When it comes down to it we are all part of a living history.  It is not only our own personal choices which influence who we become but also the actions and lives of those who came before.  A couple of weeks ago I posted about my family history, not that the post turned out very well  because of technical issues.  So today I want to explain a little more about what prompted that presentation.

Now let me state this is not the anniversary of my great grandfathers death. He battled on dying in a trench two weeks before the Battle of the Somme ended in November.

My grandad was the youngest of 5 children when my great grandfather sign up to fight for his country.  He was a toddler who never remembered the man who walked out the door and never returned.  As a child my grandad never mentioned his family and I only remember one brother every coming to visit him. When I asked my dad about his family all he knew was they came from Ireland he only ever saw one picture of his grandad and that was while clearing stuff out when my gran died.  No one in the family knows what happened to the photo of the blond haired, green eyed man from whom we were all descended.  He was never spoken about and my dad was worried that in looking into it further I would uncover some terrible secret.  Instead putting together a few facts with recollections from my Aunt we patched together a story we will never know the truth of, speculation of the best way the facts make sense.

The starting point was that his parents came from Ireland during the potato famine.  They listed their place of birth as County Galway but sadly were no more specific than that but then again who would have cared they were just more Irish arrived off the boat.  The settled first in Staffordshire where my greatgrandad was born.  Then they disappear off the map until my great grandfather shows up in Castleford working in the mines, with what appears to be his dad living with him.   Next he is married and his dad has disappeared off the chart, but this is really where the changes to the family begin.

My Aunt remembers my grandad’s bitterness towards the catholic church when she was growing up.   He talked of priests who would visit and take the last penny off the mantel.  She thought it was just a general rant but logic would suggest it was more.  Most who came over during the potato famine were Catholic driven from their homes by English landlords who wanted them purged from their lands.  From research there is nothing to suggest the girl he married was catholic infact given the fact her father was on overseer in the pits it would highly unlikely.  Mixed faith marriages were not unheard of but the children would have been brought up catholic maybe his comments were based on personal experience rather than prejudice.

The one thing that cannot be denied is that my great grandma was bitter about the fact her husband went off to war and got himself killed leaving her at home with young children to bring up.  Why he went to war will be a question we will never know the answer to.  Working in the pits he would not have been drafted but he chose to sign up anyway to fight for a country that was prejudice against him. I personally believe he went to war for his family, believing the promise it would be over by christmas.  I think he thought it would earn him respect and improve his families life.  Instead he lays in a field many miles away from the descendants that have followed.

A couple of years ago one of my sisters took a geography class to the war memorial where we have discovered his ‘grave’ is marked.  At the time she went I had not started my journey into our family history on my dads side.  One of the children drew her attention to the name they saw which shared our surname.  She took a closer look she even commented that it was actually the same name our dad shares but thought no more about it.  We now know that the actions taken by this man changed our family forever.  My grandma and grandad married in a resgistry office and my dad and his siblings were all raised C of E as was I.  His absence made my grandad the man he was who in turn passed his values on to my dad who tried to pass them on to me although I will confess I have tweaked quite a few before passing them on to my children.

96 years ago today thousands of men shivered to the sound of gunfire in a foreign field.  Many of them would never go home my great grandfather was just one of them.  But they are not forgotten, their legacy lives on in more ways than they could ever have imagined and this is my thankyou to them all but especially the blond haired, green eyed irish man who was my great grandad.