No, this is not a review of genealogical societies and what they offer, but a short list of their existence — as of the 19th of March 2014.
I hope you find it useful
Every fortnight, they gather for sixty minutes of rapid-fire conversation about #genealogy: it’s #genchat — the original Power Hour!
It’s a strange atmosphere (to say the least) that is informative and entertaining fun … and, yes, it’s addictive too.
Join in, all are welcome. You’ll leave with a new group of friends! </;)
Some of you may recall Emily, my paternal grandmother, as I have mentioned her many times during the Family History Writing Challenge 2013. She was a widowed mother raising seven children (six boys and a daughter) during and after World War II.
I’ll bet, most of you know her better by her nickname: “Gramma Rabbit!”
Long before Gram married Papa John, she lived with her large family in a mid-northern Ontario community called Penetanguishene.
Now, when I say “large family,” I mean just that! Many people that live in this community have a connection with The MOREAUs!
Emily’s paternal grandfather was named William MOREAU. He was the 5th son of Joseph MOREAU and the former Rosalie ST. CYR, and the 13th out of 17 children!
(Does it make sense to you now why I refer to my ancestors as rabbits?).
William was born 04 FEB 1838 in Tiny Township, Canada East. Canada East was one of the two names Ontario was called before it became Ontario.
Before his 30th birthday, William took a wife. On the 11th of January 1858, in Penetanguishene, William married the former Marie-Appoline MOREAU (born 13 FEB 1838 in Batiscan, Champlain, Quebec.), the 5th daughter of Alexis MOREAU and the former Marguerite HAMELIN. Marie-Appoline was the 9th of 13th children
William and Marie-Appoline were second cousins. Yes, their grandfathers were brothers!
They had ten children within the first 20 years of their 37-year marriage — the youngest child was named Constant (pronounced “Conston”). He would grow up to be my great-grandfather.
As outlined above, they were married for only 37years.
Marie-Appoline died on the 24th of April 1895; and it would be another 22years later before they would be reunited again, when William died on the 16th of January 1917.
They were both buried in the St. Anne Roman Catholic Cemetery in Penetanguishene.
I had participated in a GenChat nearly a fortnight ago [Next MAR14 9pm Central], when the Pirate Queen handed out an assignment. [Yes, I know, she is becoming very glib with such things of late, this year, isn't she?].
Be as it may, this particular assignment seemed easy enough to finish. I had already done something similar years before.
Yes, MANY years, as in 25 years B.C. — No. Before Children!
I presented my original case before Her Majesty’s Court and was informed that it was not acceptable! I would need to do something more … recent.
So, here we are:
Allow me to explain:
MiLady and I had had an enjoyable quiet that lasted almost the entire month of February. Nostalgia had taken off to view the countryside vistas from the Rocky Mountains of Central Alberta, down into the United States, while on her mission to invade RootsTech and win everyone’s favour!
When she returned, she was ill — self-induced of course from consuming all the rum that she had “borrowed” from Treeverne, which in turn made her unavailable to socialize at the biggest genealogical event in history!
Furthermore, this condition caused her to miss her Command appearance with the Pirate Queen & Her Court, as well as the many other GenChatters that were looking forward to seeing my childhood nemesis!
So, being the understanding rabbit that I am, I waited a few days before I went to speak with her.
She was absolutely miserable! [Add to this that her "hero" was not there either! We discussed Tom McEntee's absence before].
I politely asked how her travelling went.
Her answers were mild. Three words or less and completely out of character, even for her!
I inquired if she took any pictures along the way. “Are the mountains as majestic as the Americans sing them to be?”
Gia looked at me oddly. I took that to mean a No.
“Don’t look at me in that tone of voice, Dearie,” I then scolded. “You KNEW he wouldn’t be there, months ago!”
She rolled her eyes and stared at the wall. It was evident that she was not herself, so I left her to her moodiness and retired to my computer to do some genealogy.
It would be one more day before I would realize that my quiet bliss would be no more.
I had spent much of “My Last Day of Bliss” investigating contact information for NARA in St. Louis. I was hoping to re-establish the contact I had had when I investigated the Civil War records of one of my paternal relatives. I found an e-mail address and copied it into a draft blank.
The next day I chose to write my draft in my Word app rather than the email program.
