And Breathe

Well, it is day five in the new home and the unpacked box total stands at 109.

The final packing up was not without incident. Firstly, I was cleaning like I was about to enter that TV show where B & B owners visit each other’s properties and examine every surface for signs of grime. I don’t think I was up to their standards but I did my best. You know what it is like when you move large, heavy pieces of furniture that haven’t been moved for years, all sorts of interesting debris emerges. Having recovered from the inhalation of cleaning product fumes, I realised that I had packed the gadget that gets grease off oven shelf bars and I was leaving the oven. Chris did a mean job nonetheless. Then there was the wisteria tree that forms an attractive arch over the gateway. For some mysterious reason instead of being its usual six foot high, it had dropped about six inches. One of the removal men, who arrived the day prior to moving to collect some furniture for auction, was six foot four. Cue a hurried removal of a side branch of the tree to allow it to resume a more convenient height.

M day dawned. It dawned very early and like a kid at Christmas, I had barely slept; M day had seemed a very long time coming. The removal team arrived and were very efficient. Our cars were loaded with rather a lot of last minute random stuff that was too tricky to pack. It seems we were supposed to bubble wrap the TVs. The men aren’t allowed to take them. I don’t have bubble wrap left. The two TVs have to be squeezed in the cars too. Then there was a brief moment of panic when the ignition key to the removal van was temporarily mislaid. The final item to upload was the spare bed. Knowing it had been built in the room and there was no way it was coming out assembled, we helpfully took the head and footboard off in advance, leaving just the flat base. I watched the removal men try every which way to get the bed base down the stairs, to no avail. The call goes out for the man with the screwdriver (Chris) to unscrew about two dozen slats and take the frame apart. He clearly doesn’t relish the prospect and with a bit of a shove and the application of brute force, miraculously the frame fits round the ‘impossible’ corner and down the stairs.

We head off to collect new house keys and deposit old ones. Unloading was super fast and by 2.15pm boxes and furniture are in, mostly even in the right rooms and what isn’t is because I’ve forgotten what my plan was. We supplied the removal men with pasty but not being a fan, I didn’t have one. I realise that I haven’t eaten for more than six hours and that I am trying to function on a couple of hour’s sleep to boot. I manage to find some crackers. There’s no sign of any knives with which to apply butter. I debate the practicalities of using the handle of a spoon. Eventually, I find a steak knife, not ideal but functional. Plenty of unpacking ensued and by evening it was time to sample the local fish and chips; time to play hunt for the salt.

The technique for now is to get things in cupboards and books on shelves, as quickly as possible. These will not of course be the right cupboards or the right shelves but it does enable us to get rid of many boxes. Those who supplied answers to the ‘guess the box’ question, it will be a while before I have the final total, as quite a bit of stuff, including the contents of the loft and sheds, was shipped out prior to M day and will only be brought back gradually. There’s still a long way to go.

Purchasing a fridge was a priority as my old one was built in. This was easily accomplished but more of a problem was the fact that I wanted the door altered so it hinged on the other side. This, dear readers, is not as simple as it sounds, as one person has to brace themselves with a tipped fridge balanced on their knees, whilst their accomplice lies on the floor and fiddles with some tricksy screws on the underside.

The delayed Christmas decorating was also a priority and having been prepared by buying the tree on Friday, Tuesday was earmarked as decorations day. Everyone puts up Christmas decorations the day after moving house right? The Christmas decorations, having been loft dwellers, were some of the boxes that had been sent on ahead and should have been in Chris’ house. Other early departing boxes had ended up in three different garages but the instructions were that these should be in the house. Six boxes of decorations were retrieved. Where though were the tree lights and the all important historic decorations, some dating back to the 1940s? Yes, these would be the precious decorations I had mislaid once before. I was pretty sure they were in a plastic box with a blue lid. Frantic searching in all possible locations and no box with a blue lid. To cut a long and sorry story short, the decorations were found where they should be but disguised in a cardboard box.

Hanging the Christmas cards necessitates finding the drawing pins. I can’t find the drawing pins and have to purchase new ones. My whole life is a giant game of Tetris at the moment. Today I was  in the half garage (it has been converted into two rooms) looking for the box with the laminator in. At one point I thought I’d irretrievably blocked myself in but I escaped. I’ve still not found the laminator. I don’t actually need to laminate anything, I just knew I was an ‘office’ box missing.

Achievements so far: Spare bedroom is sorted, including the fiction books in the right order. Office coming on well, although non-fiction books are a total jumble. Bedroom is awaiting the arrival of new furniture. Kitchen needs some work. We will draw a veil over the garage. Next on the agenda is assembling bedside tables, which are the vanguard of the new bedroom furniture delivery.

Christmas is Coming

What does the average person do three days before moving house? Buy a live Christmas tree of course. I am determined to have Christmas decorations, despite moving at a ridiculous time of year and wanted to get in before the weekend rush. Said tree is now stashed in a friend’s garden waiting to be moved in asap. Christmas decorations will indeed come before unpacking boxes.

