What's in a Name? Avoiding a Future Brick Wall.

What's in a Name? Avoiding a Brick Wall for Future Family Historians.

An uncommon name can be a godsend for the family historian. It matters not whether it is an uncommon Surname or Christian name. An unusual name will always be easier to find than a common name. MALIORA Taylor will be located with far less effort in baptism and census records than will MARY Taylor. Even when a tired enumerator misspelt my ancestor Maliora Taylor as Meloria, she was quite easily found with a name variant search.  There may have been more than one Elizabeth LEWTHWAITE born in England in 1740, however, certainly not nearly as many as there were Elizabeth SMITHs born and baptised in the same year. Unfortunately for family historians, the fact is, that we cannot choose the names which we are researching. The names of our ancestors were chosen in the past, with oblivious regard to the joys or frustrations they would cause in future genealogical searches. 

I quickly lost the trail of my great aunt, Margaret Smith, her husband, Andrew and daughters Margaret, Elizabeth and Mary Smith after they emigrated to America from Scotland in 1923. Smith is a surname which most genealogists greet with a groan. I have often found myself wondering how much easier it would be for me to to find this family had Andrew Smith not had his Lithuanian name of Antonas Ustila anglicised when he arrived in Scotland in the 1890's with his family as a refugee. How much simpler would my search be if Margaret had named her daughters Eilidh, Aiofe and Ciorstaidh rather than following the Scottish naming tradition of passing on the names of the maternal and paternal grandmothers as well as her own name to her three daughters. Common first names such as Mary, Elizabeth and Margaret along side a common surname such as Smith, lay the strong foundations for a solid brick wall.

I, myself, married a man with the fairly common surname of WHITE. My children will never stray far from the branches of the family tree, however, as I have endowed them all with unusual Gaelic christian names and (possibly burdened them with) four names each. One Gaelic name, one biblical, one a family name and one name that I just liked. So  daughter Ciorstaidh Keziah Herminnie Maddison White * ( not the real name... but close!) is unlikely to be lost among the many Whites in future records. Before my daughters decide to add another generation to our family tree, I plan to impress upon them, (tactfully of course) the benefits of naming the children with even  slightly uncommon names. I wouldn't dream of interfering.... but I do feel that Knight Sir Lancelot Rufus Marcus Ignatius *Brown would never create the footings for a genealogical brick wall ( then again.. imagine how many hits Sir Lancelot would get on Ancestry.com). And Pomegranate (well Gwyneth Paltrow has Apple!) Mairead Maliora Indianah *Jones will not likely disappear into oblivion in any census record. 

Having grown up with both an unusual first name AND a reasonably uncommon Scottish surname, you might be tempted to think that I am a future family historian's dream. If you read my Sorting Saturday blog, however,  on my GeneaThemeBlogs4u blog site ( http://www.geneathemeblogs4u.blogspot.com  ) you will be aware that I recently realised my potential as a brick wall ticking time bomb! To quickly summarise my untidy genealogical circumstance..... When I was nine years old, my mother changed my First Name (but not officially). To further complicate my chances of ever being located by a future genealogist, my Surname was mis-spelled on my birth certificate (I blamed my father who also mis- named my sister, when on arriving at the Registry office he forgot the name she was to be given and substituted it with something 'similar'). (Needless to say he wasn't allowed anywhere near the Registry Office for the third daughter). 

When recently applying for a new passport, (having lost mine), I found that I was unable to obtain one. The requirements for identification for a passport, are much stricter than when I applied for my last one. My problem was that I was Sharon-Lee Mcdade on my birth certificate (and before you pronounce my name Sharon - it was Shaaaaaaron, the reason for the change of name being that... it was always mispronounced) My surname should have been MacDade ( with an all important 'a' in the Mac and a capital D for Dade) but on my birth certificate, it was Mcdade.  On my marriage certificate my name was Sharon-Lee  aka Sharna-Lee  MacDade, and on all other ID, I am Sharn or Sharna-Lee ( the name my mother gave to me at age nine).  Faced with the prospect of becoming an unfortunate genealogist's worst nightmare somewhere in the future, and needing a passport, I decided to 'sort' my name out once and for all. 

Having struggled to find my own ancestors who have disappeared into the mazes created by name changes and misspelling of names I could see the 'mess' that my name would create for anyone searching for me on the family tree. Changing my first name by deed poll and correcting my misspelled surname on my birth certificate seemed the logical step to take to avoid the inevitable fate of one day becoming a Brick Wall!  

Recalling the three days I spent at the Registry of Births Deaths and Marriages only two months earlier where my name had caused much confusion (but where three days of 'sorting'  finally resulted in my being handed a birth certificate) ( Sorting Saturday), I again travelled to Brisbane, the city of my birth to face the bureaucratic process. I felt a little sad to be losing the name on the birth certificate that I had so recently battled to acquire but with my form filled out, I sat in wait for my number to be called. 

Everyone should spend a little time in their local Registry Office. It is a most interesting experience. A place of varied life stories and events. Apart from a wedding being conducted outside in the rain, there were quite a few young mothers, with newborn babies in tow, registering their brand new names. How times have changed. On most of the birth certificates I have collected on my genealogical journey, the father has been the informant, going back to birth registrations in the 1700's. Then again, perhaps more children have the correct name on their birth certificates now! 


