My Irish people, I so wish I knew something of their world. I did find reference to a Thomas Sugrue in the old newspapers, Thomas being the name of Bartholomew's father, who with one of his sons, also called Thomas, was part of a mass of rioting villagers, up in arms against an unwanted new priest who was replacing the villagers much beloved priest. The villagers therefore forcefully threw the new priest out from their chapel, which although locked up, he had broken into to perform mass there for the first time. That was back in the spring of 1845, the year before Bartholomew was first to be seen in Greenwich, marrying there an older woman Ellen Sullivan. John Sullivan was one of the other rioters, the name of Ellen's father, so one does wonder could these be the actual fathers involved in this rioting. The other men who were majorly involved were three MacCarthy brothers, Denis Barton, Joseph Kennington and John Murphy. John McCarthy, one of the brothers, happens to have later been the name of one of Barthomew's lodgers, as revealed in the census of 1861. The hated new priest, Thomas Carmody, was from Ballinamona and the rural chapel, which was at Tonereigh, alias Toneragh, was one built and maintained by the villagers themselves, who wished still for their long serving priest David O'Connor, whom the Bishop had deemed no longer capable of doing his duty. The villagers would not allow the new priest to enter, keeping the chapel doors and windows nailed up, but on that particular Sunday morning the priests men came and broke open the doors with sledges and hammers. Once the priest had got up to the altar and was beginning his mass, Michael MacCarthy, followed by others, leapt over the rails, and struck his fist on the altar and announced "Where is the person who will say mass" while cursing with the 'most violent and blasphemous language'. A woman had to then interfere to stop this fellow from beating the priest with his stick. Thomas Sugrue was further back in the church with a crook in his hand, with which he tried to strike the back of one of the priests men, although missing him, and he was blocking the door to prevent the priests clerk from coming in. The priest, in fear for his life, ran away, there being more than a hundred people assembled against him. The only people accepting of the priest, who had come to the mass, numbered around 7 or 8 persons. Once the priest had fled the men nailed the chapel up again. One of the women present, Ellen Callaghan, it was her father who the new priest resided with and the hatchet to break down the doors was her fathers. The villagers were in court declared to be a lawless mob. The new priest declared that if they would now regret their 'senseless and foolish conduct' he would forgive them. And that they should permit him to perform his duties for the next six months and if at the end of that time they still did not approve he would give up the parish. I do so try to envisage the rural Irish ways my people would have known prior to the famine. It was in the year that the people rioted against the priest that the famine began, which would continue for seven years. Traditionally the rural men of Ireland would twice yearly voyage to England and there work in the fields, like as I have seen with the hop picking, and Bartholomew may well have done likewise, and for sure some women of the families would have accompanied them too. In this way they would save some money from their English wages to bring back to Ireland. The women, along with their children, had their own habit of seasonal roaming and begging. I don't imagine this to have been borne of destitution as it was later, but that they would have profited from gathering blackberries, crab apples, seaweeds, whatsoever of natures wild harvest, this being a way that was still semi-nomadic, born of an old hunter-gatherer culture. But all becomes more dire when the untamed lands get snatched up by landowners who seek to profit by this, by which the old ways are thwarted. When nature provides less, then begging from those of better means becomes relevant, and ultimately a means of survival in times of need. The loss of cultural ways breaks the vibrant spirit, hence the turning to alcohol and dysfunctionalism. Bartholomew didn't remain in Ireland to try and survive through that famine, being early on seen in Greenwich. Even in his hardest times to come, in and out of the workhouse, he never sought to return to his homeland. Maybe, as with the rioters, he had got into trouble there. I imagine that while in England doing seasonal work he was attracted to the employment opportunties in the booming building trade, while also falling in love. The Irish had been settling in Greenwich in small numbers long before such times, as for instance, as I've seen reference in one old newspaper, in 1841, in regard to an Irish woman, Mrs Moriarty, who was a brothel madam in Greenwich, keeper of a 'house of ill fame' on Roan Street. As I have seen, Roan Street looks so tame, quiet and inconsequential now. Quite wild in those days though.
