tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88363578490772001632024-03-13T13:33:22.818-04:00Genealogy Tours of ScotlandChristine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.comBlogger1423125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-601741082563730932023-11-12T19:18:00.000-05:002023-11-12T19:18:04.382-05:00Family Stories Month - Memory Keeping<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzyloeWSUIDx7qRwfq3Xwm1IML-FtyU1iEQq7Pzu1YZilckgGUPJMHxtJa22XNJmUpUWMeh9TZ5Nw_zqwfTVd97LON9TrFjr2nLTpdXHDGR-2bfscDKCYlH_jcxKlTxJe2h7IG4SqGFj8OFABZgDOrXweMmtDZphIgDjO8bFd_6WUFM3noKIgkZaO0HWE/s4032/photos.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzyloeWSUIDx7qRwfq3Xwm1IML-FtyU1iEQq7Pzu1YZilckgGUPJMHxtJa22XNJmUpUWMeh9TZ5Nw_zqwfTVd97LON9TrFjr2nLTpdXHDGR-2bfscDKCYlH_jcxKlTxJe2h7IG4SqGFj8OFABZgDOrXweMmtDZphIgDjO8bFd_6WUFM3noKIgkZaO0HWE/s320/photos.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I am so
fortunate to belong to a family that believes in capturing memories. My dad had
a old Brownie camera and then went state of the art when he was gifted a Polaroid
Land Camera for Christmas one year. My uncle was the “videographer” although we
didn’t call it that back then. He simply took the home movies. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE67RjBcur0E2A6twmLf5UlYKn3HLmmiUrZG_TrdHH1_gauTf0-Zo2oT7xLZoQF0KfzbaPbD0fleUDEUvPfScmMwGGIucnenHy6spGrb0AxXEmAxYlqVrLH_3OnTyNT4c_Zq_HjYUGfVV4u2Ya8YoHtqNByoAUP1cLzxfk7ffVrZ8NCx7V6gkTLc0BD1A3/s4032/IMG_2131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE67RjBcur0E2A6twmLf5UlYKn3HLmmiUrZG_TrdHH1_gauTf0-Zo2oT7xLZoQF0KfzbaPbD0fleUDEUvPfScmMwGGIucnenHy6spGrb0AxXEmAxYlqVrLH_3OnTyNT4c_Zq_HjYUGfVV4u2Ya8YoHtqNByoAUP1cLzxfk7ffVrZ8NCx7V6gkTLc0BD1A3/s320/IMG_2131.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My cousin
and I were avid photographers. Not in any sort of professional sense. But when
it came to capturing glimpses of family gatherings, special events or
vacations, we could certainly be counted on to be the ones behind the camera.
So could one of my aunts. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-aGY0fF9_Ll7sAFKOid_xkzBtRMkeAfRq63EJxRGBR2jemOKbN9cm5cHPqHLv5YHXEFVPamIwFomzJ7G45uwxDlTyncrTW1eyIWgyogMhZrPWae014kNzQMqhIIWM9m41cOxpKZunBlCHAv-nlfLZlI0esEGG_2AUOoUMdvHAblhBwVcdGPFQTXzyRed7/s4032/albums.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-aGY0fF9_Ll7sAFKOid_xkzBtRMkeAfRq63EJxRGBR2jemOKbN9cm5cHPqHLv5YHXEFVPamIwFomzJ7G45uwxDlTyncrTW1eyIWgyogMhZrPWae014kNzQMqhIIWM9m41cOxpKZunBlCHAv-nlfLZlI0esEGG_2AUOoUMdvHAblhBwVcdGPFQTXzyRed7/s320/albums.jpeg" width="320" /></span></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My cousin
and I kept our photos in photo albums. I always wrote a bit about the photos so
that anyone who was looking through the albums could tell what was happening then
the photos were taken. We didn’t always document who was in the photos, but
fortunately, between us, we have been able to identify almost everyone.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-cBkd2fijsqrx7PLGsGCwIWNZWlybxVUUlWlJqFZ-sWWpHKDs8zlfUg88-IP4gFYkdLKSboZGKNpYN3W3xyBSn9733Hr4qCr3Vh_exp50MwM6YqShJUTXbPI7tGPZsPGPTnwIUMdPixpwiq-SkvX1aKMZH02C9dXJ9f-AtTwZOPNNfNGCgMXF69jfHWDK/s1200/photo%20album%20page.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="921" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-cBkd2fijsqrx7PLGsGCwIWNZWlybxVUUlWlJqFZ-sWWpHKDs8zlfUg88-IP4gFYkdLKSboZGKNpYN3W3xyBSn9733Hr4qCr3Vh_exp50MwM6YqShJUTXbPI7tGPZsPGPTnwIUMdPixpwiq-SkvX1aKMZH02C9dXJ9f-AtTwZOPNNfNGCgMXF69jfHWDK/s320/photo%20album%20page.jpeg" width="246" /></span></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I had
shelves and shelves of albums. So did my cousin. Most of my photos have since
been scanned. My cousin still has her albums, but has allowed me to scan hundreds
of photos to share with other family members. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">When my
children were young, I turned to traditional scrapbooking. I had dozens of
large, heavy albums detailing our vacations. And I have dozens of traditional photo
albums of our daughter. My husband bought me a digital camera for Christmas the
year our son was born. Few of those photos made it to albums, but are safely
tucked in digital albums and stored in the cloud. I am in the process of
creating photobooks using those photos. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj83TeV8h45dJtRYCMAhfmKMtxdU9pc4wavHrOKqk1tnt1aB5KanGaYWrBb7SdS1fgc2MwsLDBgH0ymSbehjrUv0mtbDDc-QEt1N2paMM8tb39kSOpuPGd3x3dUPp0Oe4YL5Aua3QkZiAQTCSFp1zJBET6p2bvG1T9qx0h5FXzDgUZqwCaDESQzDve8eKgq/s1200/traditional%20page.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="921" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj83TeV8h45dJtRYCMAhfmKMtxdU9pc4wavHrOKqk1tnt1aB5KanGaYWrBb7SdS1fgc2MwsLDBgH0ymSbehjrUv0mtbDDc-QEt1N2paMM8tb39kSOpuPGd3x3dUPp0Oe4YL5Aua3QkZiAQTCSFp1zJBET6p2bvG1T9qx0h5FXzDgUZqwCaDESQzDve8eKgq/s320/traditional%20page.jpeg" width="246" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My husband
inherited his dad’s video camera when our daughter was young so we also have at
least a dozen videos of our kids. While those are also safely stored, they need
to be edited so that they are easier to watch and the kids aren’t sitting
through feature length films in order to enjoy the memories of their childhoods.</span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">About 8
years ago, I moved from the traditional scrapbook to digital photobooks and
have actually started having my traditional scrapbook pages digitized so that
they can be recreated as photo books. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD7SD8hzM7bmzlT1Aed-OP_mj3L4Gk4uzb64-EaBOPGcwAPr8tQQ_Xv_diev1q0pg-vomV7lZu3Ztf-XPhcbOdIQrVXZThxRjekybqvsOsIPO_o0tV12l0fIMcGVoNSiyXYIN8Tid3Zeboebwb9ih10mCC11VzbIb1yi_4NIWfSm2AutwM2iYjr4lle5tc/s1200/photo%20book%20page.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD7SD8hzM7bmzlT1Aed-OP_mj3L4Gk4uzb64-EaBOPGcwAPr8tQQ_Xv_diev1q0pg-vomV7lZu3Ztf-XPhcbOdIQrVXZThxRjekybqvsOsIPO_o0tV12l0fIMcGVoNSiyXYIN8Tid3Zeboebwb9ih10mCC11VzbIb1yi_4NIWfSm2AutwM2iYjr4lle5tc/s320/photo%20book%20page.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />As the family
historian I have been blessed to be charged with being the family’s memory
keeper. I work to preserve the memories and making them available to future generations
so that they may know our stories and perhaps incorporate some of our values
and traditions into their lives.</span><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-83723028286578378572023-11-11T18:25:00.002-05:002023-11-11T18:25:19.063-05:00Family Stories Month - Cousins <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My cousins
have always been a big part of my life. I was an only child for the first 10
years of my life, but my cousins up the street substituted for siblings since
we were together almost every day. My older cousin was our babysitter on bowling
nights. We would put on puppet shows for her.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmaqQppNCzRdlPKHI_2vrJ5K1zRYI_fksiYrka1CAlbiSUY3NHQ-opwO_rfpUqhXb2LK2Jsyo3U50i1GmZRPfwFDLSYKX84s-XRGZVYuWSIw2xlXkiBxyMhqMILleoy_KTRPqTtsiRZSvTZ53DOSNYHeCwSiupsz3epW1lo7UE_JbAqrnVykk3RJ6I0FDa/s2034/SCAN4723.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1717" data-original-width="2034" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmaqQppNCzRdlPKHI_2vrJ5K1zRYI_fksiYrka1CAlbiSUY3NHQ-opwO_rfpUqhXb2LK2Jsyo3U50i1GmZRPfwFDLSYKX84s-XRGZVYuWSIw2xlXkiBxyMhqMILleoy_KTRPqTtsiRZSvTZ53DOSNYHeCwSiupsz3epW1lo7UE_JbAqrnVykk3RJ6I0FDa/s320/SCAN4723.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I might not
have seen my cousins who lived twenty minutes away as often, but I certainly
saw them two or three times a week, so we were also very much a part of each
other’s lives. I remember as each new cousin arrived, how excited we all were.
How much love there was for the new baby. Everyone eager to hold, snuggle, kiss
the new little clan member.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJSV8bWUstN2EOMlHuCNr9FMWmFsi5iBuCkAwpu4JFvWaC4AaPdxo_TCX9f9s1LY0gCKvVlv9ExU8Juq6Adk80hYJMuHZq1DzpC_1HvtbytObFiMqMwRrW6h7KitMHGScRRb2Nn9SiaWMxnLWzlIsju4lbDYalJg1w8y9ExKJA7dhQj75XcpXef0NEOcP/s1774/christine%20holding%20ian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1774" data-original-width="1757" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHJSV8bWUstN2EOMlHuCNr9FMWmFsi5iBuCkAwpu4JFvWaC4AaPdxo_TCX9f9s1LY0gCKvVlv9ExU8Juq6Adk80hYJMuHZq1DzpC_1HvtbytObFiMqMwRrW6h7KitMHGScRRb2Nn9SiaWMxnLWzlIsju4lbDYalJg1w8y9ExKJA7dhQj75XcpXef0NEOcP/s320/christine%20holding%20ian.jpg" width="317" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheU4uGYjkc2DWf9mo3A3B_b5BvqhB3Ko3vQ6ABfD3Q-PdJlZw6kGkwUnAn4QFNUWHrrlTX4HutSdep_oYxcebuRZ4ZMLnRRv_hRXoZd5s-nYDvjWhPa5FFX1LxGOTc49RbKfmipFw3GBjHCOCY9waR3GXufPxzKQA3nnpljdS-nPTAzKqdEZkaW64vFFhY/s2843/SCAN4348.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2021" data-original-width="2843" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheU4uGYjkc2DWf9mo3A3B_b5BvqhB3Ko3vQ6ABfD3Q-PdJlZw6kGkwUnAn4QFNUWHrrlTX4HutSdep_oYxcebuRZ4ZMLnRRv_hRXoZd5s-nYDvjWhPa5FFX1LxGOTc49RbKfmipFw3GBjHCOCY9waR3GXufPxzKQA3nnpljdS-nPTAzKqdEZkaW64vFFhY/s320/SCAN4348.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5wETZowvOCMboO8WaXdtesrMP9hEwNymr3JuW89_tMJoCbQILh5Qk6WiP2OorsbJucrC_Mo7C_TGCs9TGeRZZUNL8038EXZ97W9jVYHkr9dSw791pjqrlJI-xB1tP8LvVbqZpSnR0pCwEfDt7qsf_GTam8AIERkqgoKoOQggnCLQP6GczGNGAp8g1Xv8/s2515/SCAN4725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2005" data-original-width="2515" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh5wETZowvOCMboO8WaXdtesrMP9hEwNymr3JuW89_tMJoCbQILh5Qk6WiP2OorsbJucrC_Mo7C_TGCs9TGeRZZUNL8038EXZ97W9jVYHkr9dSw791pjqrlJI-xB1tP8LvVbqZpSnR0pCwEfDt7qsf_GTam8AIERkqgoKoOQggnCLQP6GczGNGAp8g1Xv8/s320/SCAN4725.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We gathered
for birthdays, Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years Day. We went
places together – <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ontario Place,
Wonderland, the Science Centre, Niagara Falls, vacations. I was the eldest and once
I had my driver’s license, I would gather the cousins and away we would go. No parents.
Just us. Thinking back on it, it was an incredible responsibility but at the
time it was just a day to have fun together.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My mum and
her sisters had two cousins who lived within an hour’s drive. My aunt up the
street spent a great deal of time with one of those cousins and we spent a
great deal of time with the other. Those adult cousins were “aunt” and “uncle”
to us and their children were our cousins. Deep connections </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">were formed
as we spent weekends together. We have a shared history and shared memories.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I am also incredibly
grateful for technology that allows me to be connected to my cousins up north
(Northern Ontario) and my cousins across the pond. We can share photos, videos
and keep each other updated on our families and lives.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6f922xLX7hSqOgAe0lTYGR3IvkeLdGKJQV0Bfk1qHakAUGyDZ19v7PKF027cY2xoQS4xYG70tHC5kEMavWyyB2v0AO-DcWAf4JQLqv3MSOb3YhyphenhyphenrYEJAg-wGujARDRabhaRXJbo4rVWdB6PyI7JlwffVHPIVR0mmCrvGW1JduT0PTnCIaqLR2J-PzQhYK/s960/75B6483E-4B4A-41E7-B69E-600F9B17CD2E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="960" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6f922xLX7hSqOgAe0lTYGR3IvkeLdGKJQV0Bfk1qHakAUGyDZ19v7PKF027cY2xoQS4xYG70tHC5kEMavWyyB2v0AO-DcWAf4JQLqv3MSOb3YhyphenhyphenrYEJAg-wGujARDRabhaRXJbo4rVWdB6PyI7JlwffVHPIVR0mmCrvGW1JduT0PTnCIaqLR2J-PzQhYK/s320/75B6483E-4B4A-41E7-B69E-600F9B17CD2E.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Cousins are
peers, friends, comrades, confidants. I cherish each and every one of mine. And
to those who have been with me from the start, I share this quote <b><i>"God
made us cousins because He knew our mothers could not handle us as
siblings."</i></b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-82727001188146168382023-11-10T07:44:00.002-05:002023-11-10T07:44:35.268-05:00Family Stories Month - Family Visitors<p> <span style="font-family: verdana;">“We’re
having company” This statement was usually issued at a family dinner – either one
of the birthdays in March or April, or perhaps at Easter. It was the first indication
every year that an aunt or uncle was coming to visit during the summer and this
may or may not include their children as well. With my mum and her sisters
being part of a very large sibling group (20 living children), we generally had
family come for a holiday every year. Sometimes more than one sibling would
come at a time or they would sort of book end one another.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5SiFBTG9US-_PVwuXmpUOMYa_VhjKaUFa3jT1VXd3cEh9k0moUBQgIsPizqgcoh5UX6XrAVrn_Zk0yEYHybSZPYjDHyRdPAMfYgxB3q8Srri5W5kt6ys3uy8GphmMX4Un2CZcBT1NLHQvffmiOSen_IHOrfPTocQS13OjhBVTvugSkbzUYzDkYNbRBzGt/s1205/Sisters%20Ann,%20Flo,%20Linda%20&amp;%20Dot%20July%201991.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="811" data-original-width="1205" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5SiFBTG9US-_PVwuXmpUOMYa_VhjKaUFa3jT1VXd3cEh9k0moUBQgIsPizqgcoh5UX6XrAVrn_Zk0yEYHybSZPYjDHyRdPAMfYgxB3q8Srri5W5kt6ys3uy8GphmMX4Un2CZcBT1NLHQvffmiOSen_IHOrfPTocQS13OjhBVTvugSkbzUYzDkYNbRBzGt/s320/Sisters%20Ann,%20Flo,%20Linda%20&amp;%20Dot%20July%201991.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijnv8udaLEAwSB9qPvyCXg5HKsfUUHXRpbD-ksZnXlHmAxRnKRt76e_5xiBnV9-thKGeAuntV-Y1Z3MUP_14YpUZGLJUolSnUNOEbqQGOv-pngC5pZFu2aQQox9ov5SGfnGMALvWwVvCD3v5LzNnTQtKiseN2_vjfxkINMphFBIpCoGoRCaLUzn8j2QT9/s671/siblings.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="671" data-original-width="639" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijnv8udaLEAwSB9qPvyCXg5HKsfUUHXRpbD-ksZnXlHmAxRnKRt76e_5xiBnV9-thKGeAuntV-Y1Z3MUP_14YpUZGLJUolSnUNOEbqQGOv-pngC5pZFu2aQQox9ov5SGfnGMALvWwVvCD3v5LzNnTQtKiseN2_vjfxkINMphFBIpCoGoRCaLUzn8j2QT9/s320/siblings.jpeg" width="305" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">This meant
lots of time spent together. Welcome gatherings, dinners, lunches, tea, drop
ins. It was fairly standard. My aunt up the street was usually where any
company that came stayed while they were in Canada. Her door and our door were always
open and often revolving with people in and out to spend time with whoever was
over. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1nkcEl2kfSHemjb9YWwfwh5taVel2Xpt_SLWf0do9tmThSbviOhlzxoEMvfJxZgsissQ3yNoj_4xjcYjjSDXHJ7BELF0EAQgzcb6ZuHrQ-WN7R6gUIgUSznMoR2m3E0fmHJNX4NgNLfTIaRfQdEtphIIaPGjFXmUZ0lsVRwhsqLBCJmykpF1ovJHAOF6z/s1040/kevin%20may%20colin%20jenni%20granny%20andy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="745" data-original-width="1040" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1nkcEl2kfSHemjb9YWwfwh5taVel2Xpt_SLWf0do9tmThSbviOhlzxoEMvfJxZgsissQ3yNoj_4xjcYjjSDXHJ7BELF0EAQgzcb6ZuHrQ-WN7R6gUIgUSznMoR2m3E0fmHJNX4NgNLfTIaRfQdEtphIIaPGjFXmUZ0lsVRwhsqLBCJmykpF1ovJHAOF6z/s320/kevin%20may%20colin%20jenni%20granny%20andy.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And the
sightseeing day trips were also fairly standard – Niagara Falls, Dundurn Castle,
Wonderland, St Jacobs or the Bell Homestead. But most days were just time spent
together to enjoy each other, get caught up, reminisce and have a few laughs. It
was at these get-togethers that we heard the family stories. Again and again
and again. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-15297343063333840842023-11-09T06:42:00.000-05:002023-11-09T06:42:56.233-05:00Family Stories Month - Service<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was raised to understand “there but for the Grace of God,
go I” And I have witnessed the truth in that more times than I care to count. Life
can literally change in the blink of an eye. We are all one race – the human
race – and we need to be our brother’s keeper to the best of our ability. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My mum was very spiritual. She lived her Christian beliefs
quietly and without need for accolades or fanfare. She never preached and often
gave devout evangelicals a run for their money when they started spouting off.
