My Dad is heavily into his genealogy. Before he began, he knew very little about our family, even relatively little of his own Grandparents.
However, gradually, piece by piece and like a modern, non-drug taking Sherlock Holmes without the deer stalker, Dad has filled in the blanks with census data and old photos uncovered. It's all stored in a massive lever arch file, rapidly gaining something akin to Family Bible status.
Yesterday, the old man and I went to the National Archives at Kew. Ultimately, to meet a chap researching unsung racing heroes from the early part of the last century, although as a librarian I thought the place might be interesting too. He had come across Reginald Calvert-Empson (the great grandad mentioned in an earlier blog) and was amazed to hear my Dad was his only Grandchild.
Notes were duly swapped and more info was gathered by the erstwhile 'Holmes' (I guess that makes me Dr Watson!) Anyway, not only a racer but also a Captain in WW1, he was subject to an attack by gas resulting in hospitalisation. We saw his medical records from the time and even a hand written letter requesting leave due to his 8 year old daughter (my Nan) being injured when run down by a car!!!! Incredible!
I'd never felt particularly attached to my heritage (apart from the odd bit of sympathy for the Scottish national football team) but, as Dad's gradually unearthed the names and the places over the years, it's slowly started to seep through me. Turns out my Great Grandfather, John McRae, was a dairy farmer and that his Dad was Alexander McRae from a small village in the West Highlands called Balmacara. The McRae clan even have their own castle nearby called Eilean Donan.
A couple of years ago, Laura and I were on holiday in Scotland. We drove the hire car for 3 hours up through the amazing scenery of the highlands to find it. I hate those moments in shows like "Who Do you Think You Are?" - the money shot - where the celeb breaks down in tears at some pseudo grandiose revelation. However, although I didn't go so far as to shed a tear, there was a substantial lump in my throat at the sight of the castle.
It really is beautiful and nestles at the foot of the mountains, on a small island in the Loch. Walking around it made me feel immensely proud and most moving of all was the memorial listing McRae's lost in the world wars. Thinking about it, 'old Reggie" could so easily have ended up on one of these.
Balmacara, a hamlet, has a "McRae" grocers store among the tiny collection of buildings. Finally, my name up in lights!! I always knew this was my spiritual home!
However, gradually, piece by piece and like a modern, non-drug taking Sherlock Holmes without the deer stalker, Dad has filled in the blanks with census data and old photos uncovered. It's all stored in a massive lever arch file, rapidly gaining something akin to Family Bible status.
Yesterday, the old man and I went to the National Archives at Kew. Ultimately, to meet a chap researching unsung racing heroes from the early part of the last century, although as a librarian I thought the place might be interesting too. He had come across Reginald Calvert-Empson (the great grandad mentioned in an earlier blog) and was amazed to hear my Dad was his only Grandchild.
Notes were duly swapped and more info was gathered by the erstwhile 'Holmes' (I guess that makes me Dr Watson!) Anyway, not only a racer but also a Captain in WW1, he was subject to an attack by gas resulting in hospitalisation. We saw his medical records from the time and even a hand written letter requesting leave due to his 8 year old daughter (my Nan) being injured when run down by a car!!!! Incredible!
***
I'd never felt particularly attached to my heritage (apart from the odd bit of sympathy for the Scottish national football team) but, as Dad's gradually unearthed the names and the places over the years, it's slowly started to seep through me. Turns out my Great Grandfather, John McRae, was a dairy farmer and that his Dad was Alexander McRae from a small village in the West Highlands called Balmacara. The McRae clan even have their own castle nearby called Eilean Donan.
A couple of years ago, Laura and I were on holiday in Scotland. We drove the hire car for 3 hours up through the amazing scenery of the highlands to find it. I hate those moments in shows like "Who Do you Think You Are?" - the money shot - where the celeb breaks down in tears at some pseudo grandiose revelation. However, although I didn't go so far as to shed a tear, there was a substantial lump in my throat at the sight of the castle.
It really is beautiful and nestles at the foot of the mountains, on a small island in the Loch. Walking around it made me feel immensely proud and most moving of all was the memorial listing McRae's lost in the world wars. Thinking about it, 'old Reggie" could so easily have ended up on one of these.
Balmacara, a hamlet, has a "McRae" grocers store among the tiny collection of buildings. Finally, my name up in lights!! I always knew this was my spiritual home!
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