AND FINALLY

I’ll always bellow Rule, Britannia!

HAVE you ever dabbled in ancestry websites? You pay, spit into a test-tube they send, and wait for the results.

I once did three, for a feature that didn’t materialise. The results varied a little, which made me suspicious. And since I already knew that (from just two generations back) I have Irish, Welsh, Scottish and English genes I knew I’d continue to bellow Rule, Britannia! with gusto!

But emails arrive saying, ‘Good news! We’ve discovered new DNA matches for you!’

There follows details about people I have no interest in at all. The last one told me a certain bloke is alleged to ‘possess 0.4 per cent shared DNA, suggesting the following estimated relationships: 3rd to 5th cousin’. He ‘appears in a family tree with 2,658 people, managed by (name withheld) from UK’.

What? What have all those people to do with me? Or the ones in America?

Ireland, of course, is full of Mooneys, some of them must be relatives and I’m sure it would be fascinating (time and energy allowing) to follow up direct connections (great-grandfather William Mooney worked as a carter born in Dublin).

But do I have time for the stream of ‘3rd to 5th’ cousins the site chucks at me? Of course not. Nor am I interested in whether I have a tiny drop of pure Neanderthal running in my veins.

True relationships start at home and spread outwards, including important friends with whom you share nothing but love. Family and friends, then community, then town and area, then country (England) then nation (Great Britain)... those are the powerful ripples within my heart, spreading outwards, but not too far.

That’s why most people feel sad and appalled when there’s a plane crash, but it’s hardly shocking if you especially want to know if fellow Brits were involved. Humans need to feel they belong somewhere. The world is too large and daunting for little me.