Monday 18 January 2021

Impressions: A summer's day at Kilmartin...

 (The follow-up, when I went into the chambered cairn at Nether Largie South.)

A summer's day -

 the air warm, late afternoon with the sun in the west,

looking into the tomb.


and down.

Then seated: cool, cold on the stones striking into my bones, a relief from the heat of the late afternoon, then becoming colder, and then I no longer was aware of the cold of the stone. I chanted a song that had come to me some months before, which seemed to fit. Over and over, then silence, and waiting.

Eyes closed, I waited, then with open eyes studied the walls, the stacked stones, the large stone slabs of the base, the capstones. Some present-day constructions of meaning were evident in the scratched graffiti, some older than others, though.

In the stillness I waited, and my song still echoed. Still, and silence, and my eyes were closed again, my heart rate increased, a waiting of anticipation.

Thoughts, impressions, voices.

Hazy, with a memory of dissolution, of burnt bone, of merging into the others, into the walls, into the floor.

The community was here, and I was of them, looking out over the valley and awaiting something -- what? Fragments of my poem from the mound surfaced, though these people were far older than their descendants of whom I'd spoken then.

But I did not know, then, where I had waited for words to come, waited for rebirth, waited for those who would uncover walls and floor, let the light into this place that with my eyes shut or even open had become so dark, despite the sunlight that streamed behind me, to warm my back and counter the effect of that so-cold stone: a warmth that I no longer needed, absorbed into this community, part of these presences that permeated walls, roof and floor.

I understood that there were sounds in the silence, voices, whispers, and I was part of the sound...

.. I felt my body trembling as my awareness shifted again, pulling free of the clustering ghosts. No longer one of many but now seeing, or sensing, one who waited, born of earth and sunlight... and I heard my voice singing the song that sends the seeress on her journey, as I made my petition and waited, and spoke again without spoken words, hearing the words in reply, attempting to tug the strands of wyrd, with no thought for what, perhaps, I 'should' have asked.

And listening, as I was given to understand that my words/thoughts/images were now part of the pattern, part of the understanding that emanated from this place...

...and I was now a separate being, and asked again, this time of my own projects and where they should go...

... until suddenly the guardian was before me, and a sound pulled me back, back, the knocking of one pebble against another as I surfaced, dazed, opened eyes, felt the cold of the stone, the heat of the sun, heard the wind moving outside and realized the stillness in the tomb, and saw ... the denim-clad legs of a person who descended into the tomb, and stopped as he saw my backpack and camera bag placed just inside the entrance for precisely this eventuality, as a marker that someone was within.

I stood up, not wanting to have the silence of the stone seat breached, and said 'hello'. He looked in, seemed a little embarrassed, commented that it was interesting, and left... I paced slowly up, and back, and started to hum, letting the sound echo and resonate, then resumed my seat, asking the guardian to take me back, felt my awareness whirling and was again there,

with one who smiled,

for this there were no words, but knowledge yet

of what I must do;


and ecstasy,

one-ness and completion

infinite, unbounded, yet


in time and place

distilled, this moment,


...until some time later, I saw again the many faces, changing more swiftly now, and the guardian, and then felt the warming sunlight on my back, in time to be aware once again of sound, a quiet chinking of stones.

The three backpackers sitting patiently outside, when I went to the opening and spoke, said 'take your time, we can wait'. But I had done what I had come to do, and so left, with a glance of thanks around the walls, and climbed out, with a smile, not looking back as I made my way down the stones of the cairn, and along the little path and so out, reverting again to a recorder, photographer, as I passed the other cairns of the linear cemetery; later in their building, interesting, but not, today, for me.

© copyright J Blain 1999
all rights reserved

On being a visitor in the countryside

Today I was reminded of a couple of articles I'd posted long, long ago on a long-defunct website; and having found that I'd (also long ago) rescued them to my computer, though I'd re-post them here. These were written in 1999... At that time I was living in Canada, but took an extended 'holiday' back home. So, there are two stories, very different from each other, both from my 'pilgrimage' to the Kilmartin valley in Argyll.

First, the 'Dog Story'!

This is what the title 'On being a visitor in the countryside' belongs to.

I had an interesting trip to the UK this month (July 1999). However, this item is about the most ridiculous occurrence that I met. It intersected with my life in strange ways, being a factor impelling me into one of the most intense and powerful experiences I've had. But that's another story. Here is the ridiculous part, occasioned apparently by someone else's inability to exercise courtesy, or read signs.

