tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90267956818156585632024-03-04T21:07:16.807-08:00Glimpsing the pastAngiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-81218079520371302852012-01-24T07:49:00.000-08:002013-02-23T03:33:03.388-08:00James Stark ….from humble beginnings<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOoMpu3eDITKUTncQnx9_-0jCCNLnqc1nO1B_fhDFCZpNB2HZpEEhs_nHMCx0PNCsXBLAlhOU_OObTpZmulsGBsKpCCe3ccRQziXCucNIlD1rt5eSqEa4KVu07Bu5c-HaS90Ab7bwU170/s1600/starkLH.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5701226770648661906" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOoMpu3eDITKUTncQnx9_-0jCCNLnqc1nO1B_fhDFCZpNB2HZpEEhs_nHMCx0PNCsXBLAlhOU_OObTpZmulsGBsKpCCe3ccRQziXCucNIlD1rt5eSqEa4KVu07Bu5c-HaS90Ab7bwU170/s400/starkLH.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKj6IgZPTNoinRIizF2KtUMZflbeI0IChuWRF59heGaAxp9VDQHZl4n-YFcmWiv5wljesvTQpz4ISHoE-c-TLgjjGJH8oPid0X7O-grvE6NWDhmtdK0PgzH2fCwA71LnYoM31UsVILzOw/s1600/starkRH.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5701226779396060642" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKj6IgZPTNoinRIizF2KtUMZflbeI0IChuWRF59heGaAxp9VDQHZl4n-YFcmWiv5wljesvTQpz4ISHoE-c-TLgjjGJH8oPid0X7O-grvE6NWDhmtdK0PgzH2fCwA71LnYoM31UsVILzOw/s400/starkRH.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 399px;" /></a><br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotoptimizeforbrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]-->James was born 24<sup><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span></sup> December 1858 at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Heatherinch</span> in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Collessie</span>, Fife ... to Jessie/Janet <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Crombie</span> …my great grandmothers’ older sister …well one of them …there were seven daughters of whom Isabella was the youngest… and one son …the oldest of the siblings. <br />
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Although illegitimate, his father, Thomas Stark, was there at the time he was registered and thus he was given his surname but in 1861 James was living with his mother and grandfather, Alexander, at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Cupar</span> Muir, on the family small holding. Alexander died three years later but had acknowledged him as his grandson on the census.</div>
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His mother Janet married an Alexander <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Lumsden</span> in 1867 and had more children. In 1871 James was down as ‘Stepson’…. but by 1881, still living with them, he was entered as a boarder on the census,maybe because he was over twenty- one, with the trade of Mason.</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three years later he was married to Janet <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Millar</span> and soon after, his first son James, was born. Sadly his son James died in the Great War having joined the London Scottish. This was a Territorial Regiment …a battalion of this regiment was the first TA regiment into action in 1914 …and another battalion went to Palestine, taking part in the capture of Jerusalem<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>…it was here that he lost his life and was buried. His younger brother George also lost his life, in an accident, leaving only their little sister Jessie <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Crombie</span> Stark … she married in 1922.</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>James Stark’s marriage to Janet lasted over 50 years and their Golden Wedding was recorded in the local papers but his death in 1937 was also recorded in The Glasgow Herald.</div>
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All of the above sounds like a pretty normal family of the times but this man of humble beginnings rose to great heights. He created a prosperous building concern, then in 1911 became a Provost, followed by a Justice of the Peace and finally was made an Honorary Sheriff in 1926. By the time his obituary was published in 1937, he had also gained an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">OBE</span> from the King. </div>
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During the war he sat on many committees, he received the Belgian Medal for his war efforts in particular, establishing a home in Glasgow, for Belgian refugees and worked hard to raise funds for the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Cupar</span> War memorial…his personal efforts raised over £5000….this would be over £150,000 in today’s terms. </div>
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In 1922, Earl <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Haig</span> and Provost Stark unveiled the memorial seen on the lay out above…now known as 'The Angel' by the locals.</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the same Earl <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Haig</span> who was Commander in Chief of the forces, in WWI and who gave his name to the fund that runs the Poppy Day Appeal today. It is said that they were friends … probably due to their work on committees.</div>
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(BTW ….In Scotland a Provost is a little like a Mayor and a Sheriff is between a Magistrate and a High Court Judge but the latter being an honorary position, he would not have had actual duties …The Angel has pillars now, by the steps,as seen in the photo I took. They were added to commemorate the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Cupar</span> dead of WWII.).</div>
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Take Care xx</div>
Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-47193452103683946602011-10-01T03:59:00.000-07:002011-10-01T07:31:28.412-07:00Alexander Ritchie …1868-1914.<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I was so excited to find another photo of him when he was 20/21years old, the little boy in the picture below whose image I thought had only been captured there. I worked out his age by the three year window that the photographer had had a studio in Edinburgh for.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Sadly I have no stories or anecdotes, past down through my Nana, about her brother, my Great Uncle Alexander, except that he was ‘fond of his appearance’ which I assume meant he liked to look smart … and that he was called Sandy by the family. I believe he had light read hair, which may have given rise to the nickname.</span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">By the time my Nana was nine (1891) it can be seen that Alexander was no longer living in the family home but was a lodger in Carnock</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;font-size:130%;" > </span><span style="font-size:130%;">.. a village a few miles west of Dunfermline….how long he had lived away from home is unknown.</span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">I have tried to gather as much colour from certificates and censuses I have read…. hopefully giving him a ‘real’ feel …some one who is not just a face staring back from a photograph.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRW48lev6CbQoMeYENbbFxWfn3VN4K5x9uGQTy_2Y-bpUef9dv2bl-X8pDREYxvmNKFKBaLehZCqWgFYRQT3LLq1ka3JTn54bt-7DliAX9-lmZKeBp45x_qTxtaqHop2vTEfbIAP5PGFo/s1600/P1440463.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRW48lev6CbQoMeYENbbFxWfn3VN4K5x9uGQTy_2Y-bpUef9dv2bl-X8pDREYxvmNKFKBaLehZCqWgFYRQT3LLq1ka3JTn54bt-7DliAX9-lmZKeBp45x_qTxtaqHop2vTEfbIAP5PGFo/s400/P1440463.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658529680162037986" border="0" /></a></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Alexander Ritchie </span>was born 12<sup>th</sup> September1868, the third child but second son of David and Isabella. He was named after his mother’s father, as tradition dictated, and was brought up in Cupar Muir, in Fife … which is just outside Cupar. I have noted that none of the sons were given middle names at birth although William adopted one in later life, yet all three of the daughters were.</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Like his elder brother he followed his fathers trade, that of being a Stonemason, and after finishing his apprenticeship, of about 7 years, he was then a journeyman …acquiring work where he could and often paid by the day. The only thing he was not allowed to do was to teach …for that you had to be a Master Mason</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">By 1897 he was living in Edinburgh, at 36 Caledonian Crescent, and on the 23<sup>rd</sup> December that year, he married Barbara Low Anderson who lived in Glasgow and was a sales lady in a jewellers. Alexander was now termed a Mason, (Operative) as also was his father who still lived in Cupar Muir.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;font-size:130%;" > </span><span style="font-size:130%;">I have read up on this but there does not seem to be a definitive answer as to what ‘operative’ actually meant. In some cases it seems that it was connected to being a member of a Lodge of Masons but then I read it was something to do with the early unions …even ‘journeyman’ seems to have many definitions…does any one out there know more ???</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">!901 brought the next census and the couple are found to be one of three families, living at 12 Castle Street. Edinburgh. … Alexander is a working Mason and Barbara is a caretaker of an office …they have no children.</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;font-size:130%;" > </span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Another 10 years pass and they are now living at Quarry Brae in Polmont, in a house or cottage, called ‘Kenmore’, that has 6 rooms with windows. This seems quite large for a couple still with no children after 13 years of marriage but reading the census I see that he works on his ‘own account’ now, from home and he is now a Fruiterer. This says to me that this building is in fact a shop, a Greengrocers maybe or a general store.. There is no record of Barbara’s job but I imagine she served in the shop or helped in other ways. They appear never to have been blessed with children but I did wonder why he rejected his trade to start a new one during the first decade of the 20<sup>th</sup> century.</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">All was explained when reading of his death on 18<sup>th</sup> October 1914, just three years later, at the age of only 46. He died of pneumoconiosis and heart disease ….the former being a ‘Dust disease’ related to being a stonemason. I can only imagine that he had been ill for several years and this had caused him to change his direction.</span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">I hope Sandy came alive for you …he did for me while researching him …but then he is my Great Uncle.<br /></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">Now I know where he lived in his latter years, I am going to send my son out with a camera, as he lives surprisingly close to Quarry Brae.<br /></span></p> <span style="font-family: arial;font-family:";font-size:130%;" >Take care xx</span>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-84586963516541988652011-04-19T08:19:00.000-07:002013-02-26T06:19:34.627-08:00The Ritchie Family circa 1875This is the earliest photo I have of David and Isabella.<br />
