Aside from a fascination with my origins, the desire to get my DNA tested was really fueled by two other motivators: the ability to (1) confirm research undertaken via traditional channels (essentially a paper trail), and (2) leverage the results in my research to, hopefully, further it and break through some genealogical brick walls.
From South Africa, it was (and still is) a tricky business getting tested through one of the companies that includes family matching since most donât ship kits to South Africa and returning them is another drama. So I waited patiently(?) for a trip to the UK in 2015 to get tested (you can read about that here).
Spreading the Love
Of course, one test is never enough and I was hooked â now I was after my parentsâ DNA! That way, I would be able to determine which family matches came from which branch of my family tree, and what I had inherited from whom. However, DNA has a rather nasty habit of revealing any skeletons in the closet, and so can be a bit of a sensitive subject.
Nevertheless, my parents willingly joined me on this adventure as soon as I was able to get a couple of kits into the country using a freight forwarder. And, guess what? They are my parents. Iâm sure we all breathed a collective sigh of relief!
Mum
My Mumâs ethnicity estimate1 really held no great surprises: 86% Scottish, a little Irish, and a sprinkling of Norse – straightforward, tightly ringfenced, nothing particularly unexpected.
Dad
My Dad was generally a quiet man (though he certainly had strong opinions!) He was also a quietly enthusiastic and consistent supporter of my genealogical research and would often ask what new discoveries Iâd made and whether I had found out any more about John Nelson (one of the aforementioned brick walls â my 2x great grandfather, with potential links to Ireland).
From research Iâd already conducted, I expected Dadâs origins would be around 50 – 75% British and roughly 25% German.
One-Man Global Village
Well, note to self: “Buckle your seatbelt Dorothy, ’cause Kansas is going bye-bye.”
His DNA ethnicity estimate2 soon had me referring to him as a one-man global village! Okay, itâs perhaps not entirely accurate and a little dramatic, but I think that Dad, in his quiet way, was secretly quite pleased with the title and his rather enigmatic origins.
Questions
The English and Scottish influences account for around 55% of his ethnicity, and then thereâs that Irish 6% (John Nelson, is that you?) and a touch of Welsh ethnicity, which is also a mystery.
But where, pray tell, does the Scandinavian ethnicity come from and why does the Germanic influence only account for 6% – so much less than expected? Perhaps the German branch is less German than we thought. Could that same branch be responsible for the Baltic, Eastern European, and Basque origins in the estimate, too?
Surprise!
It was the African, Indian, and Filipino origins that really blindsided me, though, but perhaps they shouldnât have. You see, aforementioned 2x great grandfather, John Nelson, an enigma himself, married a lady by the name of Magdalene and of her we know nothing prior to the birth of her children with John â not a surname, not a date of birth, nothing of parents or siblings, just… nothing. My suspicion is that she may be the ancestor that carries this ethnicity. My theory would seem to be supported by my fatherâs only DNA match on the testing site with Magdalene in his family tree â he, too, shares a sprinkling of this ethnicity but, still, we have no conclusive evidence.
So, for now, at least half my fatherâs ethnicity, especially the origins of John and Magdalene Nelson, remain a mystery which, I suspect, will keep me out of mischief for years to come!
Being a little behind the times (yes, as usual 🙄), we were already midway through January before I stumbled across the #AncestorChallenge2018 hashtag while meandering the Twitterverse.
Used with the kind permission of David Allen Lambert. Follow him on Twitter at @DLGenealogist or his blog, thepastfinder.wordpress.com.
The challenge resonated on many levels. Firstly, it’s true that memories and stories quickly begin to fade, unless they’re recorded. Secondly, a tweet is a whole lot more manageable than an entire blog post, right? That’s not to say that the challenge excludes blog posts – quite the contrary – but it doesn’t dictate the format or medium or length for the content of the tweet (or what it links to), and there’s a freedom in that. Thirdly, the challenge could just help move my research (and organisation of it) forward, baby steps at a time. And, by the end of it all, I’d have 52 ancestral tidbits “published”, in a manner of speaking – more than I would have otherwise. So I decided to take up the challenge.
To stick to it, though, I needed a plan and so I chose to pick an event from an ancestor’s life that fell during the week scheduled for each of my tweets (not that I’ve managed to tweet on the scheduled day every time, or even in the appropriate week, but, as “they” say, better late than never!)