Now, for those that know me well, my writing has an Old Country charm to it. I write in ramblings, read it over, add a bit here and there, move that bit up a little, the next bit down a touch and fix it up; but for those not accustomed to my words … let’s just hope that your reactions would be more curious than condeming.
I was about midway through writing my letter when Nostalgia invaded my space.
“What are you doing, Dearie?” she inquired, clamping one of her clawed hands on my bad shoulder while craning her head over the other, to lightly butt her head aside of mine.
“Genealogy,” I replied.
“Oh,” she stiffened. “Doesn’t that get boring, all those dead people? You certainly cannot converse with any of them, can you?”
“Plenty of time for that,” I answered, “when I’m dead.”
“Well, aren’t you –” she began to retort as her eyes focused on my writing. “Whose Nara?”
“Nara?” I asked. Nostalgia looked over her half-glasses and pointed at the screen.
“Oh, Nara!” I smirked. [Time for a little fun.]. “She’s an old friend.”
“Define OLD,” Nostalgia asked as her hands clenched and rested authouritively on her hips.
“Before I got married.” I chuckled to myself. Anytime now.
“When?!?” came the all to familiar roar of The Banshee of Olde.
“I don’t remember exactly, Nostalgia.” I began.
“Don’t or WON’T?” she prodded.
“We met St. Louis, when still in our 20s. You can retract your claws, it was long before I got married — the first time.”
That started it, I think. I was not certain:
Why are you still writing to her? How long has this been going on?
Does she know you’re married?
Does MiLady know about HER? I’ll bet she doesn’t!
Yes, as endless as her questions were, it was very comforting that the old girl was back to her annoying self. I have been accustomed to her in this manner. I would not know how else to handle her otherwise.
And, yes, she certainly does make life more interesting, but my terse answers only made the immediate situation worse:
“That is not your business, Gia. More than long enough. Yes, she does. Yes, she does too; and, what was the wager?”
“I don’t believe you!” she hissed as she stormed out of the room and stampeded down the stairs, screaming:
With a deep sigh of relief, and a gulp of my, now cold, steeped tea, I got up from my chair and walked to the top of the staircase. I couldn’t make out too much of what was said but Nostalgia’s ranting drowned out everything else.
” — divorce him, Dearie, he’s a cad!”
I then watched as the Olde Crone dragged my poor girl to the looming staircase.
“Gia, I’m supposed to be working! Are you trying to get me fired?” MiLady told her, as she looked up to see me. “Dear’st, what is going on?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, Love. I’m just a cad.”
“There!” she cackled, sidestepping to usher MiLady up the three-step curve. “An Admission of Guilt! I know an excellent barrister in Washington State — she’s the President of our Tiara Club, she’ll do it pro bono!”
My wife grabbed the rail with one hand and reached out for the opposite wall with the other.
“Gia,” she said in that low, sexy voice of an annoyed woman who has had enough, “What. Is. It?”
“He’s writing a love letter!” Gia prattled. “A love letter!”
My wife looked up at me, shook her head and turned around to climb down the stairs.
“Don’t you want to see it?!?” she screeched.
“He’ll give it to me when he’s done,” my soulmate replied. “He always does.”
“He’s not writing it to YOU,” Gia hissed with an evil grin growing across her face.
MiLady stopped and looked back up the staircase. Our eyes locked.
“I’m writing to Nara, again,” I replied to her gaze, “to help locate the diaries of the Glory Regiment from the U.S. Civil War.”
My girl smiled and blew me a kiss. “Okay,” she said, “I’ve got to get back to work now!”
Left alone at the bottom of the stairs, Nostalgia was flabbergasted. She looked up at me in disgust, and down the hall at MiLady’s shrinking form in disbelief.
“How?” she asked.
My other (mis)adventures with Nostalgia:
MARY BERTHA (MAW) JACOBS, was born 25JAN1881 to JOHN MAW (05MAY1831-31JUL1896) and the former ALICE ATKINSON (30NOV1845-14MAY1927) in Castlemore, Peel County, ON.
She was my cousin 3times removed.