Because I am an avid observer of people and of life, I found the long wait to get closer to the counter anything but dull. I smiled knowingly as baby 'Bandit' received his new name. I was confident that young Bandit will never disappear in a labyrinth of Jacks, Harry's or Williams in the census records. (Although I secretly hope that his mother's choice of name doesn't in any way affect his choice of career in the future.) I listened in sympathy as a young woman explained that she had lost her birth certificate in the Queensland Floods earlier in the year. When she had received a replacement certificate, the Registry office had left a hyphen out of her name thus rendering her Mary Ann instead of Mary-Anne. I nodded in agreement as she explained that the hyphen IS important. Hadn't my own 5 times great grandmother, Mary-Ann Cupples been difficult to find because of a missing hyphen? I had learned that it is much more likely that an ancestor might use either part of their first name, eg Mary, or as my forebear did, Ann, if the hyphen exists. I could see her point perfectly well. It soon became evident, however, that this Mary-Ann didn't really care about the hyphen. (I resisted the urge to jump up and explain to her that it WOULD matter to a luckless family historian one day). As it turned out, Mary-Ann needed a passport and her passport application had been rejected because of the missing hyphen on her birth certificate. Her name had to be corrected on the  certificate. My tangible sympathy increased tenfold. I was there for a similar reason.

I shook my head in compassion as similar stories about failed passport applications came to light. One lady with the maiden name of Schloss found that it was spelled Shloss on her birth certificate. When the same Mrs Maiden Surname Schloss announced that while she was at the registry office, she also wished to change her married name, by adding a hyphen and attaching it to her maiden name, I could only barely restrain myself from yelling, 'Stop!'.I knew only too well the brick wall that would surface generations later from this deed. My own maternal family disappeared into oblivion after my great grandfather added Reece to Hoyes. I spent many years on a long fruitless search for Welsh ancestors by the surname of Reece-Hoyes. (I did eventually find my HOYES ancestors happily living in Nottinghamshire but only after quite a number of family members had been afforded the honour of Welsh names for the Welsh ancestry we don't have.)


I handed my four forms of ID to the same young girl who had patiently spent three days searching for my birth certificate eight weeks earlier. 
'Hello', she said cheerily, I remember you. 'You were the lady with the confusion about your names'.
'I'm here to fix that,' I replied confidently. 
I handed her the form to change my Christian name by deed poll and explained that my Surname had also been misspelled on my birth certificate. I handed her my four required forms of ID. She looked them over and handed them straight back. 
'I'm sorry,' said the girl ( I could tell she really was) but I can't accept your ID. Your licence and birth certificate are OK, but your Health Care card and Bank Statement are missing a hyphen! 


'You must be joking', I spluttered. I have all the way flown from Sydney AGAIN. 
'I'm really sorry,' said the girl again. 'I can't identify you without the hyphen.'
'But you just said you remembered me', I exclaimed.  
I looked at the offending identification. My health care card had my name printed as Sharnalee and my bank statement as Sharna Lee. 
'You will need to go to your bank and health care company and have them put the hyphen in your name', said the girl, apologetically. 'Then come back and I will be able to ID you.' 


To be fair to the Qld Registry of Births Deaths and Marriages, they did eventually (the next day) agree to accept my ID and my name was changed officially, hyphen and all. It was discovered that my father did register my surname correctly after all, but that someone had transcribed it into the Index as 'Mc' instead of 'Mac', so that mistake was rectified at no cost to myself. In appreciation of my patience I was offered two copies of my new birth certificate. Well, I am sure one can never have too many birth certificates! On the back of my certificate, I was told, would be recorded the date of the registration of change of name. I felt that this was an important piece of information to have made available and am pleased to say that I am confident now that I have avoided becoming a brick wall.


As I was thanking the helpful young girl (who was probably pleased that I did NOT have to return)  I overheard a young woman at the counter next to mine, registering her new baby boy as John White. A genealogist's worst nightmare, I was thinking.  As the woman turned to stare at me I realised that I had voiced my opinion aloud. My husband's ancestors had all been named John or William White and had been impossible to find in County Down Northern Ireland, as had my own two times great grandfather William White in County Tyrone. 
With a lovely smile, the young mother reassured me, 'Don't worry. I know what you mean but it's a family name. I do family history and I have given him my maiden surname as a middle name. He won't disappear on a census record.' 
At that she turned back to the man behind the counter and said determinedly,'  I have changed my mind. Reverse those names! He will be known by my my maiden name.'

The young mother smiled to me as though we shared a great secret as she walked past me. We both knew she had just avoided a future genealogical brick wall..... Of course young FARMER John White* may not see things that way for twenty or so years but one day he'll understand! 

* These names have been changed to protect privacy of individuals.

How I Found My Swiss Ancestors - My First Journey into Family History.

 How I found My Swiss Ancestors                                                                                                   

Pictured Right: My Swiss great great grandmother, seated in the middle with her children. My great grandmother, Lillie Herminnie is at the back right.








