Trains, Planes and Compassion

Sometimes a lot of pain and suffering can be taken away with a kind word or thoughtful deed—even when the two (trial and solicitous service) are not connected in any way. A trial loses its sting when tempered by someone’s charity. 

I recently learned this personally when my husband and I had one of those “worst days of your life” when everything went wrong; then, a compassionate act made at the end of the day seem a funny tale to tell instead of a bitter memory.

Ed and I were on a once in a lifetime, 50^th year anniversary family history trip to Europe. Our schedule was as tight as a rubber band, with no time for error or waste. We were traveling from Manchester, England to Dublin, Ireland on a Sunday morning early morning flight. We had been traveling on the train a lot on our trip, including into the Manchester Train Station. We knew that the train went from Manchester to the airport about every five to ten minutes, so we arrived at the train station about two hours earlier than our flight was due. It was a short trip on the train to the airport and we thought there was no problem. 

However, we didn’t realize that on Sundays the trains only run every 45 minutes to an hour, and we’d just missed the last one. We still didn’t worry. However, when the train we were on had engine problems, we began to worry. Normally the distance between the train station exits and airport entrances were close or had shuttle service, but not in Manchester—it was a long, winding distance between them. As we finally reached the airport, we saw taxis dropping people off right off at the airport gates that had taken us ages to reach. Ed said, “We should have taken a taxi and been here hours ago.”

We contacted handicapped assistance which we had arranged for in advanced in all the

airports because of Ed’s emphysema and lung transplant which makes it difficult for him to walk fast or very far; they had no record of our requesting it, but they said they could arrange it. That took longer. By then we knew we’d missed our flight and we had. 

They booked us on the next available flight to Dublin which was 12 hours later and would cost us $360. What choice did we have? Nothing more fun than hanging around an airport for 12 hours. What they didn’t tell us was that there was a lounge especially for handicapped passengers where we could have sat down in comfortable seats, at least. So we walked around with our entire luggage and stopped in at cafes for hours. Ed had had problems at times on our trip with nausea and this was one of those days. So he didn’t dare eat anything and only sipped at bottled water. He read from my kindle and I read my kindle book on my tablet. It was one time it came in handy to have both. 

Finally it was time we could check in our luggage anyway, and not be burdened down with it. We went back to the gate and they weighed our luggage (which I had used my portable weight to keep it down to .4 kilos within the 20 kilo limit). Then they informed us that this airline only had a 15 kilo limit (and only 8 kilos for carry-ons) so our luggage (which we had paid for in advance) was overweight and would cost us $150 each more for overweight charges. We left the gate and were wondering what to do when the lady at customer service suggested we go downstairs and purchase a small $15.00 duffle bag in one of the gift shops. It folds up into the size of 12 inch book and yet holds a lot. We could then put the five kilo excess luggage from each of our bags, plus, our excess carry-on in it and pay for an extra bag, which was less than $70.00. We did that and rearranged our luggage. We must not have been the only people unprepared for the unusual weight limits as there were long shelves there for “repacking and rearranging luggage.” 

Finally at 8:00pm, we climbed aboard a small airplane and headed for Dublin. The seats were so close together that although Ed is a small person, his knees were touching the seat in front of him. Ed was finally so weak from not eating that I was happy when he ate some crackers and did not get nauseated. 

As we disembarked at Dublin, we asked if there was someone from Handicapped Assistance to put Ed in a wheelchair and take him through the terminal to the exit. Everyone we talked to said, “No.” Finally after everyone departed the plane, and no one was left, we began the trek through the long, lonely, deserted terminal. For some reason (probably his weakness), Ed was having problems with walking very far with stopping to rest. Even though he leaned on my shoulder to balance and make it easier to walk, I began to count in my head, walk 10 steps, rest; walk 10 steps, rest. It took us well over an hour to get to customs, who barely looked at our passports and waved us through. We never saw anyone who could help us or who we could ask for Handicapped Assistance.

Everything was so deserted.

At the luggage carrousel our luggage had been taken off and placed by customer service so it was easy to pick it up and get a taxi to our hotel. 

It was about 10:30pm or later when we arrived at our hotel and we were totally exhausted. We had gotten up at 3:30am to get ready for our flight and with all the problems, we were emotionally as well as physically wiped out. I was relieved to find we still had a room (I was waiting for some last cosmic jinx that had somehow interfered with it). 

We got our keys and were ready to go, when the manager (who was having trouble

speaking English) said, “Wait. We have a voucher for you.”

