I've always loved history because I'm naturally nosey and find it fascinating exploring the way people lived in the past and discovering the individuals who make up the bigger historical picture. There's something reassuring about our ability to empathise with those who lived hundreds, even thousands of years ago, a confirmation of that which makes us human and therefore connected to each other despite distance or time. There have been a few ancestors in particular who I've felt a strong affinity with and having read an interesting post on MyHertiage http://http://blog.myheritage.com/2012/09/family-genetic-memories/ I'm now wondering if the notion of genetic memory could explain such a sense of connection. Genetic memory refers to the idea that certain experiences are passed down through generations, embedded in our DNA and becoming central to who we are and how we identify with and understand the world. A deep connection with an ancestor might suggest such memory, and having recently discovered a sad story within my family's past I wonder if the reason I felt so compelled to research the story further could be due to some kind of inherited 'ancestral sorrow'.
I mentioned in a previous post that I had stumbled upon a Sydney Titford quite by chance, my third great grand uncle, who passed away at only 29 in December 1872. He left behind a young wife and their three year old daughter. Sydney was registered in the 1871 census as a 'bankrupt registry clerk' and the three of them lived at Canonbury Park North in Islington, London. From what I can gather Sydney was quite successful as they lived in what would have been a middle class property and had a servant living with them. Sydney married Caroline Spiller before 1871 and as they had a two year old daughter, Gertrude, at the time of the census they had probably not been married longer than three or four years. Sydney died at Christmas-time; I wonder what that winter must have been like for Caroline and Gertrude. How strange for me to be looking at history backwards, hindsight hovering and wishing in a bizarre and stupid sense that I could do something to re-write it all; looking back with a strange feeling of recognition and familiarity with the three of them. Is this a mixture of genetic memory and ancestral sorrow?
I wanted to find out more about the circumstances surrounding Sydney's death. I ordered a copy of his death certificate from the General Register Office, and discovered the cause of death stated as 'pneumonia, 2 months. Pluesitis,11 days'. Sydney died young and he died quickly, from what I can gather. Perhaps he had an infection or illness that led to pneumonia, or perhaps he really did fall ill and rapidly worsen over the course of a few months. Apparently respiratory problems were common in the Victorian era due to the heavy and frequent bouts of 'pea soup fog' plaguing the cities and effectively poisoning people with a lethal combination of soot particles and sulphur dioxide. The sense of sadness I felt reading the certificate was an odd sadness, hard to describe properly. It felt right to have some kind of 'closure', even though I didn't know Sydney. Perhaps I feel such a connection to his family's story because he was the uncle of my great great grandfather, who might even have been named after him; and he left behind a wife and young daughter. His death was witnessed by Caroline's father, who lived on the same road as them. What must those days have been like? What became of Caroline and Gertrude?
Thanks to some further research on http://http://www.ancestry.co.uk/ I was able to locate Caroline at her parents' house after her husband's death, with Gertrude. Caroline remained there for the rest of her life, never remarrying or having any more children. I'm not sure if that was common for the time; as a fairly young woman I thought she might remarry but apparently not. Whether that was out of devotion for Sydney or because she didn't meet anyone else, I suppose I'll never know. Caroline lived off Sydney's pension, meaning she doesn't appear to have suffered financially. She passed away in 1917 aged 75. I haven't had much luck tracing Gertrude, but that's my next mini project.
There's an odd incongruity that occurs between seeing family tree research as a hobby or a fun history project and discovering sad and upsetting details. The connection you feel to people due to having a family connection makes their struggles seem so real, recent even. Whether this is due to genetic memory, a kind of inherited ancestral sorrow, or simply due to human compassion and our ability to empathise with those who came before us, I'm not sure. Perhaps it doesn't really matter; as long as we're connecting in some way and remembering that we're all part of the same story in the end.
More information about pea soup fog can be found here http://http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pea_soup_fog