However, it occurred to me that many friends and family members aren’t Tweeple and, furthermore, my #AncestorChallenge2018 tweets could end up sandwiched in a mini-melee of other, unrelated tweets, so I figured a quarterly roundup of them in a blog post was the way to go and, voilĂ , a new blog post (or four) was born đ
Week 1
A machine maker/machinist, journeyman, carpenter, and joiner, my 3x great-grandfather, William Andrew #Pinny, died from senile decay at the age of 75, on 4 Jan 1900, at 23 James Street, #Northampton, Northamptonshire, #England. Anyone stay there, or nearby? #AncestorChallenge2018
Coffee and rusks again heralded the start to the morning. After showering and packing, we enjoyed a quick breakfast of fruit and yoghurt before dropping our keys in the Henri House postbox and heading for another â the oldest in South Africa…
On the corner of Worcester and Somerset
We found it on the corner of Worcester and Somerset Streets, where it has valiantly stood since about 1860. Here we mailed the postcards we wrote yesterday evening, some of which were to ourselves (this idea came from some clever person on the Interwebs who sends postcards to themselves from the places that they visit â a wonderful way to document oneâs travels)! Some websites claim that mail posted here gets a special frank but we can confirm that this is sadly no longer the case â our postcards were, in fact, franked in Port Elizabeth. We took a last look around: the beautiful building alongside us and St Andrewâs College Memorial Chapel diagonally across from us rose proudly against a now grey and increasingly gloomy sky as we piled back into the Pajero bound for King Williamâs Town and the next leg of our Eastern Cape adventure…
The Oldest Postbox in South Africa
Posting Postcards at the Oldest Postbox in South Africa
Detail of the Oldest Postbox in South Africa
The Top of St Andrew’s College Memorial Chapel against a Grey Sky
Another Beautiful Building against a Grey Sky
Next stop KWT
It was a pleasant journey, winding through the Great Fish River Pass, roadworks and rolling hills, and away from the bad weather that appeared to be pulling into Grahamstown! We made good time to KWT and stopped at the Buffalo River 1 Stop just outside the town for a comfort break and a brief discussion about what to do next, since it was still too early to check in to our new âhomeâ. Fortunately, my fabulous father (who doesnât do procrastination!) decided we should try to find Macleantown, some 50 kilometres east-ish of King. Why? Well, thatâs a bit of a story!
Basically, a particularly fruitful Google search late last year resulted in a true treasure of a find: âStamboom van Pieter Becker: Bekker Families van SAâ by Johan Pottas and Annatjie Tiran â a family register available for download from the website of The Genealogical Society of South Africa. It contains what is to date the only documented mention Iâve come across of what I think may be my great-grandmother Nelson. The reference is to an Auguste Wilhelmine BECKER who married a George NELSON and it seems highly unlikely that there would be many Augustina Wilhelmina Beckers (or variants thereof) marrying George Nelsons around the ârightâ time. However, it is certainly not sufficient evidence to conclude that the reference is indeed to my great-grandparents so further research is definitely required.
My one-day visit to the Western Cape Archives at the beginning of the year yielded the death notice cited in âStamboom van Pieter Becker: Bekker Families van SAâ for Julius August Wilhelm Becker and, as one of his ten children, it indeed listed an Auguste Wilhelmine as being married to a George Nelson. If my great-great-grandfather Becker was indeed Julius, that would also explain where my grandfather, Arthur Archibald Julius Nelson, got one of his names from! Still, this is not enough. What I really need is a death notice for Auguste Wilhelmine/Augustina Wilhelmina which ought to list her parents, her spouse and her children. That would (hopefully!) link my grandfather with my great-grandparents and confirm my Becker great-great-grandparents…
But what does all this have to do with Macleantown? This: that I had stumbled across some civil death records for Becker family members that happened to be listed as siblings to Auguste Wilhelmine on the death notice for Julius August Wilhelm Becker, i.e. possible great-grandaunts and -uncles. These documents listed the intended place of burial as Macleantown. Photos of gravestones in the Macleantown cemetery on the eGGSA website confirmed that there were suspected Becker relatives buried there and so (with no small amount of trepidation after our Aliwal North cemetery experience) we decided to visit the graves for ourselves.
