Forty years ago we boarded a plane and said Goodbye to England.
Goodbye to our home and friends and church and all the things that had been "ours" for those six years.
Goodbye to the land of Winnie the Pooh, King Arthur and Elisabeth Bennett.
Goodbye to the place where you might run into royalty at any given moment.
Farewell to castles and cathedrals and museums of Viking artifacts, the paths that took us over Roman bridges and the ruins of Roman walls.
We lived there in the early 80's and were there during the Falkland Wars, and the Royal Wedding of Charles and Diana, as well as the birth of Prince William. Elizabeth was Queen and Margaret Thatcher was Prime Minister.
It was during the Cold War, so there was always the possibility that you might go on base during a drill. If you did, then you could expect to see the airmen dressed in their fighting clothes with gas masks. If it was in the winter months, then you would feel the chill from the weather as well as the atmosphere of the reality of the possibility of war.
That was something that always hung over us. We were not there for a vacation
But being there was a dream we had, and you don't turn your back on a dream.
And we made the most of the six years we were there.
We ate fish and chips that we bought at a Chinese Take-Out run by people from Pakistan. It was near enough to walk to.
We also walked to the market in Huntingdon where we got fresh veggies and flowers, and at the grocery store where we learned to bag our own groceries in reusable bags. We got tea, and Alpen cereal and Orange Squash. Cadbury chocolates and other sweets. In town we visited the bakery and got sausage rolls and Cornish pasties.
They had a Woolworth's that sold things like kitchen utensils, wooden spoons, and McClaren baby strollers. We got one soon after being in England because the one we had only did well on sidewalks and mall floors. Our first walk to town rattled the baby to sleep, and threatened to fall apart on the way home!
We drove the car to places all over, more than I can remember just from memory.
We took the bus to Cambridge, and the train to London.
And we camped in Scotland.
Bud learned to take pictures and develop them, I learned to make lace with little sticks called bobbins.
Erin started school in a small English school of 45 students and three classes. Where lunch was served by the older class and I got to volunteer with a group of students playing the recorder!
It amazes me that these years stand out so strongly in my memory after so long, but it was that kind of adventure.
I do miss it, but I have learned that you never know when an opportunity will come that can have a great impact on your life, and you just might regret not taking it.
These days we are enjoying our retirement days. Still making memories every chance we can!
Partly because I am working on our genealogy, and partly because I have a story in mind.
Genealogy was something that I started looking into when we lived in Georgia and had a library nearby with a huge genealogy section.
A friend who lived in Macon took me there, and the librarian who worked there took time to show me how to move around in the books and periodicals and microfilms that were all part of the research.
I don't remember the librarian's name, so we will just call him Reed. This was not a hard decision, because it is not a name I am assigning him for the duration of generations.
It might however, be a a name I use for anonymous librarians from here on out.
He asked me who the oldest family member was that I knew, and where he lived. That was my grandfather, easy. And he lived in Georgia. We figured out the earliest census that he would have been part of, and Reed pulled the microfilm for that census in Georgia...
While I knew his birthplace as Bacon County, at the time of his birth it was Appling County. Reed gave me a map with the old county names on it.
After this, he left me alone to see what I could discover.
I sat at this machine to read the microfilm. I scrolled through what seemed like miles of film and then I saw it.
Alone and in the quiet of a library. My grandfather's name.
Listed as a child.
On the census, he was listed along with his father and his mother. and brothers; names I did not know.
I should have paid more attention when my grandfather would run through the names of his brothers.
I reached out and put my finger on the screen on his name and sat there to let it sink in.
This was my grandfather, as a child. It was a time in his life that I did not know much about, and people who I did not know at all. But there was his name. His family.
And they were also mine.
Later, most of my research would be done on the internet, but the way I felt that day I have never forgotten.
Reed told me that finding this name here in this county at this time was a big deal, and that my search had just gotten a lot easier.
And he showed me a set of books written decades ago about the people who came and settled this area of Georgia. They author called them pioneers. And the books listed their names.
I found my family there. Again....on the first census that was ever taken in the area. In 1820.
These books had some family stories, mostly names and dates and places. Places they called home.
It was certainly a treasure. I made copies of what I could, and I couldn't wait to go back.
