Family Matters Researching a family tree
My Weekly writer Claire Saul talks about her passion for tracing her ancestors – and the joy that comes from discovering living connections too
Childhood Sunday afternoons were often spent on family outings to various stately homes or historic towns, leaving me with a passion for history that still endures today.
Along with the arrival of my own children 17 years ago came the urge to start tracing my historical roots. Dad was elderly and his memory was becoming rather hit and miss. I was determined to research our shared ancestors and eager to share any discoveries with him.
I knew that his McKinney paternal line hailed from various northern counties of Ireland, while his maternal Edmonds line was from Kent. My research journey started with a basic, hand-drawn family tree – always a good start, enabling you to see a visual representation of who’s who, how people are related and where the gaps are.
Now in 2019, I have multiple files stuffed to the brim with copies of official records, photographs and various pieces of information.
Over the years I have spent hundreds of hours researching via online genealogy websites and forums and in archives, from reference books and by exploring family hotspots on foot, too.
Having found ancestral records stretching back as far as the 1560s and acquired a photo of my four times great grandfather – born in 1768 – the results have far exceeded my original expectations. What an adventure it has been. What an education and what a humbling insight into the lives of those with whom I share my DNA. And I’m far from finished yet.
My ancestors were all good, honest folk (although I’m still quietly hoping to discover some scandal to pep things up a bit). They variously taught, preached passionately from pulpits, served their country or supported the war effort, distinguished themselves intellectually, published books and laboured in fields, forges and docks.
How much compassion I feel for my female line who often bore child after child and, all too frequently, also had to bury them. I’ve never more appreciated what we take for granted today; comfortable homes, career options, the NHS, pain relief.
Education, too – how humbling it has been to find ancestors signing records with an X, unable even to spell their own name.
Along the way I have made contact with distant relatives from both within the UK and around the world, meeting up with many of them.
It’s a miracle my Maori cousins and I are in contact at all. A few years ago, I took a chance and answered a post in an online genealogy forum that had been languishing unanswered for seven years. The original poster and I have been in contact ever since, sharing our research findings and trying to break down family brick walls. Among the many lessons this process has taught me is that you leave no stone unturned.
Every single opportunity to glean information, however small or seemingly unlikely, is worth taking.
The result may only be one small piece in that huge family history puzzle, but it might prove to be a vital one in unlocking the big picture. Results can be few and far between, but that only serves
“I was able to share with Dad pictures of his relatives all over the world”
to make their discovery all the sweeter.
Very dear to me now is my cousin Sue. We often ponder on how our great-grandfathers – brothers and both clergymen – must be beaming down on our friendship with delight.
I have met up with a distant cousin in Northern Ireland too, and together we are trying to dig deeper into our shared ancestry with another cousin in New Zealand.
I recently contributed information for a Museum Of Liverpool exhibition about the street on which my great grandfather James’ church once stood. My invite to attend the opening night provided the perfect excuse
ffor a llong-overdued tripi to the h city to visit the McKinney family hotspots there and, most importantly, to pay my respects at my greatgrandparents’ grave, almost one hundred years to the day that James died.
I was able to share with Dad pictures of his relatives all over the world, to shed light on the souls with whom we shared our DNA and to discuss their families, career paths,h the impactp of world events and so much more.
That family tree map quickly extended to eight sheets of paper, taped together, bearing the details of multiple generations.
As I’d mapped it out, I’d realised that in naming my own sons, I had unknowingly repeated the exact family Christian names that had been passed down in every McKinney generation since the early 1800s. The only one missing was a John – but I’d actually managed to marry one of those!
We lost my darling father three years ago. My sons will be the ones to benefit from my passion project and hopefully my research will be appreciated and pored over for generations to come.
But in the meantime, I’m still doing it for you, Dad.