I was reading an article in the July ’11 issue of Who Do You Think You Are magazine (which I, for some reason begrudgingly, find extremely informative every time I buy it).  It was an article on the year 1857 from the British point of view.  In it was an 1857 painting by Henry Nelson O’Neil called “Eastward Ho!” depicting British soldiers boarding a ship en route to fight is known as the Indian Mutiny.  Looking at it I saw it bore a strong resemblence to a painting I studied (back in 1988) by a woman artist, Emily Mary Osborne, called “Nameless and Friendless” (1857).  So I brought these two works up on my computer screen, and I realized I had a family ambrotype photograph that looked like it fit in nicely with these two works.  I lined them up on my computer screen and here is the result:

Hannah, the centre photo, fits in nicely with the paintings, don’t you think?  We have her ambrotype dated to 1859.  Talk about consistencies in fashion and hair-dos.  I think this is the late 1850s in a nutshell.  A very satisfying connection all-in-all.

The second scan is the listing in the local newspaper of P.H. Painter’s death in WWI, under “Canadian Casualties”.  As I scrolled through the microfilm to find this I was amazed at the columns and columns, sometimes even pages, of names listed under “Canadian Casualties”.  And some of the biggest lists came AFTER peace was declared.  Even Perl Hervey’s was published December 1, 1918.  He had been listed Missing assumed killed in the beginning of October according to his military file.  It makes me wonder when the families received news of their sons’ deaths…did they celebrate the end of war, thinking their children were safe, only to receive a dreaded telegram some months later?  It really defies comprehension.

PH Painter

Back to Perl (or Pearl) Hervey.  I don’t know the story behind his first name, as it does not appear to be a family name.  But as many in the family did, he was known to everyone by his second or middle name (this may be a Germanic tradition)–Hervey or Herv.  He was an older brother of Nettie, and was also born in Missouri, in 1896.  Family lore has it he was the prankster of the family and was known for pranks such as putting sneezing power in the church organ and itching power in folks pants.  I believe his loss was particularly hard on his elder brother Corley, who was also fought in WWI.

Unrelated to my genealogy, but an interesting tidbit I came across is the article below (sorry for the illegibility…gotta love old microfilm).  Much has been written about how Canada came into it’s own during WWI.  I think this August 2, 1918 article headline rather indicates that is indeed the case.  It’s also interesting to note that O Canada did not become our national anthem until 1980, some 72 years after this article.

There is a curious grave near my Thompson ancestors’ grave in Reading, Berkshire, England.  It bears only the name Elizabeth Gill.  Is it coincidence that she bears the same surname of one of the Thompson wives?

That’s what started my little search this evening.  A quick glancing search through various online digitized records and there was a link between an Elizabeth Gill and a Robert Thompson.  Aha!  I have a (well, many actually) Robert Thompson!

So, I followed his life online.  How strange it is to follow a person’s life in 10 year increments (census to census), to boil their entire life down to a few pages of census printouts, and a couple of freebmd.org.uk  entries.

It turns out this is not the Robert Thompson associated with Elizabeth Gill.  He is, however, my second great granduncle and it was about time I got to know him better.

He, like his siblings, was born in Devizes, Wiltshire in the 1830s.  In the 1850s he’s away at school with his brother, and by the 1860s he has moved, with the rest of the family (parents, siblings, etc) to Reading, Berkshire.  Like many of the siblings he followed in his father’s shopkeeping/selling footsteps.  He is listed in the subsequent census as a Pork Buther, Pork Curer, and Shopkeeper.

In his 30s he married a young woman named Rose.  She was from an adjacent county.

Through the years the couple had several nieces and nephews stay with them, including one, a Mabel Skinner (I haven’t fit her into the tree yet), who was with them at age 6, and remained until at least age 16.  It seems they never had any children of their own, and Rose confirms this in the 1911 census when she writes “none” in the column requesting the number of children born alive.  She’s a widow at that time.

Robert died in 1906, in Reading.  Rose lived until 1927 when she too passed away in Reading.  They both serve as yet further examples of the importance of following the dead-end branches of the family tree.  This couple has much more to tell more, and hopefully I’ll find out much more as I continue my research.

Just now I pulled the negatives out, as I can now scan them.  But in with the negatives was a card, a Train Berthing Card, from 1946.  And beside it was a well-worn, folded newspaper clipping.  On the back it bears the date Saturday, Jan. 26, 1946, the Halifax Mail.  This was my biological grandfather coming home after WWII!  The title, “The Long Voyage Is Over” may have particularly reflected his own feelings as we know from his letters that he was rather seasick on the way over a few years earlier (not to mention finally being home, of course).

On the back is part of an article “Dockyard Men Ask 40 Hour Week” which is rather interesting as well:

“…Lashing out determinedly against critics of the plan who aver that industry must revert to peacetime levels of wages or close down industries, Mr. MacIntosh pointed out that the struggle to give workers “a little more time for leisure, for recreation, for study, for rest…without the necessity of the night and day toil that has meant so much drudgery in the past.” will not be won without opposition from big business magnates…”

It rather speaks to the adjustments that had to be made when the mean came home after the wars.  Interesting tidbit, I thought.

