The limbs that move, the eyes that see,
These are not entirely me;
Dead men and women helped me shape
The mould which I do not escape
The words I speak, my written line,
These are not uniquely mine.
For in my heart and in my will
Old ancestors are warring still,
Celt, Roman, Saxon and all the dead
From whose rich blood my veins are fed,
In aspect, guesture, voices, tone,
Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone;
In fields they tilled, I plow the sod,
I walk the mountain paths they trod;
And round my daily steps arise
The good and bad of those I comprise.
Written by English Poet Richard Rolle over 600 years ago.
When I first took up the challenge of researching our family tree, it was because I felt I owed it to my deceased daughter Susan, to at least try and complete what to her was unfinished business, when she passed away in 1981. Susan had been born with a rare and very progressive medical condition, usually hereditary, but sometimes resulting from spontaneous mutation. Susan
who was an outstandingly intelligent girl, always wanted to know all the answers to everything, so at about 10 years of age, she started to research .
In those days, given her medical condition, and prior to home computers,this was an arduous task for her, as she painstakingly wrote letters to family members, and then awaited their replies. It was a long and slow process, and Susan, simply ran out of time. I have wasted many years since, doing nothing to pick up the threads again, so I probably will run out of time also.
I have been on a long , long journey so far, from St Croix in the Virgin Islands, to Ireland, England, Prussia, other European countries, and of course, Australia and New Zealand On the way, I have met many people- rich men, poor men, butchers, bakers, painters and shoe makers. There have been soldiers,and warriors,
princesses, famous and notorious, both blue eyed and brown eyed. I have become very attached to some of the ancestors that I have never met, while of others........ perhaps the least said the better. It is very true that we can choose our friends, but we cannot chose our relatives. The skeletons and black sheep present in all of our family lines, are chosen for us by the blood that binds us, and that is that.
I cannot possibly thank everyone who has assisted me on this journey, ..to be continnued...
...