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I was back to focusing on genealogy. My genealogy passion website neededa presentation, long due, about the Seagroves of Greenwich. All day I did my genealogy write-up of the Seagroves, all day long, with extra research to bumpf it all up. And I was seeing that but a year after my Maria was imprisoned for two months hard labour, for having a scruffy home and scruffy children who didn't go to school, she was again imprisoned for those same reasons, this time for four months. That makes three prison sentences for her that I am aware of now, the third reference being from when later she and her children ended up destitute in the workhouse, during which time for some unknown as yet reason she was thrown into prison for a further eight months. Dear Maria, whose eyes were all a-twinkle, she had a lifetime of suffering behind her, her mother having died of tuberculosis and her father losing his mind and committing crime and himself being in prison and the workhouse, indeed both father and daughter in the workhouse at the same time. The following day I was embellishing still more on my website write-up about the Seagroves. And what super photos I found of old hop picking adventures in the Kent countryside, our family having been ones to join the many Londoners in this seasonal exodus, their holiday time in effect, where there were men on stilts reaching up to the highest hops, cooking in big pots over open fires, and plenty of laughter and fresh air. This write-up on the Seagroves, I shared a link to on my facebook and as I guessed it would be, this was a shock for my mother to see. And she's never been so interested in this work I here do, but this was close to home, being the family her granny Mary Ann had been born into. A pauper life, the workhouse, prison, scandal, all is there. 'Every family has skeletons' I wrote 'and as a genealogy researcher I uncover what they had long though buried.' As my mum wrote 'Oh dear, so I never did really think we had Downton Abbey connections. I often wondered why there was little mention of Nanna Bane's family when I was a child.'
I looked at the astrology for my ancestress, Eleanor Barton, born 10th October 1833 in Greenwich, raised in an orphanage in Whitechapel, and died as a young mother of tuberculosis. As a Libran, she would have had a love for that which is beautiful and aesthetic. Moon conjunct Mars - she would have been strong willed, not one to give up easily and having abundant energy. Sun conjunct Mercury - a good mind, one to enjoy conversations, talented in handiwork. Sun opposite Pluto - she could get into conflicts and enjoy a good battle. Sun square Neptune - self deprecating and vulnerable health. Sun trine Uranus - fond of the new, for that which is exciting and presents variety, tolerant of those different from herself and even attracted to them as she would have liked exposure to different ways of life. Moon in Virgo - cheerful but serious, when something needs doing she gets it done and takes care it is done properly. She likes neatness and order, is health conscious and is a good worker. She likes to help others, although some shyness if there. Moon conjunct Venus - enjoying of comfort and pleasure, affectionate, liking to acquire beautiful things, such as nice clothes which she will work for to get. She would have been much into her beauty. Moon trine Jupiter - this is one of the pleasantest of aspects, by which she would have had no fear to truly be herself, being outgoing, generous to others, taking care of both people and animals, helping whosoever is in trouble and protecting the weak. She was one to respect honour and honesty and would have been religious, although not in a puritannical way, but in kindness and helpfulness. Mercury in Libra - moderate, not one to go to extremes. Mercury conjunct Mars - thinks for herself and will argue her point, she knows how she feels and cares not if others agree, she is true to herself and stands up for what she believes. Her tongue can be sharp. mercury opposite Pluto - others would disagree with her and would put her ideas down. Mercury square Neptune - pursuit of fantasies which are unreal to others so that they don't understand her. But she is one to have a creative and beautiful mind. Putting all that into words is not easy. She is one who needs peace and serenity around her, to keep away anxiety. Mercury trine Uranus - very creative and a quick mind to understand new ways of thinking. Intuition is good so that understanding comes as if from nowhere, which would confuse others, and yet in time people would observe her insights to be true. Mars Libra - a strong sense of fairness and justice, hating to see anyne treated unjustly. Mars opposite Jupiter - Positive energy and optimism which is attractive to others. A competetiveness which is spirited and not abrasive. A need for freedom and dislike for restrictions. She is one who needs her space. Mars square Neptune - she can get discouraged, when all seemingly defeats her, which she then sees as due to her unworthiness. In such times religion provides for her an escape. Susceptibilty to infections and illness. Mars trine uranus - very independant, she knows that with freedom she has control of her own destiny, she knows she has to be herself and go her own way. Saturn Libra - she takes time to make up her mind. At first she has reserve with someone, but once committed she stays and is loyal. She respects duty and keeps her agreements. Saturn opposite Pluto - life challenges come along, whether by lifes restrictions or others expectations. Saturn trine Neptune - ideals as well as realism, as she is disciplined, hard working, religious, and is prepared to make sacrifices for the greater good. Jupiter Taurus - She aims to find stability and security on her lifes journey. She needs hugs and a show of love, being herself a warm person who gives to others. Jupiter square Neptune - a dreamy sort who prefers to see the best in people and to ignore the bad, even when it hurts. She is non-judgemental and accepts people with their flaws. Her ideals are high and for this the world can be a disappointment. Yes, the astrology of the ancestors is one of my interests. I'm not sure if anyone else has explored into this as yet. For doing this astrology reading I have come to know all the more my ancestress Eleanor Barton. The orphanage she grew up in happens to have been in Whitechapel, where my daughter also named Eleanor now lives, their homes but a short stroll away from one another.
