I've written a piece for a family history magazine about blogging and genealogy. I was sent the mock up today. Do I really need to say how just how exciting this is!!!

About two years ago my friend Lexia and I were talking about our ambitions. She wanted to paint and I wanted to work as a genealogy researcher. Lexia suggested we both make goals . I actually did it, but I had forgotten it until just now. And here is the list I made back in 2008:

• Attend non-LDS conferences and participate in workshops
• Open LDS family history center to the public
• Identify genealogy companies and archives in UK and US, and look for jobs/intern/volunteer
• Network and communicate with other genealogists
• Become a published genealogist

I was thorough, I even had sub-goals and recorded my first round of achievements. I've done them all now! I'm really quite chufffed to have remembered this.

I'm in print

I'm about to be published. The research company I work for also publishes a new family history magazine called Your Family History. I've written an answer to a reader's query for the Ask the Experts section. I've had to supply a mugshot for that. Yes, my face will be on newstands (if a big gust of wind blows the magazines open to page 9). I've also written a short piece on the joys of family history blogging for the On the Web section. And there are more Ask the Experts queries and articles in the pipeline.

I've also just bagged two new projects. One from a repeat client (this is number 3) with more fascinating family members to follow up. And a house history project in Kent. I've done one house history - villa in Blackheath - and this is my favourite type of project. They combine family history, local history, geography and architectural history. Everything I enjoy, and a good transferrable skill. TNA records are only in London, but you can do a house history anywhere. You know, should I ever decide to escape to the country...

Which reminds me, I'm in the market for a village. (No I'm not going to buy a whole town Kim Basinger style) I want to write a history of a small town or village, describing the history of all the properties, the families who lived there over centuries, how the wider historical events and movements affected (or passed by) my little corner of England (or Wales or Scotland - who knows where I might end up living in the future).

Watching New York episode of Stephen Fry in America... a rare moment of nostalgia. When I see New York on film or television it doesn't seem possible I lived there. Even when I was there, the New York in the movies seemed like somewhere else. Oh wow, he's just landed on a ferry at Lewes, Delaware. I was in Lewes today. The one in Sussex.

Dreaming of TNA

When my sleep is disturbed, my dreams are invaded and become wrapped up in National Archives cataloguing numbers. WO 363, ADM 188, CUST 47, CP 165, RAIL 66... They swirl around in my head and keep me from falling back into a deep sleep. I think it may be my subconscious mind trying to make order out of chaotic thoughts.

Last night it was IR numbers. Part of my brain was trying to interpret a confusing email I had received - that was assigned IR8. There were other IR numbers assigned to different parts of the dream. IR stands for.... you guessed it, Inland Revenue. Now that really is a nightmare!!!

Are you looking at me?

I found out today that my 3x great grandfather David Woodcroft had a glass eye. Great for creeping out the grandkids.

Francis and Frances sitting in a tree

What do you do when you like hearing your own name? Marry someone with the same name and get a double dose every day.

I hate those family lines that stop up suddenly in the 19th century, it just doesn't look right. This is England, we've got parish records. Every line should make it to at least the 1700s. I've been working on some of these stunted lines (remember Richard and Judy), and today it was the turn of the Gilby's to be unmasked. Ann Gilby Sharp died in Kensworth in 1873 at the ripe old age of 91. We had no parents for her. Genealogists talk about brick walls, this was more of a speed bump. Her name at marriage was Gilby, but at birth was recorded as Guilby, far enough down the microfiche that Mum had not found it all those years ago. Thank goodness for familysearch!

Ann was baptised in Hitchin, at St Mary's church, daughter of Francis Guilby and Elizabeth Fountain. I love that name. Francis' parents were Francis Gilby and Frances Cooper, married on 12 October 1733. I don't think I'm going to have this problem. A dude named Genevieve would be an interesting creature indeed. Francis parents were Matthew Gilby (another name I really like) and Mary Turner. And it stops there, familysearch doesn't have a baptism for Matthew, but I'll track him down some other way.

There's heavy rain today, and the gentle rumble of distant thunder. Wonderful.

It sounds just like the tape we used to listen to in Saudi Arabia. People in Alaska have those lamps so they don't get S.A.D. and we used to listen to a cassette tape of the sound of rainstorms to remind us what moisture was. We'd turn off the lights in the living room and pull the curtains to make it dark like it was overcast outside, then open the door slightly as if the sound was coming from outside and switch on the tape and just listen.

The sound of rain still makes me happy.

Birthday starts early

Dad returns to Dallas on Wednesday, so he gave me his birthday presents early:


I raved about the series the BBC did recently on the Norman Conquest period and thoughtful Dad had a bright idea. And we found this beautiful book on St Albans Abbey at the library when I was doing some research, and he's got me my own copy!

We always used to hire a car over August bank holiday weekend when I would come home from New York, so we decided to keep up the tradition. I wanted to see the Elizabethan garden that English Heritage restored at Kenilworth Castle.

Then we went to the West Country. First to Wells, where the cottages are made of a salmon-coloured stone.

Wells Cathedral

And just behind the Wells Bishop's palace are open fields - I can't imagine a more English landscape.

The ruins of Glastonbury Abbey.

We drove along the Dorset coast. It was a beautiful day (perhaps the only day in August that the sun has shone) and the sky and water were a wonderful blue. This is Chesil Beach.

We also made a stop in Weedon in Northamptonshire where my great-great-grandparents Thomas Dellas and Sarah Ann Baron were married at the Weedon Barracks. No pictures though - I took snaps of the wrong buildings. Ooops.