I looked at him strangely and said. “We didn’t pay for a voucher.”

“Yes, it gives you two full meals in our restaurant with appetizer, main course, desert and a

bottle of wine.”

“We didn’t order that,” I again denied.

“Markson gave it to you,” he insisted.

I looked at Ed puzzled and said, “Markson?”

He pulled out an envelope and gave it to us. Inside was an elaborate voucher. 

The manager was grinning all over that we finally understood. “Markson called and paid for it. We expected you here earlier and were all prepared to serve you a special meal.”

We then realized he was talking about our son, Marc, in Washington, D.C. who had called and made the arrangement. I felt like crying that even though we were half a world away, without a cell phone (because it was not compatible), our children were thinking of us on Mother’s Day and wanting to make it special for us.

That one act from our children wiped out all the frustrations of the day; I will always remember that as one of the most special Mother’s Day of my life.

Patriotism and Me

I have always felt that I was more patriotic because of the 23 years Ed served in the military and of the many sacrifices we made as a military family. This included two years when Ed was serving in Vietnam and I was a young mother in Utah. His two tours of Vietnam were very difficult, but each time he was gone, I gave birth to his children without him. We had no choice in our assignments; we were sent where the Army told us to go and we could not decline an assignment no matter how difficult it was, or quit our job if we decided we didn’t like it.

During our children’s early years we usually moved every two years; during one period of time it was more often and Athena was in the fifth grade before she attended a full year of school in the same class she started out the school year in. This was very hard as she was a child who needed stability and routine; losing this permanence because of moving made her dyslexia worse. After each move she’d write mirror-image after until she felt secure again.

 

Ed marching in military parade

As a member of an Army family, I have seen many instances that have made me feel patriotic. I have seen many military parades where my heart has swelled with pride in our fine soldiers. I have seen my Air Force flyovers when I realized how grateful I was for those proud aviators who trained and served in far off bases. I have seen scenes on television of armed forces fighting and dying on foreign soil. All of these remind me of the price our soldiers pay for our country. In Italy our country’s anthem played on Armed Forces Network Television when it first came on in the morning and the last thing at night. We were reminded constantly of our citizenship while we were living in a foreign country.

I recall the Independence Day Carnival at the Military Base in Italy when they opened the base to Italians and everyone came inside to enjoy a hometown 4^th of July Party, with fireworks filling the sky at the end. 

I also recall times when I have seen individual incidences of respect for our country. I remember going to a movie theater on a military base in northern Italy, and as usual, the Star Spangled Banner played as the flag was displayed on the screen before the regular movie. Everyone in the theater stood and saluted or put their hand over their heart except a bunch of teenagers who were goofing off and being disrespectful. Ed went over to them and told them to stand up and be respectful to the flag, and those who were fighting for their freedom, and they shaped up. I remember how proud at that moment I was of my country, and my flag. The simple act of standing at attention while our national anthem played while we watched a movie on a military base reminded me of the freedoms I took for granted that our soldiers serving in that nation, far from family and friends, did not take for granted.

I remember another time while we were stationed on that Italian base. There were international tensions, and

Marc at school in Italy

our country dropped some bombs on Libya. Libya couldn’t bomb America, so instead they attacked some Italian islands they could reach. It was a tempest in a teapot, but some Italian politicians became angry against America. As civilians we knew nothing that morning, but as our teenage son walked through the Italian villaggio on the way to school, an old Italian man swore at him and spit on him. Our son didn’t know what was going on, but he recognized what it was—anti-American sentiment, something we ran into occasionally. He pulled out his cassette player, put on the music, “I’m Proud to Be an American” and continued to walk to school. Another time our eight-year-old daughter was called a “dirty American” and spit at outside church one Sunday, and for a while all students were bussed to school to prevent problems. There were anti-American protests outside the base so it was closed to all but Americans. Mormon missionaries were told to stop wearing their name tags and to stop proselyting temporarily because they were a

At church in Vicenza Italy

symbol of America. Eventually everything blew over and became normal again, but it reminded us how really free we are in America. I am grateful for those soldiers all over the world who live in places where it isn’t always easy to live as an American so the rest of us Americans can enjoy our freedoms.
 

I remember my first experience with the military when I first joined Ed at Ft. Wolters, Texas while he was going through flight school. I lived in a tiny apartment on the reactivated base and every morning I heard reveille play at 5:00 am. I couldn’t hear where it was coming from and at first I wondered if it was ghostly music from World War II when Ft. Wolters was for a time the largest infantry replacement training center in the United States. Eventually I realized my mistake, but it reminded me of all the soldiers who had passed through Ft. Wolters on their way to World War II, and were now on their way to Vietnam.  How many of these soldiers who passed through Ft. Wolters lived and how many died? How many who heard the same haunting sounds of that reveille as I did, then died during their army tours?