In 1901, Mary’s parents moved the family in from Minesing, Simcoe Co, Ontario to homestead in Antler, Saskatchewan; but four years later, she was back in Ontario to marry! On 01MAR1905 in Simcoe, Simcoe Co, ON she wed CARL HAMILTON JACOBS (23FEB1878-20DEC1955), a son of SAMUEL JACOBS (1842/6-C1925) and ELIZA ANNE STANDEN (1853-C1937).
She died 20DEC1955 in Victoria, British Columbia at Royal Jubilee Hospital.
Was buried 22DEC1955 in Saanich, BC at Royal Oak Burial Park (Section H).
While researching the 1921 Canadian Census (on Ancestry.com) to update information on a relative for my weekly post for 52Ancestors, I stumbled upon a transcription for a slightly familiar family. I say, “slightly familiar” because the surname was all wrong.
The man of the house, was named David. He had the right heritage (Irish), age group (born 1860s), birthplace (Ireland) and marital status — he was a widower.
No, not a “widow;” that is a woman who has worn out her husband!
A widower is a man who has managed to outlive his wife. (Yes, it’s very rare.).
Returning to this glimpse of the Census, David was raising his 15year-old son, St. Clair — this very unique name is what caught my eye and had me wondering …
David’s father was also living with them; his name was John James and he was 72years old.
But it was the next name, a female’s name, that had me scrambling up the stairs for my notes:
“It has to be them! It has to be them,” I kept screaming to myself as I opened my document file … and it was!
In the (flawed) transcription of the 1921 Census, supplied by Ancestry(dot)com, Burnetta was listed as a daughter of David’s. Unfortunately, I cannot re-create it here; so, I include the 1921 Census page in question
Burnetta’s proper name was Anna Burnetta Louise TREADGOLD. She was born between 1883-1874, and was the third eldest child of George TREADGOLD and the former Elizabeth ATKINSON. She never married, and after her sister’s wedding, she stayed on at the KIERNAN house as a “domestic.”
DO-MES-TIC, not daughter!
NOTE: It was a customary jibe, when announcing weddings and/or engagements of “matured” men to younger brides; particularly when the groom was old enough to be the bride’s father, the word “Junior” or “Jr.” was placed before the bride’s name.
Thirteen months later: 09APR1906 in Creemore, Simcoe County, Nina gives David a son, St. Clair!
But, sadness would ruin their brief Happiness, Nina died from complications 30APR1906. (But, strangely the newspaper obituary lists her death a year later.).
The Canadian Census from 1911, lists the proper surname for the three men, but Bernettta is missing the “T” from the beginning of hers.
By 29JAN1922, David died from Bronchial Pneumonia.
Anyway, I’m happy, I found them, but I’m disappointed, because the transcripts on Ancestry:
I’m hoping someone influential will notice this post (with it’s researched argument) and figure out how to fix the flawed itranscription the website is offering.
HERBERT ALBAN STANLEY TREADGOLD, was born 08JAN1876 to GEORGE TREADGOLD (05MAY1831-31JUL1896) and the former ELIZABETH BETHIA ATKINSON (30NOV1845-14MAY1927) in Bolton, King Township, York County, ON. He studied medical sciences at Trinity College (Toronto) and graduated in 1904.
In 1911, he moved his family to Leduc, Alberta, where he registered and opened a Main Street office, becoming a coroner for the province.
He and Mary (allegedly) had three children; I was able to confirm two daughters, Irene (1907-1921) and Jean (1910-1985).
Herbert died 17th August 1944. When he was buried (in Edmonton) four days later, Mary arranged for their daughter, Irene to be re-interred with Herbert.
Family history and Genealogy have been walking hand-in-hand through Time for far too many years. Playfully, they tease many researchers by revealing vibrant testaments of heroism, sacrifice and devotion – provided you know where to look! And once in a while (maybe twice), if you are very lucky, they will drop a land-mine in your lap!
A land-mine of overwhelming information! Some of it, you already possess in your research database, but the vast majority of it is new to you. Excited, you devour all you can only to realize: everything you thought you knew about one particular ancestor is flawed.
Now, as a genealogist, one questions everything that comes into your scope of research. With proper citations, evidence and follow-up, answers are recorded and then used as a springboard to catapult your work further back in Time.
As a history buff, this same information gives a sense of pride that your family was there in the thick of it! They were active participants (whether voluntary or not). They may have been subjected to loss of property or the unfortunate statistics of collateral damage.