My dad was raised in a church going family. His mother was a Sunday School
teacher. We went to church when I was younger. However, my dad had zero
tolerance for people who are deeply religious but not terribly Christian and so
he quickly decided that church was not or him.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I attended a number of churches in my youth. Baptist,
Anglican, Catholic, Presbyterian, Lutheran and even the Synagogue. For me, it’s
not so much about organized religious groups, although I do appreciate that they
provide a deep sense of community. For me, it is about serving others when we
are called to do so or supporting others when life is proving difficult for
them to navigate. Fortunately, my career allowed me to do just that in many different
ways.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A friend and I were fortunate enough to experience a brief mission
in Jamaica. I attended twice, she attended several times. We were with a
medical mission team and worked as support to the medical staff. We had the joy
of being stationed at a hospital in Montego Bay and spent time with new mothers
as well as on the pediatric ward. We went with the traveling teams out to the
clinics in the outlying villages in the hills. And we loved it. It was an
incredibly humbling experience. But the opportunity to chat with and support the
locals was unrivalled.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQu6hpGey0hvUv5jvc3cx9pDJ2k9tTa6FoxJQPgyYstkXD4LlaZlj_pV2tMP7hzFJDEHQl6NyMwtpi7Qx3uuBwaU0E-x3Ncb4o8B1dR8xaGj75ZQapfspIE0ehk4elQ_nR7OxUu8f8sW5-mkDsgcmPSBRJzJwaE5YGujkJrkHjfUTNQ7cEbcRKHEV1Xfqh/s2048/66632240_2534484776617052_410258355605471232_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQu6hpGey0hvUv5jvc3cx9pDJ2k9tTa6FoxJQPgyYstkXD4LlaZlj_pV2tMP7hzFJDEHQl6NyMwtpi7Qx3uuBwaU0E-x3Ncb4o8B1dR8xaGj75ZQapfspIE0ehk4elQ_nR7OxUu8f8sW5-mkDsgcmPSBRJzJwaE5YGujkJrkHjfUTNQ7cEbcRKHEV1Xfqh/s320/66632240_2534484776617052_410258355605471232_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdT0pKXftVG1-Ft1729OYQHqZ2zhKqTvgcjkV0ubiC8ofp1AwA19FdPETEWsc4HxJT2s6qQ_tUtPYS_6Uzsd3gDnOMhATvYy-8UBQ_BEOEYxVgCUUXgKz7MVXieBQJT1zjYlAg-_wko0bwYsBIWGOQ61ZE6OGGMQm8nzFd-cza8_-w5VauMSGOXAOiam9q/s2048/66733865_2534484596617070_4682128812136202240_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdT0pKXftVG1-Ft1729OYQHqZ2zhKqTvgcjkV0ubiC8ofp1AwA19FdPETEWsc4HxJT2s6qQ_tUtPYS_6Uzsd3gDnOMhATvYy-8UBQ_BEOEYxVgCUUXgKz7MVXieBQJT1zjYlAg-_wko0bwYsBIWGOQ61ZE6OGGMQm8nzFd-cza8_-w5VauMSGOXAOiam9q/s320/66733865_2534484596617070_4682128812136202240_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1baj_Eh5_BUR1JZ9QSogtsm3bh9A6Hi7eW8rrco3Be-C8ZL1LX8Fk0Adh4q0tlkQEA4C-5S5jWlEBhjOS1gROfVJU0H48kXR3DTMxpeJUbgqYEa3wJCO6yR9QmzZqVv5DmqR1PYCN-iMfZRaTxfCX9amdsFQyuHXcHYHW2w1oUw_VSwy0FXCDfpyHnUqj/s2048/66779667_2534481993283997_2452749161527771136_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="3600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj7ipZr7OqVpequdEIfI71dTpphRN6VRbB-vlYwUWWUMtatKcSCD__wWmlo1CDdacpbG0qN2E-xfjLoPs15On4Jn7KJb_b1AWxQ7gpo3fs6njZWRv4zVyECdUsf9xVjP6W1Wvatft0UilSqeTTKC8m4luhRMoyq5tSTxx7V4xOBNhC_IIAKP-S_82I2DdD/s320/Christine%20at%20the%20clinic%20in%20Jamaica%201990.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Once I became a mother, I knew that I wanted my children to
also have the mission experience. And so we did. Twice we went on a family mission
in the hills of southeastern Kentucky and provided VBS for the local kids. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQfVRZGAF2RNuOEcv2eDrCF13dKN1G1qoORLkN80enLLgkPfpRVgo1dkiKqxrNmWQu4Wp_zastfwn8rlAjbBp-Rb484RygJiO0-0AcJybUhz7ple7oIFzFnZAOPPnN9SoDEHrO1Va2UZ1FT4Oz33nJLwnHgK9Ip2pT7BrigOBvVV1NPn8TkanRPyL5jAq/s2272/18l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1704" data-original-width="2272" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQfVRZGAF2RNuOEcv2eDrCF13dKN1G1qoORLkN80enLLgkPfpRVgo1dkiKqxrNmWQu4Wp_zastfwn8rlAjbBp-Rb484RygJiO0-0AcJybUhz7ple7oIFzFnZAOPPnN9SoDEHrO1Va2UZ1FT4Oz33nJLwnHgK9Ip2pT7BrigOBvVV1NPn8TkanRPyL5jAq/s320/18l.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqkGK7CNC7S1-ZG7q_x5PiEwY_riUoncrw_G-Bxt5cssWuV3LgIWHNFXEYI71aVGZ36fKzpLZTrsvmKiD4wi1W2_kdUOe3CGosUiIaWcMUthyAyJZ7U3Vxp4TCZ4gdJ2-ynuY73VfqZSWIrn0f9wqgCVOcDGFXjIpWbtAnrv6OYsClfjMi-SxwzhU2ZARS/s1600/19d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKJIZlG1xYd6_0UeMANzBM-n7iFyGhEYK_o6NILDq2iP6YFkYkbHDF2o4StHnp2ms4rcXj5eZkWgSxkRMNWUDujLZZrbLMyznz6CFXY1WXXSg1POHNuKDVxt_QUgguiRqUiUv3Xmo8eH4sH_xKGIFvM2TbIBgwyQd5fzra-9zOB-czBVCn2ONu0jq4HTa/s1600/21b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKJIZlG1xYd6_0UeMANzBM-n7iFyGhEYK_o6NILDq2iP6YFkYkbHDF2o4StHnp2ms4rcXj5eZkWgSxkRMNWUDujLZZrbLMyznz6CFXY1WXXSg1POHNuKDVxt_QUgguiRqUiUv3Xmo8eH4sH_xKGIFvM2TbIBgwyQd5fzra-9zOB-czBVCn2ONu0jq4HTa/s320/21b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3iU4HtEICIEhdx6Xdg6TpApdojDFBEzy6u1MVXU3i_rzPWy2ICoKgbSbzrM8AwZ_CwzD08EyN6XRNOrLjHv8JG0CvscxBFTW8h-XdQxBP7VRdoqpWnZSiOQToY3IDJEzjTmpOz4Z9flbXUlz87dl0S2_G-o3aTeYjU8PQTQHnNzb98BgnKpi9dp5JhkU/s3264/27j.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdBwFQJrRHfmRqDnydTNgtTq_TgER_Prr1-GMjEwgT3FT4JPx-gzbKKUg7FTs_69NkIqCi-naQZMxPlaZiuJZ-Nt-Od6jswfbqOQWl0PaxxhRSu94WS-TtfSHSVkTB_EreNVHfFZGkp3g4TJaltjMzIRjKgsuEFaqAikgCujJNwHDWtaHBFcdYfKKjx6K8/s1600/34j.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdBwFQJrRHfmRqDnydTNgtTq_TgER_Prr1-GMjEwgT3FT4JPx-gzbKKUg7FTs_69NkIqCi-naQZMxPlaZiuJZ-Nt-Od6jswfbqOQWl0PaxxhRSu94WS-TtfSHSVkTB_EreNVHfFZGkp3g4TJaltjMzIRjKgsuEFaqAikgCujJNwHDWtaHBFcdYfKKjx6K8/s320/34j.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnowjIJfGmmAihjjlbiTKMupRJepS-nSz8mendGNIvRQEhwSwdC7yogl2H74VoV2eJCiM8-801CtczbmgPrR0rI4KHtZWpc5hfe7x_y4eva-vpre234LuleiDs3sN3Mw-YRzAj9VlGyzdaMnitmPepaZ-9ZRNWNCDTiMrp6QuLnMWdoy2cWtZWeZMuIQ71/s1600/38b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnowjIJfGmmAihjjlbiTKMupRJepS-nSz8mendGNIvRQEhwSwdC7yogl2H74VoV2eJCiM8-801CtczbmgPrR0rI4KHtZWpc5hfe7x_y4eva-vpre234LuleiDs3sN3Mw-YRzAj9VlGyzdaMnitmPepaZ-9ZRNWNCDTiMrp6QuLnMWdoy2cWtZWeZMuIQ71/s320/38b.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p>My kids attended church and I taught Sunday School, but to
me, the best way to help teach them compassion and the importance of service
was by immersing them in the real world. At home, after our missions, we
started volunteering at a local clothing room. My son actually won an award
sponsored by the newspaper for his hours of volunteering at such a young age.
My daughter also volunteered at the clothing room then moved on to volunteer at
a teen parenting program.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The kids were able to understand on a real-life basis that
everyone is the same, it is merely our circumstances that are different, and
life is so tenuous that any one of us could end up in similar circumstances so
it was important to treat those who were struggling with the same dignity that
we would want to receive. I am so incredibly blessed that both kids turned out to
be caring, compassionate and helpful human beings who are also strong advocates
for those less fortunate than them. </span><o:p></o:p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-88357309711010447222023-11-08T16:14:00.004-05:002023-11-08T16:14:47.180-05:00Family Stories Month - Pets<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisdyQKpJ8HpC42xHR-6UZGdrDNzZJDm3Oo59ZlWICvTVXLYNea-nnq4ptlIf86XxFUHuPQxo_0miS9qLRPc6EMlmaTr32zQRQZFloo5PVsAowVq7jPEIr8gjbepx0hqyaLvGv3gyHh2MMdRGs1_LBoiT0n1I2AcuiNa6j2ltcyAt9Rm784ARJRkyn0H_vt/s2158/SCAN2761.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2158" data-original-width="1608" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisdyQKpJ8HpC42xHR-6UZGdrDNzZJDm3Oo59ZlWICvTVXLYNea-nnq4ptlIf86XxFUHuPQxo_0miS9qLRPc6EMlmaTr32zQRQZFloo5PVsAowVq7jPEIr8gjbepx0hqyaLvGv3gyHh2MMdRGs1_LBoiT0n1I2AcuiNa6j2ltcyAt9Rm784ARJRkyn0H_vt/s320/SCAN2761.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">One of the
joys in our family comes from our pets. Pets have always had a special place in
our family – both immediate and extended. When I was young, we had a black lab.
My dad named him. McTavish McGregor McDonald. Dad made the wire rope that he
attached to our clothesline for Tavish to have free reign in our yard without intruding
into the neighbours’ yards. Fences weren’t really a thing back then. One
morning, we discovered that Tavish had chewed his way through the drywall in
the basement. He was relegated to our really large laundry/utility room but
decided he should investigate the rec room. He got himself stuck in the duct
work. He and dad were never really friends after that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5OE8Xd6cXpF3c37YWV_3b_ewpQ04OnxjKA1rVTN8Ya4Etlvph2HARPAGdJDI_cha-djT5oe5OwwcgTSSRuAJy4VNK8kKLnola1ASTa5x3jrcu-uGbiJNm208F4mQV578BqnwFasYUqY4mYmagEWnTjbLsOHytzOBWgGWcA11_nXO2vTjtl3kUjgYwi8Mx/s2010/regal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2010" data-original-width="1941" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5OE8Xd6cXpF3c37YWV_3b_ewpQ04OnxjKA1rVTN8Ya4Etlvph2HARPAGdJDI_cha-djT5oe5OwwcgTSSRuAJy4VNK8kKLnola1ASTa5x3jrcu-uGbiJNm208F4mQV578BqnwFasYUqY4mYmagEWnTjbLsOHytzOBWgGWcA11_nXO2vTjtl3kUjgYwi8Mx/s320/regal.jpg" width="309" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">When I went
away to college in PEI, I bought a dog. Regal. Named after the Buick car that
was popular at the time. I used to take her to the ocean to run her. She had a
great big personality. Many small dogs do.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5BLro8fzfWanPl6LpF_She59gD93nhJM8uUwem82Ydaabg1gFTCy7_fzDudQOXrTTI02O8L9d0FRRMrXMc0dKRtqCvLcdpCE9jyWVMp4VDr7u-e_I74WLmPifn9_zgWv_nwjCR_-KQ4hI7AO4FLD8QKBy9UsVg7rOcRZRxxooJdO0ZzZGUMmwEGdvTGuv/s2916/SCAN4404.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2916" data-original-width="2339" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5BLro8fzfWanPl6LpF_She59gD93nhJM8uUwem82Ydaabg1gFTCy7_fzDudQOXrTTI02O8L9d0FRRMrXMc0dKRtqCvLcdpCE9jyWVMp4VDr7u-e_I74WLmPifn9_zgWv_nwjCR_-KQ4hI7AO4FLD8QKBy9UsVg7rOcRZRxxooJdO0ZzZGUMmwEGdvTGuv/s320/SCAN4404.jpg" width="257" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7zNM0ItmotB8keqVR-r5aEUFy7KciZR7jfLEYLHwK8l3JKT_21FMgZj3R4AW53TQiX-W497THLgHJHMF9nYp_Df-wXOzuW9Wtl44ks665qO4rljs_R0vLBlME33N5_26oIEuAmmfdMqMe7XiWju8v2xLiK1m0ZOO-FhvWaguOi_xPlgzum3jhJ7i07S_s/s2936/SCAN4405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="2936" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7zNM0ItmotB8keqVR-r5aEUFy7KciZR7jfLEYLHwK8l3JKT_21FMgZj3R4AW53TQiX-W497THLgHJHMF9nYp_Df-wXOzuW9Wtl44ks665qO4rljs_R0vLBlME33N5_26oIEuAmmfdMqMe7XiWju8v2xLiK1m0ZOO-FhvWaguOi_xPlgzum3jhJ7i07S_s/s320/SCAN4405.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then when I
moved to my own place back near my family home, I bought Libra. She was
amazing. We also bought a cat, Chisa. The two were best friends. My mum and dad
watched Libra when I worked shifts. She was almost as much their dog as she was
mine.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcxT_trG1ey-PuoOTAoBvkDIYoXa-3LvgjtlWslkc8CKi5CvOa-_j05Z6zt-EqWTEJ2EW9vWRNkgB2hzvOK5eO2JayDsi0vjs2Qy2gPpxYOoVb_yoTWCy9cRBW0331MsxSIK0qSol-sjmU6kZKzJ5xXM5cLjoYUPsS8Qwcpia1GGaJzIIfIJUFwTywQF9Z/s3467/SCAN3125.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3467" data-original-width="2385" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcxT_trG1ey-PuoOTAoBvkDIYoXa-3LvgjtlWslkc8CKi5CvOa-_j05Z6zt-EqWTEJ2EW9vWRNkgB2hzvOK5eO2JayDsi0vjs2Qy2gPpxYOoVb_yoTWCy9cRBW0331MsxSIK0qSol-sjmU6kZKzJ5xXM5cLjoYUPsS8Qwcpia1GGaJzIIfIJUFwTywQF9Z/s320/SCAN3125.jpg" width="220" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvN-8dE9q18j1WyGUIpwLAgHeosyct8bXwCRX12ZIrQ1_9Q0cXFN-ogp9_78E99aYmFBRG6-kds3QAUWwZ9czOXwbFUKm-A3pAoGAdY6OqI6j0ZT05iWnP1FFV6-V3JovT33iK4OdL8VlMWV_gAxkbIehcENjN0Sg-Rg2xotsU977HrNyRbKNUiRuCiX9g/s2901/SCAN3186.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2901" data-original-width="2050" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvN-8dE9q18j1WyGUIpwLAgHeosyct8bXwCRX12ZIrQ1_9Q0cXFN-ogp9_78E99aYmFBRG6-kds3QAUWwZ9czOXwbFUKm-A3pAoGAdY6OqI6j0ZT05iWnP1FFV6-V3JovT33iK4OdL8VlMWV_gAxkbIehcENjN0Sg-Rg2xotsU977HrNyRbKNUiRuCiX9g/s320/SCAN3186.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I had
little Benji when I first moved to Brantford. Another spitfire. He had the best
howl and frequently let his opinion be known. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMU7pz4gxTXiqMZuwOckQK0jRbfYbEo0OI8z7uWG-w4qqwKDV9_k4mhVGZEBec8JDQQe7N8JA-OBi0c7FT1FHCU2hvQA-GB8RmZwJj55zk4GRfPWq252l2BdXlCjkG07VY5m4q3N4rp26D6HnVxTm2Vm9Bo8tzXgnDrEQBc7hqhICc4cNuXhCb949MGaM/s3600/SCAN3386.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="3600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMU7pz4gxTXiqMZuwOckQK0jRbfYbEo0OI8z7uWG-w4qqwKDV9_k4mhVGZEBec8JDQQe7N8JA-OBi0c7FT1FHCU2hvQA-GB8RmZwJj55zk4GRfPWq252l2BdXlCjkG07VY5m4q3N4rp26D6HnVxTm2Vm9Bo8tzXgnDrEQBc7hqhICc4cNuXhCb949MGaM/s320/SCAN3386.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My husband
was a cat person. One afternoon, my son, then three, was getting his bike out
of the shed and saw what he thought was a baby racoon. He called for his dad. The
baby animal was actually a kitten. She and her four brothers were born at the
side of our shed. Mama had made a nest in a bucket that had been turned
sideways for storage. We never did find any trace of Mama cat so figure she
must have been victim to cars. We took the five kittens in and fed them through
eyedroppers. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi51YI4FuToumgW7CokxNwGqeXbMriHdqh2RM6gT40Hdo-3SZV-kP11793Oh_nZPqmRU0xsGC8DmpVigjkZvLH8SIGyqAjPOr1CLBnVCPqJfRqYZ6j7izRNoPLHeQ65WaU18qCGr8eq_GMR7LkH8N_I-Wfxtasxv_e-yyXtkVZzrJJ-jzthGVlIIahj7eGb/s1280/kittens%20after%20bath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi51YI4FuToumgW7CokxNwGqeXbMriHdqh2RM6gT40Hdo-3SZV-kP11793Oh_nZPqmRU0xsGC8DmpVigjkZvLH8SIGyqAjPOr1CLBnVCPqJfRqYZ6j7izRNoPLHeQ65WaU18qCGr8eq_GMR7LkH8N_I-Wfxtasxv_e-yyXtkVZzrJJ-jzthGVlIIahj7eGb/s320/kittens%20after%20bath.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p>We ended up keeping three of them. The two boys were really
bonded. </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBgv_1v2H700G-KdQhzMNNnY8-oHk0lXp5YOopbRdN-WGuD_M4-ms36Se2Aq6CfrfQHZXATkR1x_a98igTuK-lBSTSf4vxuMVnUFG7c5qgrlCswOv6uIvKJvxMiq8HmmQ9uuuvS4atAQp7jI1X7ZKX-KZEgTBcK8ODbsk95vWpEAOgDYX3fsa1RoUO3Wa/s1280/brothers%205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBgv_1v2H700G-KdQhzMNNnY8-oHk0lXp5YOopbRdN-WGuD_M4-ms36Se2Aq6CfrfQHZXATkR1x_a98igTuK-lBSTSf4vxuMVnUFG7c5qgrlCswOv6uIvKJvxMiq8HmmQ9uuuvS4atAQp7jI1X7ZKX-KZEgTBcK8ODbsk95vWpEAOgDYX3fsa1RoUO3Wa/s320/brothers%205.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sadly, we lost the biggest when he was 10. I missed him. He not only thought
his brother was an extension of him, but he also thought that I was his Mama
cat. Probably because he knew I fed him. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpsKiiVUsB8NeX-0TKQp9uwE_fJRPvPMl3IqJNacCaFf7kqT9hK3wolAL3VDM_4O0D9LQVnuq14i8x3ysyfFKS0mW1FRc-NjIIlYSsXvcNGV38D6kveTXp91S8S1Ku8yQtR2SRi3vJ_ZKVfsTos5TXgqGgOQIHbadx03XOnfWA8Vt02kBuvDEYgqHMpXVG/s1280/spice%206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpsKiiVUsB8NeX-0TKQp9uwE_fJRPvPMl3IqJNacCaFf7kqT9hK3wolAL3VDM_4O0D9LQVnuq14i8x3ysyfFKS0mW1FRc-NjIIlYSsXvcNGV38D6kveTXp91S8S1Ku8yQtR2SRi3vJ_ZKVfsTos5TXgqGgOQIHbadx03XOnfWA8Vt02kBuvDEYgqHMpXVG/s320/spice%206.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We lost Spice girl when she was 16.
She went down hill quickly. And then we had to send Baby over the rainbow
bridge when he was 18. He was a needy old man by then but full of personality.