On the Way to KWT
Heading for Macleantown
On the Road to Macleantown
The Sign to Smiling Valley
Grave-hunting
And so we drove through King and then through Bisho, eventually heading south-east-ish on the N6. It was a pleasant drive through a pleasant, largely unpopulated landscape on what had turned into a rather warm day, despite the clouds still trying to maintain some sort of a presence. We passed a turning signposted âSmiling Valleyâ, which did make me smile, sounding as though it could have come out of a childrenâs book! Shortly thereafter and rather abruptly, we came upon Macleantown and I issued the instruction, âTurn left! Turn left!â thinking that access to the cemetery must surely be from within the âtownâ itself. Almost immediately, we were faced with an intersection of dirt roads and Madame GPS bleating that Iâd made the incorrect decision and we needed to turn around. We obeyed and then turned left back onto the N6. Barely had we done so when she informed us we needed to turn left again. We slowed down. Seriously? A tall, thick hedge lined the N6 on that side. Ah, there: a gap in said hedge! We turned into it and found ourselves looking at a rusty farm gate, beyond which a couple of Nguni cows looked up from their serious business of grazing to eye us lazily. Then we saw it: just beyond them, surrounded by another fence and another gate, was the cemetery!
I opened the gate and the Pajero splashed through a large puddle of muddy water on the other side, pulling to a stop in front of the second gate separating the grazing from the graves. It was a small cemetery, but the wild grass was neatly cut and wild flowers nodded in the gentle breeze. We spilled through the second gate and almost immediately found a Becker grave. However, lichen growth had rendered it virtually illegible. It was then that I discovered another of my enterprising motherâs skills: grave-cleaning! With a bottle of water we had in the car and a roll of paper towel, it wasnât long before we were able to read it: E.M.A Becker. I didnât recognise the initials and so we continued our search.
The Entrance to Macleantown Cemetery
My Dad Looking for Relatives Laid to Rest
Wild Flowers Adorning the Graves
An Old Bench in the Shade of an Oak Tree and the Shadow of a Cross
The Grave of Christian Meyer in the Foreground, Possibly with the Grave of Friederika Alongside
We spent almost two hours there, photographing Becker- and Meyer/Meier-related graves, transcribing some of those which had become difficult to read and getting quite sunburnt, before heading back towards King Williamâs Town.
A Discovery Lunch Sandwich
Our beeline for what was by now a very late lunch was briefly swung off course as we âdiscoveredâ a quaint and quirky corrugated iron church just off the R63 begging to be photographed!
Richard Birt Congregational Church
It was around half an hour later when we pulled back into the Buffalo River 1 Stop and were seated in the Wimpy. After lunch and a much-needed, mandatory mega coffee, we set off into King again. One of the more sentimental items on my wish list for this holiday had been to attend a service in the churches that my Nelson grandparents had been baptised in, and Grandad Arthur was baptised in the Church of the Holy Trinity, King Williamâs Town. It was also the church he was confirmed in several years later. We decided to hunt it down, check out service times and assess the parking situation. It didnât take long to find: a left turn into Alexandra Road and there, a few blocks further, its neo-Gothic, bluestone form rose up ahead of us, surrounded by trees.
We circled it, noting down the details, before asking Madame GPS to take us to the intersection of Queens Road and Raglan Street and Glencoe Guest House which would be our base for the next few days. She refused though, categorically stating that she knew nothing of this Raglan Street, and an argument ensued. When it became clear that she wasnât going to budge, I switched her off and reverted to the trusty paper copy of the map Iâd printed before leaving home â take that, Maggie!
Glencoe and a gentle evening
We found Glencoe shortly thereafter and met our super-gracious hostess, Giselle, who showed us to our garden rooms and very generously agreed to serve us breakfast earlier than her standard Sunday breakfast time so that we could make it to the 08:00 service at Holy Trinity. Incidentally, the story of Giselle and her husband Bertus, as well as that of the guest house, is a beautiful one â check it out by clicking the âAbout Usâ link on their website.
Having unpacked, showered and freshened up a bit, we migrated onto the little wooden deck outside our rooms as the sun started to drop lazily toward the Amatola Mountains in the distance. We reviewed the copies of the death notices and other documents Iâd ordered from the Western Cape Archives while there in January and then looked up the location of the King Williamâs Town main cemetery and the library. We then perused our photos of the day and enjoyed some pleasant reminiscing and reflection of our finds, while nibbling on crackers and rosa tomatoes â a light snack for dinner after our exceedingly late lunch!