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I have dated this at 1875 but it might have been as early as 1874, as their 5<sup>th</sup> child, James, was brought into the world in 1875. As William is in his mother’s arms, it is hard to see if she is ‘with child’.</div>
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Their oldest son was also a David and followed into his fathers trade becoming a mason and then a respected builder, living in Cupar for the whole of his life. This was barely two miles away from where he was brought up. The family home, in Cupar Muir, had four rooms that contained windows and was big enough to bring up their seven children. Although their eldest son stayed close, their eldest daughter Janet emigrated to Canada and their youngest, not born for nearly another decade …my Nana…lived for several years in London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the only photo I have yet to find of Janet and their second son Alexander.</div>
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Sadly I have no image of James who died before his time….I am sure I have not recounted his story before so maybe this is the place to record it.</div>
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James was born in 1875 and like William, who worked in the print, did not follow in his father’s footsteps but became a Cabinet maker. He met and fell in love with Jane Brunton and they married in 1903. Soon Jane was carrying their first child and eleven months after their marriage Elizabeth was born. They were so happy but Jane was very unwell after the birth. James had gone out to visit friends and returned to find that she had died and could not forgive himself for not being there by her side. <span style="font-weight: bold;">His death from poison was recorded 12 hours after hers. </span></div>
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Elizabeth was now an orphan but James’s siblings tried to care for her. A few months later Jane’s parents came and took her to live with them…. changed her surname and appear to have brought her up as their own child …maybe to shield her from knowing about her real parents deaths. </div>
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James' family never saw her again but I found that she lived until 1986 … not all that far from where I live now<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>…. unmarried and on her own …how I wish that I had started Family History 10 or so years earlier …but then maybe it would have been wrong to rake up the past. </div>
Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-43021513798308392632011-03-01T15:17:00.000-08:002011-03-01T15:32:13.494-08:00My Mum ...in the 1940's<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrubncUwKrVQKdrW-RgXIrfdpWE31Py6Q_L6WgWXCGBe4JkOxVFEkj4_1WBVmlRB1mNOuYnwS7SP_AKLUi4atN_rcL55RSvt8ipW24ZydCNEwZ0Ib2L9dP-IkpvWNnUtgu3xGcWciVTU/s1600/MUM+1940%2527s.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 394px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrubncUwKrVQKdrW-RgXIrfdpWE31Py6Q_L6WgWXCGBe4JkOxVFEkj4_1WBVmlRB1mNOuYnwS7SP_AKLUi4atN_rcL55RSvt8ipW24ZydCNEwZ0Ib2L9dP-IkpvWNnUtgu3xGcWciVTU/s400/MUM+1940%2527s.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579257327448934386" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Marjory Isobel Bullock/Watt ...1917 - 2000</span><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">This decade was filled with mixed emotions for Mum It started with such promise …she was due to be married to her one true love but sadly John was taken from her before it could happen … she managed to survive this terrible time and took her mind off what had happened by concentrating on her singing and joining the world of work for the first time in her life<span style=""> </span>…something that a middle class only daughter, in Scotland, was not expected to do unless it was volunteering to do a few hours for charity or in a hospital, or at this time, maybe War Work.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> She lost close friends as many did …sang for the Polish soldiers who were stationed near by …finally left home for a spell so she could continue working and have some independence<span style=""> </span>…this time on a military base in England … then discovered that her mother had sold up the family home and followed her to England. She met and was captivated by my father, a Canadian parachutist at the base … learnt that he was returning home to a wife and child so never told him that she was probably pregnant. In March 1947, she gave birth to me, which shocked the whole family, as she had told no one, only put on a few pounds and cycled everywhere up to eight months.<span style=""> </span>Finally she let her mum find a flat, change Mum's surname, move in with us and then organize<span style=""> </span>her life so that she could keep me and give me a home, forsaking old friends, in case they ever learnt the truth that she had never married. ….<span style=""> </span>but then, to test her strength once more, she nearly lost me to Polio as the decade was nearing its end. (Written about in the post below )<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This beautiful woman never looked at another man for the rest of her life and dedicated herself to making sure I was happy and had all that I needed. …it is now that I really appreciate what she did for me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Thank you Mum.</p>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-12447933823218194072011-03-01T11:45:00.000-08:002011-03-01T11:52:41.220-08:00METhis is not exactly family history because it’s me in the photos but it is recording a time that was important in my life …and it is over 60 years ago.!!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisJbHxVGY6OIOVNcTArhG0Sqt0wCVNEEpOYRFd9EBRc3ygZhh9XcxOVHmcTBXcLvL9L4UU6wgkaqWRvzc58CQcQp_BnUMKcdO3rptQ9vo6rUBKbKYpNwgx6eMIxe1F5rFQEzo4Whz3x4s/s1600/ME.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 397px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisJbHxVGY6OIOVNcTArhG0Sqt0wCVNEEpOYRFd9EBRc3ygZhh9XcxOVHmcTBXcLvL9L4UU6wgkaqWRvzc58CQcQp_BnUMKcdO3rptQ9vo6rUBKbKYpNwgx6eMIxe1F5rFQEzo4Whz3x4s/s400/ME.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579201123201268642" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The first photo must have been when I was nearly one, early 1948, and the other, two years later.<span style=""> </span>For the first three years of my life I lived with Mum and Nana, in the down stairs flat of a house that had seen better days, This was before my Nana purchased a Victorian terraced property, opposite a park, which was to be my home for the following 18 years.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I remember discovering a hole in the kitchen floor and peering in … and then a wooden chair being placed over it to stop me coming to harm. I remember Mum looking after the Lipmann’s cat and she and I having to go up to their flat, only to discover a pile, or as it seemed to me, a mountain, of stale and mouldy bread in a corner of their hall. I remember lowered voices when it was ever discussed.. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It is only with retrospect, and age, that I now suspect why the ‘mountain’ existed. The Lipmann’s were always nice to Mum and talked to me too but generally kept themselves to themselves. It was the late 1940’s, their surname suggested that they were Jewish but although their clothes were showing much wear and tear, they seemed have a pride in their appearance. Putting all things together in my mind, I now wonder whether they had managed to survive a camp or similar hardship, where any food was rare and prized, no matter the freshness. The habit to treasure any crumb of food would have been hard to break and to throw anything away would have been almost impossible. … it really is the only explanation, as I remember Nana remarking on how clean and tidy the rest of their home was..</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>These things I remember, even though I was so young yet a two months stay in hospital, around the age of 18 months, separated from my mother by a glass wall, leaves me with no memories at all.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Between these two photos I fell ill … according to the doctor …with a cold or influenza at worst. My ex-Theatre Sister Nana was not satisfied and had me rushed to the nearest hospital …she was a force to be reckoned with when it came to medical matters and her intuition was right. Within a few hours I was diagnosed with Polio and put into isolation. It is believed that it was only her quick action that enabled me to make a complete recovery …well almost, as I walked like a penguin for the next three years and my feet would often take up the ‘quarter to three’ position when tired<span style=""> </span>…even well into my twenties. Certainly there would never have been such a cute photo of me at nearly three but for her…many children who managed to survive the terrible epidemics around that time, remained paralyzed and those that were confined to a chair or walked with the aid of ‘leg irons’ were thought lucky.