We had our two golden retrievers and he quickly realized that they weren’t
going anywhere any time soon, so decided to join them. I often said that he saw
himself as a miniature Golden. Although he tended to get into far more antics
than they did. It has been two years since he left us and I still miss him. He
was cuddly, pliable, and took no nonsense from the dogs. He, too, had a
personality that was bigger than him.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD429ZEhDwucO3IYyRyyYUIEYRYUq55joougC_APyDM_qSUytFKdSglcb7lXUz-8QvmSDXjmuIjOfRxGLTtvrTpEYf57wjWfnw5kGeNKAgLp7PeTBpSodaw3SGoCTS8JxuCzW6Gwn_m84pBoaipNzQWAqEWwHhgb0slJb_aC_X4uzQVr29fQklVXE1rN6a/s4032/IMG_1120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD429ZEhDwucO3IYyRyyYUIEYRYUq55joougC_APyDM_qSUytFKdSglcb7lXUz-8QvmSDXjmuIjOfRxGLTtvrTpEYf57wjWfnw5kGeNKAgLp7PeTBpSodaw3SGoCTS8JxuCzW6Gwn_m84pBoaipNzQWAqEWwHhgb0slJb_aC_X4uzQVr29fQklVXE1rN6a/s320/IMG_1120.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2QTXYoSpq09Qnn18Gc-xCKnES2C3w3XcHH0MDLBevuVLkn5S7vUGknmJI6xaLI9yWeG1pcrN3t6uVUvyXj5y7sKVPwd6g7CKhnYCmGOGutjc8ltxYVwvxG3cAtKBf8ZN0YYfUWBxtqz-ed9h5luiO2GOm8yauqHemFEFjvlr2UgMIAFkY9XJa_rbON07L/s960/IMG_5475.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2QTXYoSpq09Qnn18Gc-xCKnES2C3w3XcHH0MDLBevuVLkn5S7vUGknmJI6xaLI9yWeG1pcrN3t6uVUvyXj5y7sKVPwd6g7CKhnYCmGOGutjc8ltxYVwvxG3cAtKBf8ZN0YYfUWBxtqz-ed9h5luiO2GOm8yauqHemFEFjvlr2UgMIAFkY9XJa_rbON07L/s320/IMG_5475.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Digging in the trash can</span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Our two
beautiful Golden Girls are such a joy to us.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2_k4micDujnABoiQ229SyPApVbjqNiEJXS3aQrz8YauBzBEeAKhD7exlvTMDwb375mV-yYeO_cG8lVsWfSgL976TRsDZE9K0kzRZ-YWTG_-ZVbKwrrjgSpFVIpN2rUcBqX4gFCFfeKuTpWx-Nj7o1lVtUNxEd7A-TDQilCBz-SeA4pfbBLW_MyiZSxhdr/s4288/DSCF8696.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2416" data-original-width="4288" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2_k4micDujnABoiQ229SyPApVbjqNiEJXS3aQrz8YauBzBEeAKhD7exlvTMDwb375mV-yYeO_cG8lVsWfSgL976TRsDZE9K0kzRZ-YWTG_-ZVbKwrrjgSpFVIpN2rUcBqX4gFCFfeKuTpWx-Nj7o1lVtUNxEd7A-TDQilCBz-SeA4pfbBLW_MyiZSxhdr/s320/DSCF8696.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5iHzaoGbJpOC9TR9x8qsxHwVp3cgq6-2v7s6mEnLCKY4-MZ6bEIoqzWMaq4Z4Tl7bh6SUe7Qo908cfcCJmcZ73MQguQo6wyGXLmPoKVmOqWxCs6_u75S0JpEwPaYOVJQXtmrPfX-pi7JpA1JPC4gkKtILnP2Yry4_Ne7uTLJH6wvteCAPlJF0ibMYVD_K/s960/piggy%20back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5iHzaoGbJpOC9TR9x8qsxHwVp3cgq6-2v7s6mEnLCKY4-MZ6bEIoqzWMaq4Z4Tl7bh6SUe7Qo908cfcCJmcZ73MQguQo6wyGXLmPoKVmOqWxCs6_u75S0JpEwPaYOVJQXtmrPfX-pi7JpA1JPC4gkKtILnP2Yry4_Ne7uTLJH6wvteCAPlJF0ibMYVD_K/s320/piggy%20back.jpg" width="320" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj99ahymCkaoQq4syKvwxtFzWPJGHQKOMcN19LWKj2jIIirMid0HyVLMC2zSBaXOI8VQqa55bGBVLMMrynsqMVUFsAp8lDh0_oZTCLVRHl_zlZHnCWjKPGryQBKRf2iuKcjn_AkiQrK5AwKLOfT_RTh2EQSWQ_mtPcSoBKLInBg4AQpxlSjTO6Qe3FfucT9/s960/4498E503-2B56-4695-808A-B649EF2D769A.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj99ahymCkaoQq4syKvwxtFzWPJGHQKOMcN19LWKj2jIIirMid0HyVLMC2zSBaXOI8VQqa55bGBVLMMrynsqMVUFsAp8lDh0_oZTCLVRHl_zlZHnCWjKPGryQBKRf2iuKcjn_AkiQrK5AwKLOfT_RTh2EQSWQ_mtPcSoBKLInBg4AQpxlSjTO6Qe3FfucT9/s320/4498E503-2B56-4695-808A-B649EF2D769A.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwabXUuYGtCX_4os9aP1yVIclOl68cGdrFbp4VpBmtaIqnVOXOA7M2X4sZhJvfAz0YoY7wE2nLqqCoig7a7XTp3eXi3bftpYhJegSAH1jp7ErLFBVTAvr7QDzfxQRZRbZ9SlN9vM8NJekPjy3edpmNzuB8APL5TAdOZQSUBrt03CzjvftCQWZ28r0ezsb3/s2048/35D9CB1C-85D7-444D-8849-388ECAEDB78E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1367" data-original-width="2048" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwabXUuYGtCX_4os9aP1yVIclOl68cGdrFbp4VpBmtaIqnVOXOA7M2X4sZhJvfAz0YoY7wE2nLqqCoig7a7XTp3eXi3bftpYhJegSAH1jp7ErLFBVTAvr7QDzfxQRZRbZ9SlN9vM8NJekPjy3edpmNzuB8APL5TAdOZQSUBrt03CzjvftCQWZ28r0ezsb3/s320/35D9CB1C-85D7-444D-8849-388ECAEDB78E.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSKBe4rheFaWGDKABCRIcLXRIAjTmClBBj_aJGQrcekXfvMbcfOdYpNeWMljGstfVYH2Xp063LJYrlEmYVQeMgEb0ilVnI2ZeDNV6IJfYEsVvM7cFxTSqo_GG6HLo9vhj38dRuRy46MbLXxjfwQE5Sjs-vo2mqq9g-xjr0K1bchb8lVeDM2bpkPUaNp60/s960/0A21A301-5B9F-46E7-B630-1FA285A5A207.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuSKBe4rheFaWGDKABCRIcLXRIAjTmClBBj_aJGQrcekXfvMbcfOdYpNeWMljGstfVYH2Xp063LJYrlEmYVQeMgEb0ilVnI2ZeDNV6IJfYEsVvM7cFxTSqo_GG6HLo9vhj38dRuRy46MbLXxjfwQE5Sjs-vo2mqq9g-xjr0K1bchb8lVeDM2bpkPUaNp60/s320/0A21A301-5B9F-46E7-B630-1FA285A5A207.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoBF7L0-mPE7NJfiQtWhHV4vvfLDJ7Lwjra56pxPupAcG5tffM2-Eunnp0pZgUSd9KLNmRVe51PDZuYVeOfzJ92JuMk7Vn8nDtIb6yMovqMk9Fa8ky2y-ryZYULSDqw2Bf1NdhDo9v6WeIjmjyqouR4hVSfrpiUIvP0OAt5Sn1vsaPA8MGjKd8OoTvCd0V/s4032/IMG_5054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoBF7L0-mPE7NJfiQtWhHV4vvfLDJ7Lwjra56pxPupAcG5tffM2-Eunnp0pZgUSd9KLNmRVe51PDZuYVeOfzJ92JuMk7Vn8nDtIb6yMovqMk9Fa8ky2y-ryZYULSDqw2Bf1NdhDo9v6WeIjmjyqouR4hVSfrpiUIvP0OAt5Sn1vsaPA8MGjKd8OoTvCd0V/s320/IMG_5054.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Branch Manager and Assistant Branch Manager</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Although they are creeping up in
age, they still run and swim like young dogs. It is so much fun to see how much
joy they get out of life and that brings us joy.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-3998156839407260322023-11-07T17:32:00.001-05:002023-11-07T17:32:26.905-05:00Family Stories Month - Summer Vacations<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg7DpfbHOA2aCLdSFV4K8A7eJ1CdfYrMQGzvr_1orgLlgxWUOwtWXRVcVZNWtg6ZB8Qwp6iepXoTixyCT6aWwsOKS-aw5B7_4s2UQGlIXa-9vtjLW8ewJr9nPXUZqhPiFQrF2CRe-FC4Xct290RIW5H-zckXHL6elFTApiOap7EDKouZe32XHGXEOv9LCv/s3520/linda%20christine%20dot%20flo%20tommy%20james%20cathy%20at%20lindas%201981.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2368" data-original-width="3520" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg7DpfbHOA2aCLdSFV4K8A7eJ1CdfYrMQGzvr_1orgLlgxWUOwtWXRVcVZNWtg6ZB8Qwp6iepXoTixyCT6aWwsOKS-aw5B7_4s2UQGlIXa-9vtjLW8ewJr9nPXUZqhPiFQrF2CRe-FC4Xct290RIW5H-zckXHL6elFTApiOap7EDKouZe32XHGXEOv9LCv/w400-h269/linda%20christine%20dot%20flo%20tommy%20james%20cathy%20at%20lindas%201981.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Summer
Vacations have always been a big part of our family life. When we were young,
we generally had family come to stay at some point over the course of the
summer and while they didn’t always stay with us, they might as well have. My
aunt up the street was generally the landing point for family who came to
visit. Whether one couple or an entire brood. She was a gem in terms of hosting.
It just came naturally to her. Being the first daughter of my grandmother, she
was spoiled by her older sisters and brother. And she then treated her younger
siblings the same way. As an adult, she did the same for all of her company,
most, of course, were also her siblings.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">However,
with them literally only being a block away from us, we visited, and we visited
frequently. We gathered on the night they arrived, and again the night before they
went back home. And we visited almost daily while they were here – for tea,
dinner, card games, etc. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMv-x463nrztxqooKLHBhb8UcqJ_gHnNazb7akA2y7N76Z9affa7ElKxu9-QeIZsrnFdtKEw-_EeHwuxn17jTkLLaz7m0pwoaTMCtNox6a9VVS2TmfIbp8UUO0TufVo-ZV4ZW8PHq3jFlaiBXVcIigJcQcjJW9osibrQTclnHHWOqA3QwkRQkfFtuFPPXL/s1205/Sisters%20Ann,%20Flo,%20Linda%20&amp;%20Dot%20July%201991.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="811" data-original-width="1205" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMv-x463nrztxqooKLHBhb8UcqJ_gHnNazb7akA2y7N76Z9affa7ElKxu9-QeIZsrnFdtKEw-_EeHwuxn17jTkLLaz7m0pwoaTMCtNox6a9VVS2TmfIbp8UUO0TufVo-ZV4ZW8PHq3jFlaiBXVcIigJcQcjJW9osibrQTclnHHWOqA3QwkRQkfFtuFPPXL/s320/Sisters%20Ann,%20Flo,%20Linda%20&amp;%20Dot%20July%201991.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As well as
constant company, my parents took holidays every summer and every other summer,
we flew out to New Brunswick to visit friends my mum knew from her time as a
nurse. We went for two weeks, and part of that time, we spent traveling with
them to Prince Edward Island. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjevvYE1u3OfiYc1-n535Wcsr8emPaLJ1s3jCTm2HOYJrsb4tviHXblnTbeO91tVrM36hwnZjRmbYqMAotbAXHHXdO3dOE5FIzYBlwvj-LtEOHfb1nwPSGgCULRalDIN7pIZCMXZQga-zmHcKEwkdjUyLx3PH44iE1bIkGGheF4HeSB92T7rjVLzF9r2a2N/s2620/SCAN4627.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2110" data-original-width="2620" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjevvYE1u3OfiYc1-n535Wcsr8emPaLJ1s3jCTm2HOYJrsb4tviHXblnTbeO91tVrM36hwnZjRmbYqMAotbAXHHXdO3dOE5FIzYBlwvj-LtEOHfb1nwPSGgCULRalDIN7pIZCMXZQga-zmHcKEwkdjUyLx3PH44iE1bIkGGheF4HeSB92T7rjVLzF9r2a2N/s320/SCAN4627.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Yyn-dJpP9ws7l2aO8NtKcEPaoRqK_PSYWdKVdXMA7GFtMA2zhmTxdIAVwSM_nH7M-OoA2tH3cGH7AkQs1OneSedV3m9u4kdVazuN2ovXmo8f0CGlGvEhEj7shqFc30YfRGqgCNA0pBoVcr_tWaC6N2OSI6mx_mcDrFwExSKMF1N4l_SFMzQdohBvKj1V/s2451/SCAN4637.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2451" data-original-width="1989" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Yyn-dJpP9ws7l2aO8NtKcEPaoRqK_PSYWdKVdXMA7GFtMA2zhmTxdIAVwSM_nH7M-OoA2tH3cGH7AkQs1OneSedV3m9u4kdVazuN2ovXmo8f0CGlGvEhEj7shqFc30YfRGqgCNA0pBoVcr_tWaC6N2OSI6mx_mcDrFwExSKMF1N4l_SFMzQdohBvKj1V/s320/SCAN4637.jpg" width="260" /></a><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;"> </span></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And for the
last week of summer vacation, we were fortunate enough to be able to have the
use of a cottage in Southampton that belonged to neighbours who were also good friends
of mum and dad. This generally involved extended family with cousins joining us
for the week and often one or more of my aunts joining for part or all of the week
as well. We spent our days at the beach or walking into town and our evenings
playing cards or rummoli. As teens, we also went bowling and to the drive-in
theatre while at the cottage. So many fond memories of our holidays together. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq2zAOYCvaxCNkdGu3AtUU6iI4G0vx_kGKKP9Z15hZXTY1YouNqbsnkkl06gndVotWYBkYsSg3CgkTAIRZfyFa8p-iQm3Y4W-YOrKY-Hq8Sa4tQWU__r293OwJQJw7qYU17xz-hUVTfdbSEzhcE2KHUMAUdFR9vR19L3STZVV3UACn1N30O9OyH6ct_Xr7/s2592/SCAN4228.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2119" data-original-width="2592" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq2zAOYCvaxCNkdGu3AtUU6iI4G0vx_kGKKP9Z15hZXTY1YouNqbsnkkl06gndVotWYBkYsSg3CgkTAIRZfyFa8p-iQm3Y4W-YOrKY-Hq8Sa4tQWU__r293OwJQJw7qYU17xz-hUVTfdbSEzhcE2KHUMAUdFR9vR19L3STZVV3UACn1N30O9OyH6ct_Xr7/s320/SCAN4228.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLyREm4G0vgq-MwelpXTjRx_hZmnCMF6XrWFYSP-dxMgwntCNHPgoAxVcrWydAreHXr_BaNtzc4Ih2Y-PFeat0OHVjBziejjXHqiPu1-CCmpEtWmu3dqmcnCHKFWXp57JT_tsbhh2FSE6JOl_9ikIEV9whXMusBELfwRTCakLh5yfKoziVRMl0nWvQqitG/s2661/SCAN4227.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2090" data-original-width="2661" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLyREm4G0vgq-MwelpXTjRx_hZmnCMF6XrWFYSP-dxMgwntCNHPgoAxVcrWydAreHXr_BaNtzc4Ih2Y-PFeat0OHVjBziejjXHqiPu1-CCmpEtWmu3dqmcnCHKFWXp57JT_tsbhh2FSE6JOl_9ikIEV9whXMusBELfwRTCakLh5yfKoziVRMl0nWvQqitG/s320/SCAN4227.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My mother
passed away when my daughter was only 4 and my son not yet born. I realized
that once we are gone, there are only the memories that are left, so my husband
and I decided to start making some memories with our kids and a big part of that
transpired to taking big road trips every summer. We camped as we traveled and
tried to build in unique opportunities where we could – sleeping in a covered
wagon at the Charles Ingalls homestead in South Dakota, driving the racetrack
at Watkins Glen. We took in local festivals if we could and spent time learning
about the places where we were visiting. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjewJ7nSBxDvoYxgScrRhmeX7hh4rpr-BAzVkY9Shc_x8P_K5KNCL_boDAO2G5kDPoxl5qM5jT9-jLcrQjH5voOTum-XTdPMdn7cQJOrE8QrfG0LjiJJXgnaWygkR-HZrNQN8xuj0hBrp52KGw7qODLDqYuLGFzjDReYVfVFZCTZwHF88G4fJ6exPKic068/s1280/224%20Laura%20Ingalls%20covered%20wagon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjewJ7nSBxDvoYxgScrRhmeX7hh4rpr-BAzVkY9Shc_x8P_K5KNCL_boDAO2G5kDPoxl5qM5jT9-jLcrQjH5voOTum-XTdPMdn7cQJOrE8QrfG0LjiJJXgnaWygkR-HZrNQN8xuj0hBrp52KGw7qODLDqYuLGFzjDReYVfVFZCTZwHF88G4fJ6exPKic068/s320/224%20Laura%20Ingalls%20covered%20wagon.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjL86-WVIDAURdI-HwqCQMsR96lO50bUDPeGXRhuC6XukNG59EYhaLejsZVWx5PWZ_hgebtRuofO3oFLF_fXvGOhYxBWI9ObN_G3eZZNISX_uqLWW80DCm5o37c-an0SypcRgPsbTIIj2a8Gq4o67CY5_x-jtTJwDDXUKPPkwSOwVlKXQj6cLwJyvLoT_V/s2048/m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1333" data-original-width="2048" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjL86-WVIDAURdI-HwqCQMsR96lO50bUDPeGXRhuC6XukNG59EYhaLejsZVWx5PWZ_hgebtRuofO3oFLF_fXvGOhYxBWI9ObN_G3eZZNISX_uqLWW80DCm5o37c-an0SypcRgPsbTIIj2a8Gq4o67CY5_x-jtTJwDDXUKPPkwSOwVlKXQj6cLwJyvLoT_V/s320/m.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzH9Y1tIaesPmVXAgiGQxHjwfSOjA-ZsqOycuhWch9seruCEbP8WRHN2vD2p954bAsv1ThBUjkIvF8Km_-e-VHpROr6rqZTdlv2xUJyCcIHamR9rGLeSGCaHt3eTy1UCpejedr7OlpdOGvR8mJmOqeUMe5rHv-NexBthQ7NhbMl6Rxo0uWYJ7jAMtvupD8/s3353/30690_1_Scan_18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2993" data-original-width="3353" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzH9Y1tIaesPmVXAgiGQxHjwfSOjA-ZsqOycuhWch9seruCEbP8WRHN2vD2p954bAsv1ThBUjkIvF8Km_-e-VHpROr6rqZTdlv2xUJyCcIHamR9rGLeSGCaHt3eTy1UCpejedr7OlpdOGvR8mJmOqeUMe5rHv-NexBthQ7NhbMl6Rxo0uWYJ7jAMtvupD8/s320/30690_1_Scan_18.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAYR1MBWMWcTAwhklphgtPjUIhABK4cPo42xZHtMZYNlpYqbI2PdUMcHbqZnXB729PBEthJ-_UaxNswY-PDwnn-0ZavYp9Fb1ZgSSvznW4DbQEG-Ieup_d04ymtkB4imHMEAs_9VT0Q32K2cgCaQMb8QqoiHcD4KWofpZ8iLyIH9ArbRAPTTUStmjzQgG/s1321/capt%20heather.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1025" data-original-width="1321" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAYR1MBWMWcTAwhklphgtPjUIhABK4cPo42xZHtMZYNlpYqbI2PdUMcHbqZnXB729PBEthJ-_UaxNswY-PDwnn-0ZavYp9Fb1ZgSSvznW4DbQEG-Ieup_d04ymtkB4imHMEAs_9VT0Q32K2cgCaQMb8QqoiHcD4KWofpZ8iLyIH9ArbRAPTTUStmjzQgG/s320/capt%20heather.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqAUxYyrfaaYlYCx-qVNnmekM_oOsIL_2af7TiyN7S3xj_hbJWmXA9nMKsskfQr8ckaHyFvI2Y0PHI-p9ABH7H6kg5Dy1uI4mTZe4p23KHGT9lOiwbP3cr0N4eWhLdCLqssf2oK9BqPbIOMIJ7K3rZe0cwbtCgMhu_gY-HmFxGW8nnMMs_-uFprpYueVWv/s1353/capt%20christopher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1009" data-original-width="1353" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqAUxYyrfaaYlYCx-qVNnmekM_oOsIL_2af7TiyN7S3xj_hbJWmXA9nMKsskfQr8ckaHyFvI2Y0PHI-p9ABH7H6kg5Dy1uI4mTZe4p23KHGT9lOiwbP3cr0N4eWhLdCLqssf2oK9BqPbIOMIJ7K3rZe0cwbtCgMhu_gY-HmFxGW8nnMMs_-uFprpYueVWv/s320/capt%20christopher.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">These vacations
provide a number of family stories for us to share, document and preserve for
future generations so that hopefully, they too, will choose to make summer vacations
an important part of their family’s lives.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-50377059630751295422023-11-06T19:39:00.006-05:002023-11-06T19:39:54.965-05:00Family History Month - Gleaning Stories from Documents<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">For many of
our ancestors, we need to glean the documents in order to recreate their life
story. Our curiosity is usually piqued by a single entry on a document and from
there we are off on a research tangent. One case for me, occurred when I was
looking at the death register for my paternal great grandfather, Walter Haddow.