The Kilmartin Glen, in Argyll, is sheep and cattle country. Beautiful, lush, grazing. Sheep country brings with it some rules, particularly where it's also a tourist area where people go to see 'the monuments', and usually spend about 5 minutes per attraction as they whiz round. One rule is written on numerous signs: keep the dog on a very short leash.

Loose dogs in sheep country are bad news, especially when lambs are young. Even the best, well-mannered, thoroughly polite and charming city-bred dog is likely to react to sheep and lambs: either they're for herding, they're for play, or they're prey. Any of these reactions, for the sheep and the farmers, is really bad news.

On my last day in Kilmartin, having spent the day on foot on back roads and track, looking at the very substantial amount of interesting material that was to be found, I headed back for the environs of Kilmartin itself, the vicinity of the Temple Wood circles. I planned to visit the strange 'X' formation, the Nether Largie Standing Stones, across the side road from Temple Wood, and nearby the chambered cairn at Nether Largie South. I thought of doing some meditation at the stones. The chambered cairn was calling to me, had been calling since I arrived in the glen, but at this time I was resisting. I got a lift from Kilmartin to the Temple Wood turn-off, walked up the side road, went through the gate to the little lane between fields that led to the stone 'X', and once more read the notices: keep dogs on a short leash; this is sheep country. Along the lane, through another gate, and here was the stone formation. I walked around, camera handy, and then...

There was a dog. Bounding up to me, not sure whether to be friendly. A large, golden dog. (I'm not good at dog breeds, but it was lovely. Golden retriever?) 

At first I was merely irritated: can't the owners read? This isn't a local dog. Besides, how can I sit by the stones and meditate with a dog bouncing around? As the dog bounded closer, I took a deep breath and -- how do I explain this? -- became my fylgia. The dog stopped short, looked at me, whined slightly, and acted submissive. Fine, except that I had instantly become its pack leader. It then followed me, rather subdued and well behaved now, and keeping a little distance even when it got in the way, as I went around the stones, took my photos, gave up on the meditation plan, and wondered where the hel these owners were. Then the impact of the signs kicked in. This was a loose dog in sheep country. I could see no people. There did seem to be a car, down by the main road, down another little lane like the one I'd entered by, but no signs of people there.

So, OK, the responsibility for this dog was now on me. There was a farmhouse nearly, on the side-road that I'd come in from, opposite the little path to the chambered cairn. I started heading for there, managing on the way to shut the dog in the lane, where I could continue to see it as I headed for the farmhouse. Just before I reached the gate, a young man came out of it on a bicycle, I waved and he waved and stopped.

'Hello,' said I. 'I was down by the stones -- there's a loose dog there, and I can't find the owners. I was coming to let someone know.'

'A dog.' He said. (This wasn't a question.)

'A dog,' said I. 'And no sign of anyone. It's in the lane just now, I shut it in.'

'Right,' he said, 'Thanks!' and headed off on his bike. I in turn headed for the chambered cairn, and stood by it, watching the show.

He stopped at the lane, opened the gate and took firm hold of the dog's collar. At this point, some people finally materialised from the other direction: the owners, at last. He took the dog to them, and I could see the gestures even if I couldn't hear the words, pointing to the signs, pointing to the sheep. People and dog headed off.

I took some photographs of the outside of the cairn, put away the camera, stood a few minutes letting myself become one with the surroundings, the scenery, the landscape: then took a deep breath, and clambered down into the tomb...

Copyright © J Blain, 1999.
All rights reserved.

Saturday 5 December 2020

Gardening in the winter

There is something immensely pleasurable and satisfying about doing garden work in December. Probably because you can't do it every day as it's dependent on what is happening weather-wise, and even on a good-weather day there are few hours in which to do it - and it becomes a valued treat and is never a chore. 

Today after two days of snow and rain the garden was moist, muddy, but good to work in; so I dug a hole, then evicted a Mahonia with some attendant bulbs from one of last year's 'winter pots' and re-homed it at the back of the garden, as planned a year ago, cutting back the climbers in that area; the whiles being scolded by a blackbird who considered that whole area, probably rightly, hers. Then, I planted the last of this year's new bulbs into various areas, particularly the little 'woodland' bit that I've been developing this year. These were mostly wild hyacinths ('bluebells' if you're English) and some daffodils which promise to be very fine when they bloom in the spring. Then, a few remaining daffodil bulbs went into a pot, and I'll see in the spring where they might go into the ground. Finally, a little bit of pruning of a hydrangea, to prevent wind-rock, and a little more on roses...

