Tag Archives: Family history

We will remember them

DSCN3304[1]For anyone who has family members who fought in The Somme I can recommend a trip to northern France at this time, the 100th anniversary, to show respect and give thanks for the contribution of so many men who gave their lives to try to keep us free from tyranny.

Having walked along small country tracks, treading in the footprints of those men  who lost their lives so tragically, we eventually  reached The Thiepval Memorial, parked and visited the small but informative museum. We made slow progress as we read the many plaques which lined the pathway leading to the memorial arch. Finally we climbed the steps, pausing in the gentle breeze. Gazing upwards, in unity with fellow visitors, we were aware of a silent incomprehensible sense of awe, verging on disbelief, as our eyes scanned the 72,000 or more names of the ‘missing’.DSCN3305[1]

We had done our homework and were able to locate the record of my husband’s great uncle among the dead from The Bedfordshire Regiment on pier and face 2C. His name, already familiar to us from war memorials in Clophill and Ampthill in Bedfordshire, seemed almost insignificant. A life lost. A man taken at the age of only nineteen years in 1916, with a whole life ahead of him cut short. So sad.

DSCN3309[1]I’m not sure how long we paused to reflect. A timeless period when ‘then and now’ seemed one and it was difficult to keep vivid imaginings of battle and bloodshed from disrupting the view of the calm and gentle Normandy countryside.

Our next search, before returning to Arras where we would stay the night, was to find the Adanac Cemetery ~ Canada spelt backwards. It took a while to locate the gravestone of my husband’s other great uncle who lost his life in The Somme. Family have letters from him saying that he is looking forward to coming home. That was just before he died in 1918, aged twenty  seven. It was all the moreDSCN3315[1] poignant to stand beside his actual burial site and we were so aware of how far he was away from his home village of Clophill, which before that time he had never left in his short life.

Then, taking a deep breath we headed to Arras. The squares were full of celebrations for Bastille Day, one with a makeshift beach and games for the children and the other square with tables for alfresco dining with neighbours, friends and family. We ate in our favourite restaurant in the caves under the street, had a good night’s sleep in a local hotel, before awaking to the tragic news of the carnage in Nice. Our hearts were heavy as we headed home.

As we reached Calais, we passed huge barbed wire fences between us and the large immigrant camp. It was difficult not to be filled with despair. Have we learnt nothing in last 100 year that people’s cannot live in harmony and safety even today in our so called civilised society?

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Nevertheless I’m glad we made the trip. It was educational and opened our eyes to the futility of war ~ although without a doubt it was a relief to be home again too.

(Diana Jackson has written two books partly set during The Great War.

‘Ancasta ~ Guide me Swiftly Home’ is historical fiction, a family saga set between 1910 and 1920 which also reflects the story of early flying boats and sea planes.

‘Murder, Now and Then’ is a mystery of two murders set 100 years apart.)

 

 

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Filed under Bedfordshire, Family History, Memoirs, The Great War, WW1

Curious Coincidences

It was while I was researching the historical background for Riduna and my parents continued to discover more information about our family tree that we experienced some strange coincidences.

Curious but True – On one occasion my parents were visiting Guernsey. They had booked up through their local travel agent to stay at a small hotel in St Peter Port. As they visited records offices and studied various census records they discovered to their surprise that the hotel they were staying in was in fact once owned by distant relatives and was the place where my Great Grandfather Jackson lived when he returned to Guernsey a few years before he died.

Even more curious – The coincidences continued a year later when I planned to travel on the slow boat to the Channel Islands. No, not the slow boat to China but close! It takes 7 hours to Guernsey and you are still passing The Isle of Wight an hour out of Portsmouth, but for me it was the closest experience to travelling in the Nineteenth Century and even now it is the only truly reliable link with the mainland throughout the whole winter. (Of course you can travel by Fast Catfrom Weymouth or Poole these days if you don’t want to fly)

I was travelling on my own (Guernsey, in fact The Channel Islands are fantastic holiday destinations if you are a lone traveller!) and so found a Christian Guest House on the outskirts of the town centre, but in easy, albeit hilly walking distance. On continuing my research I discovered that Les Cotills, where I was staying at that time, was once a convent with a nursing home, hospital wing attached and I was astonished to discover that it  was the actual place where my Great Grandfather Jackson died.

How curious is that! 

 

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Filed under Channel Islands, Family History

Woolston, Southampton- A Personal View part 1

My parents were born in Woolston, Southampton and were married in Holy Trinity Church on Weston Lane, in fact my mother became a Queen’s Guide there. My uncle and grandpa both worked for Supermarine and for my grandpa it was following a variety of jobs including running a grocer’s shop and working as a stevedore. He worked in the library, the place where they stored plans of aircraft, and must have brushed shoulders with RJ Mitchell in his early days, before my grandpa was relocated.

My earliest memories of Woolston were of staying with my grandma, that is my mother’s mother, in Newtown Road, visiting the playground at Mayfield Park or taking a stroll down to Weston Shore. We often walked down Weston Lane and returned through the woods. If the tide was out we would venture a little way along Fisherman’s Walk, a path out into Southampton Water only visible when the tide was low. We would often pop in to see Aunty Bell on the way back to see her budgie, passing the allotments near to her large and rambling old red brick house. I must have been very small indeed when my grandfather took us girls to watch the steam trains go by at the nearby crossing, before he went to the pub to play his favourite game of dominoes. We would stand on the steps of the style, impatiently waiting for the unmistakable sound of rushing air escaping the funnel and the whistle as the train came into view.

Supermarine hard looking across The River Itchen

During the summer we would sometimes spend a week in Newtown Road and I remember the excitement of seeing The QE2 go by, out of the back bedroom window. Sometimes we would take one of the various busses into Southampton. Grandma always knew to the minute at which bus stop it was best to stand to take the trip either via Northern Bridge or the Floating Bridge at Woolston. If we travelled one way, we would invariably return by the other route to make the trip more fun. I loved going on the Floating Bridge and when I was only five years old the  skipper let me pull the long lever to start it on its slow motion, chains clanking as it made its way to the furthest shore of the Itchen River. I wrote in my ‘news’ the following Monday morning, ‘On Saturday I started the Floating Bridge near my Grandma’s.’  My teacher didn’t believe me and I was mortified.

If we were just going to Woolston to shop then we would usually walk. My grandma often walked even when she possessed a free bus pass and she passed a love of walking on to me. You get to know someone in a very natural way when you are strolling along chatting and I always felt very close to my grandma.

Thinking of Woolston always evokes happy childhood memories; The adrenaline rush of waiting at the top of the mighty slide in the parkThe Floating Bridge Hard; learning to skim stones or eating ice cream on Weston Shore. It was a sad day though when the Floating Bridge was finally obsolete due to the newly built bridge and I hope the inhabitants will forgive me for saying that Woolston has suffered since, with the majority of people driving through, rather than pausing to shop or reflect on Woolston’s place in history. But times are changing. Eventually, as the site of Thornycroft is finally developed, then maybe the heart will be drawn back into rejuvenating the little row of shops running down to the hard. As the trend of people shopping locally is encouraged and the local environment improved, with industrial wastelands cleared and pleasant access made to the riverbank, I believe that Woolston will find its place once more. This is thanks due to the many local people who do care, including the recently formed ‘Friends of Weston Shore’.

For anyone interested in aviation history, a short pause at the recently placed memorial by the crossroads and the plaque down on the hard next to the silent chains of The Floating Bridge, still have the power to evoke pride in our national heritage.

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Filed under Family History, Southampton, Weston Shore, Woolston