This Family History Thing…

It’s been a while since I wrote anything.  It’s this family history thing.  You start off nonchalantly with a shrug of the shoulders and a “So what?” and before you know it you’re immersed in dates and times and statistics so magnetic that you find yourself wallowing in a quagmire of history you were never quite aware existed – and you are having a helluva time trying to extricate yourself…

A “second cousin” ( is that the same as being “twice removed”?) started it all off – although I had been quite attracted to the TV programme “Who Do You Think You Are?”, wherein various celebrities trawl back through their ancestries, sometimes coming up with something worth noting, both by themselves and by the viewer.

But when this second cousin of mine sent me a pile of her research , which showed me that my paternal grandfather had enjoyed a few more brothers and sisters than I had ever been aware of, it made me curious.  It made me even more curious when I discovered that even my Aunt Florrie – Grandad’s youngest of eight children, and the only one left living that I could consult – didn’t know that she’d had so many aunts and uncles..!

I couldn’t leave it there so I started digging.  And before long I found myself digging deeper and deeper.  Suddenly, I was hooked.  I began to understand why chasing up your ancestors becomes an addiction.  So now I’m addicted…

My wife complains that she has become a “computer widow”.  I appear to be spending far more time on the computer than I used to spend  in front of the goggle-box.

Excuse me.  There’s a slight alteration I have to make to my family tree on the “Ancestry” website…

“Well, It Had To Come, Didn’t It…?”

Well, it did, didn’t it?  Ever since Tony Blair resigned from New Labour – having been constantly nudged by Gordon Brown – the party has been in a state of flux and it was inevitable that some kind of collapse was on the cards.

 ”New” Labour was Tony’s creation, not a bad one considering that when he took over, the Labour Party was unelectable.  And the “new” political philosophy did rather appeal to the middle classes after the shambolic, break–down efforts of the collapsing Conservative machine, after Thatcher was booted out – especially since Tony set-to with his Labour love affair with British Business, and privatisation.

He did this, even though Thatcher’s wholesale transfer of our national assets such as Water, Gas, Electricity, British Steel, etc, etc, etc, were eventually transferred into greedy, grasping  private hands, which lost no time in raising prices that were invested fast into private pockets .  And Tony left them there…

 Later, improvements to our erstwhile national assets’ superstructure during Tony’s reign, had to be paid for by even higher prices.  I should have suspected something when, during his first week as Prime Minister, Tony invited Thatcher  around to Number 10…

However, ten years later, Gordon takes over.  Gone was the cheerful, toothy grin of Tony Blair’s presence on the political stage.  In its place we received Gordon Brown’s dour, sombre, “too busy for pleasantries” countenance. 

From the beginning, it is a fact that Gordon had not the aura of a Prime Minister.  Gordon Brown was a brilliant Chancellor who, for the sake of the Party,  should have been Tony’s, supportive, stalwart buddy.  But there was that  constant, nagging belief that he should have been chosen as the PM ten years earlier, not Tony.

Well, Gordon finally made it and moved into No.10.  But Gordon couldn’t take Tony’s place as the showman, the popular presence on the political stage…

And so it has been proved. Now, today, after the three-week debacle of MP’s expenses being exposed, comes the test of New Labour’s “popularity” – the European and County Council Elections…

The British public have very short memories and - in spite of the Thatcher years, and the Major years, and the Hague years, and all the other short-lived Conservative Leader years – I garauntee there will be a Conservative landslide all over the country.  I believe it will be exactly the same come the General Election…

Then listen to the howls of anguish from protest and floating voters who had decided that “Labour needs a lesson…”

And – believe you me – the howls will come as Tory “cut this” and “cut that” merchants go to work…

Ah, well…

“Here Comes Summer…”

“Summertime, and the living is easy…”   So go the words of one of my favourite Gershwin melodies.  

 It was only ten days ago that I was writing about the  British winter and its upstart sudden snowfalls that  that brought about the decision to close all our schools and most of our offices.  

 And allowed families to have a little funtime together…

But wait.  We’ve drifted into the month of  June, and British Summertime has officially begun.  Here we are, well into a swift and typical British climatic swaparound, wherein the sun is hot, and the TV doctors busy warning us all that if you intend to stay outside today, lapping up the ultra-violet rays, then dive into a pot of sun cream – preferably about Factor Hundred and Thirty – and don’t stay out in this vicious sunshine for too long.

A couple of weeks ago, youngsters were wrapped in thick anoraks against the biting cold of Arctic winter.  Today, they are seeking the derelict quarries that are filled with maybe twenty feet or more of icy waters in which to dive and play around and cool themselves down.

Trouble is: these kids take no regard of the “Danger” notices posted around the perimeters of these artificial lakes, and  they can be overcome by the chilling effects of hypothermia – says me, who used to do exactly the same things myself as a youngster.   Nevertheless, the danger is there, as was proved by the recovery of a fifteen-year-old’s body this morning.  The lad disappeared after swimming in a quarry yesterday and police divers finally discovered his drowned body this morning…

Why do there have to be “seasonal” tragedies?  How often do we have the Christmastime plane crash; the springtime paraglider hurtling at fifty-miles-an-hour into the green sward of some distant meadow as its engine fails; the summer’s day tragedy at the beach as some young child is swept out to sea by currents not noticed by inattentive parents; the autumn farm accident as a farmhand is trapped under a tractor or threshing machine; the winter pile-ups on the motorways as drivers ignore the icy conditions.