"It is very vexatious to honourable feelings, when we go into society at home and abroad, to meet foreigners of all nations covered with medals and orders, when we, who have had the pleasure of licking them in every part of the world, have neither orders nor medals." - a Wellington-era British officer argues discretion is NOT the better part of valour.

I love my work! I go to London all day, and I work on the train on the way, and on the way back (although occasionally I read a book that's not work related although they're historical in some way). And then as I walk down the steps at Luton station on my way home I start to get excited, because soon I'll be home and I can get my computer out and do some MORE WORK. Not like direct work, that's what I do in the archives, but some background reading, maybe a little tinkering around on familysearch, trawling through the National Archives online catalogues. Today, I picked up a couple more small projects. I finished my first magazine piece this week which should be running in the next issue but one, and I've got two more on the go.

Don't worry, I haven't become some kind of workaholic. I still have time for tinkering with other stuff, tending my garden, and watching all those awesome new programs on the BBC about Normans and Saxons. In fact, it seems I've spent an awful lot of time lately watching middle aged men wandering around damp fields and tripping over ruined buildings. Although the Norman series went to Sicily and Jerusalem this week which are not damp and completely amazing. And I did have some play time tonight. I met up with Dad and went to dinner in Chinatown. We ate spicy beef and I chattered about...err, work.

I love being in an unfamiliar train station and looking at a board filled with destinations I never see at home...

I was in Manchester this weekend. It looks like it was a grand city once, but now I thought if felt like Boston, but without the history. I don't know if that makes sense. Anyway, it was just still light when we left Manchester Piccadilly on the train journey home, and I could look out the window and read all the station signs and everything written on the sides of old buildings. I wanted to see everything and remember it all. I want to know everything about everywhere. That's why I love my job, I'm learning things all the time. Obscure, perculiar things about obscure, peculiar people and places, and I'm trying to remember it all.

Oh and they have trams in Manchester. I LOVE trams.

I'm in Lancashire

First time ever. It's pretty exciting.

At three months, little Jacob is really starting to come to life.

Looking ahead to my birthday (wow, only two months to go) I'm thinking about birthday treats for myself. How about a trip to Bayeux to see the tapestry, something I've wanted to do since I was quite small. And if I'm going to northern France, perhaps I should take in Beauvais as well.

Any other bright ideas?

I totally smoked the boys on University Challenge trying to identify lego representations of British musicians. I rock!

I couldn't quite beat them to the answers on many of the others questions, but we know what counts here.

I've just been sent another followup from a previous client - my first project on early army records, she's sent like new names - and then hot on it's heels came three - yes three! - offers for magazine work bang in a row. They're American case studies and I'm the Yank so... What a morning my head is spinning!

I can't concentrate today. I'm supposed to be writing a lengthy client report for work. And I just can't do it, too much on my mind that's not a Georgian villa in Blackheath. This is the trouble with going freelance, it's easier to confine your thoughts to work when you're chained to a desk. I think I'm gonna go help my friend dig up her garden this afternoon instead. I need air and space. And gardens are a great place to think.

The report is my first house history project and it's definitely something I'd like to do a lot more of. And I have a repeat client. He was happy with my report on an ancestor's naval career, so now he wants us to do some follow up research. That's five projects now that I've done - a house history, a merchant seaman, an excise officer, a sailor and a soldier who fought at the Battle of Waterloo.

Wow, driving in London is certainly an adventure

Clouds of mist were rising from the fields - just visible in the twilight - as I rode home on the train tonight. Beautiful.

I got to do something really cool today. A friend of my mine who actually works with genealogists but who thinks family history is a bit of a snore, recently fessed up that there was one person in his family who intrigued him. It all revolved around his military service in WWI. I'd been digging around in military records at The National Archives all the previous week so I said I'd check it out for him. Well, I got a result, and not at all what we were expecting. We met up this evening and I got to talk him through what I found. I set the scene with some census records, established some background and worked up a bit of anticipation, and then I hit him with the big discovery. It was so much fun. And the dude was super pleased. It turned out gt-granddad was rougher, tougher and more cantankerous than he'd ever hoped. It was great to share something that made an impact. I completely FREAKIN' LOVE THIS!

Got my first Oyster card today. Terribly, terribly exciting!

I was on my way back from Windsor with my friends John and Sara from NYC.
They're on the last stop of a round the world tour. I'm really enjoying entertaining friends in London and it's nice to be able to great them with good news of how I'm getting on since leaving NYC. Sara is having a great time in the city, and I may have talked her into moving here. Although she needs to get her skates on before our idiot government slams the door on visas for people with brains who heaven forbid might just contribute to our economy and prosperity. Anyway, she'd be a fab roommate so I laid it on really thick and we just might have a winner!

Rev is awesome! Gets better every episode. If you have access to BBC you've got to watch it.

I love that British men wear proper shoes.

I found a new part of London that I love. Hampstead Heath and Highgate Hill. I guess that's two. You're high up looking down over the city. The houses are grand and graceful. You can go swimming in the lake on the Heath. Well not the big lake because apparently the fish will eat you. But there's a bathing lake. One for boys and one for girls. They're very modest up there on the hill. I like driving up hills, I have amazing clutch control. I could definitely live there. Does anyone have 5 million quid they wouldn't mind lending me?

Michael is 25 today! Happy birthday, my dear.

My friends in England remember you and ask how you are. Can you believe it's been three years since we were here.