The informant on his death register says “James Sneddon, son in law”</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaKUs_U7BrTV_sjqbGkOtWmas0owdANBynPO3BBBYtiU6z8i9AKFANOeGGvOUUlpVYmf57cIJctq-uG8A05LRro4lI5tHbqDEMouFIZ3b1kkj6pgDPTyXRp-XvPkPHaGiGzH4DeErvaU5cq0ISo21Mdv72CRHVektEbuVevU-S6QCdlOfoELZMuur2ujy6/s1801/walter%20haddow%20death%20cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="197" data-original-width="1801" height="70" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaKUs_U7BrTV_sjqbGkOtWmas0owdANBynPO3BBBYtiU6z8i9AKFANOeGGvOUUlpVYmf57cIJctq-uG8A05LRro4lI5tHbqDEMouFIZ3b1kkj6pgDPTyXRp-XvPkPHaGiGzH4DeErvaU5cq0ISo21Mdv72CRHVektEbuVevU-S6QCdlOfoELZMuur2ujy6/w640-h70/walter%20haddow%20death%20cropped.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">From this,
I knew that one of my paternal grandmother’s sisters had married James. I
plugged the information into ScotlandsPeople and came up with a marriage for Walter’s
daughter Jessie and groom James Sneddon. They married in 1908. Jessie was a
postal clerkess and James a shale miner.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I then
looked for them in the 1911 census and, in looking at the “fertility” column
discovered that they had had three children born to them but only one living
child, son George. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrbp6MPpJR5eHzvhF9eWstgUwa2l4vf91BFbp_8gb0qCD-Rjz0_1z5mg76hR8fio1AbMMrvCO-VvlLR1VmtK4pSRz6WaFNWYqNkcUEXhGqV-e3BcWdruHTy9vOUBhom1V7vy9mFNw0qTuPTc2_9d2svk5hTxL_0zCj58eQpWSKlSy2fml2uxKhZMPr_P7J/s530/sneddon%201911%20census.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="93" data-original-width="530" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrbp6MPpJR5eHzvhF9eWstgUwa2l4vf91BFbp_8gb0qCD-Rjz0_1z5mg76hR8fio1AbMMrvCO-VvlLR1VmtK4pSRz6WaFNWYqNkcUEXhGqV-e3BcWdruHTy9vOUBhom1V7vy9mFNw0qTuPTc2_9d2svk5hTxL_0zCj58eQpWSKlSy2fml2uxKhZMPr_P7J/w640-h112/sneddon%201911%20census.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></div><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">That sent me looking for the deaths of two young Sneddon
children in MidCalder. I discovered that the two children were, in fact, twins.
Agnes Miller (named for James’ mother) and Walter Haddow (named for Jessie’s
father) were born in 1910 and died just two hours later. This must have been a
devastating blow to the couple. Indeed, to the entire extended family. Shortly
after this, James was able to secure a job as a insurance agent and the family
moved to Edinburgh.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Further
research shows that Jessie and James had an additional six children, for a
total of 9. Sadly, they also lost 3 in infancy – Robert as a newborn, then Jean
and Mary each at the age of one. More than half of the children born to the
couple succumbed in infancy. I can’t imagine the heartache and loss.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">George, their
first born, lived to the ripe old age of 73, Walter to the age of 62, Robert to
the age of 73 and Agnes to the age of 79. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2GgzlFU4S72bRloI3pEkiqT27fpPb_rI-IBrvKLpHRNjlrbSMF1b32YjVoibj01-nAFiyIO_0GXZn_yHIXLohm2Uia6qYuqzZAZYdZI2vbf15T_jAJZgLln_RBl9eeVBzs69xvse3L85g0b3DvOVK5BZRv3Fz6bnvLBPFbZgv0mHowPIIBQDQhlwv0ZB5/s1535/jessie%20haddow%20james%20sneddon%20headstone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="1535" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2GgzlFU4S72bRloI3pEkiqT27fpPb_rI-IBrvKLpHRNjlrbSMF1b32YjVoibj01-nAFiyIO_0GXZn_yHIXLohm2Uia6qYuqzZAZYdZI2vbf15T_jAJZgLln_RBl9eeVBzs69xvse3L85g0b3DvOVK5BZRv3Fz6bnvLBPFbZgv0mHowPIIBQDQhlwv0ZB5/s320/jessie%20haddow%20james%20sneddon%20headstone.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Similarly,
I have posted two stories this week about using documents, including army records
and newspapers to uncover stories from the history of the city I live in. One
post looked into the <a href="https://genealogytoursofscotland.blogspot.com/2023/11/family-stories-month-chasing-rumours.html" target="_blank">rumour of a suicide</a> at the Brantford Club and the other teased
out “more of the story” of a <a href="https://genealogytoursofscotland.blogspot.com/2023/11/family-stories-month-fegan-boy.html" target="_blank">Fegan Boy.</a></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As genealogists,
we all chase the stories. As family historians, we research the stories in
depth, capture them and then need to preserve them so that future generations
may also know them.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">
How are you capturing, documenting and preserving the stories in your family’s
history? </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-2188482033295660102023-11-05T17:12:00.005-05:002023-11-05T18:39:08.423-05:00Family Stories Month - Fegan Boy<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtdJgJNnSRCu8mIsu-YxzwoCiJs-0WGPXExK5N65VSDCvVXRGmXMq894YMsRkbFJeuCVoc5oh76FYFDGhVj4stygrcpkeEdrC8HszFriMlxCi8cukKE7JmLY6P8vPoEbDwRQpEb-zYfH0jvbJK-aby6RyRekactc0RCQFn5ADQ10nPyF6okGR71GnrUX07/s4032/IMG_5583.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtdJgJNnSRCu8mIsu-YxzwoCiJs-0WGPXExK5N65VSDCvVXRGmXMq894YMsRkbFJeuCVoc5oh76FYFDGhVj4stygrcpkeEdrC8HszFriMlxCi8cukKE7JmLY6P8vPoEbDwRQpEb-zYfH0jvbJK-aby6RyRekactc0RCQFn5ADQ10nPyF6okGR71GnrUX07/s320/IMG_5583.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Another
story to be told, and another one not from my family. I learned on Saturday
that the model for the man in this monument relief was a “Fegan Boy”. His name
was Cyril Kinsella. He had been shunted around three or four farms before his
tenure with Fegan’s had expired. The story, as relayed, was that he was at home
in Brantford, recovering from a war injury at the time he was asked to be the
model for the sculptor.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Of course,
knowing Cyril was a BHC piqued my interest and I needed to find out more of his
story. I found his immigration passenger list on Library & Archives Canada.
Here, he shows, along with the others on the same page, as being destined for a
“Distributing Home” in Toronto “Mr Fegans” Young Cyril set sail from Liverpool
in April 1908 aboard the Lake Champlain and arrived in St John New Brunswick. From
there he went to Fegan’s Distributing Home in Toronto. He was 11.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXiJycwwskyPebnvXhySiD8-x9SRt3R_7i1HFnBz_TtwZZUqxEGHlqRxnRYj9gTK1VjGNvKbGsqu2_-4TuqS2Mf_5HsbV6weQFnWEw1Upzvaa2wcof-aOqfBu5yXUBS6FeixMrOWfUAGOoabyC8Xg2wrXvATJKtwy-NiruHo2HjJ7IWmaQF_ktv8J3__tQ/s1200/kinsella%20ship%20list%20headers.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="351" data-original-width="1200" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXiJycwwskyPebnvXhySiD8-x9SRt3R_7i1HFnBz_TtwZZUqxEGHlqRxnRYj9gTK1VjGNvKbGsqu2_-4TuqS2Mf_5HsbV6weQFnWEw1Upzvaa2wcof-aOqfBu5yXUBS6FeixMrOWfUAGOoabyC8Xg2wrXvATJKtwy-NiruHo2HjJ7IWmaQF_ktv8J3__tQ/w400-h118/kinsella%20ship%20list%20headers.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In researching,
I discovered that Cyril’s parents were Martha Avery (15 Apr 1855) and William
Kinsella (2 Nov 1868). Cyril worked as an office porter for Great Western Railway
and his main station was Paddington. He and Martha married in 1893. Daughter
Mabel was born on 16 March 1895 and son Cyril was born on March 14, 1897. William
appears to have lost his job just after the birth of his daughter. His
railway record shows that he was dismissed in 1896.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivcqViJjR4zMliepCj94u2lujN16WUWdmKFVbJVAoN_yyQsAwr9rkKTqKrLtQNdCIsygcdf_5_kiq3j2HEULwKoWzfY6vUjDpdWFk32L66nChB9P6iJw-onl1RhA3xtdJm7jdWrgehEPoKAYW1CIg3s4-fcOX9IAChI00FsJgoXtalXVo6vFpABcaz3bPK/s2565/wm%20kinsella%20railway%20records%20cropped.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="593" data-original-width="2565" height="93" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivcqViJjR4zMliepCj94u2lujN16WUWdmKFVbJVAoN_yyQsAwr9rkKTqKrLtQNdCIsygcdf_5_kiq3j2HEULwKoWzfY6vUjDpdWFk32L66nChB9P6iJw-onl1RhA3xtdJm7jdWrgehEPoKAYW1CIg3s4-fcOX9IAChI00FsJgoXtalXVo6vFpABcaz3bPK/w400-h93/wm%20kinsella%20railway%20records%20cropped.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p>Martha died
in 1902. Cause of death unknown. William died in 1905. While we can’t know for certain
what became of Mabel after her parents’ death, it appears that she may have gone
to live with family. She shows as a visitor to an aunt in Berkshire. Her
occupation is listed as Housemaid. Interestingly, the couple she is staying
with (either mother or father’s sister and husband) is named Bates and on 24
Nov, 1915, Mabel marries a Fred Bates. By the time of the 1939 register, she
is listed as a widow.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Young Cyril’s
fate wasn’t as pleasant. By age 11, he appears in the passenger list for the Lake
Champlain along with several other boys. The sailed from Liverpool in April of
1908 and arrived in St John New Brunswick. The group of boys were destined for Mr
Fegan’s Distributing Home in Toronto.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">On 29
August, 1914 at Brantford, Ontario, and at the tender age of just 17 and a
half, young Cyril signed up for the army. He was assigned to C Company of the 4<sup>th</sup>
Battalion. His attestation papers note that he received 5 vaccines in his left
arm and that he had a “pea sized” scar on his left abdomen. He lists his sister,
Mabel as his next of kin.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Army medical
records show:</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">7
May, 1915, he received a slight wound. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">16
May 1915, in Bristol England, he was once again wounded and this time discharged
to Furlough which he underwent in Edinburgh, Scotland. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">8
Sept 1915, at Moore Barricks, Canadian (military) hospital in Shorncliffe, he
had his appendix removed <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">1
Oct 1915, he received a bullet wound. He was in the convalescent hospital from
22 Nov 1915 until 5 Jan 1916 before being sent to the Reserve Unit. He was
discharged as permanently unfit.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">On 31 July,
1916, Cyril once again enlists. He lists a Miss M
Sinclair (friend) from Dunfermline, Scotland as his next of kin. His attestation
paper notes an appendix scar and 2 bullet scars on his right buttock. From here
he was sent to France. By 6 Dec 1916, he was once again wounded and gassed. He
rejoined his unit on 21 Dec 1916.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">On the 27<sup>th</sup>
of June, 1918, Cyril was transferred to the Canadian Military Police Corp and made
the rank of Corporal. By this point in time, he lists a Miss Edie of Toronto as
his next of kin. Cyril was discharged from duty on 22 May 1919 upon
demobilization. He was a Corporal with the 1<sup>st</sup> Canadian Division.
His plan for residency upon discharge was to live in Victoria, B.C.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Cyril
married Elsie May Mitchell in on 5 January 1924 in Los Angeles, California. He
died 27 Dec 1960.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJIWkmBoxf_r4uMT3-xysImWKZOGKBplH1FdqDezwpZRoqDqwE6Y6MlmZ6LqIFISgCMruUASplWfaXxQgRXSh02f0Wu1mHxDurWntyJ6Z3ytWovpV8pIEJfanRkrum1bg3EfWd-T-n3UtL4qyHr9oORnCY5V8voVC-MlnCMoKyrULX7zxQii077ZnHIcK_/s960/marriage%20cyril%20and%20elsie%20cropped.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="56" data-original-width="960" height="38" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJIWkmBoxf_r4uMT3-xysImWKZOGKBplH1FdqDezwpZRoqDqwE6Y6MlmZ6LqIFISgCMruUASplWfaXxQgRXSh02f0Wu1mHxDurWntyJ6Z3ytWovpV8pIEJfanRkrum1bg3EfWd-T-n3UtL4qyHr9oORnCY5V8voVC-MlnCMoKyrULX7zxQii077ZnHIcK_/w640-h38/marriage%20cyril%20and%20elsie%20cropped.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It is unclear
how young Cyril met sculptor Walter Seymour Allward. One theory was that the
two might have known each other through Fegans or through Military service, in particular
while Cyril was convalescing at the hospital. However, Walter was 21 years older than Cyril and
so the two would not have been in Fegan’s together nor would Walter have been
of recruitment age for the war. Regardless, Cyril was fortunate enough to be
asked to be the model for the man in repose on his casting of ‘<i>Man,
discovering his power to transmit sound through space' </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>on the Bell Telephone Memorial that stands in
Bell Memorial Park in Brantford Ontario. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDStO_A3hqzawP0zXU_qHVjiWWJWnS335w43MGJqNSYahbfqjKUxh7Z57OXkT6U66BANxxbah1t4gaSnd2DlwZqglMynVeHL-9_a7Dts7lHYSHlepEZJPfRZDGYcwSmLhNAYaX2bWY4vTuTioJecTD63gz8yUJH1f0Kk9c1y4U0cwyx0oOu-j91-JoZlNx/s920/Alexander_Graham_Bell_Brantford_Monument_0.98.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="464" data-original-width="920" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDStO_A3hqzawP0zXU_qHVjiWWJWnS335w43MGJqNSYahbfqjKUxh7Z57OXkT6U66BANxxbah1t4gaSnd2DlwZqglMynVeHL-9_a7Dts7lHYSHlepEZJPfRZDGYcwSmLhNAYaX2bWY4vTuTioJecTD63gz8yUJH1f0Kk9c1y4U0cwyx0oOu-j91-JoZlNx/w400-h201/Alexander_Graham_Bell_Brantford_Monument_0.98.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Courtesy Brant Historical Society, Wikipedia, Creative Commons</div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-55890831533840384702023-11-04T08:30:00.001-04:002023-11-04T08:30:14.963-04:00Family Stories Month - The Telephone<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I am so
incredibly grateful to be living in a time when technology helps me to stay
connected to family and friends. This was especially true for most of us as we
tried to navigate living in a pandemic. Many of us found technology gave us a way
out of our loneliness, fear and anxiety. We could stay connected to others
while living in isolation. We could continue to watch webinars, stream shows, meet friends
and family via Zoom. We could message each other and share our worries, knowing
someone was on the other side, ready to be a shoulder to lean on.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">But for
many of us, technology wasn’t always instantaneous. Remember dial-up? It would
take ages for a photo attachment to load to an email. We couldn’t use the phone
and the computer at the same time. We were really limited about our use of the
internet in terms of megabytes, never mind gigabytes. We paid dearly for going
over our limit, or we lost our connection all together until the next billing
cycle.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I remember
sitting at the computer one evening, loading a picture as an attachment to an email I was sending to my cousin in
Australia. Before I had loaded the photo, he had replied to comment on
the one I had just sent! Magic. I could email photos to family in four countries and they
felt as connected to us as they would have if we had been living nearby.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I remember
several years ago, in the days before modems, when our computers were still
linked to our phone lines, a colleague was having a problem getting online. She
asked her son to run downstairs and check to see if the phone had a dial tone.
He looked up at her quizzically and asked “what’s a dial tone?”</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Phones,
too, have come a long way. There’s the mobile or cell phone. We have gone from
phones that looked not dissimilar to Maxwell Smart’s shoe phone in size to
phones that carry in our pockets. Actually computers that we carry in our
pockets but call phones. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb8nqNxRng5bCYpeeIpVhw_Og5xp5D77E2bct9v6elbOzOyQ9y8hFPr19wXGOr9JSpWEHvowfFCwylHZyG4U84x7olGgq6yMJgjtbYYvAfZ_BGM2r3_QDN3K-GKVsygyuFZc0qi4Gd6BuNZzj-RX5Tbp41XznGs83eqfxPsSH1M14IZ1lDfteJKGEy6301/s4032/IMG_5578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb8nqNxRng5bCYpeeIpVhw_Og5xp5D77E2bct9v6elbOzOyQ9y8hFPr19wXGOr9JSpWEHvowfFCwylHZyG4U84x7olGgq6yMJgjtbYYvAfZ_BGM2r3_QDN3K-GKVsygyuFZc0qi4Gd6BuNZzj-RX5Tbp41XznGs83eqfxPsSH1M14IZ1lDfteJKGEy6301/s320/IMG_5578.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We had a
black rotary dial phone forever. When it came to calling overseas, we would
wait until Sunday so that we could actually afford the call. It was always kept
short because cost was an issue. We had to dial ‘0’ for the operator and then
ask for the overseas operator. The overseas operator would come on the line,
and we would tell her who we wanted to call and give her the number to plug in
for us. Then we would wait until the phone was answered on the other end. There was always a 10 second gap in
time. We would shout a sentence into the phone then wait. 20 seconds later
would come a reply. Often, though, those 20 seconds felt like eternity so we
would end up shouting over the other person’s reply. When Scotland called us,
there was always dead air on the line after we said hello. It took a while for
us to realize this wasn’t a crank call and we learned to wait out the time it took for the voice to make its way across the cables. </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Our phone numbers
actually started with words. The first two numbers were given a word,
corresponding to the letters around that number on the dial. For example, 527-XXXX would
be Jackson seven, 547-XXXX was Liberty seven and 627-XXXX was Mayfair seven.