And, finally, another hunt yields fruit!
Later, once the parents had retired to bed, I continued paging through image after image of civil death records, looking for Grandaunt Linda. Quite suddenly, I stopped and just stared at my laptop screen, for a few moments forgetting to breath. I couldnât believe my eyes! It took a couple of
minutes of reviewing the document to register, but there it was: the civil death record for Linda Wilhelmina Nelson, aged nine, signed by my great- grandfather, George Albert Nelson. It also recorded their place of residence at the time: 76 Cambridge Road, King Williamâs Town! I did a quick calculation â it had taken the examination of 4,346 images to find this record of my young grandauntâs death and, interestingly, it likely disproves the oral tradition about the cause of her death, but thatâs a story for another time…
Deep in thought, I shut down my laptop and curled up in bed after another blessed day filled with discoveries of family past and precious times spent with family present.
The day started much the same as yesterday: coffee and rusks at 07:00, followed by a shower and a light breakfast before heading back to the Cory Library. However, this we only did at about 09:10, having deduced that it may provide us with the best chance of nabbing a parking. After two circuits of the tiny parking lot, we succeeded in claiming a spot directly opposite the entrance.
The Cory Library (don’t miss the succulents growing on the roof!)
âThe Odour of Sanctityâ
Todayâs searches were centred on burial and confirmation records. We came up empty-handed from the burial records, although some entries provided fascinating insights into individuals who had passed on. Generally, the information recorded seems to be very basic, limited to the personâs name and age along with the date and place of burial. However, a rector of St Paulâs in Aliwal North during the early 1950s seemed to make a habit of recording something of the character of the deceased. He penned some beautiful, moving and vivid tributes, such as this one for a Jessie Allardice Morton: âA good and very devout soul, who died in the odour of sanctity…â
Perhaps there is a sense in which confirmation (in those denominations which practise it) represents the personal decision of an individual to cultivate that fragrance through faith in Christ. It was, therefore, a great joy to discover confirmation entries for each of the Nelson grand siblings in the records for the parish of King Williamâs Town!
Part-time Tourists
We wrapped up our research at the Cory shortly afterwards â a good deal earlier than yesterday. However, instead of heading straight back to Henri House, we ventured on up Lucas Avenue to the 1820 Settlers National Monument and meandered around the monuments outside, some of which are beautiful pieces of art. We were intrigued, too, by the circle of astronomical stones. The entrance to them was marked by two large standing stones, each with a plaque fixed to them. Fittingly, the opening verses from Psalm 19 were engraved on the right-hand plaque, while the left-hand one described what the stones mark: in addition to the points of the compass, they also indicate sunrise and sunset at the spring and autumn equinoxes, sunset at the summer and winter solstices, the appearance of the Pleiades at dawn in June as well as the appearance of Canopus in mid-May before dawn.
“Settler Family” by Ivan Mitford
Sculpture by Bruce Arnot, dedicated to the memory of Rowland and Leta Hill
Fort Selwyn
Scottish Thistle on the Monument to the Achievement of the 1820 Settlers
English Rose on the Monument to the Achievement of the 1820 Settlers
Irish Shamrock on the Monument to the Achievement of the 1820 Settlers
Welsh Leek on the Monument to the Achievement of the 1820 Settlers
Astronomical Stones – Entrance
Astronomical Stones
For a while, we just stood looking over Grahamstown spread out below us before returning to the car and heading back down the hill to hunt for Peppergrove Mall, an optometrist, postcards and stamps.
Grahamstown Panorama
Madame GPS guided us effortlessly to Peppergrove Mall although, with our âmallâ conditioning of the vast, dazzling, multi-storey kind, we werenât complete convinced at first. But, sure enough, there was a Pick n Pay tucked away in one of the single-storey face brick shops around the square parking lot. We managed to stock up on supplies for lunches and dinners and then found an optometrist just across the road who ended up being able to fix my Dadâs glasses.
Postcards proved to be surprisingly difficult to find, but we eventually tracked down a few of questionable quality in Postnet on the High Street. The next stop was the post office to buy stamps. Now you must understand that it has been ages since I last bought stamps, so this was a rather novel experience â an indication of the changes wrought in my own life by the digital age! I was fascinated by the work on the stamps themselves: brightly-coloured taxi hand signs by Susan Woolf. Somehow, just looking at them made me tear up just a little and caused my heart swell with pride. This captivating country of ours, with all her flaws, yet loaded with unique symbolism, culture, creativity and story does that to me â often.