I suppose it’s because we are the human race and we all know how fallible the human race is.

But, never mind.  We seem to make progress in spite of our failings – well, in technology, anyway.   I wonder if technology will ever improve the workings of the human spirit?  Maybe one day we will all be technologised into robots where the failings of the flesh and spirit won’t matter…

Who knows..?

Who cares…?

“I Told You So…”

Well, I did, didn’t I?  I told you the world was in a right old mess because of puny little politicians. and I asked where were all the “great” men ?

I didn’t think the puny politicians would become so graphically exposed as within  the “Mother of Parliaments” of my own Merrie England…!

Take a look at their performance over the last week or two.  Somebody leaked figures of the kinds and amounts of expenses claimed by our MP’s, to The Daily Telegraph.   Being a Tory newspaper, it was glad to front-page said expenses for a full week – always concentrating, as do other loyal Conservative newspapers – on New Labour snouts that have been snuffling in the trough.  Well, there are a couple of elections on the way, aren’t there?

But, to be fair, the following week, the Telegraph then targetted the Tories and other MP’s of other denominations who had been taking advantage of the cosy little expenses set-up that had allowed them to live the lives of Riley in utter luxury whilst the rest of us struggled to find the monthly payment for our mortgages.  And while some of us were being evicted from our homes for non-payment…!

Some of these foraging money grabbers were even charging us for pet food and garden commodities, such as bag of compost, or a pack of fertilizer.  And how about the few thousand claimed by one MP to finance the construction of an island for the ducks on his garden pond?

And so it goes on – the drip, drip,drip of exposure after exposure by MP’s of all denominations as they lap up the shiny shekels of taxpayers, most of whom are struggling to make ends meet at the supermarkets, never mind make mortgage payments.

Mortgages!  Some of these fiddlers have been claiming for mortgages that were paid off years ago.  But, of course, from all of them comes the same old excuse:  “There’s been an administrative mistake.  As soon as I saw the error I paid it off…!”  Yeah!  Paid it off  just recently when the Daily Telegraph started its front page stories…

But let’s not just climb too high onto the MP’s backs.  This sort of thing is going on all over this country.  What about the greedy bankers who have caused a world-wide credit crunch?  One of these failed manipulators has escaped with a £6,000000 pension, which, according to our New Labour government, they can do nothing about because, legally, he has it wrapped up and secure.  Shame about the shareholders!

What about Big Business?  It deceives us all the time with it’s price greed.  Only the other day there was a documentory on television regarding the extreme conditions and low pay that is suffered by simple Far-Eastern workers who produce some of the canned foodstuffs that are imported by Big Business into this country. 

 The sweating workers are paid paltry pennies to produce these goods while we are charged pounds to buy them.  And if one of these miserable workers collapses as a result of the oven-like working conditions, they are either given fifteen minutes to recover and get back to work, or they are sent home without pay, even fired.

We all are familiar with the stories of child-workers in foreign clothing factories who work God knows how many hours a day for a pittance, and even sleep in dormatories provided by their employers, so that the child labourers won’t be late on their jobs.  Again, our clothing stores and shops have bought the resultant garments at a cheap rate and sold them to us at a premium…

Yes, slowly but surely, British Business has taken note of the low labour costs enjoyed by it’s foreign suppliers and is busy transferring it’s production capacities to foreign shores to enjoy the minimum costs engendered by the employment of foreign workers.   Hey Ho!   In one fell swoop, it has created millions of unemployed in this country!  Gung Ho!  for British Business.   It’s national patriotism, and it’s social awareness, deserve our cheers…

Just yesterday, came the report that some poor, doddering old pensioner had been robbed of  £300,000 by cowboy roofers who told him his roof needed repairing.  It did – but the charge – at the most – should have been £20,000.

Regulations?  It appears we have some, because the cops broke down the cowboy’s house door to arrest him. But  what, in Heaven’s name, is happening to my poor, beleaguered country?

I’ll tell you what is happening.  We are losing the art of “Britishness”. 

When I was a youngster, there was something called “fair play”,  and we kids were expected to live by it. 

If you had a fight and knocked your opponent down, you stood back and let him get up.  Nowadays, it’s not even a fist-fight.  It’s a matter of  who gets the knife in first!   And when the dying opponent is on the floor, it’s a case of kick him in the head and run.  Who the hell has managed to breed kids like that?  

 What has happened to the policeman who could disperse a street corner gathering of youths by a simple, one-finger indication to “move on”.

And Christmas.  We must even watch our steps as regards celebrations that once were so British.  Some local authorities have designated a not-too-enthusiastic celebration of Christianity at Christmas because it might offend the Islam community, or the Moslems, or the Hindus, or the Buddhists.