World Cup update

Me and Dave are supporting the Netherlands. We dig the orange!

This is funny

New crush

I have a new crush. Move over Dan Snow, you couldn't make me happy like this little beauty:

I pass her on my near daily pilgrimage to the National Archives. She sits there on Burlington Avenue, taunting me with her perfect proportions. And that colour! Some girls dream of a knight in shining armour to come carry them off. I dream of a smart little audi, and I'll drive myself thank you very much.

My babies are growing like crazy. This was Jacob just seven weeks ago. Andrew likes being big brother but he's going to be mighty unhappy when Jacob - the beef - overtakes him and suddenly he's the little brother. I see it happening. And in the not too distant future.

First day of work at my new little desk today. Oh good grief, the guy upstairs is listing to "The Final Countdown". Looks like the crack in my bedroom wall also leads to a rift in time.

This just in: we're descended from Richard and Judy!

Today I found my first Elizabethan ancestor. I was messing around with PCC wills at the National Archives and I used the middle name of Plummer given to my 6x great-grandfather's second son (Charles Plumer Baron) to try and find his maternal grandfather. Charles Baron Snr was a tanner and landowner in Hitchin, Hertfordshire, married to Sarah, whose own will was proved in the PCC in 1822 (he was 100!). I searched for a will for a Plummer in Hitchin and found John Plumer, Tanner of Hitchin proved 14 Dec 1752. He leaves the bulk of his estate to his daughter Sarah and son-in-law Charles Baron of Hitchin. RESULT!

So Mrs Sarah Baron started out as Sarah Plummer. Working with parish registers for the Hitchin/Baldock area here's how far I got:

- Sarah Plumer daughter of John and Martha Plummer, Tanner baptised at Hitchin St Mary 12 Jul 1724
- John Plumer married Margret Weeb at Thundridge 15 Nov 1722
- John Plummer son of Richard and Martha Plummer baptised at Willian 11 May 1701
- Richard Plommer married Martha Dodson in Willian 28 Oct 1697
- Richard Plommer son of Richard and Judye Plomer baptised at 5 Feb 1671 (it's Richard and Judy!!)
- Richard Plummer married Judith Luke at Sandon 20 Apr 1663

There are two Richard Plomers baptised six years apart in the 1640's. I don't know which one is mine, but both fathers are the sons of Henry Plomer and Catherine Corke who married in Norton, Herts in 1605. There are no baptisms before 1597, so I may not be able to follow the Plumers any further back, but in Henry and Catherine we have ourselves here a pair of bona fide Elizabethans. I'm feeling very satisfied right now.

Do you ever have that sinking feeling? You know you've misplaced something ...

"Thought to be missing for four days, the Rev. Aaron Slavinsky, aged 82 was found dead in a rarely used room of his home in Finsbury Park, London on Monday. Why he had gone to the room - used for keeping lumber - remains a mystery to his wife, who found him by chance."

What??!!! So he's missing for several days, she apparently doesn't search the house (well why would you look there), and then she finally has a wander round the house, decides to pop her head round the door of the lumber room and "oh there you are darling, what are you doing in here, oh you're dead, nevermind then." This is my brother-in-law's great-grandparents. Lucy and I laughed and laughed over this and came to the conclusion that the two of the must have been completely doolally.

Today's discovery

My 6x great-grandparents George Phelps and Mary Bean were married in this cute little church in 1783.

Yeah, not so little. In fact it's a bloody cathedral! Does this mean I've uncovered some wealthy, aristocratic roots? Of course not. It turns out that St Albans Cathedral and Abbey Church, perhaps uniquely, is also a parish church, so not just the great and the good but the grungy and ordinary also got hatched, matched and dispatched in this amazing building that awed and inspired me as a child. We used to visit every summer with my grandparents. Who on earth would have thought it my own family had been married and baptised here. I can't wait to go visit again.

This is great - iPlayer The Beauty of Maps

After several days in London, I needed to escape to somewhere rural. I retreated to my trio of beloved villages on the Dunstable Downs - Kensworth, Whipsnade and Studham. The bus took me through the first two and I hopped and went for a wander around Studham which I've never explored on foot. Here is the modest little church - my 5x great-grandparents William Woodcroft and Charlotte Walker were married here 206 years and 7 days ago. At the rear of the churchyard I joined a footpath that crosses a field and then heads into woodland. With no map, and not wanting to become a cautionary tale, I decided to turn back. But then I changed my mind and carried on anyway into the trees. I love being alone in the woods - I don't understand why people find it scary. I finally got a signal on my phone and discovered I was headed west. Whipsnade it turns out is north, so not wishing to end up in Bristol, I backtracked to Studham, enjoyed a delicious packet of crisps at the Red Lion pub, and hopped back on the bus. I really missed crisps while in America, in fact that's why I came back to England. There it is, the truth is finally out.

Andrew is systematically dismantling grandpa's house in Dallas. An 18-month old's idea of a dream vacation!

By the way, my new dream vacation is eastern Mali. So if you're interested in exploring west Africa's greatest treasures, and the threat of capture and execution by Al-qaeda in the Magreb doesn't phase you, let me know. Best time to go is early November.