Creating long blog posts probably isn’t on the agenda at the moment, though but I have posted about Christmas Memories and my vintage Christmas decorations on my Granny’s Tales website. I have also posted about my Christmas decorations, some of which are more than seventy years old, on this site before.

Now back to packing all those awkward last minute bits – you know the sort that never quite fit in to the boxes you have left. This is definitely the most disorganised pack I’ve ever done for a move and I can’t quite work out why. Still unpacking will be a voyage of discovery, with random mixtures in every box. I may not be here until I am on the other side and will need to wait for the wifi to be connected, hopefully that won’t be too long. See you when I have swapped the rural seventeenth century idyll for a home that is once more by the sea.

Almost on the Move (Fingers Crossed)

Well, after much anguish and many ups and downs, it looks like I am into the final week of being the proud custodian of my current home. I am still worried that there will be some last minute hitch but contracts have been exchanged and all being well, I am heading a few miles north, so that I am once again within short walking distance of the sea and useful things like bus stops. I am not really liking this preparing to be old lark but I know it makes sense.

Let’s just hope that I’ve been dealt my share of dramas associated with this move already. You couldn’t make it up. There was I surrounded by boxes, hoping to move within a week or two, when a cyber attack caused havoc for solicitors (not mine but others in my very short chain) and resulted in a whole lot of paperwork disappearing in a puff of ether, cue a two week delay. I have also discovered that books are very heavy. To keep boxes under the prescribed weight of 20kg you need to mix hard backed books with something random and light, so the box isn’t half empty and won’t squish when stacked. I started off well with the decluttering and packing logically but the ‘don’t fill boxes with books, top them up with something light’ is an issue as I have long since run out of light things and the boxes are full of seriously random mixtures. I am pretty much left with just my underwear in the ‘something light’ category. I am sure that was never a problem before, when removal men lifted heavier things. I am working on the principle that if I can lift it a fit, young removal man should be able to. I should point out that I am using the word ‘fit’ to mean healthy, rather than attractive. I’ve not seen them yet so the latter’s an unknown quantity,

My greatest sadness is that all this delay means my precious Christmas decorations are firmly in their boxes. Any other month of the year and a week or two either way wouldn’t have so much impact. The current plan is move in one day, decorations up the next and then I shall be following the tradition of leaving them up until Candlemas (February 2^nd).

Insuring the new house, which you have to do from exchange, was tricky as you are asked all kinds of questions about types of locks and I officially have no idea. Weirdly, it seems the patio doors count against me, understandable if they were external but these just lead to the conservatory, which has a conventional door to the outside. I have arranged for wifi to be transferred with trepidation, as I really need this to be reliable. For some reason my existing company can’t supply me with a landline (although they do currently and I am going to a less remote area) and the twelve year old I spoke to couldn’t really explain why. Possibly something to do with the switch to digital phone lines. I don’t actually use the phone much, except to put the phone down on cold callers, so am going to try to manage with just a mobile. I am a relatively new convert to mobile phones. This means I am a) going to have to try to remember what my number is, b) learn how to put it on speaker phone as I’ve never made more than a 1 minute call on a mobile and don’t fancy longer calls with it stuck to my ear and c) I am going to have to remember to turn the darned thing on. At the moment I only turn it on when I want to use it.

Acquiring boxes has become an art form. It seems supermarkets don’t have piles of them to give away as they did pre COVID. Banana boxes work best as they are sturdy but only seem to come as half boxes, which then need pairing up if possible. I currently have a stack of half boxes, hoping a future haul will produce other halves that fit. I just hope all my neighbours are binge eating bananas. My secret shopper has built up a network of friendly supermarket assistants and does a daily sweep of the local shops but often to no avail.

In a version of ‘How Many Sweets in a Jar’, I thought it might be fun to have a sweepstake on how many boxes I have. It may take a few months for the result as I shan’t count them until they are either emptied or stashed away. No entry fees and no prizes, just a bit of fun. To help you decide, I have 3 bedrooms (2 are very small) but 13 full height book cases, what was a large and full loft (now emptied and stashed wherever I can find room), quite a few boxes of copies of books I have written and what seems to be a ridiculous amount of stuff for someone who has already downsized.

Is it Time to get the Kilt Out?

In a few months’ time I will be embarking on my 48^th year of serious family history research. In all that time, all but one of my lines can be taken back into the eighteenth century, several into the seventeenth century and a few to the sixteenth century. My direct ancestors are spread across nine English counties, from Northumberland to Cornwall, with an additional three counties if I count where I am pretty certain brick wall lines came from. Every single one of all those direct ancestors and there are well over two hundred of them, that I have identified, was born or baptised in England. Until perhaps now. I have been whiling my waiting to move time away by revisiting my Northumbrian ancestry. Part of the story has already found its way on to my Granny’s Tales website. Incidentally, I decided to splash out and convert Granny’s Tales to a paid website so it now has a new URL, although the old one will still work.

