded cities, and to England, Canada, Australia and America. Sometimes whole families moved together, but sometimes not. I found several children who were living with grandparents, and many young men (often just 14 or 15 years old) living as a lodger and working in coal mines or factories. Their sisters were often living on farms as dairymaids or in city homes as servants. My great great grandmother’s sister, Catherine Fraser, went off to China about 150 years before my daughter did the same.

I don’t know why any of this surprised me. I’ve read quite a bit about Scottish history, and know it was not all roaming in the gloaming. My ancestors moved around for the reason people today move around — they were trying to make a living and make a good life, parents sacrificed to support children and then children sacrificed to support parents.

Reality is more interesting and more inspiring than my fantasies.

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Strawberry Fields Forever

I heard this Beatles song yesterday for the first time in quite a while, and it instantly brought me back to the year 1967. In June of that year, I entered Children’s Hospital in Boston to have a spinal fusion to correct scoliosis. I spent the whole summer there having surgery and other treatment, and was sent home in a body cast to spend the next four months in bed, and then returned to the hospital the first week of January to have the cast removed and another one put on — this one was shoulders to hips, but at least I could get out of bed and walk with it. A few months later, I was back in the hospital to have that cast removed, and to get a brace which I had to wear 23 hours a day, and gradually fewer hours until I was finally free, over a year after the actual surgery.

Strawberry Fields was very popular that year, and I remember it as part of the soundtrack of the hospital, along with Red Sox games on the radio and the endless “Paging Doctor So-and-So” announcements on the PA. I heard Strawberry Fields drifting in and out of rooms as I was wheeled down the hall on a gurney going back and forth for various tests and treatments. It was the first thing I remember hearing when I was coming out of the anesthesia after surgery. I wasn’t sure if I were dead or alive, awake or sleeping, and I remember just floating along with the song for a minute or so until I heard someone ask if anyone knew the score and I knew I was alive and awake. 1967 was a big year for the Red Sox, and the whole hospital staff seemed to be listening to every game. The hospital is close to Fenway Park, so for home games you could practically hear the cheering crowds and people were always joking about possibility of a home run ball coming through the window and knocking someone out.

The psychedelic dreaminess of Strawberry Fields seemed perfectly suited to the hospital, where we were having our own drug experiences, though not by choice. Even when the song wasn’t actually playing, I used to hear it in my mind, intentionally replaying it over and over, drifting along in my mind’s own music video.

I’d close my eyes and send myself far away.

“Living is easy with eyes closed
Misunderstanding all you see
It’s getting hard to be someone
But it all works out
It doesn’t matter much to me”

One thing I learned at Children’s Hospital was how to deal with medical treatment and many other problems in life: Just do what needs to be done, and don’t ever complain or feel sorry for yourself. I was in an orthopedic unit, and we knew we were lucky, because although we lived in all sorts of casts and braces and traction, we weren’t actually sick and were unlikely to die from our conditions. We were aware of other units of the hospital, filled with children and teenagers with much more serious conditions.

So I tried to make the best of things, and instead of feeling sorry for myself, I’d distract myself. Strawberry Fields was perfect for this, filling my mind with music and beautiful images. Music is still my first choice for managing pain, anxiety and depression, and it really helps. For that, I’d like to thank The Beatles and Children’s Hospital.

Also Apple, because when I got my first iPod I started creating custom playlists that really help me cheer myself up, calm myself down, or otherwise keep myself moving forward!

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Overheard Today

A little boy about six years old: “Daddy, Daddy! Since you forgot your camera and can’t take pictures, I know what you can do! You can take pictures in your mind, and then later, you can just remember them!”

This was a large, noisy family group, and no one seemed to hear the boy or respond, but I thought that was excellent advice!

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Three Towns I’ve Always Wanted to Visit

Truth or Consequences, New Mexico

Truth Or Consequences Vintage Post CardIn 1950, the town of Hot Springs renamed itself in honor of the Truth or Consequences radio program when host Ralph Edwards announced he’d broadcast the program from the first town that did so. My mother mentioned this as an amusing bit of trivia once when the show was on television, and this seemed so unlikely I had to go check the almanac to see if this was true. I still wonder who heard this on the radio and managed to talk everyone else into doing this.

Tombstone, Arizona

The Original Wells Fargo Express Office Vintage PostcardGrowing up in the era of TV Westerns, I was familiar with a place called Tombstone, but thought of it as someplace fictional or legendary, like Camelot or Shangri-La. I was around 12 when I realized it was a real place. The name just seemed too awful to be real.

Calexico, California

Business Street Scene PostcardI had heard people sing Mexicali Rose on television and I knew it was supposed to be Mexican because the people singing it were always wearing sombreros. But it was just a song, and the name didn’t catch my attention. But then I heard a contestant on a quiz show say that she was from Calexico, California, right across from Mexicali, Mexico, which delighted me. A pair of border towns with matching, mixed up names! How did such cool thing ever happened — who coordinated that?