Great-gt-gt grannie Mary Baron made the papers. The landlady found her at half past four on a Saturday afternoon, expiring at the bottom of the stairs leading to her first floor lodgings at 151 Wellington St. She apparently fell down the stairs bringing up coal for the fire and the concussion and shock killed her shortly after. Neighbours, the doctor and Mary's youngest son John (lodged in nearby Hastings St) were all summoned. She was carried up to her bed, where she briefly regained consciousness. John recounted to the Coroner that he asked his mother how she fell, to which she replied that she did not fall. She then promptly snuffed it. It's kinda odd, but the Coroner's Jury accepted the testimony of the doctor that Mary had died of concussion and shock to the system, and their only recommendation was that a handrail should be installed on the rickety stairs. And where did the Coroner's Jury meet? In the pub next door at number 152.

I had anticipated a more dramatic tale when I collected a copy of Mary Baron's death certificate last Wednesday and saw that the informant for the death wasn't a family member but Mark Whyley, Coroner for the County of Bedford. It stated there was an inquest, which led me to the report in the local newspaper, The Luton Reporter. Mary's son John was known to subsequent generations of the family as "Wicked Uncle John", so you can imagine the thoughts that initially went through my head. Alas, it seems his notoriety has some other origin. There's also tales within the family that Mary was psychic and foresaw her husband's death. I don't want to sound flippant, but, err, she didn't see this coming.

I want to go visit some little wooden churches in Russian forests.

We three

Lucy's boys. Proudest of proud big brothers Jonathan, Andrew grinning as always, little Jacob looking for lunch.

Day six

Today was a great day. Started with good run in the park. Then I finally convinced someone to cut my hair again the way Mike used to do it. After that on to London where I went to the Society of Genealogists library to work on some book stuff. Ok so that was productive but admittedly a little dull. I got fed up and went down to Bedfordshire parish registers (I love those things) were I found something that made me very happy. I'm trying to trace the origin of a peculiar name passed down through the Raynor family and I found a clue not only to it's origin but that also took me over one of those proverbial brick walls and back 3 more generations than we had on our chart (details below). It was hard not to shout with delight (I would imagine that's frowned on at the Society) so I just kind waved my arms around and woo-hooed on the inside. Followed that with an expense account dinner in SoHo and added my tummy to all the parts of me that were happy. We talked about history all through dinner, kinda of a quick catch up from the Tudors to VE Day. I should be a history professor, I love explaining all this stuff. By the way, I finally caved and joined Twitter. But...... only so I can follow Dan Snow. And I hereby swear I will only stalk other fellow history nerds.

My 3xgreat-grandmothers Mary Ann Raynor had a brother named James Marvel Raynor. English baptisms rarerly involve a middle name, and that one is of particular interest. It was passed down three more generations, and I have reason to think James Marvel and Mary Ann's father James Raynor also carried the name. Family surnames were passed on as given names, but it's not a surname in the region. So where did it come from? And was there some special connection with the name that made then pass it down so many generations. A link to someone illustrious? That would be a first for our family! So the next generation back is also a James Raynor, but we have no baptism for him from the Dunstable registers - the first mention of him is his marriage in 1804. So I went further back and there are no other Raynor baptisms for his generation or what would have been his parents generation. But when I got to 1751 I found three Raynor children all baptised on the same day, Frances, Elizabeth and Marvil (!). I was so excited to find this. The three children were all born previously and baptised together. Parents were James Raynor and Hannah. There must be a connection. Is this James Raynor my 8x great-grandfather? I don't know why they missed a couple generations in the Dunstable register. The wife of James Raynor who was married in 1804 was, according to the 1851 census, from St Albans, so I'm going to check the St Albans register to see if a branch of the Raynors were in St Albans for a couple generations before returning to Dunstable. Of course this doesn't give me the origin of the Marvel name. Perhaps it was Hannah's maiden name. There are no Marvels in the Dunstable register. So the mystery isn't solved quite yet.

Day four

Oh dear, the Conservatives are back in Number 10 tonight, but with a Liberal Democrat deputy prime minister. Weird?! I spent 3 hours on a bouncy bus today reading the classic "Genealogy as Pastime and Profession" and no resulting migraine, so that was nice. The bus ride was to Aylesbury (via lovely Chiltern villages Edlesborough, Eaton Bray and Ivinghoe which have family connections) to visit the Buckinghamshire county archives. I found details of poor relief paid out to my 5x great-grandfather Joseph Sired in the mid-1830s: the whole family fell ill with small pox in May 1835 for which they received several shillings in assistance. The catch of the day, however, was the marriage bond for Joseph's father-in-law William Ashwell who married Ann Fardell by license in Ivinghoe church on 6 Feb 1777 and I learned William was a sheep-dealer (awesome, I've always loved lamb!). My favourite moment: passing through Edlesborough I noticed a sign for Happy Valley Chinese Takeaway & Chips. Ah, it's great to be home!

Day three

Today I finally resurrected my iPhone, ordered a new bankcard (I think Barclays thought I was dead) and had my first experience with Jedward. Also went for my first run in the park here and made a mighty fine little desk out of our tv tray. Yes, things are going well. Tomorrow I'm off to Buckinghamshire, I hope to ransack the Edlesborough parish chest.

Jacob Adam King

Here's my new little friend, born 3 May at 16.24. He was a big lad, 21 inches and weighing in at 8 lbs 11 oz. He has long feet and simply enormous hands with long fingers. And best of all, a full head of luscious, near jet black hair, just like his auntie had at birth.