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Thanks for dropping by ...Take Care xx<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-1289761582791352492010-11-30T07:32:00.000-08:002010-11-30T07:41:17.727-08:00Never to be forgottenJohn McKelvie was my mum’s fiancé and her one true love …always in her thoughts till the day she died.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPQPnQvRpCXa4agNcDKbNIgZvLwHPldLiOw29inKJZ9GIdnwwVBtuMrUb0E80a59FOxb7jp-_VUV3wgMNaWF3s5kRRA_YWCzdtQyKl8tU-lhd28Z0YbzZXuOygbbAaN2T5Bvqx3uWvJhM/s1600/john.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 399px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPQPnQvRpCXa4agNcDKbNIgZvLwHPldLiOw29inKJZ9GIdnwwVBtuMrUb0E80a59FOxb7jp-_VUV3wgMNaWF3s5kRRA_YWCzdtQyKl8tU-lhd28Z0YbzZXuOygbbAaN2T5Bvqx3uWvJhM/s400/john.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545367953755164562" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>He had volunteered for the Air force as soon as war broke out, much to mums annoyance and after training, was given the dangerous position of rear gunner. He was soon told of his promotion to sergeant and that he was to become an instructor, reducing the chances of flying missions. This being the case both John and Mum felt more confident of their future and they dared to think of marriage plans, maybe on his next leave.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">At the end of June 1940 Mum was informed that he was missing in action …. from the 17<sup>th</sup> …she was devastated but did not give up hope over the months that followed, often walking where they walked together and praying for his safe return, imagining him being a prisoner of war.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At the end of December the grave news came that he had been killed on the 17<sup>th</sup> June and buried on the 24<sup>th,</sup> at St Nazaire. Mum told me that he had been thought to have been on the troop ship<span style="font-weight: bold;"> ‘Lancastria’</span>, when it was bombed and sunk, so had actually survived some conflict in the air before hand. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">This was all that she knew … and I certainly had never heard of the ship and its sinking … so when I was reading and transcribing mums notes and memories, that I had persuaded her to commit to paper<span style=""> </span>a few years before her death, I did some research.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">He was on the list of those lost on the ship and probably was below deck in line for a direct hit. It is a tragedy that was hidden from the British public, for fear it would damage moral at a difficult time ….a Churchill cover-up. There is a book well worth reading….The Sinking of the Lancastria by Jonathan Fenby ….. if you are interested ….<span style=""> </span>but facts that should be known are that if you add the number of dead from the Lusitania and those from the Titanic, together,<span style=""> </span>you still have not reached the suspected total of lives lost from the sinking of Lancastria and this occurred only two weeks after the well documented, Operation Dynamo…..which every one<span style=""> </span>knows as the evacuation of the troops from<span style=""> </span>Normandy beaches.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">John may not hold any ties to me but I do not want him or the Lancastria, forgotten …. so this LO will proudly sit within my FH album as a reminder for any that look through, in the years to come.. </p>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-31232652947659453262010-11-30T07:22:00.001-08:002013-02-13T13:02:29.036-08:00My Great Grandmother Isabella Ritchie nee Crombie<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr1rHqtpzFU9_5m_zc7RkMOUiY8qsSi11eilMPTnaB50Sh6Yy7JEIavFJtJWR1UyeX6en69-ouh6tEInLkrgFwxuiBvhrcPNmJVX2swqB5diUc8-EJGHd4uapuGSoj-SFJvBYPS1seDXc/s1600/isabella2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545363724372326850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr1rHqtpzFU9_5m_zc7RkMOUiY8qsSi11eilMPTnaB50Sh6Yy7JEIavFJtJWR1UyeX6en69-ouh6tEInLkrgFwxuiBvhrcPNmJVX2swqB5diUc8-EJGHd4uapuGSoj-SFJvBYPS1seDXc/s400/isabella2.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 398px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: 180%;">Isabella Ritchie ...nee Crombie.</span><span style="font-size: 180%;"> </span></div>
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…know as Granny Crombie by my mum.</div>
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Born the 7<sup>th</sup> daughter/eighth and youngest child ….7/8/1841 in Collessie</div>
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Died 2/11/1920 in Cupar</div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">This is my Mums memory of her, when she was three ….</span><span style="font-size: 130%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 130%;">in her own words….</span></div>
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….<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">.She looked so grumpy and rather frightening, sitting in the basket chair by the range, dressed head to toe in black. Her black bonnet, which was tightly tied by ribbons under her chin, remained on her head through out the whole visit. Mother tried to persuade me to come out from under the table but to no avail. After some time Granny Crombie produced some paper, which she then twisted into cones and filled with sweeties. It was mesmerizing watching her make these pokes from my place of safety, but finally I allowed her to coax me out. To my surprise she spoke to me with a soft and gentle voice and her face no longer looked grumpy ….</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Her son William wrote about her, soon after her death in 1920</span></span> ....<span style="font-size: 100%; font-weight: normal;"> I am so lucky to have the draft of his article … these are some snippets that give some insights into her character.</span></div>
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…She was by nature secretive, reticent and very reserved. She enjoyed a few select intimate friends of her own choice but during the years of the war she seemed to discard her local friends, …..</div>
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…..From her long weekly letters to me- often running into four foolscap pages with several post scripts in order to use every inch of the paper, she seemed to have assumed the responsibility of a statesman. She was so serious and critical on political and military matters and would discourse also on local affairs, industrial unrest, cost of living, shop bargains and prospective Cupar marriages …..</div>
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…Her sole literature was her Bible and her newspaper. Her greatest luxury was to peruse this journal from cover to cover …</div>
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….It might surprise the citizens of the country town to know that she knew and could name nearly every man woman and child in Cupar because everyone was obliged to pass and re-pass her turret window …..</div>
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…. She loved to admire nice looking people as they strutted across her ‘stage’ and remark upon them. She was amusingly critical about the modern ladies fashions in dress, millenary and manners …</div>
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It is interesting to me to read the first three words of description of his mother as it could be describing my own mum. … and the fact of having a tiny number of select close friend is me and mum to a tee. …obviously a family trait.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">Hope you feel you know her too</span>.</div>
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Take Care</div>
Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-82664935445682180492010-04-19T03:52:00.000-07:002010-04-19T07:30:22.998-07:00Edith Frances .... my Great Aunt<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >Edith Frances Mobsby</span> ...nee BULLOCK ...b 1867... m1900.... d1949<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikEH9uV-TjaubtxVWnDSNpoeGfTdSfGeA7qi-xsG65k-Vz8XmE7I5RSOcAYNCA76YbcOxXQ56ehFounIr5DV4ORhergHY0DzBxd7Vc41UZho7m_51su-hdHJMn60IWrltGGSV5BKM6keA/s1600/Edith+LO.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 395px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikEH9uV-TjaubtxVWnDSNpoeGfTdSfGeA7qi-xsG65k-Vz8XmE7I5RSOcAYNCA76YbcOxXQ56ehFounIr5DV4ORhergHY0DzBxd7Vc41UZho7m_51su-hdHJMn60IWrltGGSV5BKM6keA/s400/Edith+LO.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461855401147363602" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Edith was the third of George and Emma Bullock's children. Sadly her first two siblings had died before she was born. Ada Sophronia was just one and Ralph Yelland, barely two. A year after his death, Edith arrived ...how her parents must have worried...would she too be taken from them? She survived and was joined by a little brother, Horace Yelland, seven years later. (My Grandfather). It was told to me that George had been a church organist but I have no evidence of this. Both of the children were encouraged to play an instrument, Edith ... Piano and Horace ... Cello and as a result of George's encouragement and their hard work, they became accomplished musicians.