Posted in CardCow, Postcards, Travel | 2 Comments

Guard a Silver Sixpence


Guard a Silver Sixpence by Felicity Davis

In July I spent a few days in Scotland traveling around some of the places where my mother’s parents once lived. I have memories and a collection of facts that I can fit together, but I want to know more, to have a better understanding of the family’s story.

While I was there I picked up a copy of the UK bestselling memoir Guard a Silver Sixpence to read on the train. Felicity Davis tells her own story of life in a complex, dysfunctional Yorkshire family, suffering abuse from her grandmother while her mother and grandfather seemed unwilling or unable to help. The book alternates chapters between Felicity’s life, and the story of her grandmother’s parents and grandparents, which were much more interesting to me, and explain to some extent how her grandmother became such a cruel, hard woman.

Oaks Colliery Disaster 1866Felicity’s great great grandparents, John and Hannah Hinchcliffe, lived in Barnsley in Yorkshire, where John was a coal miner. In December, 1866, two underground explosions rocked the Oaks Colliery and killed 361 men and boys, including the two of the Hinchcliffe’s sons, Henry and Charles. This event was both an emotional and economic disaster for the Hinchcliffes and whole community. John and Hannah were left and six other children, a son and two daughters who were old enough to work and help support the family, and three little children, including six year old Emily and a younger brother and sister.

Little Emily, Felicity’s great grandmother, grew up in a respectable but poor family. She married William Swann, a glassblower with a drinking problem — glassblowing was apparently known as a thirsty trade. Emily and William both drank and had run-ins with the law, and the family sank into poverty and disgrace. At the age of 42, Emily and her lodger and apparent lover, John Gallagher were convicted of murdering William Swan after he had beaten Emily, and Emily and John were executed in a double hanging. Emily left behind eleven children, including four year old Elsie, who grew up to be Felicity’s grandmother.

Felicity Davis was fortunate, in a way, that her family grandmother’s family history revolves around these two well-documented incidents, a notorious mine disaster and a sensational murder case. In both cases, she quotes extensively from contemporaneous sources, with heartbreaking details that bring the story to life.

But what really interested me here is the social and economic history she shares. She doesn’t just tell us that the Hinchcliffes were miners and William Swann was a glassblower, she tells us what that meant at the time, both economically and socially, what the jobs were like, and how these occupations changed over time. Who was on their way up, and who was on their way down? How did families manage to make ends meet during hard times? Which young adults were able to marry and establish their own homes, and who needed to live at home, work, and help support their families? Many aspects of our lives are determined by the economic circumstances of the place and time where we’re born, come of age, and try to make a living and make a life for ourselves and our families. This is an area that I feel I have somewhat neglected in my own family history work, and this book made me want to learn more.

Links:

Posted in Books, Family History | 4 Comments

First Meetinghouse

First Meetinghouse

Site of the first meetinghouse built on the open green in 1640. The bell, hung in 1642, is said to have been brought from England by order of the Reverend William Worcester, who settled here in 1639.

I looked for this one before but despite its central location (that’s the Salisbury Public Library in the background on the left) this one is easy to miss. Many of these markers are missing, and others are in bad shape due to damage from cars, trucks, falling trees, construction, etc., but this one just seems to suffer neglect and from years of exposure to the elements.

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It’s Motoramic!

1955 Chevrolet Bel Air

Lucius Beebe Memorial LibraryI took this photograph of a 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air on display at the Festival Italia in Wakefield, Massachusetts, yesterday. You can see the distinctive roofline of the Lucius Beebe Memorial Library reflected in the hood. I wish I had taken more photographs of this beautiful automobile, but I was feeling conflicted about it. My mother owned a red and white Chevy Bel Air, bought used in 1960, and that’s always been my idea of the ultimate cool car. Seeing this Bel Air reminded me of ours, but the differences between the models just made this one look not quite right to me.

I did a little research on the 1955 Bel Air when I came home last night — in other words, I Googled it. It was called “The Hot One” and its sales brochure suggested “Try this on for sighs.” Apparently young people loved it because “this car’s so perky it always looks like it’s going to a party!” And it was a powerful car: the Turbo-Fire V8 engine “put a heaping hoodful of fun under your foot — 162 h.p.!” I don’t know anything about engines and couldn’t tell you the horsepower of my current car, but who wouldn’t want a heaping hoodful of fun under his or her foot? But best of all, it was motoramic! I don’t actually know what that means, but it sounds so modern! 1950s modern, that is.

It’s amazing how little sales resistance I have even to advertising that’s over fifty years old.

Here’s a collection of televisions ads produced by the Jam Handy Organization from the Prelinger Archives via the Internet Archive:

1955 Chevrolet Screen Ads

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The Isle of Bute

Isle of Bute

Ferry to the Isle of ButeLast month I was spent a few days in Scotland and made a quick and unplanned visit to the Isle of Bute. I knew nothing about it except that the train and ferry schedule worked out so that I could make the trip in an afternoon and get back to Glasgow in the evening.