And here's my lovely little sister and her three sons

Day two

Today was a great day. My friend Erin Hadley is in London for nine days on business. We arrived the same day, both a bit lonely and disoriented, so we were perfect company for each other, a welcome familiar face and a connection to home. We went to the Hyde Park Ward at a bleary-eyed 9am this morning. Saw a bloke from New York and then recognised a fellow I met at Who Do You Think You Are Live last Feb. He's a banker (booooo) but also doing a part-time postgrad course in genealogy so a buddy in the making I think. He's called Matthew by the way. We went for lunch and then I took Erin up to Primrose Hill. I've never actually been up there and I thought she would enjoy the view which was terrific. Erin was fascinated with English children and English dogs. Well, English everything really. I enjoyed playing tour guide, and we had a great chat. Erin and I have always been fond of each other and it was good to reminisce a bit about our years in New York.

Day one

It's my first full day back in the UK. I gotta say it's really tempting to lounge for a while but I need to keep busy. So I spent the morning in a workshop on parish records at the Society of Genealogists. And I pitched a book idea to the Society's publications dude. I really want to write a book. I won't make any money but I'd be the first Bovee to be a published author woo-hoo. The idea needs a lot of work, but I need something to do, so not complaining. The weather is seriously crap here, wet and gray, so no chance to break in my new running shoes this morning, that will have to wait for Monday. I still miss the family terribly, and it's hard not having friends in London to spend time with to get over that, but at least I have my friend Erin in town this weekend so that will help.

A leaving party was thrown in my honour this afternoon and this is the super amazing cake:

Family weekend

I managed to get Stephen up here for my last free weekend in New York. It's a shame, the poor git finally moves to the East Coast (just a four hour Chinatown bus ride away) and I "bugger off to England".

Adam snapped this picture of us at the top of the five flights of stairs to my apartment. Stephen wasn't such a fan of those. We had a pretty relaxed weekend, no rushing to see all the tourist sights, which we covered the last time he visited six (!) years ago.

Sunday we ate our last dinner with Dave and Adam & Lexia. We've been talking about making Poule au Pot, a 16th century French chicken dinner, for Adam our French literature fanatic, so it was now or never. It's good solid "peasant food" and the results were delicious and more than filling.

Saturday afternoon I traded stories of our family heroes and villains with my long lost cousin Cynthia Lovewell. Cynthia’s great-grandmother Elizabeth and my great-great-grandfather John were brother and sister. We’re part of the Ducie clan and there aren’t too many of us [link to Ducies make money not babies] so I was really excited to make contact with someone from this part of my family. The Ducies came from Ireland, via Birmingham, but they split up once they got to America with John settling in Montana and Elizabeth Ducie and husband Charles Chadwick making their own way to San Francisco. We swapped photographs and I got to tell her all about Mrs Ducey's saloon.

Cynthia and her husband John were terrific. Just what I would imagine a couple from California would be like: relaxed, friendly, youthful. They're coming to London in the fall so we have plans to meet up again. Maybe a trip to greater Birmingham is in the offing, how exciting does that sound? And we have a open invitiation to their beautiful big cabin at Lake Tahoe. It was a wonderful afternoon and nice that Stephen was in town. They got two Bovee/Ducies for the price of one!

New Doctor Who = Ahh-MAZING

I ate Blackhound three-layer chocolate mouse cake for breakfast. I'm out of weetabix, and, well, it needed finishing up. I think maybe salad for lunch today. And for dinner.

Dave and I played a for old time sake game of US Ticket to Ride last night before I switch my allegiance to euro rails. I started strong, but had to rethink some routes after he blocked me between San Francisco and Los Angeles. As the game was nearing the final round, I had completed 5 middle value routes worth 51 points. That’s respectable. With all routes in hand completed the usually course of action (assuming you have a few left over trains and a colour cards) is to grab one last set of 3 route cards in the hopes that with so many train segments already on the board you may with the addition of just a couple trains be able to complete an extra route and pick up a few extra points that might clinch you the game. I had just two trains to spare and one card in hand, but I couldn’t be sure I had Dave beat, so I decided to risk it and grabbed three cards.

My worthy opponent

To my astonishment, I could complete two of them (both high value routes) with the addition of just one train piece between Seattle and Vancouver. And the third route I already had. I took an extra 49 points in two turns! When we counted up at the end Dave came in at 146, normally a winning score. But I was sitting on 68, and with 49 + 51 points, that was a round 100, which meant, with the scoring marks round the outside of the board running only 1-100, I had done a whole other lap and my marker stayed put. We had planned to play a second round, but this was the game to end on. A stunning victory for yours truly!

Watching Dexter (series 2). Such a guilty pleasure.

Century old mystery even more solved

Two months ago I declared a century old mystery solved. Well it turns out there's more to the story.

Having found the marriage of my grandmother's cousin Edith Ward (whose father had run off to Canada under an assumed name with his son-in-law's sister), I ordered up the microfilm with births and baptisms for Montreal. I found Edith and her two sons, which actually pointed me back to some online records which I had already searched with no results. Turns out the indexing doesn't include first names, so now I had the church they used from the microfilm, I pulled up all the Ward records for Grace Anglican Church of Montreal.

I found the burial of my auntie Flora May and the full register entry for Edith's baptism. And as there were only 30-odd records for the period in question, I had a peek at all of them. Working my way back from 1940 (the last record available online) to 1909 when my great-great grandfather Arthur Woodcroft now known as Albert Ward arrived in Montreal, I was looking for a marriage for Albert and May, but I found something else. The burial on 27 Aug 1910 of a little girl named Isabel, parents: Albert Arthur and Flora May Ward. Her birth date was noted as 27 Feb 1910, four months after Albert arrived in Canada. So here was a part of the story I wasn't even looking for. Arthur and May had left England because there was a child on the way. They weren't fleeing scandal - May's sisters all had children out of or very shortly after wedlock - I'm inclined to think they really wanted a family together. Arthur had left behind a unhappy marriage, but May's family was a happy and tight-knit bunch. She could easily have returned to them after the loss of Isabel, but she didn't. She stayed with Albert and they had another daughter seven years later.