<br />I feel that Edith was special to her father and so when she started to ' walk out' with Herbert Mobsby he was not a happy man. He did not approve of her choice of future husband and tried to discourage the match ...wanting her to pursue her music. Edith, however, chose Herbert which ...it is said ... resulted in her father refusing to attend their wedding in 1900. She was 33 so he could not forbid it but it has been said that he totally cut her off. This might be the case but in George's will he did in fact leave her several properties that he owned but worded it in such a way, that Herbert himself could never gain from any inheritance Edith would receive. They had a daughter Irene and a son Eric but the two halves of the family never had much to do with each other and after Horace moved to Scotland, in 1916, I do not think he ever saw his sister or any part of her family again.<br /><br />This year ...nearly 100 years on ....I have made contact with Irene's son. We found that through out most of our lives we managed to live only a stones throw away from each other but knew nothing of each others existance. Now we have exchanged some family history and tied up loose ends....small world.Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-82229312728412257922010-03-01T06:11:00.000-08:002010-03-01T06:17:14.190-08:00Dr Reginald Yelland Bullock 1914-1963Reginald Yelland Bullock was my uncle …my Mums elder brother. <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>It’s strange what you learn about people after they are gone. His son, who I recently met for the first time in over 30 years, always thought his father had been born in Scotland ... when he actually had been born in London. During the ‘get together’ we reminisced over our youth, he talked about his life in New Zealand and about his father who Mike sadly lost when he was only 17 … and I filled him in on our Family history.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXxnws8OTsUQN-I1u4L_2Hn4_P0nmMzqxOnV-KGD6VLM-NIQ_qQeA-74NCNhtc2wDnUjtHnro95IAgF-DtyxwO6yslnZFuoNxgf66AxELQtAbhkZgo49h8FbzqvDskO7ccMJ8vmaiJp6U/s1600-h/RYB.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 397px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXxnws8OTsUQN-I1u4L_2Hn4_P0nmMzqxOnV-KGD6VLM-NIQ_qQeA-74NCNhtc2wDnUjtHnro95IAgF-DtyxwO6yslnZFuoNxgf66AxELQtAbhkZgo49h8FbzqvDskO7ccMJ8vmaiJp6U/s400/RYB.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443668292877265938" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What I didn’t know was that, although he was a wonderful conscientious Doctor …adored by his patients …he never actually wanted to be one. His love was apparently music …cello like his father but his mother (Euphemia) said it was not a proper job …it was for pleasure. I found it strange because her late husband, Horace, had been a cellist and taught at home. Horace did have an inherited private income, which I suppose made a difference but maybe being forced to do something his heart was not in, is why Reg grew away from his mother after the war years …. along with her disapproval of his choice of wife ….well no one was really good enough for any of her<span style=""> </span>children. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He had studied hard at St Andrews and the only exams he failed were his finals, which he had to retake after being banished to a tent in the garden in order to avoid any outside influences, which might distract him. After he passed it was not long before he had to go<span style=""> </span>to war, serving on the Hospital ship ABA and finally his theatre of war was to be North Africa …..his final rank being Captain. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I found letters amongst Mums papers, that had been sent to my Nana and it could be seen that, as the war years progressed, there were more censored black lines than actual text … how I wish they had not become miss placed in the move up here.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>He never let on how ill he had been during that time until much later and I remember that after his death in 1963, Auntie Pat found papers showing that he had been ‘mentioned in dispatches’. He was not one to brag … business like, yet caring, in his work … and always seemed to be the life and soul of any party or gathering. His smile was like that of a mischievous lad and his laugh was so infectious<span style=""> </span>…<span style=""> </span>the latter often heightened by ‘a wee dram’.. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-9201230745308010912009-11-01T11:13:00.000-08:002009-11-01T12:03:48.521-08:00Lily McMillian ... nee Ritchie.Lily Ritchie was the grand daughter of the David shown in the last LO. Her father, also David, was his oldest son. Things get really confusing with so many David Ritchies' ....sorry!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq2TrSQKZEjYPZqRvN81XQKLGurxUNcwnUhvQRCP-tQJc9SW92hVIzAw0LdYhyUPZCgiuVC9donicIoBv6ohiERN79RDWakRViBESagP-qdFkS-zJjn0jByr9h4p9ACInkVdRZAOQE_a4/s1600-h/Lily+lt.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq2TrSQKZEjYPZqRvN81XQKLGurxUNcwnUhvQRCP-tQJc9SW92hVIzAw0LdYhyUPZCgiuVC9donicIoBv6ohiERN79RDWakRViBESagP-qdFkS-zJjn0jByr9h4p9ACInkVdRZAOQE_a4/s400/Lily+lt.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399227499919181762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP4q_NVY50RmrkCAds3MPo-MKChjIcBhPtqRtiteoJJb0vnrEvxS-rsXToKzEzwwSD9_9wx5VBV8WwtPc_AqD00z9Pk7gnS37XdoWkMxGSEuH96Ij3j3ndcztvRoXV0mrxaIt0ToSlhi8/s1600-h/Lily+rt.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 397px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP4q_NVY50RmrkCAds3MPo-MKChjIcBhPtqRtiteoJJb0vnrEvxS-rsXToKzEzwwSD9_9wx5VBV8WwtPc_AqD00z9Pk7gnS37XdoWkMxGSEuH96Ij3j3ndcztvRoXV0mrxaIt0ToSlhi8/s400/Lily+rt.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399227504985775730" border="0" /></a><br />Her father followed his father and became an apprentice mason and then a builder and finally a Master builder, living his life in Cupar. He was very fond of his drink and sadly died three years before her marriage ...of alcoholism ... in his late 50's.<br /><br />Lily loved her Amateur Dramatics as can be seen in the shot with an umbrella and was greatly admired for her beauty, when she was young but it is said she was determined to make a good match. She met and in 1925, married Donald McMillian, who was 10 years her senior but comfortably well off ..... his trade ... a Merchant.<br />Soon after their marriage they moved to South America and their children Margaret and Donald were born. They returned to Scotland in 1933 from Ecuador. Even in her latter years she remained a striking woman<br /><br />Thanks for dropping by. xxAngiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-23940934304600844912009-11-01T06:58:00.000-08:002009-11-11T10:09:58.987-08:00David Ritchie 1839-1896This imposing bearded gentleman is my Great Grandfather ... David Ritchie.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbhD04zVS3w7w70UZmmdexo4nwVvGhtchrJbjYJdzWACyoPPjK8yuxWsWw7TwGAlK-yPoBCeVf4nBD9GNBSjMxIXb7Lzmi2t7Dyurk7_2KBEepk9DG1d3riV06bZNEs1EEIr1DiE7DFbA/s1600-h/David.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 393px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbhD04zVS3w7w70UZmmdexo4nwVvGhtchrJbjYJdzWACyoPPjK8yuxWsWw7TwGAlK-yPoBCeVf4nBD9GNBSjMxIXb7Lzmi2t7Dyurk7_2KBEepk9DG1d3riV06bZNEs1EEIr1DiE7DFbA/s400/David.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399209085892949282" border="0" /></a><br /><br />He was born in the tiny village of Blebo Craigs in Kemback, Fife in the year 1839. He was the first born of 8 ...well that's the number I have found so far. During his early years he lived close by to his grandparents, David and Margaret Ritchie in Kemback. His father, also David, was a Journeyman Stone cutter.<br />In about 1846 his family moved to Brighton, Cupar Muir, just out side Cupar. His mother, Agnes, worked as a Linen Weaver there .... just as she had at Ceres, before she was wed. By 1851, David, at the age of 13 had joined her as a hand loom weaver and his younger brother William worked part time, still keeping up his studies.<br />By 1861 he had changed trade and was now an apprentice Stone Mason. His father died of consumption in January 1863 and he married Isabella Crombie whose family also lived at Cupar Muir in the December of the same year.<br /><br />I know little else about him except his attitude to his daughter becoming pregnant.<br />I find it interesting to look at the attitude to an illegitimate birth back then and how two similar men dealt with it.<br />Isabella's sister gave birth to a son out of wedlock but the father gave the boy his name, although there was little contact after and her father accepted him as his grandson and helped to bring him up. If I can find a photo ofJames Stark, there is a wonderful story of his later life.<br />David was very different when his eldest daughter became 'with child'. It is thought that the son of the Farm manager where she worked, was the father, as the surname was used as a middle name .... sadly no fathers name was recorded so he could not bear his father surname.<br />It also seemed strange that she gave birth at the farm and not with her family who lived close by but it is said that David was very angry and had as good as thrown her out.<br />David Lowson Ritchie was born in 1886 but by 1891 he was found as a Lodger with the Berwick Family in Kettle. It is said that her siblings and probably her mother tried to help her at the time of the birth but it was just too hard to keep him. Apparently it was quite normal for a baby to be 'lodged' if a mother could not care for a child, as there was no official adoption, and the church paid for their board.<br />By the middle of 1892 she was being married to Thomas Moncrief of Edinburgh and her home is recorded as Cupar Muir rather than Edinburgh where she was working in 1891. I assume she was welcomed home with out the child, having spent enough time away, for people to forget.<br />Her son was still living with Mrs Berwick in 1901, barely 10 miles away, but she now had two of her own from the union with Thomas and by 1905 she and her new family had emigrated to Canada while David lived on believing that his mother was dead and that she had married Mrs Berwicks son, who was also deceased. In his twenties he changed his name to David Ritchie Berwick.