Many of the things I have mentioned have to do with the military—how they have fought to protect our freedoms. But I also remember the other side of patriotism—being a poll worker at the precinct on voting day in Texas, serving as a juror in Davis County, doing community service, studying the issues and candidates and voting. It is also strengthening the family and marriage in an ever-changing world by promoting The Family: A Proclamation to the World, fighting for the values I hold dear. A quote by James Bryce says it all, “Patriotism consists not in waving the flag, but in striving, that our country shall be righteous as well as strong.”

Sharing My Love of Genealogy

Grandmother Hansen

When I was 13 years old, I went to Monroe, Utah to spend a couple of weeks in the summer with my paternal grandmother Hansen. As far as I know, I was the only one of her grandchildren to be chosen for such a visit, but I’ve always been so grateful for the opportunity that I had.

I remember getting up early in the morning to pick raspberries from her abundant raspberry patch; we worked in her flower garden with peonies and roses; we walked downtown; she taught me to sew and made me a chartreus green blouse with a Vogue pattern; but most importantly she taught me to love genealogy.

I can remember making me own large genealogy chart and grandmother telling me about each generation and the people. I imagined that the British ancestors were pirates; that the Danish ancestors were Vikings, or maybe they lived in the two castles that our family lived near—Elsinor Castle (Hamlet’s Castle), and Fredericksburg Castle. Years later when my older brother went to Denmark on his mission, he wrote back if our ancestors were ever at the castles, they were the servants—we had no connection to royalty. And, we had no connection to English pirates—our ancestors were hard-working Manchester weavers, dyers, and other peons of the textile manufacturers.

My Grandmother Hansen began my love affair with genealogy. I have always loved history and have been fascinated with the people behind the stories. With genealogy, I get to discover the people behind the names and facts. Each detail that I located in the dry documents fleshed out the stories of these people that I grew to love. When I viewed the marriage ban of Joseph Heaton and Maria Consterdine in Oldham, Lancashire, England in 1838, it shows that neither of them could sign their own name—but had an “X” and the comment, “his/her mark.” Yet, records of my Danish ancestor, Hans Peter Hansen Miller, a contemporary of Heaton, read Danish fluently as well as English and was the translator for their ship coming to America. I was confused by this, until while researching Bornholm, Denmark, the small island Miller came from, it said that Bornholm had the best educational system in all of Denmark, and put a great emphasis on educating every student—from 1400 onward. It is from my Miller ancestor that I read about the history of Danish/Swedish wars in a way that I’ll never forget.

My English ancestors all lived in a small area of townships in a six mile radius— Ashton-Under Lyne, Blackley, Chadderton, Newton Heath, Oldham, and the chapels they were baptized, married, and buried in were ), St. Michael’s (Ashton-Under Lyne), St. Peter’s (Blackley),  St. Matthew’s (Chadderton), All Saints (Newton Heath), St. Mary’s (Oldham).  If they weren’t found in those towns (usually one family would stay in that one township) I could be pretty sure they were not my family. 

The small townships near Manchester where my ancestors lived

My sister Ann and I share our love for genealogy, and we’ve worked together to do our work. Years ago I went down to Monroe to get a box full of Grandmother Hansen’s records from a Great Aunt, organized them, and when I was working full time and couldn’t do the work on them, I passed on the papers to Ann, who verified, researched and worked on them for years. Now Ann is working, and I’m working on the genealogy and sharing my discoveries with Ann. She documented all the farms on Bornholm where our ancestors lived, and put other things together. Now I work with Ancestry.com and online records (all the Danish parish records are on line), since I have better access than she does.

 

Bornholm, the tiny island where two separate families of my ancestral lines are from is a unique place. Although it is Danish, it is East of Sweden. It is now a summer resort. During the cold war, when Denmark was a NATO country, no NATO forces could be on Bornholm, because it was too close to Eastern Europe and Poland. Certain rights are given to Bornholm citizens that are not given to other Danish citizens. During the 1700, 1800, 1900s, all Danish males had to be on a draft list, and tracked wherever they lived so they could be conscripted into the army if necessary. This is a treasure for genealogists because they can locate males because of these army rolls, even if the men were not called up for war. However, Bornholm men were exempt from this rule. So if you are researching in Bornholm, you have a handicap. Because it is in the middle of the Baltic and has more visitors from other parts of Europe, it is more cosmopolitan than other parts of Denmark. 