PREFACE: I know that my children are not as interested as I am in our family history. It is not difficult to see that they do not share my overly enthusiastic passion for people from the past. Although I may be able to attract their attention with stories of an unusual ancestor who was a WW2 spy, I  find that usually as soon as I eagerly attempt to divulge my newest and most thrilling discovery, they all seem to have something  which requires urgent attention elsewhere. And fair enough..after all.. they HAVE spent much of their lives being dragged through cemeteries, searching for graves and driving around back streets of small towns in search of old houses, reasonably uncomplaining. So, I was pleasantly surprised when Number three offspring, daughter, Siobhan, announced that, as part of her two month journey through Europe this year, she was planning to spend some time in Switzerland, the home of her maternal ancestors. I was even more excited when she informed me that she would visit the ancestral places where our Swiss forebears lived and take photographs for me.
Imagine my joy, then, on receiving an email announcing that she could 'feel the Swiss blood coursing through her veins.' I was so overwhelmed that I quite forgot to read on to the part which explained why she loved Switzerland. I had visions of at last having someone with whom to share my love of family history. We could sit up together late at night, over a cup of tea, discussing  long gone relatives, their occupations, their...and  then I read on. " Mum, No wonder you call me your 5 star daughter - you should see the number of Ferrari's and Maserati's here. Even the Police drive BMW's. THIS is truly my homeland!" OK, not quite a family history buff yet, but give her more time in Switzerland and I'm hopeful. I began then  to think about my own first ever venture into family history many years ago.......

Growing up I always knew that I my great great grandmother was born in Switzerland. I had in my possession, a newspaper article with a photograph of five generations of mothers and daughters in our family, with my great great grandmother being the oldest and myself the youngest. With this photograph tucked away in a box, I had never though much about it, until one day some years ago, a comment made by a great aunt, aroused my curiosity about my ancestry. 


I had always assumed that my 'Swiss great great grandparent's with the surname Nargar, had come to Australia together from Switzerland. Then my great aunt informed me that my great great grandfather was born, not in Switzerland, but in Prussia. This was hugely significant as it meant that the surname Nargar was not of Swiss, but rather, Prussian origins. A sudden need to know more about my heritage,  launched me into my first ever search for my family background. 


I had no idea where to begin. The only thing I knew about my great great grandmother was that she was known as 'Little Nana' , that she had lived in Maryborough in  Queensland, and that her house in Maryborough was named 'Zurich'.  I decided that reading the story attached to the Five Generations photograph from the Brisbane Courier Mail, in which I was a young baby, was the best place to start..


As I read the following words in the story below the article, 'Mrs Nargar was born in Switzerland, and came to Australia when she was aged eight.' , I realised that this was a vital piece of information about my great great grandmother that I could begin my journey with. In addition, the article was in recognition of a celebration held in Maryborough for her 88th birthday so I knew her year of birth. Armed with my 2 times great grandmother's age and one more wonderful clue -  the age (and therefore the year) that she arrived in Australia, I naively set forth as an 'L' plate genealogist. 


If you have ever been warned to beware the 'family anecdote', ( the family castle, royal blood, 'there's a title waiting for you somewhere'....) allow me to add another warning to that excellent advice. Also beware misleading journalism! I spent a great deal of time searching for an arrival in 1875 when it turned out that my great grandmother was actually four years old, and not eight, as reported, when she arrived in Australia. 


The first step I took was to read a number of books from my local library, several written by Janet Reakes since I had no experience in researching family history at all. Then armed with the advice to begin with what I knew and work backwards I sent away for a birth certificate for my great grandmother, Lillie Herminnie Nargar, from the Queensland Archives.In those days, the Archives  was the repository for Qld Births, Deaths and Marriages pre 1900. No online indexes then!  The birth certificate of daughter Lillie, I hoped, would tell me the maiden name of her mother, my great great grandmother Nargar. The Qld Archive staff were extremely helpful as I had only a rough idea of the birth date of my great grandmother. My mother had died quite young and so I had no one to ask questions of, however, a search was undertaken on my behalf and a certificate located.  After waiting three weeks for the snail mail to arrive I finally received the certificate, which told me that my great grandmother, Lillie Herminnie Nargar was born on the  1 October, 1888, in Maryborough, the daughter of John Nargar and Barbara Lena [Surname].... disappointment came quickly as I discovered that I could barely decipher the writing which should tell me the surname of my great great grandmother, Barbara. That, of course, was my introduction to one of the many hurdles that are commonplace in the world of genealogy. 

After many attempts to read the maiden name of my 2 times great grandmother (and a crash course on deciphering old, faded ...and just 'plain messy' handwriting), I decided that the name was either Maberling or Haberling. Googling both names resulted in my discovering that the surname Haberling had its origins in Switzerland and Germany. Then, to my delight, the name Haberling showed up on a site called Ancestry.com in a Maryborough, Qld, Immigrants from  Germany to Australia, Passenger List from Hamburg. Remember, that I was new to family history and unaware that  Ancestry.com was also in it's relatively early days ( when the records were almost all related to the USA) and at the time I was very lucky because one of the few other records outside of America happened to be this one record for Immigrants to Maryborough from Britain and Germany.  I immediately signed up for a subscription and  was rewarded with a complete passenger list for the Haberling family arriving in Maryborough, Queensland in 1871 on board the ship Reichtstag.  There I found Jacob Haberling aged 49, and wife Anna aged 42, along with five daughters, Rosine, 14 years, Amalie, 9 years, Bertha, 6 years, Barbara 4 years and Herminnie aged 2 years. Although I had a strong hunch that I had found my great great grandmother along with her family, I knew that I need more information to prove this because after all the news item had placed her arrival in 1875.


Having a maiden surname for my great great grandmother meant that I could apply for a marriage certificate and hopefully discover the names of her parents. I knew from my great grandmother's birth certificate that at the time of her birth, John and Barbara Haberling had one child, Florrie Barbara, so I guessed the date of their marriage to be between 1884 and 1887. 