<br /><br />David Ritchie died of a brain tumour in 1896. He may have been hard on his daughter and on his other children but I feel that how his family behaved and appeared to others was important to him and he worked hard to provide for them. My Nana (his youngest child) inherited this 'keeping up appearences' front.<br /><br />Thanks for reading this xxAngiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-84196178229474770472009-10-03T08:50:00.000-07:002012-11-03T16:36:52.514-07:00Leith Hospital<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qaAZwt-kXXu6917zCJyDaA6FTVdZS2rctBwUOB0ItTCAP3MdnnFys0OdFlvf1V_O9j3qfnV6Kqvry-c92TfclKXBD77E9aH84_UX_Nl8R6wUY3Flx81CE2jAgEOudCh3E6A8SjaK1PM/s1600-h/1911+theatre.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8qaAZwt-kXXu6917zCJyDaA6FTVdZS2rctBwUOB0ItTCAP3MdnnFys0OdFlvf1V_O9j3qfnV6Kqvry-c92TfclKXBD77E9aH84_UX_Nl8R6wUY3Flx81CE2jAgEOudCh3E6A8SjaK1PM/s400/1911+theatre.jpg" style="clear: both; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0pt;" /></a>This is going to be quite a long post but for those who love a good yarn and some history too I hope you like it</span><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotoptimizeforbrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} h1 {mso-style-next:Normal; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; page-break-after:avoid; mso-outline-level:1; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning:0pt; font-weight:normal; text-decoration:underline; text-underline:single;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} </style> --> <br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">I have just unearthed this tattered photo, while I was looking for something else and</span><span style="font-size: 130%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 130%;">… after much peering at the writing on it …</span><span style="font-size: 130%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 130%;">I have discovered that this is dated 13-8-11, so I now know that my Nana was not in London long before she met and nursed Horace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">The titles of the personnel of the theatre, pictured here are …</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 130%;">House Surgeon, Cheeky Student and Assistant House Surgeon (Men Lt to Rt)</span><span style="font-size: 130%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 130%;">Electrical Sister, Theatre Nurse and Theatre Sister (Ladies Lt to Rt)</span></div>
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<!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 130%;"><o:p></o:p>Anyone got any ideas as to what an Electrical Nurse is ???? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">Here are my LO's and the story behind it all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Euphemia Jane Ritchie </span>… aka … Jean ...... b 1882</span><span style="font-size: 130%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 130%;">m1913</span><span style="font-size: 130%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 130%;">d1960</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCe-dzO2F4RXrCFN_RtGXGHs13xJ_RYNZ4fmPTfox1qftbrjv1xIqpTEOXvhJixNP7LUFwFNqaekFkIVXflpiB2i5FC7ENqvSYH6aqzlJlWHFCPg8N7AqgkwkN2unNy4yL7bta2nFrmgQ/s1600-h/ritchie.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388711164556287666" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCe-dzO2F4RXrCFN_RtGXGHs13xJ_RYNZ4fmPTfox1qftbrjv1xIqpTEOXvhJixNP7LUFwFNqaekFkIVXflpiB2i5FC7ENqvSYH6aqzlJlWHFCPg8N7AqgkwkN2unNy4yL7bta2nFrmgQ/s400/ritchie.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 397px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">She got a place to train at Leith Hospital… not that it had the status of the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary but she was happy to be a nurse. Her brothers were said to have some times teased her if they saw her in uniform … calling out “Here comes Phemey from the Royal” because of how she strode along … with an air of great importance.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">When I was a child she would recount many scary stories about children swallowing knives and forks after the fairs had been to town … sword swallowers were a great attraction for the youngsters …maybe it was to stop me doing anything quite so silly. She would also tell me how hard it was …especially during her first year, when it felt that all she did was scrub floors and clean up awful messes. …maybe that was a warning to me not to follow in her footsteps.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">She was an Acting Sister for sometime after being a Staff Nurse and applied for a permanent post in 1909. I also know that she worked in the Casualty Department and was a Theatre Sister too yet she gave it all up to become a private nurse in London only two years or so later.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjllCOo6RnvOLQtoEMgT8H50lkyr9antCcBrfcin5j5bqP6OA6_K96SoSmBJ55Iibf45BspQE9SnwFD84ohDqUUPZOPjsLkCRp-4dMAzBUAGJpSsC0mkXXG5L08crp7xQvfBwcEvYtAHco/s1600-h/leith.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388711157508891906" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjllCOo6RnvOLQtoEMgT8H50lkyr9antCcBrfcin5j5bqP6OA6_K96SoSmBJ55Iibf45BspQE9SnwFD84ohDqUUPZOPjsLkCRp-4dMAzBUAGJpSsC0mkXXG5L08crp7xQvfBwcEvYtAHco/s400/leith.JPG" style="display: block; height: 397px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">(She is 2nd row down ....5th from the Rt)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">I really do not know why she left but the only thing that might shed some light on it is a story Mum told me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">When Nana was a Theatre Sister, she had gained the respect of most of the Surgeons and one day she put it to the test.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 130%;">A young boy came into theatre to have the amputation of his leg carried out</span><span style="font-size: 130%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 130%;">… without anaesthetic.</span><span style="font-size: 130%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 130%;">My Nana questioned the reason for this and was told that the anaesthetic would probably kill the child, as he had a weak heart. She knew you should never question a surgeon’s decision but she could not help herself and so continued. She pointed out that a death due to surgical shock would be more likely in this case and he would die in agony, rather than peacefully under anaesthetic. Apparently she also added that if he continued without anaesthetic …she and her nurses would leave the theatre. What ever the truth of that part was, we shall never know but apparently the operation continued</span><span style="font-size: 130%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 130%;">…with anaesthetic …and the child survived the ordeal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">Maybe things were made difficult for her after that and that is why she left … or maybe she just wanted to experience life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">And for those who are gluttons for punishment and are still reading this…here is the …….</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> </span> HISTORY of LEITH HOSPITAL</span></h1>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">1788 … Edinburgh and Leith Humane Society was formed</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">1815 … Leith Dispensary was opened on Broad Wynd</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">1825 … They joined forces under the one name of Leith Dispensary </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">1837 … The first Casualty Hospital in the area, at Quality (now Maritime) Street was opened</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">1846 … A meeting was held which had the intention of bringing together the work of both the dispensary and the hospital.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">1849 … The new Leith Hospital was finally built in Mill Lane. Gradually wings were added either side of King Street, including a Nurses Home.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">1886 … It was finally agreed that women Medical Students could attend the hospital for clinical instruction.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">1907 … The hospital was now able to serve as a General Hospital, for the use of Men Women and Children and included an Accident Unit. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 130%;">1987 … The doors finally closed.</span></div>