One of the courses I’m taking right now is Canadian Migration Patterns.  It covers both immigration to Canada, and migration across Canada.  It is one of the most well-written courses I have taken, and I am enjoying it thoroughly.

A re-tweet by Meagan Smolenyak today led me to this news story on an Irish website.  This little newstory taught me a couple of things.  First, the Irish are emigrating in numbers apparently, and a fair percentage of them are coming to Canada.  Second, I learned that Canada currently allows 250,000 immigrants a year, designated between different home-countries.  I am sad to admit that I knew very little of our current immigration policies until these  last few weeks.  Yet such policies impacted our ancestors so greatly.

I got to know (fellow genealogists, you know what I mean) several Deacons in those two days.  I watched as they were born, grew up, married, had their own families, and finally died.  They became my family.  I admired as one family, starting in Tintagel, Cornwall, went to Beesands, Devonshire and then onto Newton Abbot, St. Austell, Heavitree and Paddington.  The family dispersed and moved from slate quarrying to fishing to being In Service.

This reminded me how easy is can be to do this research at times, in fact many times.  It also contrasted with the research on my great-grandmother/brick wall.  Sometimes it is goood to be reminded of the other world, where folks registered and were registered where and when you’d expect them to be, and just how difficult your own research has become.  And while my research in those two days has not seemed to have shed light on my brick wall, it has rekindled hope nonetheless.

I love the lights and decorations that decorate the neighbourhood this time of year.  And of course, my own yard is amongst them.

Growing up, dad would always put the light strands on the outside of the house and in the trees.  As the years passed, he would add more lights, so then there were strings of lights going down the side of our very steep and long driveway.   There weren’t any of the many types of decorations that are available today.  I, for instance, have one of those fan-blown decorations–a carousel with Santa, a penguin and snowmen riding reindeer going round and round.

The biggest excitement as far as the outdoor scene went  really was the house that had a huge plywood star outlined in lights.  Having said that, there was a cul-de-sac street in my hometown where 5 or so houses all really went all out.  They had created a whole show, with teddy bears going up and down on a teeter-totter (see-saw), other stuffed animals riding a ferris wheel round and round, and seasonal music playing from a loudspeaker.

I watch in awe the videos of those who really go all-out  (try, for instance, the Lindsay household).  If it were not just me to do all the work, I rather think I’d like to try doing it up like these places.  What a great creative outlet, and a gift to those passing by.

Of course, part of it is enjoying the outdoor decorations of other houses as well.  We’re lucky to have a population here from India who put their lights up at Diwali (a light festival), generally around Hallowe’en, so the show is fairly continuous from then right through to the new year.

Don’t you wish, though, that we started calling these lights by their English name, “Fairy Lights“.  It sounds so much more magical than our simple descriptor!

Christmas 1978

Growing up, we always had a “real” christmas tree.  We would either go out and cut one (and by “we” I mean dad with me and my sister doing the choosing) from under the power lines, or buy one from the Boy Scouts at the local Garden Centre.  These were fundraisers for the Boy Scouts, and for around $10 you got a nice big tree.  This was before cultured and shaped trees became all the rage.  Our christmas trees were tall, wide and with lots of spaces between the branches, providing ample use for garland, and the ability to see right into the tree.  Lying under the tree, with my glasses off to give the lights a softness  (okay, a downright bluriness), was magical.

Having grown up further north where pine trees were plentiful, they were dad’s preference.  While they gave off a wonderful scent, they were prickly to decorate, not to mention hard to find further south where we were.  So more often than not we ended up with mom’s preferred tree, the fir.

The tree was almost universally wet so it required a day or two on the covered front porch to dry off.  Then a big bucket of dirt was put down, the tree trunk pushed into it, and appropriate strings pinned from the tree top to the walls to keep it upright.  Old giftwrap paper was placed underneath to create a skirt

Christmas tree 1988

Thanks to Geneabloggers for this theme!

How different would my family history be if my grandfather had not fought 4 years overseas in World War One, or his brother, my great-uncle, had died there.  And what of my biological grandfather who died as a result of World War Two?  Who would we be, who would our families be?

The argument seems to be that we would not be enjoying the lifestyle we enjoy now if these sacrifices had not been made.  Perhaps we’d all be speaking German instead of English, perhaps the conditions would be more like those of the dirty 30s, maybe there would have been many more wars.

I do not understand this need for violence, this desire some people have to arm themselves and hurt others in order to further their own cause.  So perhaps that is in itself the answer–I can live in confusion because others have made the sacrifice.  But let’s not glorify it.  Let’s not encourage other sacrifices, let’s encourage peaceful mediations, other ways to end disputes, and perhaps most importantly, understanding and tolerance amongst all people.

Today I hope for peace.  I think that’s what my grandfather’s fought for.