Finding this information made my imagination go wild. What was life like for these people? There were Taylors galore and lots of Carters, and Lees, and Sellers... Last names that connected people by relationships.
And the plethora of first names!!
James. John. Henry. Madison. Macy. Missouri.
Cinderella.
Seriously...Cinderella!
My great great grandmother was Cinderella!
I wondered about the person who would name their little daughter Cinderella, and then I found out her name was Cinderella too.
Somewhere a mother held a little baby girl in their cabin in the pine woods and wrapped her up with homespun cloth and placed her in a homemade crib.
And then she named her after a fairy tale princess.
Let that sink in and dwell on it a second. What thoughts went into that?
Why were you named what you were named?
I was named because my mom really liked Debbie Reynolds. So I've been told.
My father had a really unique name, and he told me that he thought it was a family name, but he wasn't sure. I found his name as a last name in this intriguing group of people who have impacted my life before I ever knew anything about them.
These Wiregrass Pioneers.
These were people who were given land as payment for their service in the Revolutionary War.
They moved into their land and made relationships with others who came at the same time. From surrounding states. From different lives and situations, they left and moved into land they had to clear to make homes and farms and furniture.
And they built churches. On their lands.
I've been to one of those churches. When I first went, there was a rail that divided the church into two. I was told that men sat on one side and women on the other! And I remember singing hymns there. The pews were made from trees on the land, and the land became the site fore big get togethers. Family reunions with food and fellowship and connections just because you are family.
These names I found were these people.
And they loved the people that loved the people that loved my grandfather.
More than "just a name". Much more. But more than my mind could take in as a child there.
I just knew they were my family.
My own family consisted of four girls and our parents. For some reason, after I was named, my parents thought it would be a good idea to name the next sister with a D name, and then it was kind of a requirement when sister # 3 and #4 came along.
I remember them trying out names out loud, and listening for the way it would sound. This time they changed the order and put the D names second. My third sister was given a name that would represent my dad, and my fourth sister was given a name that would represent my mom. I'm glad they did that.
Handed down names mean something more than we might realize at first.
So now I am writing a story and the part that is slowing me down is the naming.
I want names that will mean something.
I want names that sound good, and are easy on the tongue, and will be remembered.
And I'm stumped.
It's not just naming the characters, that is slowing me down, but the locations. The shops they like, the church in the town and the towns themselves.
While looking for names, I have gathered lots of of possibilities. They come from many sources, and mean different things to me. The names have to be right. I want them to be right. My characters also want them to be right.
While gathering names, I have also come across words that I am keeping.
Words that I did not know existed.
Words that I love. Words that I am adding to my word list book. These words have struck a chord with me and I don't want to lose them...to forget them. That's why I keep this list.
Like Hiraeth.
It's was in a list of Welsh words. It means longing for somewhere.
But it is more than just being homesick.
It is a deep ache that can be an ache for somewhere you've never been before, or even a place that only exists in your imagination!!
I'm pretty certain it will show up again in my blog.
Or the story.
But more on words some other day.
This morning, it's the names that occupy my thoughts.
You can find a lot about what was important to the people then...like the name Marion in South Carolina, or George Washington Carter in Georgia, or James Madison Taylor.
These were their heroes! Surely you wouldn't name someone after a villain!
And their heroes were heroic enough that they carried the names down through generations.
But for some reason... name popularity changes with time.
Mary, Martha and Ann for instance.
A search on the internet will tell you that while Mary is still on the all-time most used names at #1,
in the list of most common girl names for last year, it was not even in the top 25!
When I was in school, there were so many Debbie's that we had to use our last initial to differentiate between us. Now I don't ever hear the name in younger people.
I wonder if the newer choices will be names that are handed down to others in the next generation.
Will the names last?
I will say it again. Choosing a name, one right name, among so many is not easy.
Next time I read a story, or a book...I will have a deeper appreciation for the effort the author took in giving their characters the names they did.
Eliza Bennett.
Oliver Twist.
Valjean...
Dumbledore
So what's in a name? A bunch it seems.
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Proverbs 22:1
A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches, loving favor rather than silver and gold.
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Acts 11:26
The disciples were first called Christians at Antioch.
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Isaiah 43:1
Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; You are Mine.