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Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-55818602979746456772009-09-27T11:26:00.002-07:002009-09-27T11:49:07.857-07:00Tiny Dancer<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMYYzIaIgbr9hoh70Djg-RCsa3FHJhXsu3UIaRUWcb65lIfuPmJ7EN_hMlUixkfgh1yP4m1dghi02PJDhB0XsufqWOAl2uCkRm03qLqK32BATfhK8rmK2LeDm6HVAkMH2ZArgrVxM93G0/s1600-h/dancer.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 396px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMYYzIaIgbr9hoh70Djg-RCsa3FHJhXsu3UIaRUWcb65lIfuPmJ7EN_hMlUixkfgh1yP4m1dghi02PJDhB0XsufqWOAl2uCkRm03qLqK32BATfhK8rmK2LeDm6HVAkMH2ZArgrVxM93G0/s400/dancer.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386220606992308034" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">These are my Mums words, from notes that she wrote on her young life and it talks about the making of, what I believe, is this dress not long before her father died in 1927.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span></p> <p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">……. As a child you are not really aware of how well off your family is but I suppose we could be described as being comfortable, yet mother would rarely buy anything that she could get cheaper else where and she revelled in the sales. Maybe mother’s careful management of money was how we afforded to have help in the house. Mary came in everyday until I was about ten.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">Some of her sale bargains were lengths of material, which would be put away until there was a use for them, either by her or a dressmaker. Sometimes the fabric was really not suitable for the garment that was required but if that was all that she had at the time, it would be made use of.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">Once I needed a special dress for a dancing exhibition so she pulled out yards of a horrid drab material and proudly announced, “That will do nicely”.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">My heart sank and I suddenly did not want to be in the exhibition at all. There still was one hope left and that was Father. Mother rarely did anything without checking with Father first and so she went to show him her find.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">“What do you think about this for Marjory’s dress?” I heard her ask.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>I had followed close behind and arrived in time to see Father shaking his head slowly and giving his reply.</p> <p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“ What ever you do Jean, do not make a fool of the child.”</p> <p style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal">Mother had her answer and the next day she came back with some beautiful pale pink satin and some other bits for frills and decorations.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Hope you like my stories</p><p class="MsoNormal"> Take Care xx<br /></p>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-39201014884192644362009-09-27T10:58:00.000-07:002009-09-27T11:14:58.931-07:00Family GatheringIn Bella’s Garden<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRxqmszrLzz0mxADePuSbYffyEVjI60KX7Y1UotGjF3dmblVCn816JWm9igXm9j5xXgUZwT50pO4cnkkUEXYgc_PJQEeG0-tZzw3rxs6I6-AEBR2_4SkiFA9ll4kKJp0Ks-a5gWmWBQKs/s1600-h/Bellas.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 398px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRxqmszrLzz0mxADePuSbYffyEVjI60KX7Y1UotGjF3dmblVCn816JWm9igXm9j5xXgUZwT50pO4cnkkUEXYgc_PJQEeG0-tZzw3rxs6I6-AEBR2_4SkiFA9ll4kKJp0Ks-a5gWmWBQKs/s400/Bellas.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386210564244523746" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Bella, who was actually Agnes Isabella, was the older sister of my Nana, Euphemia Jane aka Jean, by five years. They both lived in Fife, and their families would gather together, often in her garden. Her garden brought her so much pleasure and she even kept a couple of chickens down at the bottom of it. Her husband, James Kidd Brown, was a gardener and worked away from home for a large part of their married life, in some of the large houses …and even in England.<br />This gathering is in 1925, not long after their niece Lily was married, where both Ella and Marjory were Bridesmaids. (Marjory is wearing her dress as a Best Dress now)<br />This tag shows who's who<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFPMcOxLT5IhphM5vMP724vmXWSLDHUkFAAYjYM_kTuNTkJOn02Gezwvdd7yjJc2jPkxycjdM2U7jocVSJ17u7JeaX-BF_yQ0hfIkjHpIwucfK7zIK4l_gli_AJq6UAMAkvVMPWsClRWc/s1600-h/c+up+FH.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFPMcOxLT5IhphM5vMP724vmXWSLDHUkFAAYjYM_kTuNTkJOn02Gezwvdd7yjJc2jPkxycjdM2U7jocVSJ17u7JeaX-BF_yQ0hfIkjHpIwucfK7zIK4l_gli_AJq6UAMAkvVMPWsClRWc/s400/c+up+FH.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386210569322110226" border="0" /></a><br />James and Bella had three children Ella, Oswald and Helen.<br />In 1918, when Helen unexpectedly collapsed in front of her mother while dancing around the kitchen, both the doctor and Euphemia were called for. Immediately Euphemia answered the call for help .... even though she had year old twins at home.<br /><br />Sadly Helen died less than a week later, of the flu that spread through out the world and claimed so many lives. She was only ten years old.<br />It was said that Bella never got over her death … I can see the sadness in her eyes.<br /><br />The other significance to the top photo is that it is the last picture I can find of Horace, my grandfather, who died less than two years later.<br /><br />Take Care xxAngiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-70300331456475379392009-09-27T10:44:00.000-07:002009-09-28T01:06:40.374-07:00Great Uncle Bill and family<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbLSxryJQPbeIxeR9vVqRUzVQHoNXshr0VRyCLQV3ZIqKuR0pYERScHRIN8s3G1hTHE5shktyUgXg_hqkOzCt1AxfeH0gUcmlVYgF2lGaHH96ivNgRzdS55eA4CIxKzZ8H1UobCMi94hc/s1600-h/BILL.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 393px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbLSxryJQPbeIxeR9vVqRUzVQHoNXshr0VRyCLQV3ZIqKuR0pYERScHRIN8s3G1hTHE5shktyUgXg_hqkOzCt1AxfeH0gUcmlVYgF2lGaHH96ivNgRzdS55eA4CIxKzZ8H1UobCMi94hc/s400/BILL.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386205606476753618" border="0" /></a><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotoptimizeforbrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:595.3pt 841.9pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:35.4pt; mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span><br /><!--[endif]--><o:p style="font-weight: bold;"></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">William Crombie Ritchie</span> … the middle name I believe was added in later life</p><span style=""> </span>b1873 ….m1902 ….d1951 <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">At the outbreak of WW1 he was a Lieutenant in the 18<sup>th</sup> (Reserve) Battalion Royal Scots. At the age of 40+ and the fact that he was in a reserve battalion, it was thought that he was unlikely to have seen action, possibly behind a desk, but in a piece I found, that he had written about his mother at the time of her death in 1922<span style=""> </span>… he mentions the war </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">“….. We were forced to make long night marches, and in our attacks we had to leap wire entanglements and trenches, but never once did any of my young comrades say, or even give it a </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">thought, that I was double their age ….” </span>…obviously he was not behind a desk.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>At the time of writing this he was engaged in …. “... <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">squaring accounts and details of the Great War </span>….” and was now the rank of Captain. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Family was important to him but sadly this line ended with his children.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">William and Doris never married but Betty and Sybil did … as can be seen in the LO below.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Sybil apparently had no children and I know there was a story told to me about the reason but I have forgotten …maybe I will remember when I’m not trying.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Betty’s tragic story I do remember .....</p><p class="MsoNormal"> She miscarried a child and soon after they found she had a problem with her heart. She however fell pregnant again and everything was going well. She and her husband lived in Glenluce where he was a teacher. It was<span style=""> </span>a very remote area and one doctor covered a large area. This doctor also has his own problems to cope with … the tragic death of his only son … and his patients felt that that his mind was not on them … and<span style=""> </span>it proved to be the case with Betty. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">She became very tired and sick but it was put down to her heart …then strange marks appeared on her body, which were ignored. Finally, when she was actually bed ridden, it was taken seriously and it was discovered that the twins she was carrying had been dead for sometime. She was taken to hospital but died of blood poisoning a week later, aged 33</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-ZzhTpPuS0r3nzAufc5U4bTLrJNhZ6nsE_IrOrUaQkvvHXz6bmKoNHUGSZImvQ36ZkUjgxVnczkOuL4n39onKJ3FZ0IgMxVa84hbf8YTlYg6igdvuCS3Qm5dEqhSbQf0VDMhViNhsQg/s1600-h/Ritchies.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 396px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-ZzhTpPuS0r3nzAufc5U4bTLrJNhZ6nsE_IrOrUaQkvvHXz6bmKoNHUGSZImvQ36ZkUjgxVnczkOuL4n39onKJ3FZ0IgMxVa84hbf8YTlYg6igdvuCS3Qm5dEqhSbQf0VDMhViNhsQg/s400/Ritchies.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386205615147385458" border="0" /></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal">.Take Care xx<br /></p>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-90613511446962926542009-08-16T17:22:00.000-07:002009-08-16T17:29:52.160-07:00I have been busy with all these <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">LO's</span> and posts and I have had so much fun researching the backgrounds to the photos below ...cannot believe I managed to do six.<br /><br /> I hope you enjoy reading the little memories and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">nuggets</span> of history ...thanks for dropping by.<br /><br />Take Care xxAngiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-58491516960001371842009-08-16T17:09:00.000-07:002009-08-16T17:21:32.187-07:00A Veteran of the Civil War<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-1zrIYCEsA0sNc_SQ7zRqH54gKUs-kzufP_BqOva5DHutidX__u8tMnq0S-5cp5SDnErQCdOn8tuBT_Z66XYrs4ge1VESBRCrGjGQZ-T5BNEwtHQ6jrSpvcM5ponO3Q3yePKPn8isEo/s1600-h/journal.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX-1zrIYCEsA0sNc_SQ7zRqH54gKUs-kzufP_BqOva5DHutidX__u8tMnq0S-5cp5SDnErQCdOn8tuBT_Z66XYrs4ge1VESBRCrGjGQZ-T5BNEwtHQ6jrSpvcM5ponO3Q3yePKPn8isEo/s400/journal.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370720399192549170" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">John F Blum is my late husbands’ Great Grandfather. He lost his arm in the Civil war while a teenager, met and married his wife Hulda, in his thirties, and fathered 10 children, of which 7 lived to adulthood. He was born in Pennsylvania, of German parents, brought up his family in Big Stone, Akron, Minnesota, where he farmed for a living and then around 1895/6 he moved to Fitzgerald, Georgia.