I also remembered a fragment of the song Rothesay Bay from one of the Scottish records my mother used to play when I was growing up. The tune was playing over and over in my head on the ferry ride from Wemyss Bay. Fortunately, it wasn’t a very long ride, because this was all I could remember of the lyrics :

It’s a bonnie bay at morning,
And bonnier at the noon,
But bonniest when the sun draps,
And red comes up the moon

Rothesay Castle MoatBute turned out to be a wonderful place. Within five minutes of landing I was at the Rothesay Castle, which dates back to the 13th Century and is surrounded by a moat. Then I saw the open-top tour bus which circles the island, which turned out to be a great way to see more of the island.

Bute, like the nearby Isle of Arran, is located on the Highland Boundary Fault, which divides Scotland’s rocky Highlands and the fertile, rolling Lowlands, so these islands really are miniature versions of Scotland. I enjoyed sitting on the open upper level of the tour bus, even when it rained a bit. There were only a few passengers and the commentary was friendly and informal. We mostly just enjoyed the beautiful views of fields of cows, sheep and even a few llamas, with misty views of the Firth of Clyde and near and distant islands. I wondered if my Scottish grandparents ever made this trip by train and ferry from Glasgow back around 1917 or so, before they emigrated to America. I like to think they did. I can imagine them taking the train to Wemyss Bay and getting on the ferry and cycling around the island, glad to get away for a day from the crowded tenements of Glasgow.

Isle of ButeI wish I had been able to get off the bus and explore the beautiful island, and to take better pictures than I was able to do from the moving bus. I would love to go back and spend a week (or maybe the rest of my life) on the Isle of Bute. An afternoon there was not enough time, but I’m just glad that I made this unplanned trip and got to see it at all.

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Wemyss Bay Railway Station

Wemyss Bay Railway Station
Last month I spent two weeks in Northern Ireland visiting family, and took the ferry over to Scotland to spend a few days of casual exploration, riding around on trains with a “Freedom of Scotland” BritRail pass. I had studied the map and guidebooks and had some ideas of where I wanted to go, but my first day’s trip was completely unplanned. I spent the morning in Glasgow with my daughter and grandson, and saw them off at Glasgow Central Station around noon. The next train out was to Wemyss Bay, and ten minutes of research online showed that it connected to the ferry to Rothesay, which I knew from a song on one of my grandmother’s Scottish records. That was good enough for me, so I headed off to Wemyss Bay.

Wemyss Bay Railway StationThe trip to Wemyss Bay took just under an hour, and was worth the trip just to see the magnificent 1903 station, designed by Scottish architect James Miller (1860–1947.) This marvel of steel beams and glass panels arranged in graceful circles and curves is a Category A Listed Building, considered to be one of the finest railway stations in Scotland. It is supported by the active Friends of Wemyss Bay Station group.

Passage to the FerryI passed through the station in a hurry, heading for the ferry in one direction and then anxious not to miss my train on my return, and I’m sorry that I didn’t even take the time to go outside and photograph the exterior of the building. But someday I hope to visit again, and will definitely plan to spend a longer time exploring and appreciating this beautiful piece of Edwardian railway architecture and history.

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Google Books for Family History

I just returned from a trip to the United Kingdom. Most of my time was spent in Northern Ireland visiting my new grandson and his parents, but I also took the ferry over to Scotland and spent a few days riding around on trains. My mother’s parents came from Scotland and I grew up listening to tales of Robert the Bruce, poems by Robert Burns and music by Harry Lauder. My grandmother rarely referred to it as Scotland, it was always the Old Country (actually the Auld Country) and that’s how I have always thought of it.

In recent years, I feel like I have spent a lot of time in Auld Scotland, in a way. I have been researching my grandparents’ lives and our family history, tracking down documents on Ancestry.com and Scotland’s People, finding images on Scran and specialty sites like Scottish Mining Website.

But whether I am looking clues to help straighten out a genealogical point or just trying to learn more about the specific places where my family members lived, the work they did and their homes, historical events that affected them and their everyday lives, I have found the digitized old public domain books work from Google Books. There are so many available and they’re so searchable. I can search the whole Google Books collection and find a personal or place mentioned in one or two books; I can search just the books I have saved to my own collection or I can search within a particular book. There are also tools for linking, clipping, and embedding the books, like the one at the bottom of this post. These books can also be downloaded in various formats which makes it easy to carry them around when I travel, very useful when I am trying to superimpose the past on the present.

Here are a few of my favorites from my Google Books Scotland collection :

My grandfather’s family came from Ayrshire, and I found this school geography book particularly useful. The travel books cover the cities and scenic places in the countryside, but skip over the small mining communities where my relatives lived. This book lists all the towns and villages in Ayrshire with population, and has lists of industries and mining operations associated with each place, railroad lines, etc., which is very helpful in understanding the economic environment of the places where my family lived.

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