While I waited for the certificate to arrive by mail, I googled the Immigrant Ship Reichtstag. I discovered a book written by Penny Manderson entitled, 'The Voyages to Queensland of the Reichstag' which was one of a series of books she had published. I contacted the author who was interested to hear of a Haberling family who had arrived in 1871 on the Reichtstag. Interestingly, Penny informed me that a family with the surname of Heberling had arrived on the same ship and that a passage about this family was written in her book. She had been given this information by a descendant who lived in Maryborough. Together we wondered if this could be the same family. Still not even knowing whether this family was my own, I purchased the book written about the passengers on the 12/11/1870 -9/3/1871 journey of the Reichstag from Hamburg to Maryborough, Queensland, Australia.  


Now, no longer new to family history research, I am familiar with the confusion caused by name changes,and the many and varied reasons behind the changing of spelling, or even entire surnames. Years ago, however, I had none of the knowledge or experience that I possess today, and as I waited for the arrival of Penny Manderson's book I began to feel with a sinking heart that I had found the wrong family. Then suddenly one day, my High School German came back to me and in a moment of sheer exhilarating realisation.. I remembered the umlaut! The letter 'a' written as ä in German, is pronounced as 'e' is in English (eh). Häberling would have been pronounced as Heberling in German. I think that was the moment that I experienced my first of many to come, 'genea hunches'. I also silently thanked my mother for encouraging me to learn the German language at school against the popular trend towards French. 


Penny Manderson's book finally arrived, and from the paragraph in 'The Voyages to Queensland of the Reichstag'  I learned that Jacob Heberling had been a bootmaker and that the Heberling family had lived in Zurich, Switzerland. 


 I decided to write a letter to the Archives in Zurich. While I hopefully waited for a reply, the marriage certificate arrived for my great great grandparents, John Nargar (that surname is another story) and Barbara Lena Heberling.  Excitement mounted as I read the names of great great grandmother Barbara Lena's parents. They were Jacob Heberling and Anna Bosshard. Jacob and Anna were the same names as those on the passenger list of the Reichstag. 

Even more exciting was that one of the witnesses to the marriage was Minnie Heberling.I felt that  this could not be coincidence that the Haberling family on my passenger list ( from Ancestry,com) and the Heberling family in Penny Manderson's book, had both had arrived with daughters named Barbara and Herminnie and that here on my great great grandmother's marriage certificate, the witness was a Minnie Heberling. As I read the name of the second witness a memory came flooding back to me. My mother had told me as a young child that we had relatives by the name of Proctor in Maryborough. I possibly only remembered this because I also had a best friend by that surname as a child. The name of the witness was Willie Proctor. I wasted little time in applying for marriage certificates of the other Haberling/Heberling girls to see whether any of them had married a Proctor. I also sent for a death certificate for my 3 times great grandmother Anna Heberling hoping to find the names of her parents. 


The post heralded an exciting arrival at this time. ( NB:This story may seem as though I found my ancestors fairly quickly however, most of this research was done via old fashioned letter writing and visits to Family History Societies. Some time had passed before I received my letter from the Archives in Zurich). Then the reply I did get from the Archives was written  ...in GERMAN! It was some time since I had spoken German but between my rusty knowledge of the language and a helpful German/English Dictionary, I translated the letter below.

Summarised, the letter told me that there were two Jacob Häberlings (Aha! there was the umlaut over the 'a') found in the database. In the Register for Ottenbach, Band 1, (Staatsarchiv Zurich: E 88, 19, S 304) was a marriage between Jacob Häberling (18.12.1785) and Anna Ryser (29.8.1784) in Sumiswald in the Kanton of Bern, which took place on the 4 February, 1808. The family lived in Affoltern, Emmental, Bern.  I was also given a birth date for one son, named Jacob Häberling born 10.4.1822. 


Quickly working out that if my Jacob was aged 49 years when he arrived in Australia on the Reichstag, then he was born in -1822! I was feeling somewhat like a detective by now and hooked on the 'hunt'.


When a marriage certificate arrived confirming that Herminnie Adelle Heberling had married Willie Proctor on January 2, 1885 and that Herminnie's parents were Jacob Heberling and Anna Bosshard, I knew for certain, that I had found my Swiss family. I knew that the surname is really Häberling and that indeed my great great grandmother Barbara Lena Häberling had arrived as an immigrant aged four years, in Maryborough, Queensland, with her family on board the Reichstag in 1871.


As any passionate family historian will guess, I was by this time completely addicted to finding ancestors. From that first curiosity about my Swiss roots I have added many branches to my family tree but none so special as my Swiss family of Häberlings who I have now traced back to Christian Häberling born in 1527 in Ottenbach, Zurich, Switzerland. I have also traced the Ryser family through many generations to Xander Ryser who was born in Ottenbach in 1546. With the help of the Maryborough District Family History Society I have added many other  family names to the sagging branches of my Swiss family tree. And I'm certain you will agree that there is no greater feeling than when the branches of the family tree are weighed down with fascinating ancestors.) 