Northumbrian ancestors then. This is an eighth of my ancestry, so there’s a lot to tell, even though great great grandad is a brick wall. I sorted the Hoggs and the Pearsons to the best of my ability, so it was time to turn to the Eadingtons. The Eadingtons are tricky; partly because there are so many spelling variations and partly because every last one of them, well almost, is called Patrick, David or James. Except of course when some of the Patricks decide to call themselves Peter just to add to the fun.

My earliest Eadington ancestor is 5x great grandfather David Eadington who married in Embleton in 1756, had some of his children baptised about ten miles from Embleton in Warenford Presbyterian Chapel and had some more children who he didn’t baptise at all, or whose baptism records don’t survive, then ended his days in Alnwick. His gravestone gives his age at death, which suggests that he was born in 1731 or January 1732. Of course, ages at burial are notoriously inaccurate but that’s all I have to go on. Conveniently though, David left a will and this includes mention of several nieces and nephews, children of his late, unnamed, brother. Following up these nephews and nieces, one of whom was also David’s daughter-in-law, at least some of whom have baptism records, revealed that the brother was called James. James married on Holy Island in 1768. James too has a convenient gravestone that leads to a birth between October 1729 and October 1730; so I was now looking for two brothers. There the research sat for several years.

If you believe the ‘wisdom’ of online trees (I don’t), David was baptised in Earlston, Berwickshire, Scotland in 1738, the son of Robert. Not only does these mean he was probably only eighteen when he married but there isn’t a single Robert in my Eadington family, nor was there a brother James. Although this was possible, I remained to be convinced. Investigating the Eadingtons of Holy Island, I discovered an Alice, or Alison Eadington who had an illegitimate son Patrick in 1763. It is almost certain that this Alison was the daughter of Patrick and Alison Eadington née Allen, who moved from Coldingham, in Berwickshire, to Bamburgh, Northumberland. Better still, this Alison had a brother James baptised in 1730. There is no David in the family but the family are on the move between 1729 and 1740 and there is a ten year gap in the children’s baptisms after James. The naming patterns of James and David’s children are a good match for this family; Alison Allen’s father is called David. Even supposing I adopted Patrick and Alison as my 6x great grandparents and I really feel I need more than this, there is another unanswered question. My ancestor is David’s son Patrick (when he isn’t calling himself Peter). He is mentioned in David’s will and on his gravestone as ‘son’ but there is no baptism. He was born c.1762/3. Alison’s son Patrick has no future as Eadington, Chirnside (his father’s name) or Anderson (his step-father’s name). Did David bring his sister’s illegitimate son up as his own child?

Scottish research is not my area of expertise. If anyone has any idea how I might find more evidence that would support or refute this theory I’d be very grateful. I really would like to be able to confirm my Scottish ancestry and get my kilt out.

Memorials to the Marginalised

Most of you who are reading this will know that I am part of a team who aim to tell the stories of women of the past, who might otherwise be forgotten, on the A Few Forgotten Women website. As a family historian, I believe that all those on the family tree deserve their place in history, even if their lives encompass some challenging issues. If we just tell the success stories, the stories of the heroic, the popular and the blameless, what an inaccurate portrait we are painting and what unrealistic expectations we are setting up for those who come afterwards, who can only feel inadequate in the face of all those ‘perfect’ ancestors.

My fascination for aspects of the past that are not exactly filled with sweetness and light, led me to give talks on Forgotten Ancestors, or Ancestors on the Margins, those who are often discriminated against or stigmatised by society and forgotten by history. This led to me being asked to write an article for Family Tree Magazine and subsequently, I was approached by Pen and Sword to write a book, helping others to trace their ancestors on the margins. This all seems like a very long time ago now but I had great fun writing about how to trace the criminals, the illegitimate, the poor, the prostitutes, the witches and many more on you family tree. I tried to provide plenty of social historical context and each chapter finishes with a case study. Finally, the book is now in the late stages of gestation. Publication date is 29 February but pre-orders, at a reduced price, are already available here.

Of course, women have often been marginalised by history and I am excited that my final presentation of 2023 will be a Maternal Line workshop for the Society of Genealogists, when I will be encouraging participants to investigate their female ancestors in more detail. Bookings for this are still open.

What about moving house? I hear you barely dare to whisper. Well some slight bumps in the road but we are at least still on the road. I will reveal the whole ‘you couldn’t make it up’ story when it is all over. As an aside, I am, for reasons that will be explained in future posts, currently living like my ancestors with no central heating as the snow flurries descend – thank goodness for the woodburner. I am not convinced said ancestors also lived with half empty cupboards and shelves and a obstacle course created from boxes in every room but there you go.

Some years I have provided an advent calendar of blogs on historical or book related subjects but I am a bit pushed for blogging time at the moment – maybe next year when the chaos has (I hope) abated. You can always look back on calendars from previous years.

The alphabetical Christmas advent posts start here December 2012.

Historical Novelists starts here December 2016.

Social History books advent starts here December 2017.

In December 2018, each day I blogged about a different source that I used in the writing of Barefoot on the Cobbles.

There wasn’t a complete calendar in 2019 but there was a series of posts about favourite family history websites starting here December 2019.

Looks like I have had a few years off! Good intentions for 2024.