Bornholm Island

Facebook Family History Groups

 One fun way to share pictures and histories is through FACEBOOK  groups. You can make a Family History group (see left side of FACEBOOK), share it with cousins, etc., then post pictures, histories, and encourage them to do the same and you can get lots more stories and pictures from everyone else.

Though my grandmother has been dead for 53 years, the love for genealogy that she sparked in me has only grown through the years! I hope I can share that love with my own children. 

I like to make family histories of my ancestors

I love to collect the family histories of my ancestors and try to make them available to other members of my family also. Where I once loved to imagine their lives, I now am obsessed with accuracy; I want to make sure every fact of their histories is correct! I think I learned this from the seven years I worked for the editorial offices of the Liahona magazine. Every fact was checked and rechecked. Even though the family histories are not to be published, I want them to be just as accurate. 

 

Marriage Customs in England

Wedding Banns 1819

I am fascinated with genealogy. When I am searching the records that document the evidence of my ancestors’ lives, I feel like a detective, tracking the confirmation of their lives to discover who they are. Yesterday I discovered my ancestor’s wedding banns.  I was so excited because I had read often about banns.

Wikipedia explains that "The banns of marriage, commonly known simply as the 'banns' or 'bans' (from a Middle English word meaning 'proclamation') are the public announcement in a Christian parish church of an impending marriage between two specified persons specified persons for three consecutive weeks." 

Wedding Registry 1754

  
“The purpose of banns is to enable anyone to raise any legal obstacle to the marriage, so as to prevent marriages that are invalid. Impediments would be such things as a pre-existing marriage that has not been dissolved or annulled, lack of consent, or the couple’s being related within the prohibited degrees of kinship."


There have always been laws concerning marriage. In 1215 Catholic Canon law enacted a law to prevent clandestine marriages. The Council of Trent on November 11, 1563 went  further; they made the law more precise; this stated that before any marriage, the names of the wedding couple should be announced publicly by the parish priests of both parties on three consecutive Holy Days (publishing the banns). This law also required each parish to keep a register of marriages; however many parishes ignored this order—only about 800 records exist from the 1500s.


Some couples did not want to wait three weeks to marry, so marriage licenses were introduced in the 14th century. However, these licenses were not cheap; the groom paid a fee, and made a written oath on that there was no "canonical impediment" to the marriage. Sometimes the groomsmen also had to post a hefty bond to ensure the legality of the marriage. 

Marriage Registry 1726

After the wedding the marriage was recorded in the parish records; sometimes the priest recorded all the names, other times the bride and groom wrote their names.


In the 1600s, many people had begun marrying without publishing banns. It was possible for eloping couples to be married clandestinely by an ordained clergyman and it became more and more common for couples to marry in “irregular” or “clandestine” marriages.

“Clandestine" marriages were those that had an element of secrecy to them; perhaps they did not take place at the home parish, without either banns or marriage license. An "irregular" marriage was one that took place either away from the home parish of the spouses (but after banns or license), or at an improper time. 

Marriage Registry 1689

A Fleet Prison marriage in London is the best-known example of a “clandestine” or “irregular” marriage; it took place in the Fleet Prison environs. As a prison Fleet Prison was outside of the jurisdiction of the church, and eventually the whole area around the Fleet Prison became a lawless area which operated under “fleet rules.”  


An Article called “Thorley’s Fleet Marriages,” (From the Thorley Archives, With acknowledgements to: - Fleet Marriages of Hertfordshire People to 1754, Jack Parker, Published by Hertfordshire Family & Population History Society 1999, Bill Hardy, May 2003) gives an interesting insight into Fleet marriages:

Fleet Marriage Certificate (NOT my Ancestor)

 “No banns or licenses were required but a record was kept by an accompanying register keeper and hence many of these records now survive in The Public Record Office. Strangely, unlike parish registers of that period, these records contain details of occupations, marital status and home locality and are therefore of interest to those trying to track down their family history in counties surrounding London.”


 Wikipedia states, “The Marriage Duty Act 1695 put an end to irregular marriages at parochial churches by penalizing clergymen who married couples without banns or license. By a legal quirk, however, clergymen operating in the Fleet could not effectively be proceeded against, and the clandestine marriage business there carried on. In the 1740s, over half of all London weddings were taking place in the environs of the Fleet Prison. . . .