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyqME1UM0WO50ygkHwLS6-mY76Al6Nb1H22tEGufj4GuHH1YKQhPs8yEw2a4LgoLs4YYNZxX-TPKTebkxxJjQQCWWSscxZtv2v8S3zVdfd-i1vJUj2NEgV9kWDuNE8x-oH11qn77aCXQ8/s1600-h/John+LH.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 397px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyqME1UM0WO50ygkHwLS6-mY76Al6Nb1H22tEGufj4GuHH1YKQhPs8yEw2a4LgoLs4YYNZxX-TPKTebkxxJjQQCWWSscxZtv2v8S3zVdfd-i1vJUj2NEgV9kWDuNE8x-oH11qn77aCXQ8/s400/John+LH.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370720388208594178" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtkcDD4Wb0_X1Saih3f_SnOrmVBLzXj_F2YO6Sd-s3eVpiiPmHWc3J3-cVZAO_d5yb26GYBT1NMIQ79lyEfcbiguQh-tPSMeMCrJezhqvEq53LcwB6lRTHf0Sd_s_eHz8d8Re5ilpxYQ/s1600-h/veterans+RS.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 397px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJtkcDD4Wb0_X1Saih3f_SnOrmVBLzXj_F2YO6Sd-s3eVpiiPmHWc3J3-cVZAO_d5yb26GYBT1NMIQ79lyEfcbiguQh-tPSMeMCrJezhqvEq53LcwB6lRTHf0Sd_s_eHz8d8Re5ilpxYQ/s400/veterans+RS.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370720392609974738" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Fitzgerald was the dream of P H Fitzgerald, who created it in 1895, in the main part, as a community for Civil War Veterans who had suffered the devastation of the Midwest during the early 1890’s. This destruction of the area was due to drought, rendering a once fertile farming area into dusty wasteland. The situation was made even worse by the depression that spreading over the country as a whole. The desire for a new start was so great, that people moved themselves and their families, by any means available to them, into the area, even before surveys of the land had been carried out.<span style=""> </span>The first year was very hard and it is believed that John and his family were in at the start of it all.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-82366464199467667412009-08-16T16:55:00.000-07:002012-10-12T09:23:53.748-07:00Chalk and Cheese‘Chalk and Cheese’ … that was how Mum described her parents.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGvDhb4H4PeO2HzU_xy05Cjy1t6n8JUy_PGo9SpW1qMscXs9ngNfixGKo_vD1cft4VgzVyKPAOckTgNGX5D6K9U95thRgc1s08hicExUboWDxxQIRzerEvwsAJpf1pO1DAvI32sIWP4U/s1600-h/bully.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370717029222396546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGvDhb4H4PeO2HzU_xy05Cjy1t6n8JUy_PGo9SpW1qMscXs9ngNfixGKo_vD1cft4VgzVyKPAOckTgNGX5D6K9U95thRgc1s08hicExUboWDxxQIRzerEvwsAJpf1pO1DAvI32sIWP4U/s400/bully.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 395px;" /></a>Horace was tall and slim, quiet and reserved and had only one sibling. His early life was centred on his fathers shop in London and then as his father’s means grew and he went into property, so things changed for Horace. By 1903, when his father died, his inheritance meant that he now had a private income … enough to provide for a family.<br />
His word was final yet he let his beloved wife have most of her own way in matters that he felt need not concern him. Although he was the musician, he always asked Ritchie (or Jean as most people now called her), if a piece of music was going well or what he should play at a recital.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBHYILQ8g6NZbJTNCIUgLQiTE2p21E_sb_EA5BjzQzddVKVHUj6YTDDq3pAuL2UfuVnVhLUzD1e8-4FjW-wWrSg7k-z8R0_mtikgEwG8gOZxdbPin8sR_zuL53c64zraZG24YIYiDmvA0/s1600-h/ritchie.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370717019950396770" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBHYILQ8g6NZbJTNCIUgLQiTE2p21E_sb_EA5BjzQzddVKVHUj6YTDDq3pAuL2UfuVnVhLUzD1e8-4FjW-wWrSg7k-z8R0_mtikgEwG8gOZxdbPin8sR_zuL53c64zraZG24YIYiDmvA0/s400/ritchie.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 397px;" /></a>Jean was short, and the arrival of the children added inches to her waistline. She was the youngest of seven, brought up in a small village out side Cupar and her father was a mason.. She spoke her mind but knew her place. She liked to be in charge and for others to think well of her and her family. She always made sure the any one of any importance, within the family, had to be invited to all social gatherings<br />
Her beloved Horace was sent to church every Sunday, in case any one noticed an absence of the family or that she might miss any goings on! He was always bombarded with questions as he came through the door and Mum remembers him eventually learning to raise his hand as he crossed the threshold, and utter loudly “Jean …..I have been seen”.<br />
<br />
I am not sure about the date but looking at their faces and clothes, I believe it to be around 1919.Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-33882501071692131372009-08-16T16:34:00.000-07:002009-08-16T16:54:30.590-07:00The Mobsby Family<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">This was my great Aunt, and her family. My Nana disliked her husband for some reason and mistrusted her son …I can remember mumbled conversations, when I was a small child, filled with warning for my mother</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;">about not getting in touch with them and ignoring Eric if he contacted</span><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><span style="font-size:130%;">her, Wish I knew the story as I never met any of the family, yet Irene and Eric were alive in my life time.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8qXwuhO3AEtlTshPk-P2JofK67BUhV8ObTHrcjVuYTT3uWd2HkAJc3e2m0cAJe0Gj4aDxvZvIuVpbLLHBPbYOd74fS4xni334ujgQ-fMHuYJeOgi6gR86CVwNqc_jAtY8lpLE5GNtPfU/s1600-h/mobsby.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 396px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8qXwuhO3AEtlTshPk-P2JofK67BUhV8ObTHrcjVuYTT3uWd2HkAJc3e2m0cAJe0Gj4aDxvZvIuVpbLLHBPbYOd74fS4xni334ujgQ-fMHuYJeOgi6gR86CVwNqc_jAtY8lpLE5GNtPfU/s400/mobsby.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370711655640382818" border="0" /></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"> On the back of the LO I have recorded their little tree for posterity</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><span style="font-size:130%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:donotoptimizeforbrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Copperplate Gothic Bold"; panose-1:2 14 7 5 2 2 6 2 4 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} h1 {mso-style-next:Normal; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; page-break-after:avoid; mso-outline-level:1; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning:0pt; font-weight:normal; text-decoration:underline; text-underline:single;} p.MsoBodyText2, li.MsoBodyText2, div.MsoBodyText2 {margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; text-align:center; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Copperplate Gothic Bold"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:72.0pt 90.0pt 72.0pt 90.0pt; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --></style><p class="MsoNormal"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-84986141939393086552009-08-16T16:14:00.000-07:002009-08-16T16:34:20.120-07:00My Mum ...1934<p class="MsoNormal">This is my Mum when she was about 17.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGEZHbQb-JxWRupzQV3SHUmyNy7NJb8tUnKIwZz02KveiWItj_gojcUnc_JwUhQjDGzM6OMjtPdcDSHNbnejGTieq7Z1YeMIDMmzyPxvm6l3Po-FhNEFsD1Wx1xaE4N6VAcVmj9WNStvw/s1600-h/Mum+17.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 394px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGEZHbQb-JxWRupzQV3SHUmyNy7NJb8tUnKIwZz02KveiWItj_gojcUnc_JwUhQjDGzM6OMjtPdcDSHNbnejGTieq7Z1YeMIDMmzyPxvm6l3Po-FhNEFsD1Wx1xaE4N6VAcVmj9WNStvw/s400/Mum+17.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370708797605658962" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Would you guess that she had an arm that<span style=""> </span>was thin and frail compared to the other and didn’t work properly … or that one leg was 1”shorter, and much weaker, than the other?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>No one really knew why. It was thought that it was due to a difficult birth but others said it was a congenital defect. At the age<span style=""> </span>of twelve her mother was offered an operation that might help the mobility of her daughters arm but on hearing that there was a high risk of the arm becoming totally paralyzed<span style="">, </span>if the operation failed, she refused it.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mum told me that she was in two shows for her local music society …<span style=""> </span>Rosemarie and Maid of the Mountain … not sure if this is from either but looking at the scenery in the back ground, it just could be, which, after some research, would actually make her 18/19 not 17 as she had always told me.( I have left the LO with the date she said.).</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>She had a beautiful operatic voice, accompanied herself on piano and also played violin in an orchestra, despite her arm …such a talented lady but so unassuming. Her youth was filled with music …maybe this was how she felt close to her father whom she had adored.</p>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-65718114590697160442009-07-31T12:31:00.000-07:002012-10-12T09:17:42.134-07:00Malinda , her stepmother and her sistersThis is actually a cheat as I created these and blogged them on my other blog, much earlier in the year but I suddenly realized that I hadn't put them on here. This is for posterity ... and for all the ladies who visit this blog and leave me such nice comments here and on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">UKS</span>... thought you would like to read the story behind them. These are of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">DH's</span> mother and siblings and were taken at St <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Leonards</span>, Hastings where they lived at the time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTSPxWZctH4MY0AjWy8b8q1pFMZ_F_NLQM3FW_oIiT_CD0-WYGcHN7Vyb-6qiZjEhihTcJd_iV6AQYz6gtH68rLLqnkSgm_BeARhu7p8ikDH6LPgReSVxL2cF1nt4DWZvWxE3Fk1Gk5bw/s1600-h/sisters+3.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364720134236590754" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTSPxWZctH4MY0AjWy8b8q1pFMZ_F_NLQM3FW_oIiT_CD0-WYGcHN7Vyb-6qiZjEhihTcJd_iV6AQYz6gtH68rLLqnkSgm_BeARhu7p8ikDH6LPgReSVxL2cF1nt4DWZvWxE3Fk1Gk5bw/s400/sisters+3.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 398px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