When someone asked your phone number you would literally say “Jackson Seven
XXXX”. And
unlike today, when you moved residences, you were assigned a new phone number. In
smaller communities where everyone had the same exchange, you only actually
needed to dial the five numbers, and could leave off the first two. <o:p></o:p></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">There was even a phone number you could dial to get the accurate time.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My aunt in
the country had a party line. Three or four neighbours would all use the same
phone line. Each household would have a different ring. Long-short-long. Two
long and a short, etc. Making a call was often difficult because the phone was
often in use by someone in one of the other households. Calling in would result
in a busy signal. Calling out meant constantly lifting the receiver to see if
there was a conversation happening on the other end of the line. And waiting
until there wasn’t one before you could dial out. It was several years before
they were able to get their own telephone line.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We
eventually graduated from the black phone to a wall phone. We still had the
black phone, but it was relegated to the basement. Our neighbour across the street was ahead of
all of us. She had a “long cord” It was about 6 feet long and meant that she
could walk around her kitchen while on the phone instead of being tethered to
the wall. That luxury seemed frivolous to my parents.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My aunt up
the street was the first to get a touch-tone phone. The ringer no longer
sounded like a phone. It warbled. You no longer dialed numbers, but pressed
buttons. Upgrading meant she received a new phone number. And by that time, we
no longer used a word as the first two digits. We actually said all seven
numbers when asked for our phone number.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now of
course, we rarely use numbers, we just tap a button, photograph or icon. We
plug our phones into the recess that used to house the car’s cigarette lighter. Today,
we carry our phones with us and although they are portable, we are tethered</span>. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-35209577383111430772023-11-03T06:00:00.001-04:002023-11-03T06:00:00.136-04:00Family Stories Month - Traditions<p> <span style="font-family: verdana;">Traditions
bond us as a family. They provide opportunities for shared memories. Knowing that they will repeat year after year, gives a sense of rhythm to family life but also nurtures stability and strengthens our roots and our connections to one another. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Apart from
the big extended family get togethers for Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter and
birthdays, we also had traditions for Victoria Day, Halloween and Hogmanay.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Halloween</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjziU7XFxyjDFaS9FrE3PtXyCdb_9ybIbC_O_h5l0gC1RIE2_eWEHHVmXWz_iVve6ycX8vq64YgHiJxvKRWecrxXY11nszXKyk7kn8IzrBe9FOiXUzPGWgcg46c3w41ZB4UcF1lGWg3x6GirGO1zir8-aYe9-h9QXpSkt_Uw4vLdekwNvvju03FkhuJipFc/s2556/Andy%20&%20Colin%20at%20Halloween.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1814" data-original-width="2556" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjziU7XFxyjDFaS9FrE3PtXyCdb_9ybIbC_O_h5l0gC1RIE2_eWEHHVmXWz_iVve6ycX8vq64YgHiJxvKRWecrxXY11nszXKyk7kn8IzrBe9FOiXUzPGWgcg46c3w41ZB4UcF1lGWg3x6GirGO1zir8-aYe9-h9QXpSkt_Uw4vLdekwNvvju03FkhuJipFc/s320/Andy%20&%20Colin%20at%20Halloween.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC0AaV59ls5Ze7t7pXLg10KDq-3zJDOkw4UP5i9Z8kBjRYIB0gqVd4HX5q846TbGVgqMVYMGUxOIzU_rvcAKfXlh_1wuBEjKb7_iIeU8B2WsGiXS8jfQZ9260VaEYqKxPYOGZK3jHDleSn1G-cKVolHGQFcR3A2-Mv-jMoo2lD87Jnjgntp8MkoS0GZV2O/s1957/SCAN2637.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1807" data-original-width="1957" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC0AaV59ls5Ze7t7pXLg10KDq-3zJDOkw4UP5i9Z8kBjRYIB0gqVd4HX5q846TbGVgqMVYMGUxOIzU_rvcAKfXlh_1wuBEjKb7_iIeU8B2WsGiXS8jfQZ9260VaEYqKxPYOGZK3jHDleSn1G-cKVolHGQFcR3A2-Mv-jMoo2lD87Jnjgntp8MkoS0GZV2O/s320/SCAN2637.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p>My mum’s
older sister lived one block away from us. Her children, my brother and I would
go out on Halloween together. It depended on our ages, of course, whether it
was two of us, three of us or all four of us. My mum’s younger sister lived 20
minutes away – in the country. She would bring her children into the city to go
trick or treating with their cousins. </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqI5V_y4h22kyARm3yyXnI-LjjVg_EnGvSqVJHRNglLzLI2X267_cf1PegaSL_D9qIt_X-JhROqyT641seHLBfaYq_Bs3f1t82AIbmdFI0lzDFUajTNIKFc-KzehxI4WkQ9m9MNP-MFs-6jkauj4kOsbqz1XeKcBa0MVaSSI5S3mP72QA5R3SlTE7e1Rh/s3600/SCAN3163.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3600" data-original-width="2400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqI5V_y4h22kyARm3yyXnI-LjjVg_EnGvSqVJHRNglLzLI2X267_cf1PegaSL_D9qIt_X-JhROqyT641seHLBfaYq_Bs3f1t82AIbmdFI0lzDFUajTNIKFc-KzehxI4WkQ9m9MNP-MFs-6jkauj4kOsbqz1XeKcBa0MVaSSI5S3mP72QA5R3SlTE7e1Rh/s320/SCAN3163.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWGa94or0YJ0Z8t9868Ahk_DBXom5KOHgjHVg8eIpIy3WHdizefYfbnKagRMjpHbQ0zI1kvwe7ZHTCa2Xzp227RtsKawgqZ_a2qch7ex98X1r81Rew-rJfc6jEF80wE19Pg92dgMHSPsQvwZ_P587X4ad4Gx5JR4zHIWZCv-f1ykvxsRDwWAfvRoQ4qw1x/s964/scary%20face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="964" data-original-width="686" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWGa94or0YJ0Z8t9868Ahk_DBXom5KOHgjHVg8eIpIy3WHdizefYfbnKagRMjpHbQ0zI1kvwe7ZHTCa2Xzp227RtsKawgqZ_a2qch7ex98X1r81Rew-rJfc6jEF80wE19Pg92dgMHSPsQvwZ_P587X4ad4Gx5JR4zHIWZCv-f1ykvxsRDwWAfvRoQ4qw1x/s320/scary%20face.jpg" width="228" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">That was our tradition for many years until
someone had the bright idea of putting razor blades or straight pins in kid’s
chocolate bars. This happened about three years in a row and while most of us
were now “too old” to go house to house, the younger ones weren’t and we still enjoyed
getting together. So, my aunt (in the country) decided to start having Halloween
parties. We would dress up and go to her place. She would have various games
for us to play. These were always so much fun and I love looking back on the
pictures from those parties. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_wpHalCynYn60Bt8yyjHM3TPmrAj82i627rbNvlx0ysPSak-e92EN5lzjwb3y8L2lO5WXHOhFltmK8iiTnb04haBMrXCMqH_gkO2-675AjRMvgMyiIBf-js4UfnXHPgKnOHb-tcmNOiDrx0pervjW7CDaob9yy9a0xQhGzhDSM7aPZC2L2ZtMjSUR_kDh/s1773/44779499_2098118536920347_8004778858794450944_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1172" data-original-width="1773" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_wpHalCynYn60Bt8yyjHM3TPmrAj82i627rbNvlx0ysPSak-e92EN5lzjwb3y8L2lO5WXHOhFltmK8iiTnb04haBMrXCMqH_gkO2-675AjRMvgMyiIBf-js4UfnXHPgKnOHb-tcmNOiDrx0pervjW7CDaob9yy9a0xQhGzhDSM7aPZC2L2ZtMjSUR_kDh/s320/44779499_2098118536920347_8004778858794450944_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilZzGpvhg4fUjz9dW8h2YIgYLvSgD6zoa2O6ptxELQBvepYbPyNMWd80VJEy8jz0JvOoEopeXT0HTcdXgDf_DgSIPgH5wU1qpOBDep39A1X4W0X8nxbLIi1aDzAPcBOz-1nT30tp1mWTNqGxt0nGKtT7xa-J_EkFLLoBZ9y0a0-kB8134pvadx0S0HzyYN/s1800/44743080_2098118673587000_711936699562721280_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilZzGpvhg4fUjz9dW8h2YIgYLvSgD6zoa2O6ptxELQBvepYbPyNMWd80VJEy8jz0JvOoEopeXT0HTcdXgDf_DgSIPgH5wU1qpOBDep39A1X4W0X8nxbLIi1aDzAPcBOz-1nT30tp1mWTNqGxt0nGKtT7xa-J_EkFLLoBZ9y0a0-kB8134pvadx0S0HzyYN/s320/44743080_2098118673587000_711936699562721280_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ZMC53iDZslgb-oGy6VD5cyi4xhia3fl7YOa3G-0HlQLRAb4aSiqe3PamvH1V7iWey1ci-HOKbkND8pExL0LhviMIpqf6L4lDp-WAlKyPlBE536OQxqWHdb3QbdbTbOgFA2ZopoZ1161VGn6era7gLXMkkHJWz36FofQM8cj-ClrOgioO0VNk2lwzqGRI/s2000/44779487_2098118703586997_7855041481218719744_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1464" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ZMC53iDZslgb-oGy6VD5cyi4xhia3fl7YOa3G-0HlQLRAb4aSiqe3PamvH1V7iWey1ci-HOKbkND8pExL0LhviMIpqf6L4lDp-WAlKyPlBE536OQxqWHdb3QbdbTbOgFA2ZopoZ1161VGn6era7gLXMkkHJWz36FofQM8cj-ClrOgioO0VNk2lwzqGRI/s320/44779487_2098118703586997_7855041481218719744_n.jpg" width="234" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR4UlqGgxvblv9473r81KHSaeKuvVxlboIL6cc9abdwbbIKfrXYJ5crkgwKpl4R_wmDTnMzkslgFR4ntB_Q8L1llHSuODSr9BuaxhimN_TdwHmAK27ajph-oKDATnvp_N0mRxE5tUdk_MblIa4FhRWnC7cjBfVApJBq0VIVEaZAQQskWV_N9hy-huFh0FZ/s3600/Halloween%20at%20Lindas%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3600" data-original-width="2400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR4UlqGgxvblv9473r81KHSaeKuvVxlboIL6cc9abdwbbIKfrXYJ5crkgwKpl4R_wmDTnMzkslgFR4ntB_Q8L1llHSuODSr9BuaxhimN_TdwHmAK27ajph-oKDATnvp_N0mRxE5tUdk_MblIa4FhRWnC7cjBfVApJBq0VIVEaZAQQskWV_N9hy-huFh0FZ/s320/Halloween%20at%20Lindas%20(1).jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5k8p8X1O7U6URPb8j87TcVnx9Tpop24kjwPBnnli8_Oo1Qk1qCC_kCo5wLDln7voEUyT6PJzRKVr1lVGU3raHxupxN6SKCuVsqZXHLxQ8U1ekHm1G08cIVB81xL_aSZfpX7R46nTd1DnBf2Wylj9EF-X0IyO3GGRnuqeCJO-XWU8I0GlFbFScfCNgmDER/s1377/Halloween%20at%20Lindas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1377" data-original-width="959" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5k8p8X1O7U6URPb8j87TcVnx9Tpop24kjwPBnnli8_Oo1Qk1qCC_kCo5wLDln7voEUyT6PJzRKVr1lVGU3raHxupxN6SKCuVsqZXHLxQ8U1ekHm1G08cIVB81xL_aSZfpX7R46nTd1DnBf2Wylj9EF-X0IyO3GGRnuqeCJO-XWU8I0GlFbFScfCNgmDER/s320/Halloween%20at%20Lindas.jpg" width="223" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">For the
Victoria Day, that same aunt also held a get together where we would all gather
at her place and watch fireworks, drink hot chocolate and enjoy the holiday.
Kids were a huge part of the event and there were always extras to be had. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ27_Uk4wd9ZNb4EuUVdshNWN5Ipuw3ECUUc0CV54ziRYPcqgABgUaotH6tP7kbRo5N_CoMTE9nIgpFwVWLuZOtz8bLc1sRGxMybFeWUccR8USJVQ40WCmUZmWuW5uplF-sUG8D6YVS2nbT5PvXsdyjxeiSknFRTIjgq9JtQ0POc_FnXBF7cQvpSiUpB4n/s3306/SCAN4568.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2348" data-original-width="3306" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ27_Uk4wd9ZNb4EuUVdshNWN5Ipuw3ECUUc0CV54ziRYPcqgABgUaotH6tP7kbRo5N_CoMTE9nIgpFwVWLuZOtz8bLc1sRGxMybFeWUccR8USJVQ40WCmUZmWuW5uplF-sUG8D6YVS2nbT5PvXsdyjxeiSknFRTIjgq9JtQ0POc_FnXBF7cQvpSiUpB4n/s320/SCAN4568.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW1eTXlcSHjwkeCsUuVkiRwObBC2Rg8QXW1tNa5JzIsYmcyBf-QW0xv1iis5ozK_SGfsgTZKH_pY37vOx2d0_2egVw0b7zC5qMKhAZWp3D_kbBgyd1XurPaZ59mdAd3xC5zKyX5Vpc-cxiys-VPo-k0A6cFbk40A5pxDa57O6uiCzCccc0cQk2ZJ6JWnmW/s2532/SCAN4244.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2056" data-original-width="2532" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW1eTXlcSHjwkeCsUuVkiRwObBC2Rg8QXW1tNa5JzIsYmcyBf-QW0xv1iis5ozK_SGfsgTZKH_pY37vOx2d0_2egVw0b7zC5qMKhAZWp3D_kbBgyd1XurPaZ59mdAd3xC5zKyX5Vpc-cxiys-VPo-k0A6cFbk40A5pxDa57O6uiCzCccc0cQk2ZJ6JWnmW/s320/SCAN4244.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Perhaps
my favourite memory of Victoria Day was the year my young cousin was over from
Scotland. It was a chilly evening and so she and my mum sat indoors, in front
of the big picture window, watching the fireworks. Mel asked my mum “aunty Dot,
why are there fireworks?” Mum answered, “Because it’s the Queen’s birthday” Mel
thought for a second, looked around, then looked back at my mum and asked “What’s
she no here fer then?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOLrBqdfZWrL5mkGRAmJY6mr_CuOvCF78vLl0qtupQp86fD6zeXYNhzV_xDhBTmhJQb71_zsxIfF86sjN0ZqwFC05UEI3UMSrJoSQ5RqXk2y-qVszla0EGJ7X__0FBSfR9Chwqa58xkxZWkFzbqCTjk2EOlKuAHHy4KAqqyJh7ysoPsI6cmAJW5-C35-tG/s1800/66754890_2537856699613193_8382621494194208768_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOLrBqdfZWrL5mkGRAmJY6mr_CuOvCF78vLl0qtupQp86fD6zeXYNhzV_xDhBTmhJQb71_zsxIfF86sjN0ZqwFC05UEI3UMSrJoSQ5RqXk2y-qVszla0EGJ7X__0FBSfR9Chwqa58xkxZWkFzbqCTjk2EOlKuAHHy4KAqqyJh7ysoPsI6cmAJW5-C35-tG/s320/66754890_2537856699613193_8382621494194208768_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Hogmanay
was always spent at our house. My parents held a big Hogmanay party every year,
with friends, family and neighbours all invited. Mum spent the day making
sausage rolls, tattie scones and shortbread. My aunt made dumplin and my uncle
made tablet. People started arriving about 8:30 and the place was packed with
merrymakers waiting to welcome in the new year. At midnight, there was the
traditional Auld Lang Syne followed by our neighbour being ushered out the back
door so he could come in the front door as our “first footer” Once the business
was out of the way, the food was consumed. The party went on until well into
the new day. And then the extended family would gather for a big New Year’s Day
dinner at one of the aunts<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>homes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZu3VVfGdaJ-XoSWUvtYbrts4jH-aXyzhmPI2pI8jzxQ4vvsm2KuFSWmGTNa5qwevjPzFOqaFO56qwk6H8G_iZBuAuKiQN59f2zkaSfJkVE6CpusBas-B7c5t2rm04OuVoYl5EaSI5IJ_DR5SHWKNyYCEpNdRmuXeWNd9HaxyJ63VvsG_6mIb7LJHYXBC_/s1111/linda%20&amp;%20christine%20christmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1111" data-original-width="694" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZu3VVfGdaJ-XoSWUvtYbrts4jH-aXyzhmPI2pI8jzxQ4vvsm2KuFSWmGTNa5qwevjPzFOqaFO56qwk6H8G_iZBuAuKiQN59f2zkaSfJkVE6CpusBas-B7c5t2rm04OuVoYl5EaSI5IJ_DR5SHWKNyYCEpNdRmuXeWNd9HaxyJ63VvsG_6mIb7LJHYXBC_/s320/linda%20&amp;%20christine%20christmas.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7e-C7qe9yoSi08TPxhVU_SCGpfPajtroqpXOAuRD55oqmghEXKgW2JfoL0nTqEnfrK0BjeBt8z5VsZQyWIHD9Mo_yAeZJA0li5d9nj77dP80zQoCRBaCguxbUW2K5oJKebKetXpEUKL7d2oUPjPYLwgp96Mf4nn9RS07EgxY4zn7A45-DgsxBXacvc5zR/s1119/linda%20&amp;%20Christine%20christmas%20again.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1119" data-original-width="717" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7e-C7qe9yoSi08TPxhVU_SCGpfPajtroqpXOAuRD55oqmghEXKgW2JfoL0nTqEnfrK0BjeBt8z5VsZQyWIHD9Mo_yAeZJA0li5d9nj77dP80zQoCRBaCguxbUW2K5oJKebKetXpEUKL7d2oUPjPYLwgp96Mf4nn9RS07EgxY4zn7A45-DgsxBXacvc5zR/s320/linda%20&amp;%20Christine%20christmas%20again.jpg" width="205" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4WtRiQD6SRwmJeES_f2BscXJBlJcXiOYdiqqoQ08sD2sZZp8TFyuNrQ8uvzs1SQfNhYrq2mZPtRg_MlJoIqJaIOq7otDyDgApGBKXWvDyOwRJC4Vt4jH1um8sq0vdS7tfgG-6zkVQCPlc1IA9H3PdtT3dSIfwKt0ik8DtUihWUX_QCv6sBL-ZcIMVe9l9/s2796/Christmas%20at%20Ann%20&%20Davey's.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2278" data-original-width="2796" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4WtRiQD6SRwmJeES_f2BscXJBlJcXiOYdiqqoQ08sD2sZZp8TFyuNrQ8uvzs1SQfNhYrq2mZPtRg_MlJoIqJaIOq7otDyDgApGBKXWvDyOwRJC4Vt4jH1um8sq0vdS7tfgG-6zkVQCPlc1IA9H3PdtT3dSIfwKt0ik8DtUihWUX_QCv6sBL-ZcIMVe9l9/s320/Christmas%20at%20Ann%20&%20Davey's.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgMhEH2lxYtpan9P9hE0Vz0HfHsLRzPYI2_ToOYDpnFHlelWX8dfLW9GeQi4Kd4nFXlwo1oZOmT5Ayvk_45sOcLitX8y76Hxn4E3prdiumlozQYdKbN1LgLij5VsV08R-3bqCsRlWP5JDy6zmSgIR2zbtJJTOTYmwr1MwdLShNks1I10JSfvghl7GT2VXF/s1043/christine%20&amp;%20linda%201982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1043" data-original-width="681" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgMhEH2lxYtpan9P9hE0Vz0HfHsLRzPYI2_ToOYDpnFHlelWX8dfLW9GeQi4Kd4nFXlwo1oZOmT5Ayvk_45sOcLitX8y76Hxn4E3prdiumlozQYdKbN1LgLij5VsV08R-3bqCsRlWP5JDy6zmSgIR2zbtJJTOTYmwr1MwdLShNks1I10JSfvghl7GT2VXF/s320/christine%20&amp;%20linda%201982.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">One of my
favourite traditions at any family get-together was taking photos. And in
particular, taking photos on Christmas Day when everyone was dressed up. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-74225277881084074622023-11-02T11:58:00.004-04:002023-11-02T11:58:28.849-04:00Family Stories Month - The Accident<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Most of us,
as family historians, will have uncovered stories that, had they turned out differently,
would have meant we wouldn’t exist. A near miss with death. These always humble
us. And yet few of us think about our own “close calls”.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Also, as
family historians, we need to recognize that we, too, will one day become an
ancestor. It is important that we document our own story so that others may
know us and so that we won’t be forgotten to the mists of time.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">When I teach
my course on writing “The Story of You”, one of the prompts I offer for people
to think about is “accidents/illness/injury” The depth of this is, of course,
up to the individual writer. It can be minor accidents, sports injuries or life
threatening illnesses. Here’s my story…</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">When I was
young, my mother, a nurse, worked in a busy city hospital. She worked shifts.
My dad, a machinist, worked in a factory. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He worked steady days. When mum was afternoons
or nights, it was just dad and I. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS3dQukaIIaGGszGmiqfc-nree14x7Ty_A8A_izpka6-ilpnX8ppfCVPWNez_Bnomvd4t0Uil6w2O0Z-zYt65ofOslGzvF17gvGWWbDuz5gN2EyWO7__-55zIxHTasbAe1NoXcl8lDI3OVQAtrG_2XzYIlE3HX28EhkabacGVEALGEn1GtwB2SlDcSiKk_/s644/christine%20&amp;%20tommy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="538" data-original-width="644" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS3dQukaIIaGGszGmiqfc-nree14x7Ty_A8A_izpka6-ilpnX8ppfCVPWNez_Bnomvd4t0Uil6w2O0Z-zYt65ofOslGzvF17gvGWWbDuz5gN2EyWO7__-55zIxHTasbAe1NoXcl8lDI3OVQAtrG_2XzYIlE3HX28EhkabacGVEALGEn1GtwB2SlDcSiKk_/s320/christine%20&amp;%20tommy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">One January, two months before I turned 6, my
mum was working afternoons. She called my dad on her break. He said he and I
were off to Guelph to visit close friends of the family for the evening. I can’t
recall whether we made it to our friends’ house or whether the accident
happened on our way home. I just remember that it was dark.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I heard my
dad yell. I heard a crunch. Then I remember the passenger door opening and dad saying
we need to get out. He carried me out. I wasn’t aware of it at the time, but blood
was pouring from his head. Suddenly there were other people around. “We need to
move in case that explodes” We moved, blankets and all. The next thing I
remember was being in a room with very bright lights and a man telling me it
was “ok, just pretend it (was) lemonade.” They were trying to give me “gas”.