It was an exciting find, but the best bit was telling Mum what I had discovered. There are still a few things left to wrap up - Albert's death, May's ship's passenger list - but more importantly, with the baptisms of Edith's two sons I now have their full names. They are my parents age so most likely living, and I found two iterations of each name in the Canadian phone directory. I've been practicing a little speech. I'm not a huge fan of genealogy cold calling, but I hope the accent and little bit of much-rehearsed charm will keep them on the phone long enough for me to establish if there is a connection. The rewards could be big: fingers are crossed for a (otherwise non-existent) picture of my great-great grandfather, and of course the last few details of a story that has intrigued my family for a century. Wish me luck!

It's official

I have given notice at my job and am moving back to England. I've been obsessed with genealogy for nearly six years now and it's time to go learn more and do it full time. England is the best place to be for that and I've dreamed of going home ever since the day I arrived here in New York. I'll be staying in the city through April, then dropping all my stuff off with my sister in Atlanta - she'll mind it in case I decide to come back - and then heading to England. It's strange to be leaving New York, but I've been thinking about it seriously for the last few months and now is the right time. Even my Dad agrees, and he's put the stops on some crazy ideas I've had over the years - like spending several months in Wisconsin in the winter!? - so it must be a good idea. I've always missed England and I can't wait to get there.

I can't wait to live in a flat with it's own washing machine again! I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate going to the laundromat. Six flights of stairs and I have to pass the posh sushi place looking like a bag lady. Sit in the cold waiting area. Can never concentrate on my book.

Back in the day, when Lauren lived with Lexia I used to accompany her to the very same laundromat. I remember watching (rather appropriately) the diving and swimming competitions at the Athens Olympics. So some happy memories.

But now I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate it!

Who Do You Think You Are? - US

I've just watched the first two episodes of the US version of WDYTYA. I was afraid they'd make a horrible mess of what in England is a perfect show. I feared excessive sentimentality and oppressive voiceover. But I was pleasantly surprised. There is very little voiceover, and I liked that most of it is done by the celebrities themselves. I thought they got the tone pretty right as well. My only grumble is the coming up next highlights and the recap that sandwich the commercial breaks. It's such a terrible waste of time and meant that they only had time to cover one side of person's family. It also meant it's impossible to get the element of mystery and anticipation that works so well in the English version. "Coming up later in the program..." No, I'm sorry that just doesn't fly. As far as the stories themselves, Emmitt Smith's tale of mixed race slave ancestors is something I've seen already in Ainsley Harriott's UK episode. But Sarah Jessica Parker's Salem witch trials connection was truly fascinating.

I've also been able to watch three episodes online of Prof Henry Louis Gates Jr.'s series for PBS, Faces of America. I've heard some grumbling about this show, that is has a strong message of America's intolerance towards immigrants and that Gates himself is too prominent. I decided to give it a shot anyway, and enjoyed it. Instead of focusing on one person's lineage at a time, the four programmes each have an overall theme and incorporate elements of the 12 participants family histories. I really liked his attempt to tell their stories in the wider context of the building this extraordinary nation, however flawed.

Jonathan was academic bowl team captain for one round this weekend. They trounced the other side by 70 points. Next stop University Challenge!

Tombstone Tuesday

Apparently on Tuesday's genealogy bloggers like to post about tombstones. You supposed to upload a picture of a gravestone and tell it's story. I'll give it a try.

This is the gravestone for Truman Bovee, my great-grandfather George Bovee's youngest brother who died in a tragic accident.

Now let's be honest, this thing is hideous! But it's undeniably eye-catching. I went to the cemetery in Fairchild, WI in December and as you can see it was blanketed in at least a foot of snow. Any row markers were covered and I had started to despair that I would find anything.

And then I spotted this monstrosity. I couldn't help but look at it and to my delight I saw the name Bovee. Below the name is a short poem that touchingly expresses the awful pain his family must have felt at his loss. To the left I found the graves of his parents, both buried in the snow. I dug them out with the ice scraper from my rental car. And to the right was a tiny little grave marker for Hiram Cornell Bovee, George Bovee's little son who died just days after birth.

My great-great grandparents, a lost son and a lost grandson. I don't think cemeteries are by nature grim and mournful places. I like to think of myself as being not among the dead but among the living, for their lives feel very real to me and I know they're not truly gone. But in this place it was hard not to feel sorry and a little sad.

Look at that face!

Mad Men

BBC is showing Mad Men Series 3. This is the best thing on telly in the US, but we don't have it at my apartment so I missed the last series. This means I don't have to wait 6 months for it come out on DVD. Or buy it from iTunes. I can watch it for free on iPlayer. Which I paid for. Whatever. Bravo BBC!!

Century old mystery solved

I hold in my hand the smoking gun! Actually it’s a printout of a marriage at the Montreal Salvation Army 1936, so a metaphorical, genealogical smoking gun. But no less exciting.

