Jun 30th, 2009
Tell me it’s not true
Today I’m in that least enviable of positions for a family historian – I suspect that I’ve been following the wrong family and that great-great-great-grandfather Cowan was somebody else. [Silent Scream]
His parents lost several of their children and later children were given the same name. So there’s two Marys, two Thomases and, crucially for me, two Williams. The second William only came to light yesterday (born in 1778) and wouldn’t have been a problem except he was born two years after my William. That would indicate that the first child called William died in infancy and the next boy child took the name. Unfortunately, my William is the first child and I have records of him living until 1852. [Sigh]
These Cowans lived in a Stirlingshire village called Airth from the 18th (more…)
Jun 13th, 2009
The wee shop on Waverley Street
I never saw this picture of my dad’s mother, Martha, until about 10 years ago. She died, aged only 54, thirteen years before I was born and I’m glad to say at the time of writing, I’ve outlived her. She and a friend went to have their photograph taken in their best hats and furs in the early years of the 1920s. She wasn’t to know that before long, her world would collapse around her.
Martha Robertson Higgins (I’m fairly sure she would have been known as Matty, Matt or even Oor Matt) was born in Hamilton, Lanarkshire, the middle child of 12 children. Her father Joseph was an underground fireman down the pit and he and mother Martha both came from Lanarkshire. It’s possible, though, that the Higginses hailed originally from Ireland.
In 1912, she married a coal miner (more…)
May 15th, 2009
Have your ID ready, please
Identity is something we’re quite preoccupied with these days. Identity theft and the issue of identity cards for the general population. And of course the ‘who do you think you are?’ generation.
For two of my ancestors, ID cards were a fact of life. Both carried them during periods when Britain was at war with Germany. First, my father, Tom.
Tom, a policeman, had what was called a reserved occupation in World War II. A Schedule of Reserved Occupations was drawn up in 1938 and included farmers and railwaymen as well as policemen. These jobs were regarded as vital to the country at home. Nonetheless, Tom went to the recruiting offices of every armed service and tried to enlist. He was turned down – because a stray cricket ball had punctured his eardrum (more…)
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