The Close of the Day
We returned to Henri House for lunch, and dined royally on my Dadâs legendary Bacon & Mushroom Quiche, salads, cheese and biscuits, before enjoying an afternoon nap. My mother and I then wrote postcards while my father continued reading his book. A storm put paid to our plans for an evening braai, but our lunch menu stepped ably up to the plate again. Afterwards, we reviewed the photographs of our research over the last couple of days on the television, trying to piece together a little more of this immense puzzle.
I then reached out to the Eastern Cape genealogical community on RootsWeb for any information on the Toise River burial ground, before turning my attention to civil death records again, where I spent the rest of the evening still desperately searching for a trace of Grand Aunt Linda…
Coffee and rusks at 07:00 provided enough fuel to get showered and presentable before a light breakfast of fruit and yoghurt, provided in our unit.
My father taking time out from his driving duties (appropriate reading material, given our travels)!
It was around 09:00 when we headed to the car and I coaxed Madame GPS into leading us to the Cory Library at Rhodes University, on the corner of Somerset Street and Lucas Avenue. She seemed to be having a slow start to the day, too, staying sullenly silent until the last moment, when she would suddenly become very annoyed and insist that we turn one way or the other. She led us to our destination, though: the Eden Grove building in which the library is housed on the ground floor. Unfortunately, she could do nothing to improve the parking situation, so I turned her off while we drove up and down Lucas Avenue and then sat and waited outside the library in the hope that someone would leave and we could pounce upon their parking. Our patience was rewarded at about 09:20 when a bunch of students, a good number of them barefoot, began to spill out the doors.
A Hard Dayâs Work!
We parked and, armed with camera, laptop, notebooks and HB pencils, marched into the silence of the Cory Library. I had read about the genealogical research process at the Cory on their website and knew that we each had to register for a Readerâs Ticket, which we duly did at the reception desk. The very helpful young lady on duty then introduced us to the various resources available, but I already had a list prepared of Anglican Church registers for King Williamâs Town and Burgersdorp that I desperately wanted to get my hands on. She duly produced them and we started the arduous but fascinating process of searching them for glimpses of ancestors on my fatherâs side.
My mother hard at work.
In their stained, often fragile pages and ink script, we found ourselves transported back to the late 1840s. Somewhat surprisingly, in 1899, we found an entry for a marriage of one of the suspected Becker great grand siblings (Great Grandmaâs sister). The Beckers were German, so Iâd thought that marriages, particularly of the women, would likely have taken place in the brideâs church, probably a Lutheran or Baptist one, but clearly this was not always the case. Despite being buoyed by this discovery, we could find no trace of the marriage of Great Granddad George and Great Grandma Augustina Wilhelmina Nelson, or not in the Church of the Holy Trinity, King Williamâs Town, anyway.
However, in the 1920s, we found records of marriage and banns of marriage for some of the Nelson grand siblings, though not all of them. Besides the obvious details such as names, dates and places, these help to paint a picture of the movement and dispersion of the family, and can provide tantalising new leads.
My father and I recording some of our finds. I think my father was unanimously voted “researcher of the day”, coming away with the most finds. Used with permission by Shona Nelson.
Apart from that, though, the Nelsons remained stubbornly elusive. We scoured the index cards for early newspapers in the Eastern Cape, the Manuscript Catalogue and the Picture Catalog. We found surname matches and related surnames, but none that appeared to be connected to our tree. We noted them anyway and, just before 15:00, decided that we should call it a day.
An Unexpected Visitor & Bedtime Blackout
A little before 21:00, while my mother was reading and I was still wading through Cape civil deaths, Thomas Oâ Malley invited himself in. There was no asking, no waiting for an invitation, none of that. He is, you see, the cat of Henri House. His ginger and white form lazily padded around our doorframe and into the living area without any hesitation at all. Only when he was inside did he stop to look us up and down. He attempted to continue his inspection of our unit by meandering toward the second bedroom where my father was already sleeping. We didnât think this would end well for either of them, but it took a good few minutes of intense negotiation to convince Mr Oâ Malley, who eventually turned on his heel, nose in the air, and stalked sulkily out.
