Writing, Scrapbooking, Podcasting My Family History
I was warned by experienced family researchers that once I started my family tree I would become addicted! They were right. Writing stories, finding connections and stalking my family members (both near and far) for snippets of information have become all consuming. So much so that I have had to devise a way to chill out. Sitting back with my feet up, a cup of coffee close by and a TED Talk was my solution. The topic? What else, Family History!
At one level my ancestry search began with a birth certificate and 3 marriage certificates. Not surprisingly, the realisation that I was the only one in the "family" who held the stories of the past shocked me into realising that I was "it". If the stories from my mother in the London Blitz, my Grand father working in a steel mill and the family myth that was spoken of with a nod and a wink were to survive I would have to speak up!
My first impression of New Zealand was not a good one. As I stood on the decking rail (as high as I could without toppling over) I searched the ground below from one end to the other. The little I had been told about New Zealand was untrue. All I could see was concrete and large buildings. Not a mud hut in sight and no one was wearing a grass skirt!
If someone told you that you had to leave the country of your birth never to see your friends, Aunts, Uncles and cousins again how would you react. Fear, anger, sadness? I was 5 years old when this happened to me and I couldn't have cared less! Yes, it was exciting but then so was going to Jaywick for a holiday. I did know it was a special trip though because I was bought my first pair of slippers!
An unexpected bonus of starting a new blog about your family history is that not being able to sleep at night is no longer a problem. You simply lie there thinking about who and what you should write about. Until last night! Last night was different because without warning I realised that I had to write about myself!
I'm pretty sure I hold the record for procrastinating. Even as a senior citizen I remember starting to "write a book" when I was 12 years old. I was the heroine of the story and my name was Molly Molone! The opening scene was me pushing a barrow which was obviously a memory I "borrowed" from my mother.
When someone you love dies you cope with grief, loss and a sadness so deep you feel that you are drowning. Then time passes and your thoughts turn outwards. In my case it was the not knowing what happened in those last moments. You pray that love overcame fear.
There are no photographs of the teenage, Doris Rosina Ilson. I know she was born in Poplar and I let my imagination fill in the gaps by watching the BBC production of "Call the "Midwives" I saw my mother in the clothes they were wearing. When I watched the women standing talking outside with their neighbours it was her voice I heard. Even the children playing out in the street stirred memories of the games I played.
I've often wondered if we learn how to parent from our mother or how Not to parent from our mother! In my case I spent most of my life not living with my mother but grew up knowing I was loved. I have long ceased to stop trying to understand my upbringing and enjoy and love the person my mother was rather than the dwelling on the mother she wasn't.
Writing on the backs of photos is no way to label them. The best way to do may scare the pants of you! It's called "meta data". Now, my approach to techy stuff has always been that I may not understand what it is but I do know how to do it! In this post I will show you "how" just how easy it is! Honest!!
Warts And All 