Two Eleanors of Whitehchapel. I see now that Eleanor Barton would have been inspired by Christian principles throughout her life, she having done Bible studies while growing up in the orphanage. Her husband, John Harrison, would so have treasured her, for she was pretty and educated, principaled and tidy, nicely spoken, kind, and able to overlook his foibles. For losing her to tuberculosis, yes, that's maybe how it is that he came to lose his mind. I've seen that just two years after her death there was a John Harrison in the Greenwich workhouse who was attacked by one of the other inmates for being crazy. This could have been our John. Eleanor was his everything and without her he was lost. I got into looking at the genealogy of Jeremy Corbyn, having to have some balance here, considering that I'd already researched Boris Johnson's family tree. The Corbyn's were in general quite well -to-do hard working philanthropists; teachers and traders. The Corbyn's were from Lowestoft in Suffolk, Ella May's Spurgeons who I'd researched being from there too; and I did feel it, that I was going to find something linking them, and indeed I did; one of The Spurgeon girls, Elizabeth, who was a sister to Ella's ancestress Sarah the single mother, was a servant to the Corbyns, to the family of George Corbyn, a tailor on the High Street. And Ella May, right at time I was researching this, was outside Downing Street, protesting with a rowdy bunch of young people, all mad at the new right era which even traditional labour voters had given their support to, shouting 'Boris Johnson, not our prime minister'. Jeremy Corbyn's family tree did at first appear to be insipid, and then I found scandal, there having been a controversial workhouse master, James Sargent, who even got one of the pauper ladies pregnant, having 'had her in the parlour'.
I am perusing more the story of my ancestor Bartholomew Sugrue, a life that never stops fascinating me, regardless that it was so tragic. I am so near to completing a great write-up on him, and yet there is always more here and there to discover. When all is full and done then I can begin the book writing. But the Sugrue genealogical presentation naturally takes for ever, so it seems, as such things do. In gathering together workhouse records, I found one I'd not accessed before. This shows how important it is that we go back again and again, looking for any relevant records, and revising and updating accordingly. My Sugrue's had much association with the slum boarding houses of Deptford during their time of destitution. I had seen reference to them as being at 'Pesters', a boarding house run by William Pester, and now by this new record I saw that earlier on they were at 'Freaks', a lodging house run by Charles Freak, all being on Mill Lane. In between these two addresses they were at the Mitre, not the pub of Greenwich I realise, but another Mill Lane boarding house which doubled up as a place selling beer. The total poverty and destitute situation is what led Bartholomew Sugrue to spend most of the rest of his life, from the age of 57 upwards, in workhouses. He and his wife Catherine no longer rented their own home, but were in effect homeless, moving from one boarding house to another. Only the poorest of the poor would ever frequent such places. Despite working so much on expanding Bartholomew Sugrue's write-up, when I print it out, it still seems so lacking. More is needed. I see on Bartholomew's marriage certificates, and who he took in as as lodger, who were his friends, fellow Irish labourers, as is often the way with ex-pats, mixing with their own kind and not integrating with the traditional people. Those surnames of his friends, Reardon and McCarthy, there was much trouble in the community incited by men of such names. Maybe they were brothers of the friends, or cousins. Maybe they were Bartholomew's cousins, all related. These men were often in the papers for their drunken antics, when fights would break out and mobs of hundreds would surround them. This was the company Bartholomew kept, of the wild untamed Irish. He may not even always have been one to drink, but the people around him did that. And, even, with all the deaths from cholera abounding, alcohol was believed to offer protection against this, for which Bartholomew may have encouraged his wife, Catherine, to drink too. There are maybe three other sons they had, who had died when little, which needs checking out: Bartholomew junior and his twin Daniel, and maybe a Michael, being a twin of Edmund. When I feel the grief of losing my sister and how deep that is, then how must it have been for the ancestors who tended to lose at least one child. As such, grief is a normal human experience. For all such troubles, with the ancestors being so poor and but subsistence living, they had not the time nor space to contemplate and self heal from such pain and grief. Their quick solutions were, one, the church, and two, alcohol. Rents needed paying and hungry mouths feeding, for which one had to work, work, work. Parish relief could sometimes be called upon, maybe a medicine for ones ailments or shoes for children's bare feet. I find myself understanding