![]() I joined on facebook a Romany gypsy group 'Romany Ancestry UK' to see of this can help me to discover if I have genuine gypsy roots or not. The surnames I have in my family, which I suspect to be gypsy, were indeed authenticated as being so. Many of the gypsies in the group totally know their ancestry and are full blown traveller gypsies, and while on the one hand their welcoming friendliness goes deep and provokes an excitement in me, I on the other hand fear I am an imposter. Matching my Gedmatch to theirs was not at first yielding anything, until I came upon a Jones member, gypsy raised and still identifying as such. She and I hadn't got a close link, but it was a link nevertheless. My gypsies, if indeed they were so, diverged a long time back, so finding any connection is good. On that Gedmatch I discover further anayltical tools that can detect so much more in relation to ones ancestral types, as if what the testing companies normally tell us is but the cream on the cake only. How reliable such tools are I don't know, but I begin to look at them for more information. Like on this I can see there is a link to India, and really if I am gypsy this is relevant, this being where gypsies originated. Even the suspected African pygmy link is there - the Baka pygmies, Hadza and Khoi-San. Mediterranean and Asian is confirmed, and at higher amounts than I'd previously been told. Even the Red Sea component is shown. When along came Ian on his scooter, and I made him some tea, naturally we got to talking about my gypsy researching, and Ian told me something he had not before, which was that he was part gypsy. His mother had told him this. So I just had to get into looking at that side of his ancestry. I had researched his mothers line before, right back to French Huguenots, but this research was lost, disappeared with the death of a former computer. His gypsies were from Wales, relocated to London. His gypsy great grandfather was never spoken of by the modern family, in an effort to bury the memory of him. Naturally I am one set to revive him and bring him back to life. And my childhood boyfriend, having the name of Chris Lee, I messaged him asking him if he was of the gypsies, and he told me that indeed he was. Even his father had told him they were descended from Gypsy Rose Lee. It's like Luke Owen said, there are many of us around, but you have to ask the right questions. Meanwhile, I was getting more and more responses from the British Romany's that we did have, albeit distantly, some blood connections. I have never quite known if it is my fantastical thinking that always seeks some exotic people to identify with. And after all, the exotic would still only be a smaller part than what is my greater solid chunk of Britishness. But regardless of what is in the majority, that is not all I am. Such is incomplete, and it is the more mysterious parts of myself I seek to know. This journey I've been on, of trying to understand, has been a long one. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees.
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![]() I looked at the point where friends Jeremy's and Ian's families converged, and that still amazes me, that they are cousins and would never have known but for me, and they wish they so did not know. And it's amazing how intellectual and refined some of Ian's ancestors were, in comparison to his present poverty and own non pursuit of higher education. From Cambridge educated to trouble maker at a comprehensive. This merging of Jeremy and Ian's family histories is all in the area around Pluckley, which I loved to visit not so long back and would like to visit again, as that is where I too have ancestors. So, I'm still in the compulsive world of genealogy research. Jeremy's family have a story about one ancestress having been a gypsy baby who was sold on the door step. She was dark so it made sense. But, I'm not sure. The spacing of the children's births in that family she well fitted into. So I have another possible angle, that really there was already darker ancestry in that family which they wished to distance themselves from, but those darker genes had come back up in her, for which the story had been created. I began looking into this family, the Washford's, from which she came. Humble railway workers, living in a railway cottage... Researching more Jeremy's genealogy, looking at his Washford line and those other families marrying into them, they being a big Wesleyan bunch centered around Shadoxhurst village. A few Jeremiahs were in there, this being what I sometimes like to call Jeremy. One of the Jeremiah's, who was Jeremy's many times great uncles, was victim to a highway hold-up, robbed at gunpoint, for which his assailants were hung. It had been a violent attack, in which he'd been shot many times in the mouth by a group of men known as the Tenterden Gang who had been terrorising the area. As they met their fate, hanging from the gallows, local women who had tumours came to touch their hands, the belief of old being this would cure their ailment. And another find of interest, those Washford's were friends of a clergyman writer, Richard Harris Barham, who published a book of passed down old Kent stories, the Ingoldsby Legends, at one time widely popular in Britain. One of the stories was inspired by an ancestor of the Washford's, Joseph Washford, who was a humble good fellow, a gardener of Appeldore, close to Shadoxhurst, who gardened for a lawyer Jerry Jarvis. To cover Joseph's bald head Jerry gave him a wig which he no longer had use of. But the wig was evil and transformed Joseph into a baddy, first with him lying, then stealing, and ultimately murdering, his victim being none other than Jerry Jarvis, and for this he was hung. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. I can't resist it, to get stuck into some genealogy researching. I'm curious to see if I can find any more clues to some gypsy heritage. There are hints, but no certainties. I did a read up about gypsies, both Irish and swarthy easterners, but I'm none the wiser. Maxteds were many in Kent, and one I can see was a farmer, very much a settled profession. One Maxted stole from a Kingsnorth in Pluckley, the Kingsnorth's being the family of my friends Jeremy and Ian, for which he was sentenced to transportation to Australia. One of my great Aunts, Selina Maxted, eloped to America with a cousin, being pregnant by him and having two daughters out there before returning. She never married. I want to find out more on this story, but fail to find records so far. Selina's brother was my ancestor George, the one who died falling off a haybale, being pierced by a stick into his entrails. If I was a superstar on Who Do You Think You Are, they'd whip out the whole story, no problem, and for sure tell me if there was or was not gypsy blood. It's interesting that I do have Mediterranean DNA, for so do gypsy descendants, their Indian traces being oft watered down and out. It's also interesting that I can feel so at home in these warmer foreign lands. I am not such a stranger to these places after all. Back to researching, I found out more about my many times great Aunt Selina. Her cousin Edward was a bricklayer who died when they were back in London, after their few years in New York, maybe after a bankruptcy, after which Selina put an advert in the papers looking for a position caring in homes or offices. As revealed by the next census, she and her remaining daughter, the first also having died in London, both found work as family nurses. So, Selina, yes, she does sound interesting somehow, a single mother who had a stint in New York. And I was looking at my ancestress, Elizabeth Mugway of Stalisfield, who got into the papers as an old widow. By marriage she was Elizabeth Roberts. It was her husband, Charles Roberts, who is said to have been of a gypsy family, the Otterden gypsy Roberts. Elizabeth was in the papers for having been neighbour to a murder victim, Hannah Giles, killed by a man, Samuel Seager, who obsessively stalked Hannah while her husband was out rat catching with his dogs and ferrets. Elizabeth was well acquainted with both Hannah and her killer Samuel. Rumour was that this fellows obsession was borne from an affair which she had no wish to continue. That very morning Samuel had visited Elizabeth and she'd told him he was a 'queer fellow'. He warmed himself by her fire, while spying through the window on Hannah's house to be sure the husband had gone out. He then called on Hannah with the excuse he wanted her to stitch him some trousers. He was a shoemaker and sometimes she would bind his shoes for him. Having heard the rumours, Hannah's husband, Stephen Giles, had confronted Samuel and told him he was no longer welcome in the family home. Hannah made her sons stay by her whenever Samuel was around, but he got her alone when that evening she was off along the country road to babysit the children of a nearby farmer. He mercilessly slit her throat with a razor, shot her in the thighs and set her on fire. Such are the potential deeds of a stalker who who finds himself attracted yet thwarted by a lone vulnerable woman. Elizabeth and other neighbouring women sobbed their eyes swollen from distress at the killing of their friend and they robed themselves in black. The bakehouse they shared was where Hannah's body was lain, naked and burnt, all the locals and even strangers coming to view her. In one paper a map was drawn showing who lived in what cottage and the spot where Hannah had been found dead. Elizabeths cottage is marked, being the first homestead through a shared gate and across the gardens of the families. Hannahs house was the end one of a row of three, the bakehouse they shared being on the other end. As Elizabeth had been a frequent caller to Hannah's, she must have been party to Hannah's fears. And yet all else in the village had thought Samuel such a harmless man. After the killing Samuel went on the run, later to be found in another county, hungry and looking for work on the railroad, using another name, saying that he was of the Roberts family. He was recognised by a description in the papers, confessed, and was sentenced to execution. They'd 'had words' was the reason he gave for her death. Looking again at Maxteds, I found that Charles Maxteds marriage to Sarah Green, and I'd never noticed this before, though one just had to switch to the next page to see, a double marriage, the same time as his sister Sarah married her own amour. Sarah, the sister of Charles, had already had two illegitimate children, one while she herself was but a young teenager, and for respect of the second child, she had been in church about to marry, the record having begun to be written, only for it not to go ahead, not till these years later with another child now on the way. It sounds Eastenderish, dumped at the altar! Oh, the stories of the past, if we but knew them. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. ![]() In my genealogical research I looked at improving a friend Mary's tree and worked out that she was a second cousin to Bamber Gascoyne, the compere of University Challenge. I messaged her the discovery and she knew it anyway. They meet up a lot and their families are close. This is a grand ancestry, back to Crisp Gascoyne, mayor of London. And then there are the Munro's. Interestingly, Ian also has Monro's who had a mansion, Druids Stone, where really was located a druids stone. Wouldn't that be a hoot if Ian was not only a distant cousin of Jeremy's but of Mary too, as if Ian is somehow the keystone connecting us all, in ways we can barely imagine. What an amusing concept. I looked up any substance for this new connection, but records further back are too lacking. I had a good try at finding something. And Ian's tree is rather fascinating. His Munro's married more than once into Jamaican colonial families. So interesting are Ian and Mary's family histories. And how would you know this of Ian who has not a drop of grandeur in him. Here I am, pursuing my paupers in and out of the workhouse, while a bunch of others around me are of esquires and famous families. I've also looked more at Jeremy's 'Oliver Beckerlegge' of the United Free Methodist Church, taking care of peoples souls, and interestingly getting into trouble again and again for refusing to vaccinate his firstborn. Mary's family tried to keep slavery legal, strongly opposing its abolition. The slaves of Jamaica, whose labours fed Ian's family fortunes in the sugar trade, rebelled and even sacrificed one of their white captives. There is so much of interest, the deeper one looks. Mary's Munro's are most esteemed, her grandmother, Eva Munro, being the head of the entire clan of Munro's, which then passed down to Mary's uncle Patrick, who though a Gascoigne by his mothers marriage, kept his mothers maiden name in order to be rightful chief of the Munro's. Ian's Munro's have to fit in somewhere with that great tribe, but I can't work out how. Did not Mary have the most glorious genealogy of us all, and had she not hippied it all away for a rock star. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. I was working on my project file, naturally, when my friend Ian turned up. He and I looked together at some of his genealogy, both the Italian Napolitano's in London side, and the Irish Scott's who made their fortune in Jamaica as colonists owning slaves. One of his ancestors, a John Scott esquire, had extra marital children with a slave woman called Nanny, two daughters who he freed from slavery. Ian reckoned he himself would have been making merry with his favourite slave girls too. He did wonder how he'd not profited from some of this great family wealth, but then there it was, further down the line in his family someone going bankrupt. And not only that but his granny Esme rebelled in a most bohemian way by dating and marrying beneath her station, to Federico Napolitano, who it was said pushed her for marriage again and again until she gave in. Federico shut out the rest of his Italian family in horror at his father Giovanni remarrying after the death of his mother Clementina. By all means, Ian came into an isolated family, lost to both Italian and well to do links. His family even covered up from him that they were part Italian, so that he was unashamedly insulting Italians when young, calling them wops, not realising he was one too. Only as a teenager did he learn the truth.
![]() Setting off homewards bound, I en route planned to visit the most haunted village in Kent, called Pluckley, which had been the home of my Maxted ancestors. At last I got to see this quaint village and I loved it, enough even that I would live there. We first looked around the churchyard, the church of St Nicholas being where my great great great grandfather, George Maxted, had married his beloved, Elizabeth Roberts. Pluckley was home to the Maxted's, and not only to them but also to my friends, Ian and Jeremy's 'Kingsnorth's'. The nearest to a ghost we saw was a dog statue guarding a grave, its shadow from a distance looking real, and yet never moving. One small part of the churchyard felt gunky, not a place to dwell long in, but the rest was pleasant. This was a lovely place. We walked a labyrinth mown into the grass and ate luscious blackberries there, such a treat. On some lovely strolling in the fields around, I met a mother and her child. Never had this lady seen a local ghost, although living in an old house quite capable of being the haunt of one. The village pub, the Black Horse, is apparently haunted, as is the church, the church having a white lady and a red lady, and the pub having a poltergeist. I carried on to neighbouring Hothfield, where my Maxted's had also lived, maybe when they were selling provisions. The church there, of St Margaret, felt more of a candidate for ghosts, being in an enclave outside of the village. You could almost feel it's mysteries and flitting spirits. Like at Pluckley, one corner felt gunky, and all was interesting and maybe a little scary. The church was locked up and peering through the windows we saw a priests vestments and ancient decorated knightly tomb. We checked out one more churchyard, burial place of many Kingsnorth's. Quite the place to return to with Jeremy and Ian. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees.
AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. Being an enthusiastic genealogist, I was taking on just about all my friends family trees and having great fun with the detective work of it all, in just the same way as another would enjoy doing the Times crossword. And just the most surprising thing, as I was updating some genealogies of friends, which was that I discovered two of them, Ian Napp and Jeremy Kingsnorth, who suffered very little affection for one another, were distant cousins. They shared a great great great great grandfather, John Kingsnorth, who had lived in Bethersden in Kent. Their exact relationship was fifth cousins. Jeremy was descended from John's son, John junior, and Ian was descended from John's daughter, Betsy.
How crazy was that! This was like wow!!! It would explain how these friends, living in the very same obscure area of France as me somenehow got drawn together, even sharing an allotment, and yet would also squabble all the time. |
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