![]() I focused on Stephen Marcus's genealogy, enjoying the peace, calm and quiet. Stephen Marcus is totally Jewish in his ancestry and had already done much on his fathers line, so I looked at his mothers side and made quite some headway, linking that family, Supran, to the Zhupran's of Vilnius in modern day Lithuania, which before the holocaust was a city of great Jewish learning, 'the Jerusalem of Lithuania', and it also being an environment of tolerance and openness. Another morning spun past, occupied with my research in updating Stephen Marcus's genealogy, the findings of which he much appreciated. His well to do Jewish family provided a full and elegant range of materials for London's theatres, evolving from Supran & Company, to Leff & Jason, to Theatreland, and all this from having begun as impoverished immigrant cap makers. Lord Sugar is another Jewish lad-made-good from similar impoverished family origins. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees.
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![]() Having returned to France, I check out the info presented in the new certificates, learning of the overcrowded Roman Catholic chapel in Clarkes Buildings, Greenwich, used by my Irish Sugrue's, the illnesses they died from, Bartholomew vomiting up blood as a consequence of having tuberculosis, and his wife Catherine suffering a stroke while working as a servant in a Deptford lodging house, for which she was paralysed through half her body. So it is that I learn of their final struggles. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. ![]() I went to meet an old fellow, David Male, to interview him on his memories of my family. Meeting him was a delight. Now in his 80's, in a flat overlooking the sea, he had clear memories of my nanny Eileen Spencer's family, from when he was a young boy. And how beautifully he portrayed them, Eileen's mother Florence being so laid back, with children all over her house at play, feeding whoever was there, and father Percy, a ships chef, mostly to be found cooking pies and buns in the kitchen, an active family, full of laughter, games, benevolent and homely. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. ![]() Brian was off to Stanstead to meet his brother John, with my family research to be presented, to be much appreciated. I interviewed my mum again, this time on her childhood memories. Her first memory was of seeing her mother cuddling and kissing a man on the landing. 'Who's that man, mummy?' she asked. 'This is your father' was the reply. My mum hadn't known him because of his war service, but now he was home on a pass to be with his family for Xmas, the time of which my uncle John was conceived. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. ![]() I looked up more for Brian's tree, finding articles about wartime gigs his father had done with his band The Blue Aces. I also read of Brian's memories from his childhood in Totnes, Chippenham and Bognor Regis. He never knew his mother until he went looking for her at the age of 21, his father having abandoned her when Brian was still young, because she had got pregnant by another man. This was the second time he had looked for her, having also run away from home when younger. At last he was in luck. Getting the train from Doncaster to London, half an hour in Somerset House at a cost of a couple of pounds, then a train to Sevenoaks, where from a phone box he called five Francis's from the local directory. The fifth Francis knew who he was talking of and said to go to Riverhead, to a greengrocers, which was a little hole in the wall shop, the people who owned it being part of the Francis family. As he asked there if they knew of an Evelyn Annie Russell, an old chap, who was buying potatoes, tapped him on the arm and said 'You must be Brian'. It was Brian's very grandfather. He and his wife had looked after Brian when he was very little, and Brian had been the apple of his eye. He took Brian home, introduced him to nanna, and she phoned the hospital where Evelyn was working as an assistant nurse. She was allowed off early and Brian was sitting in his nan's lounge when in she walked. This was in 1951 and she was in her 40's. It is sad that Brian never really ended up getting on with her. She had a drinking habit. But for now all was nice. The family taught him a song 'Now is the Hour' and took him down the pub to perform it. Evelyn had married, for a while, an ex army guy who knocked her about a bit, and was now with a man, Jack Titchener, and both were drinkers. When Brian asked Jack what his mum was really like, Jack, having drunk a few, said the only time Evelyn wanted 'physical relations' was when she was drunk, otherwise she was a prude. Neither had Brian got on with the stepmother who raised him, though in later life they got closer. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. ![]() Along the 'lanes' of Dovercourt, glimpsing the football match, my mum showed us the old door where she used to sneak for free into the football. The Harwich and Parkeston football team was known as the Shrimpers, and when my mum was young they got to the final of the FA amateur cup. They played Pegasus at Wembley and the family went along, two trains and coaches having been put on, so that almost the whole town went, all knitting scarves and hats in black and white stripes, and losing 6-0. Back home my mum talked of her memories of her grandparents for my genealogy projects. Rosina sent me info from some certificates that had arrived in France, like Bartholomew Sugrue having died in Greenwich of tuberculosis, and his first wife having died from Asiatic cholera. Bartholomew's fathers name was Thomas, also a labourer, back in Ireland. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. ![]() In London I got a tube to St Paul's, and then set off along the little lanes of Blackfriar's, aiming to visit Church Entry Park, where at least one of my Barton ancestors was buried. With no map I didn't really know where I was going, and then I found an almost hidden little church, St Andrew by the Wardrobe, which I had researched as being the church St Ann Blackfriar's parishioners went to when their own church burnt down in the Fire of London, not getting rebuilt, as the Wardrobe one was, by Wren. I just love that name 'by the Wardrobe' which, as my daughter Ellie later pointed out, sounded like something out of Narnia. Here my own Barton ancestors would have come for church services, though still they would be buried on old St Ann Blackfriar's land. This was such a lovely church, with a lovely feel, and we were much welcomed by two keen church guardians, Singha and Terry. They told me historical little gems, showed me old maps, and amused my son. Such a pleasure it was to meet them. Olden days were so colourful, with dogs coming in churches, and canoodling lovers, as well as people in trouble seeking immunity for bad behaviour. A stick would awaken those in the pews who fell asleep, or keep dogs away from the altar area, a raised fence also having been created for this purpose. So, I loved this little church, a place one would want to visit more than once. I had been directed how to get to Church Entry, to turn left a little further up the lane, where was the Cock Inn, there where Shakespeare had once owned a house. Oh, what history was in these obscure streets where office workers roam. The lane here was Ireland Yard, along which at a little raised park had stood the original St Ann Blackfriar's church, a few tombstones still standing. Around the corner was Church Entry, another raised park, where lay my ancestress Ann Barton, a few folk sitting around on benches. Next I came across the site of the original Wardrobe, a kings wardrobe no less and a nice little space. Upon leaving there rains set heavily upon me. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. ![]() As I was visiting my mother at Dovercourt, I'd decided to develop more the tree of her partner, Brian. She and I had a chat about my genealogy research, as my son played on the beach, although she doesn't really get why I have such an interest in it. Because it is at a cost and uninteresting to her, she won't join the Geneographic Project to have her DNA looked at, oh, woe is me! How I wish... Still, she spoke to me of her family memories. She spoke of Nanna Bane (Mary Ann Seagrove), who apparently had signed the 'pledge' not to drink alcohol, but when my mum was a girl, Mary Ann would sneakily send her out to get small bottles of brandy. 'It's for medicinal purposes' she would always say. When the family tried to send Mary Ann off to a care home she got hysterical. 'Please don't send me to the workhouse' she wailed, and the ambulance man reassured her if she didn't want it then she wouldn't go, for which Aunty Connie had to keep caring for her. in the light of her families real history with the workhouse, her fear becomes more understandable. The care home had indeed been converted from an old workhouse. Uncle Clive was in his lovely old Harwich house, once the Swan Inn, and I tried to guide our conversation to what his cousin Linda and his Aunt Molly had already talked of, about Clive not really being his fathers son. It was only subtly that I tried doing this and my mother caught on and mouthed 'No, no'. But Clive then brought up the matter himself, having twigged on. He feels nothing in common with his father, he said, and nothing in common with the Welsh side. He still had nothing to go on concerning this, and anyway, he didn't care. He was disinterested. Nor could I get him at all interested in the Genographic project. On consideration though, he looks totally like my father, his eyes, his red hair, his intellect, so that it's hard to believe they could not be full brothers. I looked with Brian more into his genealogy, writing out new family information for him, which he will later type out. I learn more of his family, of his son Mark who lives in Beirut and has a cute half Vietnamese son, of a dodgy stepbrother, and in a photo a dodgy uncle is pointed out. I wanted to look at more genealogy for him, but had to get a good nights sleep ready for the next days trip to London. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. |
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