more Bartholomew's years in the Poplar workhouse, as times were changing. When it is illegal to beg for ones needs, and naturally stealing is not an option, and yet there is no work available, one has to turn to parish aid. There were indeed times of sickness and lack of work when the Sugrue's resorted to asking for help, and not least when son Edmund was dying from pleuritis, in which instance the workhouse officials took a full day to get to the lad, despite it being an emergency, as I have now seen. And Edmund was in the care of the workhouse for the last four days of his life and still died. I wonder if there was that old equivalent to our concern that if you send vulnerable souls into a hospital or old peoples home they'll likely not come out again. Bartholomew was certainly quick to get his other children out of the workhouse, despite the struggles facing him as a lone father, as if they were safer with him than under such a regime. Well, fast forward, and the time had come when Bartholomew was so in need of parish relief, but no longer was there any out-help on offer, for there had arisen the Poplar experiment. Any money to help out the family now had to be earned at Poplar workhouse in a prison like situation, with hard labour, and a fare of only bread and water. However strong a constitution Bartholomew may have had, years of this wore him down, and close association with the sickest of society contaminated his health with tuberculosis. The Poplar experiment was a terrible one, a destroyer of families, a punishment for being poor. The new way was a response to greater and greater numbers of people needing assistance, for which those in need were not now individuals, but one mass of unruly poor. To weed out those taking advantage of potential freebies, the real destitute had to pay the consequences. I sense the unheard frustrations of my ancestors, due to their being misunderstood, accused and judged. Beneath all struggle and external perception, there was the heart of a family, who loved and cared about one another, their genuine humanity, their joy and playfulness, their innocence. I guess that's what I'd like to portray in a book, though I don't know if I am able. Maybe I should first try writing short stories or children's books, to kind of warm up to the big task. A compendium of ancestral tales could inspire children to find an interest in genealogy. AuthorAuthor Susie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. I researched old newspapers for details about the Poplar workhouse which my ancestor Bartholomew Sugrue had so often been passed onto for hard labour and strict discipline and a diet of merely bread and water, all designed to discourage the able bodied from seeking parish relief. Some people in those days were saying that prison was preferable to landing up in that workhouse. There were two hard labour tasks at Poplar, indeed just as prisoners in jails were made to do, which was the breaking of rocks and the unpicking of oakum rope. Those who could not fulfill their daily quotas were not to clock off at five like the others, but had to carry on with even extra work added till eight, or else would be hauled before a magistrate to be punished with a short spell in prison. One magistrate, who refused to imprison one lady who had not fulfilled her oakum quota, but rather was feeling pity for her, declared that such punitive degrading work was not right to be given to one who simply by misfortune had come seeking aid. The papers after shamed that very magistrate for his weakness in sympathising with unruly paupers, for those who were part of the 'Poplar Test', which a board of guardians had decreed as an experiment to cut the numbers and costs for those formerly given extra out assistance in their own homes. Of oakum unravelling, Oscar Wilde had written, 'We tore the tarry rope to shreds, with blunt and bleeding nails', his experience being in a prison, not a workhouse but ultimately not so different. AuthorAuthor Susie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. My focus was once more on genealogy research, and oh gosh, I found a newspaper article speaking bad once more of my Greenwich family, and not this time for the elder Sugrue's or Harrison's, but for their grown up children, my great great grandparents, the Seagrove's, Thomas and Maria. I'd been told memories by family about their home life together, of Thomas often being away working on rivers and at sea, and of how he would give his wife and children all they asked for, in return for which the house was to be kept spic and span. Well, as I now discovered, this was not always the situation. Before the days when their oldest child, Mary Ann, had it put on her to do household chores, and to keep her younger siblings smart and clean, their home life had been by contrast untidy and the children unclean, and this had got them into big trouble. Just as the state of Thomas's own childhood Irish immigrant family had been damned in the local community, and all around the country too, so was his adult family life now coming under the spotlight. Not only was there mention that Thomas Seagrove was frequently in trouble for not sending his