Actually, there are different types of red heads, mine is the type that my forearms have lots of freckles. Some red heads have no freckles on their arms at all. My last name is 9 letters long. Found some stupid seal, it is suppose to mean of nobel something or other. LOL
Done a bit of research on my family, they weren't very adventurous it seems. I've traced my surname right back to the early 1800's and they were all from Suffolk. I did uncover an interesting story while tracing a different line on my father's side of the family though. In the village where I grew up, there is the gravestone of one William Lewis who died in 1846, aged 12. The inscription on the gravestone says that he died 'as the result of an accident'. My father had often told me the story of this accident, passed down to him through the generations from his grandmother (whose maiden name was Lewis). Apparently the young lad was riding a horse, which bolted and threw him, fatally injuring him. Several years later, while researching the Lewis branch of the family, I uncovered this report of the accident in a local newspaper from the time. On Tuesday morning at Gt Bealings, a boy named William Lewis, aged 12 years, met his death in a extraordinary manner. Lewis was employed by Mr Brundley and his duty was to fetch up the cows night and morning, on Monday afternoon, when driving the cows home he tied the tail of one round his body, it is supposed the cow became frightened and was seen running past some houses, dragging the poor boy behind it on hard ground and kicking violemtly at intervals, after dragging him a 100 yards and through the river he became disentangled and when picked up he groaned a little but expired on the way to his master's house, his skull being fractured in a shocking manner. Lewis was a harmless lad and much respected by his master. So it appears the story my father had been told as a young lad was a somewhat edited version of what really happened!
That is so sad, Trunky Another example of how stories get altered down the ages; my mother told us that her Great Grandfather owned a farm. When I checked the census, he lived in a mining village and owned .... a cow; just the one!
As well as family stories not being correct, the official records are not always correct. The date and place of birth of one of my parents is definitely incorrect - but I can't give details . All I can say is that we have a photo of my parent that was taken (over 100 years ago) in a time and place that can't fit with the records - and my parent remembered being there!
I remember my grandad on my mam's side, and my mam, having a disagreement once when my mam was helping him fill in some form or other. The argument was over my grandad's date of birth. My mam even showed him the date on the copy of his birth certificate, but my grandad was adamant that it was wrong by a year, and he could justify it in numerous ways ranging from his military records, his wedding certificate, and various other bits and pieces. Certainly someone was wrong.
That reminds me of the 'Norman Conquest' books I used to read when I was younger (written by Edwy Searles Brook under the name of Berkeley Grey). http://www.internationalhero.co.uk/n/normconq.htm
So Shiney you are a bit like ROYALTY with a birthday and an official birthday Oh sorry YOU ARE ROYALTY Jack McH