“During the 1740s up to 6,000 marriages a year were taking place in the Fleet area, compared with 47,000 in England as a whole. . . It was not merely a marriage center for criminals and the poor, however; both rich and poor availed themselves of the opportunity to marry quickly or in secret.”


The government was determined to prevent these irregular marriages and Parliament passed Lord Hardwick's Act of 1753, wherein marriage was only legally valid if the banns had been called or a marriage license had been obtained. The only exception was if a bishop's license (a common license) or the special license of the Archbishop of Canterbury had been obtained. Lord Hardwick’s Act of 1753 also required a separate marriage register to record witnesses, signatures of all parties, occupation of groom and the residences of the couple marrying.
 

Gretna Green Marriage Registry--Not my ancestor

After the Act of 1753 law, elopers had to leave England and Wales in order to contract a marriage to avoid these formalities. Scotland, in particular Gretna Green, the first village over the border from England, was the customary destination, but became less popular after 1856 when Scottish law was amended to require 21 days' residence. I was excited to find an example of a Gretna Green marriage online. As an avid reader of romance novels, I was thrilled to see that it was a wedding between nobles—Lady Mary Beauclair and Lord George Wm. Coventry on 11 Jun 1811 (they are not my ancestors).


In 1763, the minimum age of marriage was set at age 16; marriage without consent of parents was set at 21 years of age. This law also stipulated that parish records should be written on lined papers with various columns for each category to make the records more readable. 


Each law made marriage more secure, made records more permanent and accessible; each law protected the rights of the wives and children of the marriage.

St. Peter's Church, Blackley, Lancashire where my ancestor's worshiped

But not everything was perfect. Most of my British ancestors are from Manchester in Lancashire County in England. However, they lived in tiny communities, Blackley, Ashton Under-lyne, Newton Heath, and Oldham. I was surprised that often they were married, and baptized in the Manchester Cathedral rather than their own parish chapels, St. Mary’s, St. Peter’s, All Saint’s, Chorlton Chapel. 

Manchester Cathedral

At first I thought that it was more romantic to be married in the great cathedral. Then I discovered the real reason—money. The Collegiate Church of Manchester (the Cathedral) was the Parish Church for the parish of Manchester. In 1421 the warden and fellows of Manchester Cathedral decided that under their charter they could claim fees for any marriage within the geographical parish of Manchester. Therefore, anyone married in their own parish (such as Blackley) had to pay marriage fees to their local church, plus the Manchester Cathedral.  However, if a couple married only in the Manchester Cathedral, they only had to pay one marriage fee. 

Free BMD Index 1838

Also, the Manchester Cathedral often conducted many “irregular” marriages, and couples would not have to schedule a wedding, but just appear and get married. One report also indicates that they did multiple marriages of poor people in the Manchester Cathedral in the 1800s.

  

In July 1837, the government Introduced General Civil Registration of Births, Marriages and Deaths in England and Wales. This is the basis of all “FreeBMD Indexes” that Genealogists love; these record all civil birth, marriages and deaths from the year 1838 and after. These are government records, not parish records and very reliable. Note, its index is by three-month period. From these you can locate the original record.

1851 Census of Newton township, Lancashire

Censuses, beginning with 1841, tried to document families and individuals for many purposes. If you are a genealogist, censuses are a great way to find names and information. 

Censuses list all those who live in each house, their names and their ages, sometimes their occupations, and where they come from. This gives you an idea which year someone was born and how many children there are at that year so you can locate information about the children.

But today marriage is becoming less and less an option for people. Many are not marrying at all; the government records their birth and death, but those are the only official records of their life. No marriages, children with no fathers, same-sex couples with marriages recognized in some states and not in others. Marriage vows that are not official, but merely made up, and dissolved as easily. Couples that live together as long as it convenient and then move on with or without the children they had with that individual. 

People move so much today that no census can track them. When I was researching my ancestors near Blackley, I could tell which were mine because they were at Blackley. If someone with the same name were from Yorkshire, I knew he was not related. But now, although we’ve lived in the same place for 23 years, the census has recorded us here for only one of those censuses. In 1990, we didn’t move here until after the census, so we were recorded in California; in 2000, we were recorded here; in 2010, the census recorded us in Los Angeles where we were living while Ed received his new lung. So how could any census track anyone in a society as mobile as ours?

Can you imagine a genealogist of the future trying to make sense of the chaos of family situations in the future? I’m just glad I’m researching my past—and not the future generations.