During one of our recent visits to sister and brother-in-law, we got onto the subject of family stories and legends, and began bemoaning the fact that we hadn’t asked for chapter and verse or more details on them when we could have.
As some examples, the chat my aunts had with King George and Queen Elizabeth on their visit to South Africa, the merriment caused by my father to (then) Princess Elizabeth in (then) Rhodesia by tripping and falling while trying to take a picture of her, how it came about that Much Better Half’s grandmother was delivered by Florence Nightingale (although dates don’t seem to tally), how my mother came to dance with the Prince of Wales in India, and all that led to her having been accused in the press of killing Queen Alexandra (… sang before her and shortly afterwards she died …!) not to mention the full details of how, armed with a pistol when in the WAAFs (Woman’s Auxiliary Air Force), she had an entire platoon surrender to her.
Much Better Half had an uncle who owned a farm that Gandhi bought – what was that all about?
Her grandfather was brought out from UK to build Pietermaritzburg Town Hall, travelled from Kimberley to Johannesburg by stagecoach with Barney Barnato – a significant figure in early South African history after becoming a millionaire from diamonds in competition with Rhodes. Then, as refugees from Pretoria during the South African (Boer) War, on the way to Mozambique to take a boat to Durban, they had occasion to help an escaped prisoner of war by covering him with straw in a goods train truck. The name of the escapee was Winston Churchill.
Previously unpublished picture of Churchill after escape – Dorset Echo
Oh, to have a more detailed account of that incident!
Her other grandfather, who came to South Africa as a cavalryman, used to ride in the UK on Phillips’ Farm where ‘The Brook’ of Tennyson fame ran, and later in South Africa with Sir Percy Fitzpatrick during his transport riding days. Did he ever meet Jock of the Bushveld, one wonders?
We still have little idea how it came about that her father’s godmother was Lady Dunbar, wife of Sir Drummond Miles Dunbar who established the SPCA in South Africa.
Only when jotting down such things does one realise how sketchy the information is, and how much could have been added by some determined questioning.
© January 2013 Colonialist (WordPress)
Great post, I’m jealous.
Only good reason to be if any of it happened to ME!
Fascinating. It gave me goose bumps
Seems like the six degree of separation rule really does exist! Because of all your family encounters, I indirectly know those people too!
Give them my regards!
I actually had to come back. Caught up in all that metyforying I forgot to mention how good this post actually is. A smashing read, in fact.
I recounted the Winston tale over dinner and got a Wow! from Emily which then led to an hour long chat about why continental families are closer than their English counterparts etc etc.
Thank you. It is good to know it opened up interest and debate.
I forgot to add that my son said there must have been a lot of straw (to cover Churchill)
I informed him that in those days he was a tad slimmer. LOL
The picture proves it!
Talk abart names droppin’ Sheesh!
That’s nuffink! Guess who asked me to do an edit on some stuff written on a rock before it was handed to a geezer on a mountain!
I wonder!
Ah…good. Got me face back. Even I was beginning to think I had a “blank” look for a moment.
The blue squiggle look just isn’t YOU.
Well, if it is any sort of clue, he said I’d be zapped with lightning if I told anyo…….AAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!
Fascinating bits of family history, Col. I wish I knew more about my ancestors too. I have so little information, and my mom can’t remember anything now. I wish I’d thought about this decades ago, but too late now.
One could kick oneself, couldn’t one?
Yes, very hard.
Col your families sound like they would make very interesting episodes of “Who do you think you are”. We also sit with loads of old photos and no idea who most of the people in them are. What a pity we don’t take more notice of our grandparents tales when we are young.
You’d probably be astounded at the histories of some of them if only you knew.
Such cool stories they must have had Col
If only we had taken the time to listen to more of them!
When we’re young, and have all these stories available, we think them boring.
Now we’re old, and realise the passing of time, and it’s too late…
So typical, isn’t it? And our tales are treated with the same indifference. Doesn’t matter so much in our case – as you may just have noticed, I do a lot of writing.
As do I
Not quite as much as you, but I suppose there will be a somewhat condensed version of my life and times somewhere in cyber space
How very interesting!
Youth is wasted on the young , we never took interest when the time was there…
So true!
I actually don’t know much about my family history, in the sense that there are no special stories.
I’m sure there would be lots, with some snooping!
Well . . . those are some notable notables, Col.
One solution . . . do a fictional “family history” capturing as many factual details as you can, while embellishing the rest.
One could kick oneself, though, when thinking that by displaying a bit more interest and following up on these things when first related, one wouldn’t need to embellish!
I know what you mean. I would LOVE to have a conversation with my great aunt or my grandparents as an adult. Oh, the questions I would ask.
Even as adults, we tend to overlook them until it is too late.