Shortly thereafter, we suddenly found ourselves plunged into darkness. Through the door and windows, we could only just see the surrounding houses as vague silhouettes against the silky night sky and concluded that a general power failure must be to blame. It seemed like an opportune time to call it a night after a full, blessed day of working side by side with one another, immersed in family and history…
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
Grandad Arthur
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
Like her siblings, Grand Aunt Linda (Linda Wilhelmina Nelson) was baptised in the Church of the Holy Trinity, King Williams Town. That was 103 years ago today, on Thursday, 26 January 1911, in a ceremony performed by the assistant curate, H.G. Wright, and witnessed by a Linda Williams, an Annie De Lacey and Grand Aunt Lindaâs dad, George Albert Nelson.
Mom Nelsonâs Middle Name
Her mom is recorded as being âAugustina Wilhelminaâ, so Linda shared her motherâs middle name. âAugustina Wilhelminaâ also aligns pretty closely with family memory, as recalled at a family lunch held a number of years ago (and alluded to here).
Questions and Sadness
I do find it curious that Linda was only baptised three months after her birth, whereas her siblings were baptised at about a month old, and I wonder what the reasons for this may have been. Her story is still a mystery to me, although, by all accounts, itâs a relatively short story, with a sad ending.
According to those present at that family lunch I mentioned, Linda burnt to death as a toddler. I have yet to find confirmation of this, and obviously have no details, but the horror and anguish of it sits sickeningly, heavily in the pit of my stomach. And I wrestle with why it had to happen; why Grand Aunt Linda didnât see adulthood or children of her own.
Sobering Searches
Images of civil death records for the Cape Province between 1895 (when they became compulsory in the Cape) and 1972 are available on FamilySearch.org. However, as they have not yet been indexed, searching them is an arduous process which involves selecting the year in which you think the death may have been registered, then selecting the municipality in which you think the death may have been registered and, finally, paging through hundreds and thousands of images in an attempt to find the death you think ought to have been registered.
It is a sobering activity, too, seeing deaths due to teething, influenza, and a multitude of other conditions that today present very little danger to us. And it is glaringly obvious that death is no respecter of persons: from convicts to community leaders, babies to the elderly, none can escape it â a reminder that we better make getting right with our Maker a priority, for we do not know when we will be called to stand before Him.
In 2,432 images over three and a bit years of King Williams Town deaths, I still havenât found any sign of Lindaâs death being registered. It could, of course, have been registered in a different municipality, but since all her siblings were baptised in King Williams Town, this would seem unlikely, but not altogether unfeasible. It is also possible that in the monotonous paging through image after image, Iâve missed her death record.
Win-Win
These are some of the reasons I decided to start indexing a while ago, and now try to index at least one batch every day. Itâs not much, but it all adds up, and âgiving backâ in this way benefits me, too. I am, in fact, currently indexing the very records Iâm searching for Grand Aunt Lindaâs death, so perhaps Iâll soon be able to search by her name â hasten the day!
While a death record will never be able to answer the weightier questions, it should provide a clearer picture of what happened, when and where. From other finds, I know I may need to brace myself for the emotions this could stir up. It is peculiar that one can be so affected by the events in the lives of family members one has never met, and the amazing grace that reaches down through the generations, through pain, through joy, to speak still todayâŠ
My grand uncle, William Charley/Charly/Charles Nelson, was baptised on Monday, 18 January 1897, in the Church of the Holy Trinity, King Williams Town. Assistant deacon, W.W. Castle, performed the ceremony, which was witnessed by himself, Grand Uncle Charleyâs father (my great grandfather) â George Albert Nelson, and an Emma Gould, whoever she may be. I came upon his baptism record in the same way that I discovered Grand Aunt Maudâs, but I know even less about him than I know about her!
More on Names
Interestingly, though, it would seem that he, too, was known to the family by his second name, Charles or Charley or Charly. Also, his mother was recorded on his baptism record as âAgustinaâ â more in line with expectations as far as my great grandmotherâs name is concerned. If her name was indeed Agustina, or a variation thereof, it may explain why Grand Aunt Maudâs mother is recorded as Christina on her baptism record, since the names could have sounded similar to the person making the entry, who may then have written âChristinaâ in error, perhaps being more familiar with that name. But that is nothing more than a guess at this stage!
Again, there would appear to be a record relating to Grand Uncle Charles in the National Archives Repository in Pretoria, so perhaps that will shed a little more light on the situation. Visit scheduled for 01 Feb 2014!