This bundle of new information is heavily cited. It is going to take a little money and a lot of time to vet; but that doesn’t bother you.
It’s the subject matter.
It questions all that you know about that brief moment in time. It paints a far darker event: your ancestor’s involvement was NOT in the military role that you originally believed him to be!
You pour another cup of strong coffee, sit down in front of your computer, read through the documents again, and rattle your brain wondering:
“SHE did it?” you say aloud to your computer, which hums quietly and attentively at you, encouraging your next three questions.
“Did he take the fall/blame for HER?”
“HOW did she get away with it?”
You move to the floor and fan out every page, barricading yourself in the corner of the room.
Coloured sticky notes with “How?” “Fall” and “Why?” are slapped on the pages in question; but it still is too much to grasp.
Tip-toeing over the documents, you rummage through your cabinets and bankers boxes. His time-line is somewhere in one of them! Unfortunately, with the growing magnitude of unanswered questions swirling around, you cannot recall exactly where that precious time-line is.
After half an hour, you have a teetering pile of file folders from the emptied cabinet drawer blocking the door into the room, and the time-line in your hands!
Spreading it out, you fetch a different coloured pad of sticky notes, and begin re-organizing the questionable papers chronologically.
After what seems a few minutes, there’s a knock on the door, and a familiar voice asks if you’re coming to bed.
“It’s after eleven,” your loved one tells you, slowly prying the door open only to be stopped by the, now, toppling heap of sprawling folders.
You hear a heavy sigh of exasperation from behind the door.
“I’m in the middle of something,” you apologetically answer as they peer in to see you sitting in the center of the room surrounded by scraps of paper. “I won’t be long, I promise.”
Your spouse nods half-heartedly and rolls their eyes. Before closing the door, they say that they love you and bid you good night as you return to your some-what organized little mess.
The beginnings of a headache starts behind your eyes. You remove your glasses with one hand and rub your strained eyes with the other; then after properly returning your eyeglasses to your head, you look up at the clock on the wall.
This week’s ancestor is a puzzle. (Yeah, I have a couple of real mind-benders, but I’ll give you this not-so-hard one, first.).
Oh, and both puzzles are a couple of brothers!
Thomas was the first of eight children of James FARDING (1850-1918) and the former Mary Jane ATKINSON (1848-1918). Thomas was also their eldest son, and my cousin three times removed.
I can tell you he was born February 23rd in Markdale, Glenelg Township, Grey County, Ontario, but his birthyear is still being deliberated by the juries. Some strongly argue Thomas was born in 1874, while others retort it was 1875 in Euphrasia Township!
I regret this branch of the family is very unfamiliar to me, as I have been unable to locate other researchers tracing the line. Due to this, there is very little more I can give.
When he was of age, Thomas went West to find work.
In 1898, he settled in Carlyle, Saskatchewan; as found in the Saskatchewan Residents Index of the Saskatchewan Genealogical Society, and page 15 of “Prairie Trails to Blacktop,” a book in their library.
In the 1901 Canadian Census, J. Thomas FARDING (age 27y: 23FEB1873) was found in Dalesboro, Assinaboia (east), THE TERRITORIES. [This area later became known as the Northwest Territories and Saskatchewan.].
By 1911, an unmarried Thomas James FARDING (FEB1874) was residing in Battleford, Saskatchewan.
In 2007, my wife and I went to Innisfail Cemetery to look for Thomas; I even recruited the assistance of some volunteers from the Tourism booth next door, who found a groundskeeper to help, but no stone for Thomas was found.
Two years later, I searched the Cemetery Database of the Alberta Genealogical Society.
Again, no Thomas. No burial is listed for him.
All that possibly remains is the chance, he was returned to either Saskatchewan or Ontario for burial.
I’ll keep ya posted </;)
In 1943, he married the former FERN L. ATKINSON [C2R] (1914-1998), only daughter of Dr. ALBERT EDWIN ATKINSON, DDS (18876-1952) and the former HARRIETT LILLIAN LINDEMANN (1882-1969).
Most curious about his involvement with the Freemasons. As a 32nd degree mason, I believe he would have been associated with The Scottish Rite, but this is all hypothesis and unresearched as of yet.