Blog finds Descendant of Diary

How I found a Descendant of Frederick Watkins through my Blog 
• In October, 2010, I wrote about a copy of a Diary which I had found in a Secondhand Book shop. The hard bound photocopy of the original diary was written by Frederick Watkins, a young man who sailed from England to Australia in 1885 on board the ship 'Victor'.  One of the pages of Frederick's diary is pictured above. 
• In the blog post, I stated that it was my desire to find a descendant of Frederick Watkins in order to pass the diary on. 
• Frederick Watkins was the 10th son of Thomas Watkins and Elizabeth Ann Crabb, who were born in Devon, England. His journey to Australia began in October, 1885 and he arrived in Maryborough, Queensland in January, 1886.
• I posted several of Frederick's diary entries in October and November of 2010. On August 4, 2011,  I discovered a comment from a family history researcher whose husband was a descendant of Frederick posted on one of the posts I had written about the diary.
• The researcher who commented, informed me that her husband descended from one of Frederick Watkin's daughters, Ada Victoria.
• This family historian had been researching the Watkins family for some time, when on a visit to the Box Hill Historical Society in Victoria, she learned that Frederick's diary existed and also that it was held by the State Library of Victoria. While waiting for the Victorian State Library to send her a photocopy of the diary, through a google search, she found my blog about the diary. 
• In the comment left on my blog, this reader informed me that Frederick had 'made his way from Queensland to Box Hill in Victoria where he married Mary Jane Brunner Sutton' and had four children - Percival, Ada Victoria, Robert and Edna. She also told me that her husband's grandfather, Frederick Watkins was born to  parents Thomas Watkins  and Elizabeth Ann Crabb who were farmers in Shebbear, Devon. 
• There was no doubt that this was the same Frederick Watkins whose diary copy I had discovered.
• After a number of enthusiastic email conversations, and with no idea yet as to how the copy of the diary ended up in a Bowral, NSW bookstore, it has become evident that a local Historical Society where my reader lives in Queensland is very interested in the story of Frederick Watkins and his diary.
• On my next trip to Queensland, I plan to meet the reader of my blog whose husband is the grandson of Frederick Watkins and to hand over the old copy of the diary which rightly belongs to the family of Frederick. 
• I feel very happy that this copy of the diary which tells of Frederick Watkins' journey by sea, from England to Australia in 1885-6, is going home where it belongs. 

A Beedle a Bellman and a Bard.

"Once more my muse in humble lays will sing" Edward Manton

Headstones at St Mary's Islington where my 6 times g grandfather is buried, Image S White.

I discovered that my 6th Great Grandfather, Edward Manton was a Poet through a Google Book Search

St Mary's Islington Image Geograph [11]

I knew, from the death record of my 6 x great grandfather, Edward Manton [1], that he was a Sexton in the parish of St Mary's, Islington, London. At the time of his death, on September 23, 1819, Edward was described as 'the late Sexton of this Parish'[1] .The death record of Edward Manton's wife in 1817[2], also provided confirmation of his occupation. It stated that Mary Manton [Morgan], of the parish of St Mary's Islington, was 'the Sexton's Wife'.

The Anglican Church of St Mary Islington, Image S White.

Having little knowledge of exactly what the role of a sexton was in late 18th century England, so I conducted some research online and at my local library. I discovered that the word sexton has its origins in Medieval times, and comes from the Latin word sacristanus, which translated, means custodian of sacred things. A sexton was, therefore, a church officer whose duties included supervising the maintainance of church buildings, grounds and the graveyard as well as keeping the records of baptisms, marriages and burials in the parish. In large parishes it was usual for the sexton to be an employee of the Church. Edward Manton was employed by the parish of St Mary's Islington. One can almost imagine him strolling through the beautiful church grounds and graveyard of St Mary's, pictured below right, intent upon his custodial duties.

Right: The grounds of St Mary's Islington, where my 6 times great grandfather, Edward Manton would have walked whilst undertaking his parish duties, Image S White.

When researching my ancestors, I am always intent on finding more than just names and dates to add to the branches of my family tree. An important component of family history research is discovering and understanding as much as possible about the the lives of forebears. 

Understanding the lives of ancestors involves researching the places where ancestors lived and significantly, knowing their occupations. This information reveals much about the social, economic and even political times in which ancestors lived and puts their lives into historical context. I find that I am able to feel more connected to my forebears when I am am able to place their lives within a real historical context. 

When researching Edward Manton, my six times great grandfather, in addition to  searching for birth, baptism, marriage and death records, I researched his occupation. When I discovered that Edward was a sexton, I investigated the Church of St Mary's, Islington, where he worked, in order to discover as much as possible about his life.

Edward Manton was baptised at the Anglican Church of Holy Sepulchre, Holborn, London, on April 10, 1755 [3]. His parents, Edward Manton (1720-1787) and Elizabeth Ellis (1730-1819)[3] baptised their son in a church with a very interesting history. Originally an early Saxon church, St Sepulchre [4] had undergone many extensive rebuilds (it was completely gutted in the great Fire of London in 1666) [3a] as well as renovations, by the time Edward Manton was baptised. It's main claim to fame, however, is that it was made famous in folklore. In the Nursery Rhyme, 'Oranges and Lemons', the great bell of St Sepulchre, became 'the bells of old Bailey' in the well known rhyme [4].

The foundation for this fame lay in the fact that

St Sepulchre's bell tolled as condemned prisoners passed by the church, on their way to their execution at Newgate. One of the duties of the clerk of St Sepulchre was to ring a hand bell outside the cell of a condemned man at midnight to mark the day of execution. I cannot help but wonder whether growing up in such an historically important parish, may have influenced Edward's decision to become a sexton in the Anglican Church, in his later life. In 1753, at St Katherine by the Tower, London, Edward Manton married Elizabeth Ellis [5]. St Katherine's was another historic church built beside the Tower of London, in Medieval times [6]. Pictured above is the Church of St Sepulchre.

