Son, brother, pigeon-racer, husband, father, soldier, M.O.T.H. member, bricklayer. Arthur Archibald Julius Nelson was all of these, and doubtless much more, besides. Sadly, it was only after his death that he also became Grandad Arthur to six grandchildren who would grow up never knowing this grandfather of theirs. Not personally, anyway. Perhaps thatâs one of the reasons for this genealogical quest of mine: a hunger to know those whose blood flows through my veins, whose voices I have never heard, whose hands Iâve never had the privilege of holding, and to celebrate them, their lives, and the legacy they have left behindâŠ
Celebrating Grandad Arthurâs Birth
And so to celebration: it was one hundred and ten years ago today, on Saturday, 13 February 1904, that Grandad Arthurâs life began, somewhere in what was then the Cape Province, and most likely in King Williams Town or surrounds. He was the fourth of six children, and the second son, born to his parents, George Albert and Augustina Wilhelmina Nelson, although, more than two decades after Grandad Arthur was born, they adopted a seventh child!
1 Death Certificate + 1 Confirmation Certificate = Several Baptism Records
It was the combination of Grandad Arthurâs abridged death certificate (which included his date of birth), together with his confirmation certificate that eventually led to the discovery of the baptism records for the Nelson grand-siblings (Iâm not sure whether âgrand-siblingsâ is an official term or not, but it seems to me that it ought to be!). Coincidentally, one of those baptism records belonged to Grand Aunt Maud, Grandad Arthurâs eldest sister, and shows that she was also baptised on the 13 February back in 1895, a Wednesday. As with all her siblings, her baptism took place in the Church of the Holy Trinity, King Williams Town, too. It was performed by the rector at the time, B.E. Holmes M.A., and witnessed by Grand Aunt Maudâs parents and a Kate Gravette.
Lots of Missing Puzzle Pieces; Lots of Unanswered Questions
I often wonder about those recorded as witnesses to key events in the lives of my ancestors. Who were they? How did they know my family? Were they family? Why did they witness the event? What pieces of this vast puzzle do they hold? For my part, it still seems I hold only a meagre handful, both of Grand Aunt Maudâs life and the life of Grandad Arthur. However, with a family trip to the Eastern Cape now only weeks away, who knows if that is set to change? Perhaps it will yield little in the way of concrete facts. Perhaps it will add colour and life to facts we already know. Perhaps it will simply be precious time spent with family. And an opportunity to grill my Dad for more stories about Grandad Arthur đ
Of course, this side of eternity, I will never know him personally, but I do indeed catch precious glimpses of his life and character in the stories my Dad and Aunt share with me. I hear his voice and sense a deep love in the letters he wrote to Granny Iris, which she tenderly tucked away in her tin of treasures. I feel his courage as I run my fingers over the engravings on the medals presented to him many years ago now. I look into his eyes through the photographs I now hold dearâŠ