Your Own Personal PI
When I was little I loved, LOVED, L.O.V.E.D building puzzles, and researching oneâs family history is much like building a puzzle. One of the challenges, though, is that you may only have a handful of pieces in your box for a puzzle that contains squillions of pieces, give or take a couple. However, if you missed out on a career as a detective and now vicariously solve mysteries through television programs such as NCIS, The District, CSI or Numbers, try your hand at genealogy â itâll elevate you to the ranks of detective overnight. A warning, though: it comes with similar occupational hazards. Coffee and doughnuts may become a staple diet. Long hours glued to a computer screen lie ahead of you. Mountains of paperwork will spontaneously start forming, not just on your desk, but on the floor and every other available surface, and they will demand your attention, because one document in those paper mountains may be one of your missing puzzle pieces. And donât underestimate the threat of attempts on your life, either. You never know when you may ask the wrong question of the wrong relative, and find yourself on the receiving end of a broom-lashing from a distant cousin several times removed!
A Tentative Lead
Anyway, I digress â back to the puzzle. So in Grand Aunt Maudâs case, I really only had one mangled puzzle piece to start with. Mangled, because at the time of receiving it, I had no idea how important the information was or the care that ought to have been taken recording it. It came to me at a family lunch a number of years ago, at which Grand Aunt Maudâs daughter, my first cousin once removed, was present. I already had a keen interest in my family history but hadnât yet started any formal research to speak of. Somehow, we got onto the subject of our family tree, at which point Mum fortunately hauled out her ever-present notepad and pen, otherwise we may have had nothing at all recorded from that day. While the information we gathered was sparse, it did help to establish some relationships, particularly of my grandfather and his siblings, and also provided a few interesting little insights into their lives. And so it was that, at the end of that gathering, I knew my paternal grandfather, Arthur Archibald Julius Nelson, had a sister named Maud Emily Nelson or Emily Maud Nelson. We werenât quite certain at the time, but the family seemed to indicate her name could have been Emily Maud, although she was known to them as Maud. Her parents (like my grandfatherâs) were George Nelson and his German wife, Augusta Wilhemina*, who was born Becker. Apart from the names of Grand Aunt Maudâs husband and children, that was just about the sum total of what I knew about her. Until I opened Granny Iâs tin of treasures, that isâŠ
Down the Rabbit Hole
One of the confirmation certificates in that tin was my grandfatherâs. While it contained no explicit information regarding the family, it did provide a clue: the church that Grandad Arthur was confirmed in â Church of Holy Trinity, King Williams Town, an Anglican church. Ah â so that may have been where the family worshipped. Also in that tin were two abridged death certificates for Grandad Arthur. Although abridged, they do include his date of birth. Mmm â a name plus a date of birth plus a church could equal a baptism certificate! But this is not the UK or the States where bazillions of records have been indexed and are now available online. This is South Africa, where recordkeeping and preservation is perhaps not always of the highest standard, and where easy access to records is certainly not of the highest priority. However, I took a flyer and Googled âChurch of Holy Trinity King Williams Town baptism recordsâ. A number of results were returned, but it was a message on a RootsWeb mailing list that provided the next hint: some Anglican church records may be held by the library at the University of Witwatersrand. Well, thatâs a whole lot closer to home than King Williams Town, if I needed to visit in person, but I first returned to trusty friend, Google, and asked it to look for âUniversity of Witwatersrand Anglican church recordsâ. What I saw next justified a fist pump:
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Anglican Church Registers ONLINE? REALLY? Barely able to contain my excitement, I clicked the search result. Sure enough, the Historical Papers research archive page reported the following:
âThe Family History Library of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has made the registers of the Anglican Church in Southern Africa available online and free of charge. The South African registers cover the years 1850-2004 and include baptism, marriage and burial records.â1 Clicking on the link provided took me to FamilySearchâs âSouth Africa, Church of the Province of South Africa, Parish Registers, 1801-2004â2 landing page. Clicking on the country and province took me to a listing of parishes. Holding my breath, I searched for âHoly Trinityâ â 18 matches. I started clicking through them. BINGO! Holy Trinity, King Williams Town in the diocese of Grahamstown. I clicked on it and was presented with a catalogue of record types and years. I checked the year of Grandad Arthurâs birth and selected the relevant baptism register. Now, what you need to understand is that while these registers are available online (which I am truly very grateful for), they have not been indexed, so searching involves paging through images of the register, checking every entry. Of course, one ought to start by applying a sort of triaging, based on the date of birth, if known, which is what I did. Eventually, there it was: Grandad Arthurâs baptism entry â WOW! I cannot even begin to describe my elation! But this is about Grand Aunt Maud, right? What does this have to do with her?