The younger girl is Winifred ... known for most of her life as 'Billie' and is half sister to the other two. She looks at least 12, making it about 1933. The older girls are Dorothy and Malinda,who would be by then about 20 and 22<br />
Around the time of this photo, their father Tom started his relationship with Jane,'wife' No3. Linda (MIL) told me that Dorothy was commanded to run messages to Jane. She would not refuse him even though she hated it.<br />
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The second LO is of Linda, as she preferred to be called, walking along the pier with her step mother ...'wife' No 2. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuCQxvRB6SBn6eX9fbBQ5bUp6n6fRa60fNrj7AYh_7Vv5GIATtESafTMgdKq0xldjnjCVv-Orocbzao1ioA5kpCQsAwrxYoU9N_RsHymBpclP63RpqbULy9uwqGLaec1bFSlwXIMtfkAU/s1600-h/ladies+2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364720137799011858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuCQxvRB6SBn6eX9fbBQ5bUp6n6fRa60fNrj7AYh_7Vv5GIATtESafTMgdKq0xldjnjCVv-Orocbzao1ioA5kpCQsAwrxYoU9N_RsHymBpclP63RpqbULy9uwqGLaec1bFSlwXIMtfkAU/s400/ladies+2.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 394px;" /></a><br />
I think this may be a few years later than the other and I see that I have dated it late 30's, on the LO ...so hard to work out these dates. Has anyone any thoughts on the possible dates of these photos? Do you think I'm about right?<br />
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Again, I am not sure when Tom left them but his first child, with Jane, was born in 1934 and so he could have been running two households for a while!!!. Jane was only just over a year older than his oldest child, Linda and went on to have five more children, four of whom were boys. (His only other son was the baby who died ... in the earlier LO)<br />
I have a poor photo of Tom around this time and I cannot imagine what this young girl saw in him ... I think it was his charm. He stayed with her for over 30 years.<br />
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Thanks for dropping by.<br />
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Take Care xxAngiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-944177603041765912009-07-12T06:53:00.001-07:002009-07-12T06:56:06.953-07:00Horace and Euphemia Bullock<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1l1eKNeWBq46nyYufruo7H_7-P86U1SjBjxakFZ4F6XTbBCKhQV0EQRiRLcAi0fvSLr7vrQmI3wL3ayHzPIb1tybMNTGUkjIe7RknQYQUX5Te3M7fh9If9P8vkGsKjJ4PD3awx9b9HnQ/s1600-h/wed+party.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 398px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1l1eKNeWBq46nyYufruo7H_7-P86U1SjBjxakFZ4F6XTbBCKhQV0EQRiRLcAi0fvSLr7vrQmI3wL3ayHzPIb1tybMNTGUkjIe7RknQYQUX5Te3M7fh9If9P8vkGsKjJ4PD3awx9b9HnQ/s400/wed+party.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357571732799025810" border="0" /></a>My Nana, Euphemia, met Horace Yelland Bullock when she was employed to nurse him, in 1912. He had Rheumatic Fever and then developed Pericarditis, which nearly cost him his life. I actually found a doctors letter that talks about it and the fact that he had RF again during 1916 too. When he was well and ‘Ritchie’, as he called her, was about to leave, he had a relapse but his sister Edith discovered that it was a rouse to keep the woman he had fallen in love with, close by.<br />At this time Euphemia had a huge decision to make … Her young niece wrote to her, begging her to come and nurse her mother who was dying from Cancer. This was Euphemia’s oldest sister, Jessie, who lived in Canada. She knew that if she went, the separation could have a terrible effect on Horace’s health and as he had proposed and she had accepted, she used the wedding plans as an excuse not to go. Her sister died soon after and her niece did not communicate with her for about 40 years.<br />Once she was betrothed to Horace (Bully as she affectionately called him), she was able to continue to work as a private nurse for other families until their marriage at the end of 1913. Her last post was with Lord and Lady Howard de Walden, who gave her a Crown Derby coffee set as a Wedding gift. She treasured this all her life and proudly kept it on show, in a glass china cabinet.<br /><br />If you look closely at the Wedding Party above, you can see two servants in the back row but in prime position, in the front row, sits Horace’s mother. There was none of Euphemia’s family there, possibly due to her not going to nurse her sister but it could have been the distance as Fife to London was a long journey. The ladies to the right of her are nursing colleagues. The one in the middle, with all the feathers round her hat, was a matron and it was she who gave her away.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0X_ebvaXVnChZO5hmChhe201w461q_fK-cDNVO9wCgGS6NmiFfAnZkwVRrmguLvoyijwACYlzcOFsjBUVkT5nHxp-bzpZQIasRzWurmED2tKxPGctMKAPW0VTNiS6mVo4tD8NyPbjUts/s1600-h/honeymoon.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 399px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0X_ebvaXVnChZO5hmChhe201w461q_fK-cDNVO9wCgGS6NmiFfAnZkwVRrmguLvoyijwACYlzcOFsjBUVkT5nHxp-bzpZQIasRzWurmED2tKxPGctMKAPW0VTNiS6mVo4tD8NyPbjUts/s400/honeymoon.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357571723816446210" border="0" /></a>Thank you for reading this.<br />Take care xxAngiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-1174651941606550162009-07-05T12:23:00.000-07:002009-07-05T12:33:57.577-07:00Reg, Marjory and Leslie<div>I am so thankful that I persuaded my Mum to jot down some of her memories when she was alive. This meant that I knew the background to this photograph when I came across it.</div><div> </div><div> </div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355060097778861906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 399px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC4_RthVNc_qfHDuthCRKtSr67iC50DrcxGqVTksmFOzUkKe84b5K9bfCAinoZB5B83CmY4gJLIpYn7TW6mvbiMy-CR5gHU-vt6OeSfpzBDYAvon27pfXmR1YMjgGaN8Bpia4sUObQxNg/s400/visit.JPG" border="0" /> <div><br />This is the day my Mum met Granny Crombie for the first time …well the first time she remembered. She was her mothers’ mother, it was 1920 and Marjory was barely three. Her granny was Mrs Ritchie, but the family used her maiden name …Crombie … not sure why.<br />On the day of the photograph the family had gone to visit her at Cupar, before going to the photographers. I think it was the visit that had caused her little sad face.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"> Mum remembered... </span></div><div><strong>“<em>I felt afraid as I entered Granny Crombies’ house. It was dark and gloomy, unlike ours, and a large grandfather clock was loudly striking in the corner. Large dark furniture filled the room and the couch we three children were firmly instructed to sit on, seemed so uncomfortable. I wanted to wriggle about because the horsehair stuffing was sticking through the black shiny covering and pricking my legs but I was too scared to move too much. We didn’t stay long and I was glad.”</em></strong></div><div><strong><em></em></strong> </div><div>Thanks for dropping by xx</div>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-61382585030216291372009-06-29T05:05:00.000-07:002009-07-01T01:52:36.229-07:00Catherine Mary Browning<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBEts4w9CYyPSCacjyWFYGaMkHkQqrDeQ8cpHzoer8EjoEWA8qiDqKPSWeru9Pu5CkLcnhqLf5HsVkeOMaqD6rVA7V-5_I9GuNUwdw5dgAwseHJ3OWg3s3raN36i9l0tAabEumHTa74U/s1600-h/catherine+mary.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 396px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352724955695038050" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBEts4w9CYyPSCacjyWFYGaMkHkQqrDeQ8cpHzoer8EjoEWA8qiDqKPSWeru9Pu5CkLcnhqLf5HsVkeOMaqD6rVA7V-5_I9GuNUwdw5dgAwseHJ3OWg3s3raN36i9l0tAabEumHTa74U/s400/catherine+mary.JPG" /></a><br /><div>Catherine was the youngest of the four sisters and was to remain <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">separated</span> from her older two sisters for most of her life, by The North Atlantic Ocean. She did not see them for over 40 years but was the one who tracked down their father in 1965, in Deal. In the mid 1930's he had started a new life with new 'wife' No 3 and no one knew where he was. </div><br /><div></div><div>Thanks for looking, xx</div>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9026795681815658563.post-26978306281037752672009-06-25T15:26:00.000-07:002009-06-25T15:46:20.826-07:00Orange Picking.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6P-bXorH1_sr85fmhN4W1m9E_L8fkDJZIA8r1zP8kZmfRBu4XrMHB2yNlTDO_zG6DJba9w2IPkrTBs4ssttvlI2ylJeF6PfrgH-4dpVEpcyTT_24FKQWFQtJH3r2WizNwnuX1jVqBx28/s1600-h/op.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 397px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351398872851289602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6P-bXorH1_sr85fmhN4W1m9E_L8fkDJZIA8r1zP8kZmfRBu4XrMHB2yNlTDO_zG6DJba9w2IPkrTBs4ssttvlI2ylJeF6PfrgH-4dpVEpcyTT_24FKQWFQtJH3r2WizNwnuX1jVqBx28/s400/op.JPG" /></a><br /><div>This is my latest LO. This is Bessie and Tom, with Linda and Dorothy and the baby refered to on the postcard, is Betty, their little sister. It is likely that Bessie's sister, Mary, was looking after her. </div><div>The original photo was the picture on the postcard, which I scanned and then used the two different copies for the LO.</div><br /><div>The family lived in Georgia in 1915 and I think that it may have been a working holiday near by (or posibly Florida) just like the Hop Pickers in Kent.</div><div> </div><div>Thanks for looking</div><div>Take Care xx</div>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12177505346903016669noreply@blogger.com6