children to school, but the NSPCC were investigating the children for being dirty and in rags and for living in a smelly unclean home, and for this our Maria was put in prison. And that, even though it was pointed out that she didn't have a drink problem, unlike some local mothers, and that her children were fairly well nourished. Now I know that unconsciously I have tuned into these ancestors and their plight in my own life all the more, twice having had authorities set on me and checking me out. My situation seeded from malicious people around about, as likely it did with my ancestors too. Everyone is expected to be scrubbed clean and to have museum like homes. This was a new Victorian imposed standard, at a time when society was becoming more regulated and more uniform. Officials were butting in, and by doing so, making their own havoc. At that time, a whole bunch of mothers were being outed as neglectful, with all their children's names and ages listed in the papers and their domestic problems revealed and judged. Some of the mothers were alcoholics whose husbands beat them, but not all. For my family, the children, not being paraded off into school lessons, were out playing and getting dirty, because that's natural, that's what children do when left to their own devices, not shoved into institutions. I get that. The children were happy, healthy and free. But they were poor and wore rags. And no fuss was made of the housework, and I get that too. They were from struggling, maybe gypsy backgrounds, making some token adjustments to society, but not entirely. Society, though, had it's own agenda, that all shall be made ship-shape, and if that involves putting a pregnant mother into prison, subjecting her to hard labour, and carting her children off to the workhouse, then so be it. And so families are disturbed all the more, traumatised, the beloved mother taken away, and the children stolen. I totally sympathise with my ancestors. If a child is not being beaten up and sexually abused then f*ck off. And yet still this goes on. On the same day as Maria Seagrove was judged and sent to prison, so was another local lady, Mary Baker of Deptford, on account of one of her neighbours, Fanny Miller, having complained about her children's clothes being torn and ragged, and for them being dirty, as if they had not been washed in a long time. For this Mary got three months hard labour, one month more than our Maria, her worse circumstance being that, on account of her husbands violence, she had taken to drink. As for my own family, a Dr Cable said he hadn't seen such a dirty family in years. For Thomas, changing his name from Sugrue to Seagove, specifically to disconnect from past scandal and public damnation, errors of the parents had been repeated, and embarrassingly all eyes were upon them. For which it is understandable that he would afterwards insist that clean home and family had to be the way, even down to his sons shoes being daily polished. As for now, things were bad enough that the smell of the house was unbearable, and for such things a prison sentence was in order. Öh dear, such skeletons in the closets are what our families consign to be hidden and never revealed. And although my mother is so uppity about standards and putting on a good show for the neighbours, her own mother, my granny Isabelle, more resembled her own grandmother Maria, sitting around eating and getting chubby while the house fell down around her. My mother has the industrious energy of her Shetland grandmother, Helen Inkster, but as for me, really I am more akin to the Greenwich bunch, like, be happy and stop fussing, and if the neighbours aren't going to love you then f*ck 'em, they're not worth the trouble. So, this seeming dysfunctional ancestry comes closer to home, and potentially uncomfortably so, these Seagrove's being ancestors remembered and spoken of by the elders of my family. 'Dysfunctional' really does end up being a key word for my Greenwich bunch and such is one strand of my inheritance. Being like that still, in some ways, I understand. But it certainly doesn't look good. Family secrets unraveled. Mary Ann being the eldest daughter, I know it from her reminiscences to her grandchildren, that at some point while still young she was labouring hard for the family, and now see this was in effect to keep her mother out of prison. At least once after that event Maria was sentenced to another stint in prison, this having been written of on her children's workhouse records. So now I know the reason, because her children were scruffy and so was her house. Ah, the ancestors; more and more I see that my own challenges are not due to personal trauma, but that this is something inherited. My own granny Isabelle was just about a hermit, unwilling to face the critical world, and I myself had social anxiety to deal with from a young age, along with my own unconcerned scruffiness and unwillingness to adhere to the great taken for granted standards. I weave my own philosophies and moral consciousness through it all, finding my solace in nature, in being natural. After all, others strictly imposed world views are not only unforgiving but also potentially