Following the White RabbitâŠ
Well, if a child was baptised in Holy Trinity, King Williams Town, chances are that their siblings may have been, too. But now I donât have a date of birth. All I have is a name, and, possibly the church. So I stick with what I know, and apply strict research principles, searching the register in which I found Grandad Arthurâs baptism record from start to finish, all 200+ images, with 10 entries on each page. But, eventually, when I get to the 117th image, it pays off⊠I think.
Is It, or Isnât It?
I find a record for Emily Maude Nelson, born on 17 January 1895, with parents George Albert and Christina Nelson. Christina? That doesnât seem right⊠Mmm⊠Well, all appears to tie up with the little I know, except for her motherâs name, which complicates matters somewhat, but then it could just be a mistake. I donât know. Clearly, I need other evidence which will either corroborate the entry in the baptism register, or the familyâs memory. Sigh. I have yet to unearth this evidence, but am happy to report that I have discovered a couple of records that may shed some light on the matter in the National Archives Repository in Pretoria. However, viewing these records requires a visit to the Archives in person. Until then, much of Grand Aunt Maudâs birth remains a mysteryâŠ
*Spelling based on the memories of those present that day.
Pandoraâs Box
The tin stayed closed for years. It came to me at a time when I seemed unable to carve any semblance of balance out of my work, or prioritise anything other than work. Some life-altering decisions saw that change, but I then found myself studying for a BCom and juggling a full time job, among other commitments. I knew that if I opened that tin I would be unleashing an obsessive distraction which would spell disaster for my studies. And so it stayed closed. It stayed closed until, like the Pandora of Greek mythology, I could bear it no longer. One semester, after Iâd written exams and before I received my study material for the next semester, I opened the tin.
Paper Diamond
Itâs a tin from the old Humphries Sunrise Toffee factory which used to be situated on Sunrise Circle, Cape Town. Itâs not particularly big, approximately 22cm long by 14cm wide by 11cm high. Yet, I found myself instantly immersed in another world, my grandmotherâs world. I gingerly lifted out a tattered-looking envelope. It had already split in two, the front separated from the back. Between the two pieces of envelope was a letter. From my grandfather to my grandmother. Written while he was in the army, less than a year after they were married. Starting with the words, âMy Darling Sweetheartâ. At that moment, the beauty of those words was enough. Somehow, it was enough right then for me to know that my grandfather loved my grandmother, and hold in my hands what both of them had held in theirs. I gently folded the letter back between the pieces of its envelope and placed it back in the tin, closing the lid before my tears smudged the writing penned in my grandfatherâs hand⊠on 1 January 1945.
A Rough Inventory of Treasures
I dipped into the tin occasionally after that, but it was only in June last year, after Iâd written my final BCom exam, that I allowed myself the luxury of losing myself in its contents: a marriage certificate, a baptism certificate, two certificates from the Red Cross, two abridged death certificates, about thirteen little newspaper clippings, two confirmation certificates, a MOTH certificate, four certificates of enumeration from a 1951 census, a few other personal letters in addition to the one Iâd originally discovered plus some postcards, an invitation to my uncle and auntâs wedding, a telegram, my grandfatherâs volunteer ID book from the army and a couple of documents related to his estate, a letter regarding a property transfer, four poems, my grandmotherâs will and a few related documents, a business card for an A. J. Western (who happened to be my parentsâ marriage officer), a handful of miscellaneous businessy documents including a collection of television licence receipts, a little key whose home will likely never be found now and last but not least, a mini bookmark made by me for my grandmother. Which she kept in her tin of treasures đ Isnât that awesome?
Of course, we now know that tins are frightfully bad for preserving keepsakes, which isnât quite as awesome, so I have mountains of archiving ahead of me to (a) digitally preserve these treasures and (b) ensure that they are moved into preservation-friendly storage. But what a privilege it is to be a custodian of that which was precious to my gran, and, in so doing, to celebrate her life and the grace that flowed through itâŠ
Celebrating grace, life, faith, hope, love and all the little things in between…
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