My 2x great-grandfather Arthur Woodcroft disappeared. He was in Luton in 1906 when his daughter Beatrice married Thomas Dellar, but by the 1911 census he is gone. The story that has come down through the family is that he legged it to Canada with his new son-in-law’s sister, Flora May Dellar. Think about it...that would be pretty scandalous even now. According to her niece, Auntie May was a tall, attractive and vivacious woman, one of the renowned, or rather notorious, Dellar sisters of High Town (more on them later). May is pictured below (center) as a bridesmaid at the wedding of her elder sister.

The other half of the story is that a woman name Edith Summerton showed up in the fifties claiming to be Arthur and May’s daughter. Visiting from Montreal, she said she wanted to get to know her family. She visited England once or twice and then lost touch again. What exactly became of Arthur and May has remained a mystery and Auntie Madge has repeatedly expressed a desire to learn the truth before she passes on. Mum has been searching for Arthur for 40 years, and in the last few years I too have joined the hunt. We want to do right by Auntie Madge, and of course, solve the mystery. Mum mentions Arthur all the time, and I’ve tried several searches but always came up empty handed. Until yesterday that is.

I had a hunch in the bath (such a great place to think) that I needed to look again, this time for Edith’s husband, Nelson Summerton. New records come online every day, and up popped my marriage record, on the 6th of May, 1936 at the Montreal Salvation Army, a Nelson Summerton married Edith Marion Dellar Ward, daughter of Albert Ward and Flora May Ward. Edith Marion Dellar W. and Flora May W. are a dead give away. Albert Ward is a pseudonym (same initials as Arthur Woodcroft), no wonder we couldn’t find him, the crafty so and so.

We had figured he must have travelled to Canada under an assumed name, and as soon as I put this new name into a search of ship’s passengers I came up with Albert Ward, 45 year old straw hat manufacturer (the ubiquitous Luton profession), who sailed on the Corinthian for Montreal in Nov 1909. May must have followed on shortly after as she is living with him as his “wife” on the Canadian census for 1911.

So the stories were true, and Edith Summerton was, as she claimed, Madge’s cousin. Of course there’s more to find. Did Arthur/Albert and May actually marry (making Arthur officially a bigamist, not just a bit of a scoundrel)? Were/are there more Canadian cousins? And why did he choose the pseudonym Ward? Beatrice Woodcroft's daughter Doris Dellar, my grandmother, became a Ward when she married; it’s my mother’s maiden name. But Doris wasn’t even born when Arthur and May ran off together. It’s just a funny little coincidence. Right?

It's finally here. I just downloaded the free ancestry.com genealogy ap for my iPhone. Now I can access all my family tree info anytime. This is glorious.

White Christmas

Dallas's first white Christmas since 1926 and only Genevieve's second Christmas in the United States. I thought it awfully nice of Dallas to put on a festive display for me.

Family Not at Home Evening

There are many times of year when it feels like New York is at it's best. But December is special, with, as the song says, "City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style, In the air there's a feeling of Christmas." It seems a shame not to make the most of it, so on my first night back in the city, my friend John and I ventured out to enjoy the Christmas lights.

First stop, Rockerfeller City to see the tree and the angels,

and the snowflakes on Saks Fifth Avenue.


I love the blue tree lights at Columbus Circle

and the grand Christmas stars indoors.

And of course we went to Macy's on 34th Street. We didn't go up to visit Santa, but I'm sure he's the real one!

This year's windows celebrated writing letters to Santa. I don't remember if I ever sent a letter to the North Pole, but many years I got just what I wanted, so somehow he knew. Clever ole Santa!

Happy Christmas everyone!

I picked up a new book at the airport on the way to Jerusalem (the story of an old house on Bankside in London), and found a passage that beautifully conveyed my own feelings about searching out people's histories.

"The vast mass of men and women in every time do not leave behind them either renown or testimony. These people walked our streets, prayed in our churches, drank in our inns, built and lived in the houses where we have our being today, opened our front doors, looked out our windows, called to each other down our staircases. They were moved by essentially the same passions and griefs that we are, the same bedrock hopes and fears...

Witness to the living, busy, complex beings that many of these vanished ones were tends to be limited to fleeting references on pages of reference books that are seldom opened. Scant evidence, you may say, of lives as vivid and as important to the bearers as our own are today to us. But by putting these scraps together, sometimes, with luck, something more coherent is achieved. Pieces of lost lives are genuinely recovered. Here and there a few individual figures detach themselves from the dark and silence to which time has consigned them. They walk slowly towards us. Eventually, we may even see their faces." **

I went back to Bedford County Record Office yesterday to read the minute books from the Luton Poor Law Union. Huge registers where the Clerk recorded the day to day happenings at the workhouse and the maintenance of poor families in the area. The references to my family members indeed are fleeting, but I got a glimpse into some of my ancestors lives, sadly because it's the workhouse records, at some of the most distressing times in their lives.

Annie Maria Ward (my 2x great grandmother) admitted herself to the workhouse on the 28th of May 1917. She was 73 and for the aged and destitute the workhouse often served as a last stop. It says she was a Wesleyan, a former washerwoman, and the widow of James Ward, a well sinker. Annie lived four years in the workhouse and died on 15 May 1921 at 06.30. I've been told that hearts often fail in the morning when heart rates are low, and when I checked her death certificate it gave cause of death as cardiac disease. What a long, hard life she must have lived.