But I couldn’t be fooled. My dentist used gas and I <b>hated</b> it. I held my
breath. There was some chatter about stubbornness and “Let’s try…” I don’t remember
anything after that.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My next
memory was in a darker room. And a man was there. Talking softly. I later learned that this was the surgeon who had stayed by my bedside until I was out of danger. </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The details
of the story came to me much later. Dad and I were in a head on collision. Hit
by a drunk driver. This was in the days before seatbelts. And child safety
seats. Dad hit the steering wheel, breaking several ribs. His head not only hit
the windshield but went through it. His scalp had nearly been ripped off.
Fortunately, a plastic surgeon had been on call. 92 stitches later, his scalp
was back in place, the scars mingling with the natural lines of his forehead.
His forehead was numb after that. The nerves had all been damaged. I was in the
front seat and on impact, was thrown onto the floor and below the dash. Right where
the impact was. My right leg was broken. And I was not doing well.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the hospital,
the doctors suspected I was bleeding internally. This was in the days before CT
scans, so the only option was “exploratory” surgery. Opening up my abdomen and
looking to see where the bleeding was coming from. Thus, the need for the
anesthetic. It turns out my liver had been lacerated. Two thirds of it were
removed. I also had a pulmonary embolism. And a fractured femur.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz81nB7esXFL_m-mBPqo7r7hQfTmz5HMqOCxN5SVuDJHtiQmSUgF22KORu_FX4cK-xwyh1yvutqxYm0ojbp3HhptK9PHZ__i-mGygkTBY7wSenaadQUlo8cG9vGkfT8gvbJDq4pPTJGPiAf8t6atirQqChGmbUbsU1BBmhf8qCdAkFqoqi3qgsQvnK70Yc/s1000/IMG_5562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="1000" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz81nB7esXFL_m-mBPqo7r7hQfTmz5HMqOCxN5SVuDJHtiQmSUgF22KORu_FX4cK-xwyh1yvutqxYm0ojbp3HhptK9PHZ__i-mGygkTBY7wSenaadQUlo8cG9vGkfT8gvbJDq4pPTJGPiAf8t6atirQqChGmbUbsU1BBmhf8qCdAkFqoqi3qgsQvnK70Yc/s320/IMG_5562.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">For the
fracture, I was placed in a Thomas Splint. This splint was first invented by a Welsh
physician, Dr. Hugh Owen Thomas. The idea behind the splint was rest and
immobilization. The injured leg is pulled into alignment (and yes, I remember
the pain of that vividly) then immobilized by the splint. For weeks or even
months. The Thomas Splint was widely used in both world wars on wounded
servicemen. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirhZOYigk66-lobjiVJYhRP_lfy7n1QdC_OZgKzAKUAUH8-aFym3uEP11XAi1CsBctTkj1adRHJnOSBzuCEgg5yHnpdgMh4PGbIt9zfcNNgbws_LiCCdqxpdYdYurr_vpWULHOjjFCQB7yoS-2V4AbJUVn0BnqEqFkp_xHm3ZGO5q2wMfb6deaNbsLftJg/s1520/D1B27F3F-966D-4C29-8131-0F9CF3D57F51.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1520" data-original-width="1178" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirhZOYigk66-lobjiVJYhRP_lfy7n1QdC_OZgKzAKUAUH8-aFym3uEP11XAi1CsBctTkj1adRHJnOSBzuCEgg5yHnpdgMh4PGbIt9zfcNNgbws_LiCCdqxpdYdYurr_vpWULHOjjFCQB7yoS-2V4AbJUVn0BnqEqFkp_xHm3ZGO5q2wMfb6deaNbsLftJg/s320/D1B27F3F-966D-4C29-8131-0F9CF3D57F51.jpeg" width="248" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p>I remained
in the hospital, immobilized by the splint, for about eight weeks. Then I was
placed in a cast that wrapped around my waist and covered my entire right leg
for another eight weeks or so.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">While we were both in the hospital, my dad would come to the pediatric ward every day to visit.
Sometimes two or three times a day. He was discharged long before me. I
remember him telling me he wouldn’t be visiting as often. But I still believed
he was in the hospital, so when he arrived, he would don a bathrobe and
slippers and come into my room for a visit.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Prior to the
accident, I had been invited to be a flower girl in the wedding of a family friend. But, now, in order to do so, I had to relearn how to walk. The bride's dad, who I referred to as Uncle Jack, was
a big part of encouraging me and giving me the confidence to be able to walk again. We would visit at
his house, and we would practice and practice until I was finally confident enough
to walk on my own. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSaEEKrc6FfTFHmBhS72wAfTMwBpWsgWGVRZqTuhnLCp_6rtfeyxWtJUHooCUFTAkp9HB3ECVvdN57qZqbvwTO80xTptpdGhVSpcdwTVATDGZZ3FfzAYkadKnIc9K-e5zWLUk5SCkGVNzL12H3s8JK5FaXLggVHjwf2EOnT9fVnVnBuTnWwse_OiT6JYD7/s553/original.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="553" data-original-width="449" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSaEEKrc6FfTFHmBhS72wAfTMwBpWsgWGVRZqTuhnLCp_6rtfeyxWtJUHooCUFTAkp9HB3ECVvdN57qZqbvwTO80xTptpdGhVSpcdwTVATDGZZ3FfzAYkadKnIc9K-e5zWLUk5SCkGVNzL12H3s8JK5FaXLggVHjwf2EOnT9fVnVnBuTnWwse_OiT6JYD7/s320/original.jpg" width="260" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I often think
about my poor mum. Being at work. Getting the phone call and not knowing whether
her husband and child would be alive when she made it to the hospital an hour
away. Being a nurse, she would know all too well what the odds were. That must have
felt like one of the longest rides of her life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The scorch
marks created by the burning cars could be seen on the roadway for years to
come. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-4466762422337420242023-11-01T06:00:00.021-04:002023-11-01T06:00:00.164-04:00Family Stories Month – Chasing Rumours<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd3VZ9bCvVmR3gJEy4TKfVJkzLoJ2k1PGWxgmS8JcmXHVE4IYGCHd3iBKuseDoVZwMadfdrEmShYZGxNfbgmD2kEE4v2AFoSpF4mBKdRPVA2TBTR-4qvGhwEQn2awd8cqzqiCoslljcrwl1FCD3lb7RINj8U-WkaRLvUcj89EKNeMKhQvn7QFeV_pQ1QXI/s3375/stories.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2625" data-original-width="3375" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd3VZ9bCvVmR3gJEy4TKfVJkzLoJ2k1PGWxgmS8JcmXHVE4IYGCHd3iBKuseDoVZwMadfdrEmShYZGxNfbgmD2kEE4v2AFoSpF4mBKdRPVA2TBTR-4qvGhwEQn2awd8cqzqiCoslljcrwl1FCD3lb7RINj8U-WkaRLvUcj89EKNeMKhQvn7QFeV_pQ1QXI/w400-h311/stories.jpg" width="400" /></a></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">November is
Family Stories Month. Stories are such a critical piece of family history. We work
to uncover the stories of those who came before us and in doing so, we work to not
only preserve them but also to understand our part in the larger family dynamic. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It is said
that within three generations, we will have been forgotten. I remember being
acutely aware of this when my aunt passed away in 2020. She knew her
grandparents (three generations removed from me). She had talked to them, spent
time with them, listened to them, knew their personalities. She had watched
their interactions with others, understood the things that were important to
them, had heard their stories. With her gone more recent generations could only
imagine what they were like.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was the
stories and the need to preserve the stories that started my journey into
family history. While my eyes often glazed over as the family stories were
being repeated and repeated and repeated, it was only after the storytellers
had passed away that I longed for one more listen. And this time, I would not
only pay attention, I would write them down to preserve them.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Often as we
listen to stories that have come down through the generations, we wonder how
much truth there is to them. The stories we see as folklore, perhaps. Or wishful
thinking. Stories that may have been altered in some way.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In this
post, I will look at one such story. It is not my family’s story, but that of a
prominent Brantford Family from history. A prominent Canadian family. A prominent
Scottish-Canadian family.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><b><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Rumour:</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></b></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><b><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></b></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><b></b></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZNtf8qurQS5_jTbSVIZzgC6GETarKhuSlrp-GjsqoQcWhbO4Oh90n-N8ZLbyvrdCXD4EnhG8tLR3By_zSIRBNOumur-VmqAaGTJt5gLTctbcOm8i02UQ_-fkWv1Y6f5m6fQBVzMLo3TwFohrTwzoQ70NWHKjeuX_ZXXKHD67hX9nhJcPq6rzOkQ3CLfIG/s4032/IMG_5553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZNtf8qurQS5_jTbSVIZzgC6GETarKhuSlrp-GjsqoQcWhbO4Oh90n-N8ZLbyvrdCXD4EnhG8tLR3By_zSIRBNOumur-VmqAaGTJt5gLTctbcOm8i02UQ_-fkWv1Y6f5m6fQBVzMLo3TwFohrTwzoQ70NWHKjeuX_ZXXKHD67hX9nhJcPq6rzOkQ3CLfIG/w400-h300/IMG_5553.JPG" width="400" /></a></b></i></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The
Brantford Club was established in 1898 and has served Brantford businessmen
(and now women) for 125 years. Like many old mansions, it is rumoured to be
haunted. Staff and club members alike have talked about seeing a man (of
varying descriptions) in the halls and basement of the club. Digging deeper
into the rumour, I learned that there was a suicide committed at the club many
years ago. Perhaps it is the spirit of this man that continues to loiter in the
halls of the Club. Further rumour is that the victim of the suicide was the
brother of W. Ross Macdonald.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">William
Ross Macdonald was the 4<sup>th</sup> son and 6<sup>th</sup> child of Scottish
born dry goods merchant, George MacDonald and his English wife, Julia Bulley. George
and Julia emigrated to Toronto in 1886 and had five children: Alex, George,
Julia, William and Norman. The family moved to Brantford when Norman was a
young boy. He attended high school in Brantford.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Both
William and his younger brother, Norman, studied law at Osgoode in Toronto and then
opened a joint law practice “MacDonald and MacDonald” in Brantford. Both men served
in the first world war. William went on to become a politician, serving as an
MP, Deputy Speaker and then Speaker of the House of Commons. He later served as
Senator and then Solicitor General of Canada. William served as Lieutenant
Governor and was made an officer in the Order of Canada.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Although he
was involved in municipal politics as an alderman, Norman preferred military
life to politics. He served the City of Branford as its Solicitor for most of
his career. In WWI, Norman was deployed to France where he served from
1915-1918. He was injured no less than four times during his time in France. He
made it to the rank of Captain. Following his return to civilian life, Norman
served as Major for the 10<sup>th</sup> Dragoons in Brantford.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Norman
offered his services when the second world war broke out. He served in the Dept
of the Judge Advocate General. He was in London during the Great Blitz and
fortunate enough to escape unscathed when his place of residence was bombed. Norman
had the unique distinction of being one of few Canadians who had been called to
the Bar in England. He was enrolled in the Inner Temple in London in 1942 while
serving there during the war.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I decided
to do some digging on this branch of the MacDonalds. Two of William’s brothers
died quite young. Brother George, a clergyman, died in 1940 at the age of 53
following complications from an appendectomy. George died in Edmonton, Alberta.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Brother
Norman died in 1947, in Brantford, at the age of 54. In retrieving his death
registration, it shows the place of his death as 98 George St Brantford. The
Brantford Club.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4UF_MMwvok0c1qASlKaSNdS-Mh5z1_tJsiUr3o9s_h8ANeZzpblgzryAzc6KwoU6e1gaGM3_33PPCw14l3CaPyhl7l-zrVCavSogs_L9zTG4ExbdhjQPcfzLhNAmclVC6udfFm-pOEVQRj72B3-5hpHZH3tZozfL0ITJMrzRrQv8CS0o3E6GSVYlwerRm/s460/medical%20certificate%20of%20death%20norman%20f%20macdonald.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="290" data-original-width="460" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4UF_MMwvok0c1qASlKaSNdS-Mh5z1_tJsiUr3o9s_h8ANeZzpblgzryAzc6KwoU6e1gaGM3_33PPCw14l3CaPyhl7l-zrVCavSogs_L9zTG4ExbdhjQPcfzLhNAmclVC6udfFm-pOEVQRj72B3-5hpHZH3tZozfL0ITJMrzRrQv8CS0o3E6GSVYlwerRm/w400-h253/medical%20certificate%20of%20death%20norman%20f%20macdonald.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Cause of
death: GSW Head/Gunshot wound. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In response
to “Accident, suicide or homicide” the answer is Suicide. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Manner of injury:
Pistol. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So there we
have it. Truth to the rumour. It <b>was</b> the brother of W. Ross MacDonald
who had committed suicide at the Brantford Club. The date was 22 February, 1947.
Norman’s funeral was held at Alexandra Presbyterian Church. His body was cremated
and the ashes were buried at Farringdon Church Cemetery.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBITd1jzbYkzCa8s_0cDb6buhYDu2ozvLhTnva-7Uk84Nkoo59_NLepwwklYrwFTDbomnk2EbT73uBPKvxxKXey0b78eJNJMhv9axrGBuzUFJd-aFG5NMgtiK-cm4Of9Dtae14ZPPWp28Gum-5TTEH_ZDF5OjmMlhamDfPqBgEUlpZiDzxlhxwnIEHQNfF/s376/nf%20macdonald.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="376" data-original-width="343" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBITd1jzbYkzCa8s_0cDb6buhYDu2ozvLhTnva-7Uk84Nkoo59_NLepwwklYrwFTDbomnk2EbT73uBPKvxxKXey0b78eJNJMhv9axrGBuzUFJd-aFG5NMgtiK-cm4Of9Dtae14ZPPWp28Gum-5TTEH_ZDF5OjmMlhamDfPqBgEUlpZiDzxlhxwnIEHQNfF/w365-h400/nf%20macdonald.JPG" width="365" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">On Monday, February
24, the local newspaper, The Brantford Expositor, ran an article on page 2,
detailing his life of service. It does not mention his place of death or how he
died. Likely a sign of the times and wanting to retain the dignity in death
that he commanded in life. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-5293526002179747042023-10-31T06:00:00.001-04:002023-10-31T06:00:00.132-04:00A Month of Scottish Gravestones - The Dance of Death<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWU6vA7Hi5OMkXIkDwiCQSFfnbRtmnh1-GEfLKgNo1qQR7s0ALnmyX3uKxAwwj6PHSRW9_Hoe4N0kNiwKakGdq8d5t_wI_SFWyI7dg-tgq-K2G3hQG2QmIWg1DNRR3pgFZkLoKqJXJdWdTjodyI-uYOypeZkotCh40s052PiB_QBxqbSWox9-TKSlwqm0/s1021/IMG_5486.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="840" data-original-width="1021" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWU6vA7Hi5OMkXIkDwiCQSFfnbRtmnh1-GEfLKgNo1qQR7s0ALnmyX3uKxAwwj6PHSRW9_Hoe4N0kNiwKakGdq8d5t_wI_SFWyI7dg-tgq-K2G3hQG2QmIWg1DNRR3pgFZkLoKqJXJdWdTjodyI-uYOypeZkotCh40s052PiB_QBxqbSWox9-TKSlwqm0/s320/IMG_5486.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We end the month
of Scottish graveyards with a post about a grave slab that has long fascinated
me. It is situated not in a graveyard, but outside the crypt in the basement of
Rosslyn Chapel. The gravestone depicts the Dance of Death. </span> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Barely
visible on the left side of the slab are the words <i>Omnia mors aequat</i> which
translates to “Death equals all things”. Standing on the far left is a crowned
skeleton holding a scythe (the large, handled blade). The scythe is a symbol
used by ancient grave keepers to maintain the lands between life and the
afterlife. It is also a symbol of death. The crowned skeleton is referred to as
the King of Terrors (or the King of Death). We would generally refer to him as
the Grim Reaper. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Next, we
see a naked pauper who is raised up to be the same height as the King who is sitting
on his throne. This shows us that death is the great equalizer. Death is coming
for us all, regardless of our status in life. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">November is National Family Stories month. Join me as I post about how you can discover, write and preserve the stories in your family history. </span></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-43884611031489876622023-10-30T07:00:00.000-04:002023-10-30T07:00:00.144-04:00A Month of Scottish Gravestones - Kirkoswald<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtgDL_EOoOvJDmxvCBuCZY_C2ZjZlDNlrgWCbI_n8de6gsDqmQt7q8V7R8SuK1EwrMcl9l7yWZ09PBXQfUUyItBsEi8rMDPWUqROvFnUyevA6rKI1J1XKx5SeR7UWbYCdojC-3h8yll-Kk5TZhBXEiDETxPuFwc13yb38MelKE8A1Ov22oZUK1Xf1rlJEF/s309/kirkoswald.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="309" data-original-width="213" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtgDL_EOoOvJDmxvCBuCZY_C2ZjZlDNlrgWCbI_n8de6gsDqmQt7q8V7R8SuK1EwrMcl9l7yWZ09PBXQfUUyItBsEi8rMDPWUqROvFnUyevA6rKI1J1XKx5SeR7UWbYCdojC-3h8yll-Kk5TZhBXEiDETxPuFwc13yb38MelKE8A1Ov22oZUK1Xf1rlJEF/s1600/kirkoswald.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">This headstone is for William and Margaret Linent. The date at the top reads 1687. The headstone is curiously broken into boxes or compartments, with the faces of Margaret and William at the top, Then we have the millstone on the left below William. It may represent his occupation. It is not clear what the two items to the left of the millstone are. If William was a miller, perhaps the long finger-like object was a rolling pin or the pin of the rind that held the millwheels together. Across the bottom are typical symbols for death: a skull, sod cutter and hourglass. </span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-48214886427116935612023-10-29T06:00:00.006-04:002023-10-29T06:00:00.168-04:00A Month of Scottish Gravestones - Deeply Regretted<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">While Scottish gravestones can be an absolute goldmine of
genealogical information and may also give us an insight into the personality
of the deceased, there are some words that we certainly would never expect to
find today.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI_CE8wlRIWopbwvSB7taVFnJo3rKp6qmhbfKYK0bRUHSU-W_fKQ_w7nZdY0GJbXRrvFUx1R0i3vwMtnBK8q_ejbq7rvbK-s8QpffqDjXOxak0PvdF5_zvCXCOCvbb2DktE5sW3eFgzK38oqq8uRntx22XlKmkRMD9QcNhbZChM-LT9ktXDj2VDDUhEg2H/s5152/IMG_1430.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3864" data-original-width="5152" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI_CE8wlRIWopbwvSB7taVFnJo3rKp6qmhbfKYK0bRUHSU-W_fKQ_w7nZdY0GJbXRrvFUx1R0i3vwMtnBK8q_ejbq7rvbK-s8QpffqDjXOxak0PvdF5_zvCXCOCvbb2DktE5sW3eFgzK38oqq8uRntx22XlKmkRMD9QcNhbZChM-LT9ktXDj2VDDUhEg2H/s320/IMG_1430.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">One such example is this stone from the Old Kincardine Kirkyard.