As far as I can make out, these other religious denominations couldn’t care less!

Another one is:  don’t have St. George’s Day parades because it might bring out the British Nationalist Party members to cause trouble along the route.   So the trouble-makers win…

It appears that, nowadays, there are too many regulations and too few of them…

The poor, old, gullible British public – up on their hind legs and roaring indignant contempt at Gordon Brown’s government - believe that a General Election will show ‘em!  Let’s have a General Election and get ‘em out!  Tory leader, David Cameron, soon takes up and echoes the cry – loudly and often - the call for a General Election. 

 Well, he would, wouldn’t he?   He’ll never have a better opportunity to become Prime Minister.  And it sweeps the public’s indignation over MP’s expenses out of the limelight whilst the public’s concentration is on the answer to Parliamentary fiddling  (which it isn’t) – A General Election.  Wow!

David Cameron?  Prime Minister?  This brings me, full circle, back to my comments about great men.  Sorry, David.  I can’t see you stepping up to the rostrum as one of world history’s great men.  Not even, I’m afraid, of one of British history’s great men.  You’ll be joining the long queue of mediocrity that we Brits have had to stomach for many years.

Proof of mediocrity?  Just take a look around you at the consequences of our shortage of great men – and feel sorry for us all…

Thatcher?  She is the cause of much of what I discern going on around this country.  One of the first things she did was re-jig the regulations that controlled Big Business activity, so that many more corners could be cut, and bigger and better profits could avalanche into its coffers.  And isn’t she famous for that succinct bit of business philosophy: “Greed is Good”? 

And how many mining communities did she destroy?  And how many Trade Unions became derelict pieces of British Worker history? 

God knows what is the answer to it all – but, I’m afraid, we don’t…

“What’s Been Happening…?”

I’m back. ..    I have just risen to the surface of a maelstrom of names and dates and statistics that have been whirling and swirling me around on a giddying roundabout of history-chasing in the effort to find out who I am, and where I came from – literally! 

For the last few weeks, I’ve been caught up in the quite recently popular hobby of Family History, whereby you decide that you’ll have a go at finding out whether – down the line – you may be the result of  high-born, aristocratic capers with the pretty, bosomy, pantry maid – or a murderous thug’s rape of  some poor lady of wealth whose mansion he has just burgled…

It all started with a letter from a lady asking me if I was related to the family of  the Charles Pedley who - as a result of a house fire in January 1927 –  suffered the appallingly tragic loss of a wife, six children, and a young friend of the family who was staying overnight.  The only survivor apart from the father, Charles, was Thomas, who was eight years of age.  The story hugged national and local headlines for some days as the coroner probed the circumstances.

Although very ill  in hospital, Thomas survived and finally lived to an advanced age. 

Charles was my grandfather’s brother, my Dad’s uncle, and Thomas - of course - was my Dad’s cousin…

It turns out that the lady who wrote the letter – Joyce Smith (Smith, would you believe!) was a relative - her grandfather being my grandfather’s brother and also the brother of Charles, who suffered the loss of his family in the 1927 fire.  Joyce has been investigating her family history for some time, which is why she had written to me – having been going through the local ‘phone book and writing to every Pedley listed looking for information.

Well, my family have never been very “close” – as they say – and when I was growing up, what with the 1920/30’s Depression, and then the WW2 follow-up, family chats about one thing or another didn’t exist, and information about family members was at a premium.

When I answered Joyce’s letter I discovered that apart from his brother Charles, who we knew about for obvious reasons, grandad William had six other siblings who – not even my surving Aunt Florrie, grandad’s daughter, knew about!  And she’s 85 this year.

I’m afraid that did it!  There was no way I could leave the situation as it stood – especially having acquired another cousin of one kind or another, in the person of the letter-writer, Joyce Smith!  Let’s work it out.  Joyce’s mother and my dad were cousins.  So I guess that makes Joyce and me third cousins.  Does it?  I’d be glad if someone would work it out for me!

It’s just part of the maelstrom I told you I’d dived into a few weeks back.  And at eighty years of age, myself, you might say that the undertaking of such a new exercise as the chasing up of one’s ancestry is asking a bit much of a brain that – at my age – is supposed to be losing cells left, right, and centre!

But I’ve been making headway, and I have come across relatives I haven’t been in contact with for 60 or 70 years or so, including the acquisition of further new cousins.  And I have discovered great-grandfathers, several times removed, who are still, somehow or other,  avoiding the clearing up of little mysteries that, maybe, should be left hovering in the mists of time…

But whatever new statistic I come across I seem to have to grope deeper and deeper,  as various dates and marriages don’t seem to gel from time to time, and in comes the frustration that sends me to bed with my head whirling.  It’s a good thing I’m on 24-hour oxygen.

Nevertheless, there is no way I can now leave this so fascinating subject alone – not at this stage,  anyway, when I am starting to unravel (but oh so slowly!) some of the deep, dark secrets that have come floating to the top of my ancestry…

Catch you later.