My 4x great grandfather John Woodcroft was born in the picturesque village of Whipsnade, but we found him as an adult living in nearby Kensworth. The Minutes record an examination - an inquiry into which parish should foor the bill for his poor relief - of John in 1855 and note he was legally settled in Whipsnade but had been living in Kensworth since Christmas last. What necessitated the uprooting of his family in the dead of winter? It notes that he had become chargeable - on the dole - because of his wife's sickness. I smiled to myself - poor John always had a sick wife. He worked his way through four in just 30 years. They just kept dying on him. Much sorrow for one person to endure.

My many times great uncle Thomas Osborn applied to the Board of the Luton Poor Law Union for the sum of 4 pounds 10 shillings to emigrate with his wife and seven children to Australia. I sympathise with his desire to start a new life half way across the world, and I admire his gumption for asking for the cash to do it.

The last story I followed in the records was that of my 3x great grandmother Mary Ann Rayner. We saw on the 1881 census that she was blind in later life, but I learned this was a condition she had all her life. Her eyes were examined at the behest of the Board in April 1853 to "determine if the girl's sight might be improved by undergoing an operation." Two weeks later they wrote to a London eye hospital inquiring if she could be admitted - in a moment of foresight they kindly noted the full name and address of the hospital in the Minutes. At this point I was getting anxious... would they make the investment and send her after all? On 13th of May her District Officer was instructed to take Mary Ann to the Central London Opthalmic Hospital. I was hopeful, but sadly the last entry two weeks late noted that the hospital had written reporting that "nothing could be done for Mary Ann Rayner and requesting that she might be removed." The trip to London was a dead end for Mary Ann, but it gave me a new avenue of inquiry. I shall contact the hospital (still treating eyes to this day) to see if their records survive. There may yet be more fragments of Mary Ann's story to piece together.

**from The House By The Thames by Gillian Tindall

Griff Rhys Jones is my hero. Along with William Tyndale, Ralph Nader, and whoever thought of putting peanut butter in M&Ms.

Jerusalem

The flight over was a laugh. I was in a middle seat with my new pals Ofer and Andrew on either side. Ofer headed off home to Beesheba but I rode on to Jerusalem with Andrew and friends who were on their way to a conference for the week. They were staying in the new town so we grabbed dinner and then I made my way down to my digs in the Old City. First view of the city walls at Jaffa Gate was pretty impressive.

In fact the best way to see Jerusalem is from the walls - you can walk the entire length except along the Temple Mount - and I’m surprised there weren’t more people, I had them practically to myself. First morning I walked along the southern walls, with views of the Armenian and Jewish Quarters, and Mount Zion.

You know how much I love cemeteries (professional hazard). And cypress trees.

In the afternoon I walked along the Via Dolorosa to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I’ve been in a lot of magnificent churches but this one is something else. It looks so unassuming from the outside, squeezed into that little square, but once you’re through the door it’s a strange world.

Morning two I went to the Temple Mount. How strange to stand in a place you’ve heard so much about, that’s the source of so much controversy and conflict, and experience a calm and quiet morning. Dare I say it, but my impression was of how peaceful it was.

You can never have too many artistic shots of palm trees.

Well it’s the best I can do for artistic!

And so after a day and a half I’d seen pretty much everything, got lonely and fed up, changed my flight and buzzed off home early. Traveling on your own is pretty rubbish really. Jonathan needs to come from Atlanta - I miss my favourite little (sorry, medium-sized) traveling companion.

2 days in

Still miss Lucy and co here in England, but no use moping. I've been getting on with some research. Yesterday made my first visit to the UK National Archives. Got my red reader's ticket and ordered up some documents. One volume was a giant crumbling register book for soldiers mustered into (right phrase?) the British army in the 1860s for the India campaigns. They gave me quite gloves to wear, I felt like a proper researcher. And I'm pretty sure I was the second youngest person there.

Today I went to the Bedfordshire archives looking for something that might tell me about my 3x gt grandmother Kitty Osborn, mother of seven fatherless children. Quite an accomplishment for the 1840s. I only made it through a fraction of what's available. I need another day for sure. I'm on the hunt and it's really exciting!

Tomorrow is a leisure day and then on Sunday I'm off to Israel for four days. I've been studying up: guide books, maps, Matthew, Mark and John.

It feels awfully strange being in England and Lucy and the kids aren't here. I miss them terribly.

I discovered I make a pretty lousy New York tour guide. Perhaps I fail to appreciate some of the things that a city like New York has to offer, but really the reason I came here is the people, not the place itself. And I met someone terrific this week, ironically not an American, but a Brit. Would probably never have got to know him in England, we both had to be thousands of miles from home. It's funny how that works.

I suppose being here has really made me appreciate home even more. I'm leaving for England on Tuesday and I'm so excited just to be there. I don't care if the plumbing is a bit naff and the train to London costs $51. Alright I do care, but it'll be worth it. I'm excited to do some family history research with my Mum. That's another thing I have to thank New York for. Despite growing up with Mum's great interest in our family background, it never really clicked for me until I got here. Now I'm dying to spend some time with her going over censuses and old parish records and just sharing our passion for it all.

I have a long list of things to research while I'm there, so family if you're reading this - and you should be! - watch this space for news. And of course pictures from Jerusalem. None of border checkpoints (yeah, hadn't thought about those) as I don't fancy getting shot, but tons of everything else.

Some recent pictures of Andrew

With my auntie

Growing teeth

Looking less like a baby and more like a little boy every day

Tearing around on my dump truck

With my big brother Jonathan

What flavour crisps am I craving today?

Sainsbury's flower shaped prawn cocktail