Coincidence
Generally the migrants from whom I'm descended were my great great grandparents, though at least one set were a generation earlier in arriving and one set were a generation later. Almost without exception they were from the British Isles (or Channel Isles). They migrated for the most part from rural rather than urban environments. Based on what I've established some at least of my ancestors were living lives as recently as the mid-eighteenth century that were largely indistinguishable from those of their medieval forebears.
My father's mother was descended from migrants from the Scottish highlands. Her grandparents were married in a village that even today has a population of c450, a post office cum convenience store and a railway station that looks like it came out of a Hornby box.
Yesterday afternoon, in the midst of all the end-of-year crap that overflows my desk and its surrounds I had an unlikely meeting with a new (to me) customer. As she arrived I pulled her file and opened it while asking her to confirm her name and address. She said something that sounded to me like 'Rose Garth' which is not what was written as the first line of her address (the name of her house).
I asked her to spell it and she spelled out what I could see, the name of this same very small and obscure Scottish village. She was puzzled that I'd bothered to pick up on it so I explained my connection - she in turn explained that she and her husband had inherited the name when they purchased the property, but anglicised the pronunciation.
The previous owners' surname is a variant on that of my ancestors. Now my new best friend is threatening to set the previous owners on to me on the groundless assumption that we'd love to meet. In these moments I almost wish I was adopted or at least hadn't a clue who may parents were, let alone my parents' parents (and so forth and so on).
As if all of this wasn't enough there was another Portugal v. Whoever (Iran as it happens) game missed yesterday. Kick-off was mid-afternoon our time, and as I'm up to my neck with end-of-year 'issues' the best I could do was slip away for just under an hour at 5pm to attend B's school play. Then back to the office for another 3 hours work. I got home to catch the last few minutes of the Argentina/Holland game, eat and catch the MOTD highlights of the earlier game - and since Figo was totally anonymous to judge by the clips shown that was a waste of another 15 minutes of my life too.
My father's mother was descended from migrants from the Scottish highlands. Her grandparents were married in a village that even today has a population of c450, a post office cum convenience store and a railway station that looks like it came out of a Hornby box.
Yesterday afternoon, in the midst of all the end-of-year crap that overflows my desk and its surrounds I had an unlikely meeting with a new (to me) customer. As she arrived I pulled her file and opened it while asking her to confirm her name and address. She said something that sounded to me like 'Rose Garth' which is not what was written as the first line of her address (the name of her house).
I asked her to spell it and she spelled out what I could see, the name of this same very small and obscure Scottish village. She was puzzled that I'd bothered to pick up on it so I explained my connection - she in turn explained that she and her husband had inherited the name when they purchased the property, but anglicised the pronunciation.
The previous owners' surname is a variant on that of my ancestors. Now my new best friend is threatening to set the previous owners on to me on the groundless assumption that we'd love to meet. In these moments I almost wish I was adopted or at least hadn't a clue who may parents were, let alone my parents' parents (and so forth and so on).
As if all of this wasn't enough there was another Portugal v. Whoever (Iran as it happens) game missed yesterday. Kick-off was mid-afternoon our time, and as I'm up to my neck with end-of-year 'issues' the best I could do was slip away for just under an hour at 5pm to attend B's school play. Then back to the office for another 3 hours work. I got home to catch the last few minutes of the Argentina/Holland game, eat and catch the MOTD highlights of the earlier game - and since Figo was totally anonymous to judge by the clips shown that was a waste of another 15 minutes of my life too.
posted by Enyo @ 11:34 am
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