Edward Manton and his wife Mary (Morgan) lived with their six daughters and one son, in Church Lane, Islington [7]. This lane no longer exists but once ran between Upper Street and Essex Road, beside the church of St Mary's. Church Lane is now known as St Mary's Path, part of which is now a footpath [8]. 

Edward Manton was clearly a man of deep religious conviction. He lived through times of great industrial and economic change in England and Europe. During the late 1780's and 1790's churches such as the Anglican and Methodist churches made a deliberate move to reach out to more people in an attempt to help bring about some stability in lives which were in turmoil [3a]. This is the political and economic background against which my 6 times great grandfather worked within the strict structure of the Church of England, as it strove to give hope to citizens searching for political, economic and social rights and for justice. This, then was the context within which my 6 times great grandparents and their seven children lived. And this is where I left my research, for some time.

Recently, a cousin who was travelling through out England, emailed to me, some photographs. She had visited the Church of St Mary's, Islington but discovered that no old records were held at the church. She informed me, however, that she had been felt quite emotional while walking through the church and grounds where our six times grandfather would have spent his days in the late 1700's and early 1800's.

I began to think about where I could look for more information about a sexton of St Mary's, and decided to begin with a google book search about St Mary's Church itself. When I extended my search to include the name Edward Manton, the following result almost took my breath away. 'A copy of verses humbly presented to all my worthy masters and mistresses in the parish of St Mary, Islington: by Edward Manton, Beadle and Bellman.' Author: Edward Manton, Publisher: London- Printed by T. Bayley (no. 120), Petticoat Lane,near Whitechapel: for the year 1791 [9].

I felt at once that this was Edward Manton, my 6 times great grandfather since the date of publishing was 1791, when I knew him to be a sexton in this parish. Having no idea what a beadle was, however, I conducted a google search and discovered that the term 'beadle' was an old word used by the Anglican church for non other than... a sexton. There was little likelihood of there being two men by the name of Edward Manton, who were sextons in the parish of St Mary's and so I knew I had made a fantastic new discovery. Edward Manton, sexton, beadle and bellman of St Mary's, Islington and my 6 times great grandfather, was also, a POET!

A further search of the title of this document, led me to the 18th Century Collections Online, on the website of the National Library of Australia [10]. Logging in with my member ID, I found that the original document is held by the Bodleian Library, Oxford. Then through a link, I found a copy of the original first page of Edward Manton's book of poems. Words cannot describe the emotions I felt, as I sat and gazed upon the writings of my ancestor.

Right: Poems by Edward Manton. This original document is held in the Bodleian Library, Oxford.

Sources:
1. Death record of Edward Manton, 1819,London, England, Deaths and Burials, 1813-1980, Ancestry.com
2. Death of Mary Manton, 1817, London, England, Deaths and Burials, 1813-1980, Ancestry.com

3. Baptism of Edward Manton, 10 April 1755, St Sepulchre, Holborn, London, London, England, Baptisms, Marriages and Burials, 1538-1812, Ancestry.com
3a. History, Topography, and antiquities of the Parish of St Mary's, Islington.' , John Nelson.

4. St Sepulchre by Newgate, Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Sepulchre-without-Newgate.
5. Marriage of Edward Manton and Elizabeth Ellis, 5 September 1782, London, England, Marriages and Banns, 1754-1921, Ancestry.com
6. St Katherine's by the Tower, Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Katharine%27s_by_the_Tower   
7. London, England, Tax records 1692-1932, Ancestry.com
8. St Mary's Path, Islington, N1 @RT Maps and Open Data, https://www.getthedata.com/postcode/N1-2RT

9. A COPY of VERSES humbly presented to all my worthy Masters and Mistresses In the Parish of St MARY, ISLINGTON,' by Edward Manton, Beadle and Bellman, Google Books

10. http://galegroup.com.rp.nla.gov.au/

11. http://solo.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/primo.library.libweb/action/display.do?tabs=detailsTab&..
12. St Mary's Church, Islington, Photograph, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:St_Mary%27s_Church,_Islington_-_geograph.org.uk_-_713068.jpg

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Can Family History Heal a Family Feud?

Can Family History Mend a Rift in the Family?

Conflict occurs in many families. Sadly, too often, the result of conflict is estrangement rather than the resolving of issues. There are probably a myriad of causes of conflict within families including jealousy, sibling rivalry, misunderstanding and disagreement over possessions which are just a few of the factors which contribute towards estrangement in families. Family feuds are well known. There is even a fun television game show which bears the name Family Feud. But family feuds are not fun. Estrangement is a tragedy for all family members involved.

There are rivalries in families which are recent, and there are old family feuds, many of which which have persisted for generations. Often the participants in long running family feuds are quite unaware even, of the original cause of conflict. Let me take a classic example of an unresolved family feud; Romeo and Juliet. The Montague and Capulet families, of Verona, Italy, were engaged in a family feud which extended back to a time before the family members were even born. A more tragic end to family rivalry, one could not imagine. Shakespeare did, of course. And inevitably, poor Juliet died, the victim of the family feud. I wonder what the finale to this Shakespearean tragedy might have been if the Montague and Capulet families had undertaken to research their family history rather than stubbornly adhering to their family quarrelling. How interesting the outcome might have been, had the families discovered common ancestry. A relationship, other than rivalry, might have succeeded in changing the perception these two families had of each other where all else failed. Of course had Juliet and Romeo discovered that they were cousins, a whole new set of obstacles could have arisen!