dangerous. AuthorAuthor Susie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. ![]() I got re-absorbed into genealogical realms, all my pets around me as I researched, Storm Kitty on my lap, Angel doggess who had sneaked onto the sofa, and the guinea pigs by the door with outside views. A toy dinosaur I was using to hold down my papers. My ancestress of Pluckley, Elizabeth Maxted, once she was widowed, left Pluckleys rural landscape for the slums of London, staying in the home of a married daughter, and becoming blind. A workhouse had by now been built on the Hothfield common, to dump all the poor and struggling into, and I suspect she didn't want to end up stuck in there. Her new home was on Wickham Street in Lambeth, and her livelihood was washing clothes, as many women in hardship were doing along that same street. One neighbour on Wickham Street, Mrs Manual, made her living caring for the babies of young unmarried mothers, which she would dose up with laudanum to keep them quiet. She was in the papers for the scandal of having poisoned in this way one of the babies. And yet it was quite the habit, and had been since ancient Egyptian times, to give opiates to children and babies, so they would stay content alone while others worked. They were plenty of products advertised to do such a job, with opium lozenges and pastilles on display in pharmacies as if they were sweets. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. I have been absorbed in writing info in my genealogy website for my ancestor, George Harrison the original, the miller of Llanthony, which I work at till half past three in the morning. I still feel I need to weave something magical through his story before I can conclude. The only glimpse I get into his personality is him exposing himself in Abergavenny, and I'm not sure what that says! As for his last days, they were in the workhouse. The seeds began in those workhouse days for our present day norm of institutionalising the old, with strangers caring for them rather than ones family. In reading of Wales I wanted to be there, which is the same when I focus on Shetland for those islands, and regarding Kerry in Ireland for my Irish. That night I didn't sleep easily, and when I did I dreamt that my ancient Scottish home was Rio Dolmen. I do look this up the next morning and such a place does not exist. Suspending Welsh genealogy for now, I write up about my ancestress Eleanor Caroline Barton, a line I am far more attuned to, studying her childhood orphanage days. The Queen herself was patroness of Eleanor's orphanage. and gave donations. The orphan girls would sing to audiences to gain more donations. They were lovely, well looked after and easy to adore. Society ladies would choose from among them their future servants. Eleanor learnt to read and write while there. But, also, she encountered for the first time there dreaded tuberculosis, one of the girls having died from it. It could be that in those times the disease seeded in her, latent, waiting to overcome her in young adulthood. I rewrote my Welsh genealogy of George Harrison the miller of Llanthony and this time was happier with the outcome. For the first time I realise that he absolutely must have had more children, their being such gaps, and I look to find out who they may be, but these Welsh records are not easy, almost as hopeless as Irish ones. And I work on Eleanor Caroline Barton's London orphanage days, quite interesting, finding reports of the orphanage fund raising meetings and the songs the girls sang, and a picture of the banqueting hall with raised gallery upon which they sang with all their scrubbed clean and cute appeal. My Eleanor Caroline was there, in that gallery, singing. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. ![]() In my interest for genealogy I have been brushing up on friends trees, working a lot on Juliets, now far away in Australia, who is descended from the Earlston Scottish gingham manufacturers, and so I dwelled on her and her family. From Juliets to looking more at the tree of her ex, Buddhist Nick. I see that a far back Upton man, maybe or maybe not his ancestor, maybe a relative, James Upton of Leeds, abandoned his family to the workhouse, for which he was being pursued by the authorities. He appears to have got away with it though, finding himself a new family elsewhere. The bigger pastime over the coming days was extending and enriching Buddhist Nick's ancestry project. This is always time consuming. Really, its a natural work for me, as unravelling family stories so fascinates me. Such a work I always do for free and it is a good engagement for my brain. Nick is keen to know more, having passed all on to his mother, who takes great pride in it and has made up a big chart displaying this ancestry. In some ways our families almost entwined, his people also being from the same part of London, marrying in St Martin in the Fields, attending the church of St Andrew by the Wardrobe, both lovely churches which I had recently visited in London. AuthorSusie Harrison and her hobby of genealogy, always looking into her own and her friends family trees. |
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