It has not particularly stood the test of time but the bottom of it reads: <br />
<br />
“<i>Thus had enclosed the ashes of his Deeply Deplored Relations</i>” </span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The use of the phrase deeply deplored today would be taken
as him not having a particular fondness for his relations. However in 1813, it
would have meant that they were in deep mourning – having deeply deplored his
loss. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And a wonderful example of the deceased being Deeply Regretted (meaning their death was deeply felt) is this gravestone in Old Calton Cemetery in Edinburgh for the Rev'd Thomas Thomson</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">It reads:</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQcLVAt3rzlI9i9EjNf7CLkKdzPZrwohzRCwDCrB6Li2-hVmX5MNJNMolhlXluwxtZQ0jKvD6tDRhBX3E5T5x3bmVuOJ8qYnr_gWJUbHDieXjKEpjVv9xbWYZ6Udn8NpsaAB2iC43WvHeBueXmztt6DvUgBmpIcqYExfHUa2skI1UV2dpbmlTE973d8PF/s4288/DSCF6594.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="2864" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQcLVAt3rzlI9i9EjNf7CLkKdzPZrwohzRCwDCrB6Li2-hVmX5MNJNMolhlXluwxtZQ0jKvD6tDRhBX3E5T5x3bmVuOJ8qYnr_gWJUbHDieXjKEpjVv9xbWYZ6Udn8NpsaAB2iC43WvHeBueXmztt6DvUgBmpIcqYExfHUa2skI1UV2dpbmlTE973d8PF/s320/DSCF6594.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><div><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sacred to the memory of the Rev’d Thomas Thomson</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Minister of the Relief Congregation<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">St James Place, Edinburgh </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">After a long illness which was borne </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">with Exemplary patience, </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">He Departed this Life on the 16<sup>th</sup> of April</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"> 1819 </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the 62d of his age </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">and 40<sup>th</sup> of his Ministry,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Deeply Regretted<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">By all his Friends and in particular by<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">His congregation <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Who in token of their respect </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">for the Piety and Worth of
his Character</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"> All of their grateful recollection</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Of his Fidelity and Tenderness
as a </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Pastor<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Erected this Monument As a Mournful Tribute of Affection</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"> to
his Virtues.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></i></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Also sacred to the memory of </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">his widow<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ann Drummond Smith <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Born 13<sup>th</sup> July 1779. Died 8<sup>th</sup> May 1848.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">And their second son<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Rev’d Thomas Drummond Thomson <o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Born 29<sup>th</sup> June 1814. Died 25<sup>th</sup> July
1847</span></i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And then the gravestone gives the parameters of the lair:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>Size of Ground 8 Feet by 10</i></span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-41518648357342066822023-10-28T07:00:00.000-04:002023-10-28T07:00:00.143-04:00A Month of Scottish Gravestones - The Crookit Family 1750<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBfXvrUfn3iBkRJWT4jpa_79DUQ0twnYG6ysf_kUPEWB_uMlXOhI6kWuMZ7HpmUQZ0ZAUbmiSUK2exKELKdiOFgee4oifgs7ezhyggt4qqAFGb3BQLk4hj7hfTMOthYI_TPQHs42zzFUYCrNmkqXkdrdYwzSyiGkEsvtnPgTRUeVMnc4tWZ7qHO5WJ01GQ/s5152/IMG_1432.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5152" data-original-width="3864" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBfXvrUfn3iBkRJWT4jpa_79DUQ0twnYG6ysf_kUPEWB_uMlXOhI6kWuMZ7HpmUQZ0ZAUbmiSUK2exKELKdiOFgee4oifgs7ezhyggt4qqAFGb3BQLk4hj7hfTMOthYI_TPQHs42zzFUYCrNmkqXkdrdYwzSyiGkEsvtnPgTRUeVMnc4tWZ7qHO5WJ01GQ/s320/IMG_1432.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We have looked at this stone before when we talked about symbolism. It shows a mother, father, perhaps mother-in-law along with 10 children. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The inscription reads: </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Heir lyes
the corps of Jennet Ferguson,</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"> spouse to William Bachop </span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">who departed this life
November 27, 1750</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Aged 50 and one daughter.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Jennet, William and the daughter who have died are all clothed while the living children appear to be naked. And all appear to be boys. The inscription suggests that only the daughter has died, suggesting that the boys were alive at the time of Jennet's death. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Locally, the headstone was known as the "Crookit Family" given that they all look somewhat deformed. However, it is more likely that the crude workmanship is more the cause of the individuals looking deformed and not that the family actually had a genetic disorder. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-27153553934574882282023-10-27T06:00:00.001-04:002023-10-27T06:00:00.148-04:00A Month of Scottish Gravestones - St Cuthbert's <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_aeM8UFiOU74n_GYf8-xKJ4VUNAZAiZQBoE3DQfBQezcy9jJiclBhKqQPPC6WJbxz9a3IKN1nIf5LvcMLbrczQgbUw8pdmY98NLMaIvNOZc90dVdl8S9Kc8uWDbjVlwflX2goUTal4YkqQuS2HpK3oG9lzTMPRuQ6_-AmTs4qH4eTZc81WasEKd3W9ExG/s4288/DSCF8480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2416" data-original-width="4288" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_aeM8UFiOU74n_GYf8-xKJ4VUNAZAiZQBoE3DQfBQezcy9jJiclBhKqQPPC6WJbxz9a3IKN1nIf5LvcMLbrczQgbUw8pdmY98NLMaIvNOZc90dVdl8S9Kc8uWDbjVlwflX2goUTal4YkqQuS2HpK3oG9lzTMPRuQ6_-AmTs4qH4eTZc81WasEKd3W9ExG/s320/DSCF8480.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">St Cuthbert’s has long held a fascination for me. I remember
my first time on a hop on hop off bus and seeing the watch tower looming. I had
heard stories about the body snatchers and this was proof that the stories were
true. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The graveyard is at the west end of Princes’ Street Gardens
and has been known as the kirk below the castle.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">According to oral tradition, the great missionary, Cuthbert,
preached from this spot in the 7th century and established the very first
church here.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeqdks_6-mzhy-xvERUQtZqO9LhH-5Xsad8cK_V50WV6s8zp3kuHptdSgNCm3-mgAoQzPHeVZVzFCqCSZJDicnUdM7lAGn0JYzQvb0GzNqZf_U32bh_iD2RV8NJUnqJr0Zbndz5L16ajGsRnl0MgrugNzVoaz4U5R2J7-NWfkaZ1DHH9_io9TQS_sYgL14/s4288/DSCF8479.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="2416" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeqdks_6-mzhy-xvERUQtZqO9LhH-5Xsad8cK_V50WV6s8zp3kuHptdSgNCm3-mgAoQzPHeVZVzFCqCSZJDicnUdM7lAGn0JYzQvb0GzNqZf_U32bh_iD2RV8NJUnqJr0Zbndz5L16ajGsRnl0MgrugNzVoaz4U5R2J7-NWfkaZ1DHH9_io9TQS_sYgL14/s320/DSCF8479.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-82953838540722976662023-10-26T06:00:00.001-04:002023-10-26T06:00:00.139-04:00A Month of Scottish Gravestones - Old Calton Cemetery, Edinburgh<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOK36n9fSpaAaW6p6lrx2MMmATTCqCmwCf0eQdlVexBPoMHfg8tKdvk4WGfGzP6nUdBnFvdjf9xeNqW4wfb2x_1WH8EIYi_trOdE4JesFFHDLmHwa4jChD9PlbjJ2vGdcbs_2kVDnXtflXC-c17Do-kbohRQbUXzfJ2u_wVK31SO8Z9ddg1Gzi89_XJln/s4288/DSCF2586.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2864" data-original-width="4288" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOK36n9fSpaAaW6p6lrx2MMmATTCqCmwCf0eQdlVexBPoMHfg8tKdvk4WGfGzP6nUdBnFvdjf9xeNqW4wfb2x_1WH8EIYi_trOdE4JesFFHDLmHwa4jChD9PlbjJ2vGdcbs_2kVDnXtflXC-c17Do-kbohRQbUXzfJ2u_wVK31SO8Z9ddg1Gzi89_XJln/s320/DSCF2586.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-family: verdana;">At one time, Calton was its own separate village at the east end of what
is now Princes Street, and at the base of Calton Hill. In 1718, the Society of
the Incorporated Trades of Calton bought a half acre of ground for use as a
burial ground for the village. A century later, a new road was to be built
which would run through the centre of the cemetery. It was decided that a new cemetery
should be built where bodies from part of the cemetery affected by the road
could be relocated.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Like many of the cemeteries in Edinburgh, Old Calton is the
final resting place for many of the city’s important citizens. </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpV4b4OhziFRE842lGyeszgU7XyTX8ywYLiHkLWcQEgqB5qsjnrywT2jrLK7P0YuXRHDUFaEbbaItU19QW8sxykjlF_Q37I0q8DgNWCdSKZ8fW3fOeaoGQBmi2BHAiseEQF814IeSGgbh66DIQD8HgfTfDUvWl8hOHHmXZ-TWaE3tfoCWx8QOQ3BXue5it/s4288/DSCF6588.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="2864" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpV4b4OhziFRE842lGyeszgU7XyTX8ywYLiHkLWcQEgqB5qsjnrywT2jrLK7P0YuXRHDUFaEbbaItU19QW8sxykjlF_Q37I0q8DgNWCdSKZ8fW3fOeaoGQBmi2BHAiseEQF814IeSGgbh66DIQD8HgfTfDUvWl8hOHHmXZ-TWaE3tfoCWx8QOQ3BXue5it/s320/DSCF6588.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk94COjeqlP12Hagk8sJewN9eHfSFP7-KTMlv94IFAvumU-hHwczNrpVwXmhmkxV27l9lZ7TVsG6h6CuxdzyCkK17uzHyFZvQlXelNR6rfjPpByYtCHX8jTHnQCoSQ8weYwSAL4EWa8QTzHnuZvuhOEe_RAbaYYwx2hMcBAB1fHV3eZoHDZdRVMgs9Xyur/s4288/DSCF6589.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="2864" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk94COjeqlP12Hagk8sJewN9eHfSFP7-KTMlv94IFAvumU-hHwczNrpVwXmhmkxV27l9lZ7TVsG6h6CuxdzyCkK17uzHyFZvQlXelNR6rfjPpByYtCHX8jTHnQCoSQ8weYwSAL4EWa8QTzHnuZvuhOEe_RAbaYYwx2hMcBAB1fHV3eZoHDZdRVMgs9Xyur/s320/DSCF6589.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3sSAP-47iCCkw5OA4a0RYX_Wj47ixvnSG781OkhJ35D0VEi4LxCsDG6WJtXIM_z6l7JBB-T4jZO8yp5mhYL8V_uGMtDCvXxFjWd9RKA4fEydx3vm1FHMeGV6rbXSDViBDghPzU-88H7B_ThPOpuiBbVx8ck5unKRTsTK_L4rBCsAeiv6GrwqvBYbosHIR/s4288/DSCF6592.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2864" data-original-width="4288" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3sSAP-47iCCkw5OA4a0RYX_Wj47ixvnSG781OkhJ35D0VEi4LxCsDG6WJtXIM_z6l7JBB-T4jZO8yp5mhYL8V_uGMtDCvXxFjWd9RKA4fEydx3vm1FHMeGV6rbXSDViBDghPzU-88H7B_ThPOpuiBbVx8ck5unKRTsTK_L4rBCsAeiv6GrwqvBYbosHIR/s320/DSCF6592.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZwj_YdjV4XDZDye51Cuvpu7iLET6F-sgW-CdN_WikJXRBGv45Arxt2zXJzpVSTmjIotbrarVW661xNyLlP81vFf4sd1VsQaR3lUfTMzOnysdGoOzyEJQAWRXBk2xQwijygCzfxt8fEmhzzz1FPiLYFLHYCC-JYJ96FiyXNKOnQQNrptMdmxUwpzNN2eZp/s4288/DSCF6594.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="2864" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZwj_YdjV4XDZDye51Cuvpu7iLET6F-sgW-CdN_WikJXRBGv45Arxt2zXJzpVSTmjIotbrarVW661xNyLlP81vFf4sd1VsQaR3lUfTMzOnysdGoOzyEJQAWRXBk2xQwijygCzfxt8fEmhzzz1FPiLYFLHYCC-JYJ96FiyXNKOnQQNrptMdmxUwpzNN2eZp/s320/DSCF6594.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIlSlNXeORvwIssNFJwA_fQB96RqrB1KNtLmPW63wjLL7TGoyIYmSxEpnBRD7RSc9tyLC_iF5umRCO3vfYqasksm6-WibMQCgXMwB_kdH-GnQw15KIQQen6WOVBI26eprWi4FNyU5Gnzwdi602D5pxmLURBg17GIdejrvnR36UV0EAhnUxsFsydN5cTTgg/s4288/DSCF8466.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="2416" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIlSlNXeORvwIssNFJwA_fQB96RqrB1KNtLmPW63wjLL7TGoyIYmSxEpnBRD7RSc9tyLC_iF5umRCO3vfYqasksm6-WibMQCgXMwB_kdH-GnQw15KIQQen6WOVBI26eprWi4FNyU5Gnzwdi602D5pxmLURBg17GIdejrvnR36UV0EAhnUxsFsydN5cTTgg/s320/DSCF8466.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-75608360660681060222023-10-25T06:30:00.001-04:002023-10-25T06:30:00.152-04:00A Month of Scottish Gravestones - New Calton Cemetery Edinburgh<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVkN8pJFPywAxX7GS_SPr4JaUrTc-wnbQIGyxSyiFIUDJ-4IAE8hWBCc5DO8k-CyRxJ9zG1e_mACS2lyPzs-mcEG-YFT1uQsnrXRIUohc4Y9mfyupw-_7K-gxFCJeouixi_pK9_LIdXyWX9POKRA5uF8UDQ0M4v-MSYtiMW_sq0uU6m72E_YSAkHy4jKNb/s4288/DSCF8394.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2416" data-original-width="4288" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVkN8pJFPywAxX7GS_SPr4JaUrTc-wnbQIGyxSyiFIUDJ-4IAE8hWBCc5DO8k-CyRxJ9zG1e_mACS2lyPzs-mcEG-YFT1uQsnrXRIUohc4Y9mfyupw-_7K-gxFCJeouixi_pK9_LIdXyWX9POKRA5uF8UDQ0M4v-MSYtiMW_sq0uU6m72E_YSAkHy4jKNb/s320/DSCF8394.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">New Calton Cemetery was founded in 1817 as both an overspill and replacement
to Old Calton Burial Ground, which lies half a mile to the west. More importantly as a place to reinter the graves that were being disturbed with the
building of Waterloo Place. The cemetery didn’t open to the public until 1820,
three years after the founding. It took this length of time to reinter the
bodies that had been moved from the Old Calton Cemetery. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Like St Cuthbert's, New Calton has a watch tower. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu4OyqJW9fAEydpadb_hCLK8mdfm8F33zJzsP1FpOMs1V0IfzOGPR7C3MyyDZ986uitlfAZyC2gvFoNNjD940_R7MFDWElxxR5ajommUAEx4wCmVlMUFCu9PrrtLBOPTGrLHynsuJAkOaUwT1NInCagtxunbROwnHbG1NuWk4f07g0R_MAof4zain_qOtq/s4288/DSCF8319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="2416" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu4OyqJW9fAEydpadb_hCLK8mdfm8F33zJzsP1FpOMs1V0IfzOGPR7C3MyyDZ986uitlfAZyC2gvFoNNjD940_R7MFDWElxxR5ajommUAEx4wCmVlMUFCu9PrrtLBOPTGrLHynsuJAkOaUwT1NInCagtxunbROwnHbG1NuWk4f07g0R_MAof4zain_qOtq/s320/DSCF8319.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The cemetery is on a slope and gives wonderful views of
Holyrood Palace and Arthur’s Seat. It is also holds the burial place of the
Stevenson family, engineers and ancestors of Robert Louis Stevenson. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVBWpmsGDjEszixIQPH1FDELXDCaeuekC8oONjsAmHYvsjWYd2bprwUOQbjaRNz0AL1IU3F9NHK1-7Yt53WCcT7pFezX5RZ9u2B_1Z67799_Xjw9FHgnXoFQpwnZRdv0yhZ-zWbK_P9r8_HlcrwaOuyN-oBwxx6Qib7L2XQTgIg2VZui9Q95GK4-CpjBZ4/s4288/DSCF8322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2416" data-original-width="4288" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVBWpmsGDjEszixIQPH1FDELXDCaeuekC8oONjsAmHYvsjWYd2bprwUOQbjaRNz0AL1IU3F9NHK1-7Yt53WCcT7pFezX5RZ9u2B_1Z67799_Xjw9FHgnXoFQpwnZRdv0yhZ-zWbK_P9r8_HlcrwaOuyN-oBwxx6Qib7L2XQTgIg2VZui9Q95GK4-CpjBZ4/s320/DSCF8322.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-67106545517933933072023-10-24T07:00:00.001-04:002023-10-24T07:00:00.140-04:00A Month of Scottish Gravestones - Canongate Kirkyard<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9VvtmTTKeXOUtpTQsNEHmRiA0L3Do1Yrf9QICmuBGCJwQe9GBSY0NhOFS47lTcUuL8zi-KrZzb_y-hCXWb2ogbaqasu8X-V3jQhxEaMMfk0i4etT4M-14zVkvGWXs652dJJPln5hb9oLLUR61y1fr1gYcdtTfSsdJXzq9lfRrGVjsXejsHh-h8v__tSz/s1600/DSCF8245.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="902" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9VvtmTTKeXOUtpTQsNEHmRiA0L3Do1Yrf9QICmuBGCJwQe9GBSY0NhOFS47lTcUuL8zi-KrZzb_y-hCXWb2ogbaqasu8X-V3jQhxEaMMfk0i4etT4M-14zVkvGWXs652dJJPln5hb9oLLUR61y1fr1gYcdtTfSsdJXzq9lfRrGVjsXejsHh-h8v__tSz/s320/DSCF8245.JPG" width="180" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Canongate was once a separate parish from Edinburgh. The
new Canongate Kirk was founded in 1688 and completed in 1691. Being the closest
church to Holyrood Palace, the church now serves as the ‘Royal Kirk’. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of the boundaries at one point, Edinburgh
Castle was included as part of the Canongate. As a result, there is an area within
the kirkyard where soldiers from soldiers who served at the Castle are buried. </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5NeX0G0WCin8fFD22y_9ufuAhIWQDc2Jc2y6iNeq0zSM3XBBQwUJKmH1B2TBTKmEaq7fNJ8AjMIemE6bVz-1Xn4HXn7KJH-cYsvuFY_FTybHAcWDM7oT6uWUKkj1kWDcSb8hWFKjhDrz9qT3ofWe29nh0IHhg3ndS7r-25mtIGmzeKggMYIYoo9lvX_-M/s4288/DSCF8394.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2416" data-original-width="4288" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5NeX0G0WCin8fFD22y_9ufuAhIWQDc2Jc2y6iNeq0zSM3XBBQwUJKmH1B2TBTKmEaq7fNJ8AjMIemE6bVz-1Xn4HXn7KJH-cYsvuFY_FTybHAcWDM7oT6uWUKkj1kWDcSb8hWFKjhDrz9qT3ofWe29nh0IHhg3ndS7r-25mtIGmzeKggMYIYoo9lvX_-M/s320/DSCF8394.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35ob4NlPwR0m4hcqutQAo53fvllFmLvi5P5FVGusTi2r-45B6411l5LJpnDf56355knqtbHmSMpYtmFW9KEebk8A6FUAIF3j8eFy0D6CDnf87nkgGwlPfH3uhjwFZmvGmlvGnxZMThcRl974V3VO4M7UjayHN6QS1u2AmH4LSvgtnmDYygBSdZrbJmT00/s1600/DSCF8283.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35ob4NlPwR0m4hcqutQAo53fvllFmLvi5P5FVGusTi2r-45B6411l5LJpnDf56355knqtbHmSMpYtmFW9KEebk8A6FUAIF3j8eFy0D6CDnf87nkgGwlPfH3uhjwFZmvGmlvGnxZMThcRl974V3VO4M7UjayHN6QS1u2AmH4LSvgtnmDYygBSdZrbJmT00/s320/DSCF8283.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As well, Clarinda is buried within as is poet Robert Ferguson. In fact there is a statue to Ferguson outside of the kirk yard. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-k3mpRD-sSKJxqK3FeZChdqXBX0PPt_MSOCPN7lkZBt3sq2CSjG6Y06CLwOy149HKDlp-uSBfLeD4yWamvVlVT9PdD99_-gK4nIXT5pEJdO7UiB_J43WRuu-y9IyBnkMqQBS1-XOIDr1mUpwy2PTjamvQkRumKBDrXEJlOJlWeVJoW5eta-UIUoQMnv7S/s640/Clarinda's_grave,_Canongate_kirkyard_-_geograph.org.uk_-_1339854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="496" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-k3mpRD-sSKJxqK3FeZChdqXBX0PPt_MSOCPN7lkZBt3sq2CSjG6Y06CLwOy149HKDlp-uSBfLeD4yWamvVlVT9PdD99_-gK4nIXT5pEJdO7UiB_J43WRuu-y9IyBnkMqQBS1-XOIDr1mUpwy2PTjamvQkRumKBDrXEJlOJlWeVJoW5eta-UIUoQMnv7S/s320/Clarinda's_grave,_Canongate_kirkyard_-_geograph.org.uk_-_1339854.jpg" width="248" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-YPQEmms4yG6J9zofua8txcGogGubW9LGflHonnN-GP5pgxWXUFU41w7F1gz2PY3WViwZ0DUcxrrMrNWv3wdkWHDBLad4xpWCuMGRo5BM_xfpi9OslvEK6TPUQAkvjCQkPQYqaN3PdPl_0ZxSEqk_7-Y3J_k4tfPv-yP67U_FVhqrOEsP1nawXVwS2V_K/s1500/robert-fergusson-statue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-YPQEmms4yG6J9zofua8txcGogGubW9LGflHonnN-GP5pgxWXUFU41w7F1gz2PY3WViwZ0DUcxrrMrNWv3wdkWHDBLad4xpWCuMGRo5BM_xfpi9OslvEK6TPUQAkvjCQkPQYqaN3PdPl_0ZxSEqk_7-Y3J_k4tfPv-yP67U_FVhqrOEsP1nawXVwS2V_K/s320/robert-fergusson-statue.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-46746550604114173602023-10-23T07:00:00.003-04:002023-10-23T07:00:00.139-04:00A Month of Scottish Gravestones - Edinburgh Graveyards<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Edinburgh's Old Town is my very favourite place to wander. It is so full of history. With Edinburgh having been the seat of royalty, so much of Scotland's history played out on the Royal Mile and the closes that run from it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">As well as wandering the streets and visiting the museums, I love to visit the graveyards that are in the Old Town. This week we will look at five of the Old Town cemeteries that are within an easy walk of one another.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">First up is Greyfriar's Kirkyard. The kirkyard sits on the site of a former Franciscan friary.