In Shakespeare's play, the 'Family Feud' had become an inherent part of the identity of the Montague and Capulet families. Our identity is of course, who we are. It is the places and the cultures we come from in addition to the family, traditions, celebrations and all things in our background that give us a sense of identity. The journey into our family history is a quest for identity. That of course, necessitates, identifying with others to whom we are related and inevitably discovering and being party to rivalries and estrangements. Along with the discovery of identity, family history can be much more than a search for ancestry. It can be a means by which to begin the healing process for family feuds and estrangements.

Of course we can not alter the tragic ending for the two 'star crossed' lovers in William Shakespeare's famous play. For eternity, the Montague and Capulet families will continue to feud. It is an interesting concept, however, that family history might hold the key to opening long closed doors between family members. I frequently see comments on my own blogs and on the blogs of others, such as 'family history has helped to heal a family feud', or 'I have found a long estranged sister through blogging my family history'. It is quite conceivable, that in this wonderfully high technological world we live in, which provides us with online research and family tree facilitators such as Ancestry.com, GenesReunited and FindMyPast, (to name just a few), and which connects us world wide, that our journey into our ancestral past might also be a journey towards changing the way in which we inherently see ourselves. Changing our perception of our self and our place in the family, allows us to change our thinking about how we perceive our family and more significantly how we perceive family feuds, rifts, and conflict as well. Changing the way we see ourselves as we become a part of an extended family picture can help us to let go of inherent attitudes towards other family members and begin the journey towards healing family rifts.

An excellent example of the way in which the changing of inherent thinking about ourselves can change our attitudes, is that of our identity as Australians. The white Australian identity, for a long time was one of having inherited a 'birthstain'. That our nation's foundations were built on felonious beginnings, was once an inherently shameful part of who we were as Australians. There is no doubt that researching family history is one of the significant factors which has contributed towards the positive change of attitude this country has concerning not only its convict roots but importantly its Aboriginal origins. As we have discovered the significant contribution that our ancestors made to this lucky country in which we live, and gained a bettter understanding of past conflicts, we have become increasingly proud of both our convict and our aboriginal history. Previous shame of descending from a convict ancestor has been replaced by pride at what our forebears achieved under inconceivably difficult conditions. Old notions that this country's history began with the arrival of a convict settlement has changed to acknowledge that native people were displaced from their land. Historians have attempted to understand the true history of Australia and to accept responsibility for dispute and estrangement. As a nation we have made some steps toward understanding the plight of the native people of this land. With understanding, eventually comes acceptance and healing. This ability to change one's attitude to one's identity, is not restricted to those inheriting a convict or aboriginal background. If a better understanding of one's past can build a nation which is working towards happy acceptance and feel pride in its forebears, then it is safe to say that a similar understanding of our identity and place in our larger family, can help us as individuals, to accept past rivalry, to bring about a change of thinking and build bridges between families.

Recently, I had a relative whom I had never known or met, contact me. This person made it clear that her mother (still living) would not approve of her speaking to me. I knew that my family for reasons unknown to me, had for many years had nothing to do with this relative's side of the family. She was not sure why this was so either, however believed that it had something to do with our grandparents. Her grandmother was the sister of my grandfather. Both long gone of course. Two generations on and with no clue as to why we are forbidden to be in contact with each other, we have now enjoyed a number of long and very friendly telephone calls and have exchanged fascinating family photographs and information. We have filled in gaps in our knowledge of the family for each other. My cousin and I are getting to know each other and have been fortunate enough to be capable of letting go of the inherent idea that our families are rivals. We have determined that the family feud may have begun over a quarrel about a dinner set, or perhaps a bag of sovereigns after the death of our mutual great great grandmother (pictured right) After an old feud had separated our families for all of our lives, this cousin read my blog and contacted me. I am very glad that she did. Together we are setting about to mend the rift in the family which occurred more than 80 yeas ago. My cousin's mother still does not know that we are in contact but we are working on that!

My family history blogs have put me in contact with a number of previously estranged relatives. Many of the causes of conflict are unclear, however, in most of my family feuds, it appears that disputes arose over possessions after the death of a parent. There have been a few other more interesting feuds of course. One estranged branch of the family went into exile in America, after a sister became pregnant to her brother-in-law. Then the young mother of the child became estranged from both her parents and baby, after it was decided that the child would grow up believing his grandparents to be his parents. Husbands have left wives and children, then remarried, never to be heard of again (until I, the family historian came along and tracked them down). I have found half siblings who my mother never knew she had, believing herself all her life to be an only child and I am fortunate to have been welcomed when I have made contact.

Not all conflict within families will be resolved through a journey into family history, but I have found that by understanding who we are, where we come from and inevitably identifying with the many and diverse members of our large family tree is an excellent place to begin.






The Illustration which depicts Romeo and Juliet is an 1870 painting by Ford Maddox Brown.

Where to stow your Ancestor's Baggage....

What to do with your Ancestors' 'Baggage'
When she passed away, a maternal great aunt, born in 1910, left me three old suitcases as well as a large, beautifully carved wooden trunk. Inside, each, was an Aladdin's cave of wonderful trinkets, clothes, vintage hats, hand embroidered table cloths and table napkins. 

My great Aunt wearing her Wedding Dress.

As I removed each beautifully handcrafted item, I discovered my aunt's wedding dress. From photographs, I knew, this was the wedding dress she had sewn and worn for her second wedding, to Major Alexander Wallace Johnston. The gown is made of gold lace and silk and I simply couldn't resist trying the fabulous dress on ( and it fitted perfectly). My daughters joined me in a colourful journey into the past as we discovered hats, ball gowns, long embroidered gloves, fob watches and costume jewelery. I am certain that each individual item from the trunk and the two suitcases, has a story of its own, however, I can only imagine the tales many of these items could tell if they could talk.

As for the gold wedding dress, I happen to know that it speaks of not only love, but also of betrayal and heartbreak. My great aunt's first husband and the great love of her life, left her for a younger woman with whom he already had two children( the result of an affair). Although her second marriage was a happy one, my aunt, as she lay dying at the age of 91, revealed to me that she had never stopped loving her first husband. She felt the need to confess something to me,that she felt guilty about, before she died. So, my great aunt, nearing the end of her life, told me the following story.

When her husband left her, William Holme Cameron was a man of considerable means. As it turned out, to my great aunt's joy, her spouse had trustingly placed all of his assets in his wife's name( no doubt to avoid taxes). After his act of betrayal and his subsequent desertion, 'Jock' as William was known, returned home to my great aunt to discuss the transfer of his great wealth back to his self, with a generous offer to make some provision for her. My great aunt, both heartbroken and angry, at the time, had closed the door on her ex husband refusing to discuss anything with him. She was unforgiving and kept her husband's wealth for herself, all except for one thing. A cake shop! (Jock, had owned amongst much property, a chain of cake shops). And one cake shop was his reward for cheating on his wife.

My great aunt looked at me sadly,and said with obviously sincere regret, 'I have never told this to anyone but I should have given poor Jock more. I gave him nothing. I feel terrible about that and I have carried this guilt around with me for more than forty years.' Relieved, my great aunt, leaned back against her pillows, silent for a moment. Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, she sat up and exclaimed vehemently, 'No! I'm glad he got nothing. That rotten man didn't deserve a thing!' Well at least that was off her chest! And with that, I had inherited a confession. My great aunts contrition, be it ever so fleeting was entrusted to me. This dying elderly lady, the sister of my grandmother, had handed me with her 40 year old secret. I am therefore, the keeper of my aunt's story, and as such, I have the responsibility of deciding what to do with it.

As the keeper of this secret told to me on a relative's deathbed, I have decided to reveal my great aunt's confession. After all, it makes a good story and I have weighed up the consequences. There is no one alive that this tale will offend and deathbed confessions, I have discovered, can be and often are, very interesting. Regret, guilt, even crime as well as a gamut of other acts and emotions, are the ingredients of confessions from the deathbed. Delving into the lives of ancestors is a journey filled with surprises, but, not all surprises will be pleasant. Family baggage, I call it. Most of our ancestors had some. These are the deeds and stories which our forebears, in all probability, did not want known. They contain secrets that we, as family historians, become the keepers of. Keepers of secrets or tellers. That is our dilemma as family historians. What do we do with the 'family baggage'?
There is some quite fascinating ancestral baggage on the branches of my family tree. In my sometimes murky family background, dwells a wealth of family secrets, lies, confessions and wrongdoings, which, with all good intention, as the family sleuth, I investigate and unravel, until I discover the truth. With each discovery I must decide whether my 'find' is for publishing or not.

There are occasions when I have to wrestle with my conscience, because no matter how interesting the truth is, I need to be aware of any pain it might cause other family members. A recently new found cousin revealed to me that my great grandfather was not, as I had been told, killed by a falling tree branch, whilst walking home from work. According to my cousin's alternate tale of his untimely death, he was involved in a punch up with two drunken sons, one of whom was my grandfather. In the heat of the fight, my great grandfather was knocked to the ground and the story about the branch was told at the hospital to avoid trouble with the law. If this story is the truth, and the branch never fell on my great grandfather's head, then my grandfather and great uncle could have been charged with manslaughter. In all truth I must admit that I preferred 'death by falling branch' as a fitting end to my great grandfather's life, however, I am a fact seeker and so, must deal with the unpleasantness that often partners it. And now, at least I can overcome my fear of standing beneath trees!

As a family historian, I am always searching for the truth, however, sometimes, what is true is not something we wish to hear. When I discover something of a disturbing nature, which might offend or hurt someone living, the choice is simple. The truth sometimes needs to be left hidden. Occasionally, the family historian is required to keep the family secrets. Sometimes we must stow the ancestral baggage where it will be safely secreted away.

I am a story teller but I must choose wisely which family stories to tell. So,I can quite happily reveal that my husband's step great great grandmother Bessie Marchbank White, apologised upon her deathbed (true) for heartlessly placing her husband's two young children by his first wife into foster care. Her contrition came far to late, however, the story still circulates amongst family members, as though it helps mend her actions. I am able to reveal that my great uncle Rex was suspected of being a spy during World War 2 in England. He had no offspring to offend with this story and his only living brother, aged in his nineties is able to laugh at the tale.

Walking into the lives of our ancestors is much like walking into an old dusty attic that hasn't been disturbed for many years. You will find old familiar things you have seen or have heard about. You might possibly be in for some surprises. You might unearth old secrets which have been kept locked away for hundreds of years so before you open the rusty old door to the family attic, be prepared to have to make some tough decisions. Not everything you discover will be pleasant and not everyone in your family is going to want the baggage that you might find in the attic placed on display.