Franciscans wear grey cloaks, thus the name Greyfriar's. In 1562, it was recognized that the kirkyard at
St Giles was full to overflowing, Mary, Queen of Scots granted the land that
once housed the friary to be used as a graveyard. The church came after the cemetery,
being established in 1620. It has seen continuous worship since and has been
the witness to some of Scotland’s history, including the reading of the National
Coventant, subsequently being a prison for covenanters, and perhaps best known for
the story of wee Bobby, the watchman’s loyal dug. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1bxOLaRREbkrPCm_wfGthNpQ0leWqrH-Q2eLIMlfVYqujqiaLLOQt6G39jUkPryW5qtt2_9Pln6CX4dTn0EdGAvgb4nZU7EU1u3XpwGmKvb1CgblMCSP6RzEVKwvNwxW2gI7fGagiOViZ9tDOuXSHJTt_fwrfEDYR5OyJ4a2eO4CxpTWYrYBU7u_JRE6B/s640/IMG_0735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1bxOLaRREbkrPCm_wfGthNpQ0leWqrH-Q2eLIMlfVYqujqiaLLOQt6G39jUkPryW5qtt2_9Pln6CX4dTn0EdGAvgb4nZU7EU1u3XpwGmKvb1CgblMCSP6RzEVKwvNwxW2gI7fGagiOViZ9tDOuXSHJTt_fwrfEDYR5OyJ4a2eO4CxpTWYrYBU7u_JRE6B/s320/IMG_0735.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAq3prJ_2oajULwGofg7IkDO1zDkdZBEHlsf7iTDc7iLvVSCLynK5R5DWZNCIzSzxi2tWW-U-8KE_caFSxz8YQgf7a5qlPG0ntvTQMK0a-mNMeHuoRLX2zHxOQK-8Jhgn0XsrWMCE338Hsy3h2eHHgEW17UMl0pbnA13cQKHbRIuFoBTzTGG87TP0fOrV/s4288/edinburgh%20day%20tnhr%20051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAq3prJ_2oajULwGofg7IkDO1zDkdZBEHlsf7iTDc7iLvVSCLynK5R5DWZNCIzSzxi2tWW-U-8KE_caFSxz8YQgf7a5qlPG0ntvTQMK0a-mNMeHuoRLX2zHxOQK-8Jhgn0XsrWMCE338Hsy3h2eHHgEW17UMl0pbnA13cQKHbRIuFoBTzTGG87TP0fOrV/s320/edinburgh%20day%20tnhr%20051.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Some major players in Scottish history are buried within the
kirkyard including:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggVu59aaKnU8kMEsk-84jeTun-QVCDShFIT1SB02CDPW7M7CVidZ416RFtMi4bZ2Vb8GDweZj3K-edERyAGjSvx69EwpLSOG1nguJFzsVH2ANXjrIuIYN3ZuJthIRATu99kN_2ly1Z1s3CX6tKUbMxC-aOTXTZAkNeF8YOi1-g4v3BiMD4MxD6TyxX3XBj/s4288/DSCF6666.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2864" data-original-width="4288" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggVu59aaKnU8kMEsk-84jeTun-QVCDShFIT1SB02CDPW7M7CVidZ416RFtMi4bZ2Vb8GDweZj3K-edERyAGjSvx69EwpLSOG1nguJFzsVH2ANXjrIuIYN3ZuJthIRATu99kN_2ly1Z1s3CX6tKUbMxC-aOTXTZAkNeF8YOi1-g4v3BiMD4MxD6TyxX3XBj/s320/DSCF6666.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">George Heriot who was a jeweler and who left his fortune to
form a boys school. The school stands next to the kirkyard. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1KYEOJL_L6VBGZaQGAcSC3uuTqlm-hqJtkwTbVSXAubt6dS8voe9dCuLEO3YyqdFUr7jwPi_H1VCfqt8_anknwY_W_r3Dhbqyw5xqsYWj17LtV8CJLGzJXGhcwN2vcE0eSg9Iu1f115kbbb6P69tIP9QMp_z9f1JtgcaQXPtqGRjAylsVrgEFiElg44Lq/s4288/grassmarket%20004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="3216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1KYEOJL_L6VBGZaQGAcSC3uuTqlm-hqJtkwTbVSXAubt6dS8voe9dCuLEO3YyqdFUr7jwPi_H1VCfqt8_anknwY_W_r3Dhbqyw5xqsYWj17LtV8CJLGzJXGhcwN2vcE0eSg9Iu1f115kbbb6P69tIP9QMp_z9f1JtgcaQXPtqGRjAylsVrgEFiElg44Lq/s320/grassmarket%20004.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3LVvDsocrhgMDvEkW9zgdmJZEVq8kUS8kcIrcVBHAHJX2sgqMRPTQGCIW59egjA5Wo0CRvwI3u0gtpGzjstU3XzKCe8f1Rt-qSA6NsR7AGT73BKho788mBfBm3ZGOpTESyHr2-EyG7ScGuA1h-5S3zBh8DGlM4muM422Ta3eKObI4x0zka3LNhHtAdk8/s4288/DSCF8311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2416" data-original-width="4288" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3LVvDsocrhgMDvEkW9zgdmJZEVq8kUS8kcIrcVBHAHJX2sgqMRPTQGCIW59egjA5Wo0CRvwI3u0gtpGzjstU3XzKCe8f1Rt-qSA6NsR7AGT73BKho788mBfBm3ZGOpTESyHr2-EyG7ScGuA1h-5S3zBh8DGlM4muM422Ta3eKObI4x0zka3LNhHtAdk8/s320/DSCF8311.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">George MacKenzie, King’s Advocate and ruthless jailor<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Architect William Adam <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaIRx9vSBYqSaW7lCihN86JUlWdUjFSqZZxY4In1Z8EIEJs4FRRD3rwS7g3xZd8wCrO2R0gVvJgy5FsmKCPMVY44KFrf1ea827HcT00KX4I-KCB_9Ut7muuNKzBbCuNGuuox5F9YQoT27s2Hlq8YaVhTq1oAdOyNOmJeqYq4ONtE74XCn3uOlM_sA-GJOJ/s4288/edinburgh%20day%20tnhr%20042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="3216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaIRx9vSBYqSaW7lCihN86JUlWdUjFSqZZxY4In1Z8EIEJs4FRRD3rwS7g3xZd8wCrO2R0gVvJgy5FsmKCPMVY44KFrf1ea827HcT00KX4I-KCB_9Ut7muuNKzBbCuNGuuox5F9YQoT27s2Hlq8YaVhTq1oAdOyNOmJeqYq4ONtE74XCn3uOlM_sA-GJOJ/s320/edinburgh%20day%20tnhr%20042.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Publisher, Printer and Bookseller William Creech</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Robert Sibbald, Royal Physician and founder of the College of Physicians</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_StepgiO9hwTs49j4I-QyoP1Fj7BYFl3n4E4lfADUMA-53McL8YDNCm2QHbg1hfnR3JVASBY54sJt5eern0GZjluONHC_D8IHf5NqOAvQw6dTIcGMn3W82VnCcwHi6kF99JBpxTRxZLkFpXC9NRZguT5L8ANIM7ysEcCcKOCq-twC8I_fLe08A_RST1Ig/s4288/edinburgh%20day%20tnhr%20046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3216" data-original-width="4288" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_StepgiO9hwTs49j4I-QyoP1Fj7BYFl3n4E4lfADUMA-53McL8YDNCm2QHbg1hfnR3JVASBY54sJt5eern0GZjluONHC_D8IHf5NqOAvQw6dTIcGMn3W82VnCcwHi6kF99JBpxTRxZLkFpXC9NRZguT5L8ANIM7ysEcCcKOCq-twC8I_fLe08A_RST1Ig/s320/edinburgh%20day%20tnhr%20046.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-27258831447812034132023-10-22T11:50:00.003-04:002023-10-22T11:50:24.403-04:00A Month of Scottish Gravestones - Queen of the Gypsies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8cjhH3_mhhmy1SkOeDPrdK12tIdytyhcGsvX59HOOqP66eOSHiq0RayKwffAZgqeAXMiYIdcmMqLikQEh4Pych4K4p_sEexIzhK4Ez3hrP9uKRQEzNmDAtIwORWatwcnRbBpCJ_P053Ql4ZU6ontOALVcKcBPfPn0TS2zcHdowRaUJ6CBk45flR6Fg9g7/s4288/IMG_5484.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="2416" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8cjhH3_mhhmy1SkOeDPrdK12tIdytyhcGsvX59HOOqP66eOSHiq0RayKwffAZgqeAXMiYIdcmMqLikQEh4Pych4K4p_sEexIzhK4Ez3hrP9uKRQEzNmDAtIwORWatwcnRbBpCJ_P053Ql4ZU6ontOALVcKcBPfPn0TS2zcHdowRaUJ6CBk45flR6Fg9g7/w225-h400/IMG_5484.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Corlinda
Lee was the daughter of Charles Lee and Union Chilcott.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">The Lees were a very prominent Gypsy family. In
1856, at the age of 25, Corlinda married George Smith. Like the Lees, the
Smiths were also a very important Gypsy family. The marriage of Corlinda and
George merged two very important gypsy dynasties, making the couple the King
and Queen of the Gypsies.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">George was,
in fact, head of 10 different gypsy families. He was also a bit of an
entrepreneur and decided to use the country’s intrigue about gypsies to the
benefit of his families. He and the families toured Great Britain, holding “shows”
where the public could pay to see inside the caravans, or have their fortunes
read. One such customer was none other than Queen Victoria, who is purported to
have had her fortune read by Corlinda herself. Of course, this set about a frenzy
for all of the socialites to want to follow suit, much to George’s benefit.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Corlinda died
while in Glasgow and is buried at the Glasgow Necropolis. Corlinda was 68 years
old at the time of her death. George had a gravestone erected in her honour. At
one time, the stone had a bronze relief in the likeness of Corlinda, but as
with many bronze insets, it has been lost to time (likely stolen). However, a
faint silhouette still remains. One of the fascinating things about her
tombstone is the number of coins that have been left by people who have come to
pay their respects. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbj70KbGJ7BIIpvcXDIptoR62lw_cRVLUTTMALLv7uyC_76XQaF5Mn_oH9BS7myvubs5VNTgIi_T46JXY4baLkH7-nfzbyfiCqNFv6TR4WacieOmrXbULlSNfSkakWlbaqDEUUKdgZDKAlxiqNm-rNVMt5SCdoWQL9y5VsFOQhf4Szg-3nJNpSyDat-O1_/s4288/IMG_5485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2416" data-original-width="4288" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbj70KbGJ7BIIpvcXDIptoR62lw_cRVLUTTMALLv7uyC_76XQaF5Mn_oH9BS7myvubs5VNTgIi_T46JXY4baLkH7-nfzbyfiCqNFv6TR4WacieOmrXbULlSNfSkakWlbaqDEUUKdgZDKAlxiqNm-rNVMt5SCdoWQL9y5VsFOQhf4Szg-3nJNpSyDat-O1_/w400-h225/IMG_5485.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-803218783323991232023-10-21T13:40:00.002-04:002023-10-21T13:40:47.448-04:00A Month of Scottish Gravestones - Clarinda<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFcJA2kDWf0ZP6PzlM1zk9zZY0AQary8T85YZrXE4M6KZs8f8h3eAI2h3muuqh8uUpBIbpw3lqP4DkIFk3dsRiuvFYTYwXoJZleIiaDKAEo1UEHPTN-Y6GOENor7dQ6fx-rYaQcd-zNsVWTssLaTYuTmDpsnVn2wsHqZS0t3-cPD9yoEj98Lf_xNrMnRW/s640/Clarinda's_grave,_Canongate_kirkyard_-_geograph.org.uk_-_1339854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="496" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAFcJA2kDWf0ZP6PzlM1zk9zZY0AQary8T85YZrXE4M6KZs8f8h3eAI2h3muuqh8uUpBIbpw3lqP4DkIFk3dsRiuvFYTYwXoJZleIiaDKAEo1UEHPTN-Y6GOENor7dQ6fx-rYaQcd-zNsVWTssLaTYuTmDpsnVn2wsHqZS0t3-cPD9yoEj98Lf_xNrMnRW/s320/Clarinda's_grave,_Canongate_kirkyard_-_geograph.org.uk_-_1339854.jpg" width="248" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Agnes McLehose (Nancy) had been married and had borne 4
children, one of whom died in infancy. Shortly before the birth of her fourth child,
young Nancy (as she was known) left her husband due to his cruelty and she
moved back into the home of her father, surgeon Andrew Craig. After her father’s
death, Nancy moved from Glasgow to Edinburgh where she lived in a flat on
Pottersrow. Nancy had heard that Robert Burns was coming to Edinburgh in 1797
and she made sure that she was invited to attend.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Burns was enchanted by Nancy and happily accepted her
invitation to visit her home. However, he before he could visit, he fell from a
coach. During his recovery, he began writing with Agnes. The two wrote back and
forth, somewhat clandestinely. He called her Clarinda and she referred to him
as Sylvander. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Forty letters, written during his convalescence express a romantic
longing and inspired Burns' poem, 'Ae fond kiss'</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Clarinda" is buried in the kirkyard of Canongate Kirk in
Edinburgh and there is a display of the letter writing in an exhibit in the Burns
Museum in Alloway. As well, there is a silhouette of “Clarinda” in the museum
as well. </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZnWUsjIkpVnyxgG9C6HUeM3QLpubbcxWWeDc4ETLr6AqhnOdb0BJxKlzDxGj4MLXyAd0cWu5GTdx7a80BofLEv56y-EjKEUY3Y6IbrKtaQ8E4qYmwQ0h6-feIekgfF6HycMWjg-rfypt6-5N-nnRYbywBPvIq0y8-r09FHlmCK33_-r0Euo0BVDz2y55/s4032/IMG_5467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ZnWUsjIkpVnyxgG9C6HUeM3QLpubbcxWWeDc4ETLr6AqhnOdb0BJxKlzDxGj4MLXyAd0cWu5GTdx7a80BofLEv56y-EjKEUY3Y6IbrKtaQ8E4qYmwQ0h6-feIekgfF6HycMWjg-rfypt6-5N-nnRYbywBPvIq0y8-r09FHlmCK33_-r0Euo0BVDz2y55/s320/IMG_5467.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU2L253Z1s_XkDInT_d_cATMWHihbxcFwbCbyS0RbwtdbrLF_x3y7GjRbhOGkcvSNv4otms8EDmKLJVmiBWE7z9DaUcJs9FBOH8mNA8b1VDCW3fAGEBeHOqN9rnzyodUJQeIkO1bS2hJnM7tm6E5V6SBosMCvSY9UFa_P-dN9f0XAHoyNZgVvizwkmBTdc/s4032/IMG_5468.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU2L253Z1s_XkDInT_d_cATMWHihbxcFwbCbyS0RbwtdbrLF_x3y7GjRbhOGkcvSNv4otms8EDmKLJVmiBWE7z9DaUcJs9FBOH8mNA8b1VDCW3fAGEBeHOqN9rnzyodUJQeIkO1bS2hJnM7tm6E5V6SBosMCvSY9UFa_P-dN9f0XAHoyNZgVvizwkmBTdc/s320/IMG_5468.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-59437994377514104402023-10-20T08:02:00.000-04:002023-10-20T08:02:01.420-04:00A Month of Scottish Gravestones - David Hume<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZIs3l7bBh4Daq_UiWT_KGK3qeryDI9WjakOKDbhAGakvg1Ib0YtMIcLymluj53sZz_m9YDq8IET45bCA5bAWOdXWh7jdqZRjNJlPoebMKLu9c5nJdK0Y694lpp09hFRjjxZ06RHDX14r5d1XvtAreLA6FBYnMSn2d4WfqwJw3ynGIQBTpkzvhyphenhyphenL1Z998/s4288/humes%20tomb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="2416" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEZIs3l7bBh4Daq_UiWT_KGK3qeryDI9WjakOKDbhAGakvg1Ib0YtMIcLymluj53sZz_m9YDq8IET45bCA5bAWOdXWh7jdqZRjNJlPoebMKLu9c5nJdK0Y694lpp09hFRjjxZ06RHDX14r5d1XvtAreLA6FBYnMSn2d4WfqwJw3ynGIQBTpkzvhyphenhyphenL1Z998/s320/humes%20tomb.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As I entered
the Old Calton Cemetery, I saw in the corner a rather overbearing structure
that I took to be the guard tower. After wandering around the cemetery, I made
my way over to the structure only to realize it wasn’t a guard tower at all,
but was, instead a tomb or mausoleum. The interred is Philosopher, essayist and
one of the founders of the Scottish Enlightenment, David Hume.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Hume was
born in Edinburgh but primarily raised in Berwickshire. Hume’s father died when
Hume was just 2, leaving his mother to raise three children. </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Seeing how
precocious young David was, his mother, Catherine, sent him off the Edinburgh University
with his older brother. He was 10 or 12 at the time. While at University, young
David studied Greek, Latin, and History. David was not a fan of university,
believing that the professors could not teach him anything that he couldn’t
learn through reading books. He did not graduate.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">During his
life, Hume served as Tutor, Librarian at the Advocates Library, and Private
Secretary to the Ambassador to France. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
a well-known philosopher, his aim was to found the 'Science of Man' - the study
of human nature by scientific means.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Hume died of
intestinal cancer in 1776. He has requested that his tomb be a simple roman tomb
with only his name and dates of birth and death inscribed. He wanted the “rest
left to posterity.” Hume’s tomb stands on the southwest corner of the Old
Calton Cemetery. It was built by architect Robert Adam. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8836357849077200163.post-60761761223685721362023-10-19T15:53:00.003-04:002023-10-20T08:02:25.796-04:00A Month of Scottish Gravestones - George Buchanan<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_XXyqYya-Ha_1X-H7AIAA6fZ0QcDsfEx0Jucex632F8RZowA0t93_3olEcOC5U44xj4TN6fiFEB9JbyUUET55dXh86BF4cljaf0diEly5Ty2cxf1l4zSkuE1CmWI0T1YhiK3PyjneHGWwRjoljxakcyGOyud2148jhmh1xy49mQnr4n0Q86g6Dj4hJ8w/s4288/edinburgh%20day%20tnhr%20034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4288" data-original-width="3216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_XXyqYya-Ha_1X-H7AIAA6fZ0QcDsfEx0Jucex632F8RZowA0t93_3olEcOC5U44xj4TN6fiFEB9JbyUUET55dXh86BF4cljaf0diEly5Ty2cxf1l4zSkuE1CmWI0T1YhiK3PyjneHGWwRjoljxakcyGOyud2148jhmh1xy49mQnr4n0Q86g6Dj4hJ8w/s320/edinburgh%20day%20tnhr%20034.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span lang="EN-US">George
Buchanan </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">was a scholar of Latin. He taught in both France and Spain and while in Spain, was imprisoned
by the Inquisition. He spent two years of his incarceration translating the
Psalms of David into Latin.</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Buchanan was
the first to apply the term 'Celtic' to his native Gaelic culture. In 1561, he
returned to Scotland where he tutored Mary, Queen of Scots. However, following
the murder of Mary's husband, Lord Darnley, Buchanan denounced her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In 1566 Buchanan
was appointed Principal of St Leonard's College, St Andrews and the following year, he was
appointed as the first lay moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of
Scotland. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In 1570, Buchanan became tutor to the young James VI and was
entrusted with giving the young king a protestant education, which was intended
to turn him against his mother. Buchanan was also appointed as Keeper of the Privy
Seal of Scotland.</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Late in his
life, he published two of his most influential works: The Powers of the Crown
in Scotland and A History of Scottish Matters. Buchanan died in September 1582
and is buried in Greyfriar’s Kirkyard. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">search your roots, discover your history
www.genealogytoursofscotland.ca</div>Christine Woodcockhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10331745848648738905noreply@blogger.com0