I got a bit muddy, and enjoyed this just as much as when I was a child, a long time ago, digging holes in the garden of my parents' house!

My garden has a strange shape, because of the way that the 'new build' area, bordering on woodland, was developed in the 1990s. As a result, it's bigger than the standard 'new build' patch of ground, and so has what I think of as a 'secret' area, through an arch that I put in several years ago with the area through the archway not visible from the house. The arch has clematis and honeysuckle growing over it, or at least they're meant to grow over it although the honeysuckle has its own way of growing everywhere else! Bluetits and coal tits enjoy this secret area, and were flying into its trees and from there to the bird feeders in the 'main' part, during all the time I was working there.

After sunset, I walked around with a cup of coffee, looking at the plants which are still growing, still flowering, and those which give their winter flowers and scents. The Viburnum bodnantense scents the pathway through the garden leading to that secret area. Next year's buds are very visible on shrubs and trees. As the twilight deepens - it's pretty dark as I write this - I am rejoicing in my winter garden.

Sunday 21 June 2020

Walking the old railway line

The path, nearing the crossing with the North Dronley road.

Part of the route of the Dundee to Newtyle railway... 

    has been turned into a path for walkers, cyclists and horse-riders, and this is where I went walking this morning. 

The Old Meigle Rail Path runs from Rosemill to North Dronley (and there’s a further path on to Dronley Woods), and I joined it at a small carpark, part-way along the path, reached from the Dronley Road going north from Birkhill. From there, I walked towards North Dronley, though only as far as to where the path crosses the North Dronley road as the skies were darkinging, rain was threatening, and indeed it was a rather wet woman who returned to the carpark. But it’s a walk I’ll do again, going further next time; a walk through farmed fields, along a path lined with wildflowers, small shrubs and trees, hearing the sounds of summer, yellowhammers, blackbirds, blackcaps and other songsters and this day of Solstice.

(Technically, the moment of solstice was yesterday at 22.55; so last night was the ‘shortest night’ and both yesterday and today I'll think of as jointly the ‘longest days’. In point of fact it will be several days before the day becomes measurably or noticeably shorter… )

However: about half-way along my eye was caught by a particular yellow flower which was only vaguely familiar, and to the phone came out of my pocket. Next time, I’ll take more photos from the outset. The carpark itself had, unfortunately, some litter - why do people make litter in these places? - but from just a few yards along the path there was no more. I’ll put on field boots next time, though, rather than today’s walking sandals, as there’s need to avoid what’s left by the horses that clearly are ridden this way quite often. My sandals had to do quite a bit of side-stepping.

I had the path almost to myself today, though - there was one runner, and on the way back two cyclists, all of whom just kept going so that it was I who had to step into the grass at the side of the path - another reason for boots next time! They did, however, say ‘thank you’.

So, photos, starting with the plant which first caught my eye, and ending with a view of the path and a little piece of the birdsong.

John-(or Jack)-go-to-bed-at-noon, aka Goatsbeard,
 Meadow Salsify, and a few other things.
 I'm sure there must be a local Angus name for it...
Botanical name is Tragopogon pratensis.

Another image of the same flower.

Prickly Sow Thistle, Sonchus asper.

One which I do have to haul out of the garden,
though it’s really impossible to control it fully: 
Aegopodium podagraria.

Ox-eye daisies.
Common Hogweed, aka Cow Parsnip, with more Sow-thistle
 (and a few other things). Please don't ever confuse 
Common Hogweed (Heracleum sphondylium
with its much bigger nasty cousin!

At the entrance to a field... quite an assortment of things here,
including a Knapweed (not yet flowering), more Hogweed,
 Clover, grasses and the Trefoil.
(At least it looks like Birdsfoot Trefoil but I didn't look at the leaves,
and these are not clear enough in the photo. Could be Meadow Vetchling.)

And finally for the wildflowers, Nipplewort, Lapsana communis.
This seeds itself freely around, but it's not so often I see the flowers
as I spend a good bit of 'weeding' time hauling it from the
 garden. On a wildflower path, though, is where it belongs.
As I walked on, the most wonderful birdsong rose from the trees on the left of the path - the trees you can see in that first image at the top of the page. So here is a little of it:

On the way home, I picked up a loaf of bread and some sausages at Grewar’s Farm Shop. Lunch was good!

Monday 15 June 2020

George Kinloch, and his Dundee statue

Here in Dundee we have a problem. It relates to George Kinloch of Kinloch, known as ‘the Radical Laird’, reformer and briefly the first MP for Dundee. 

He was first politically involved with issues of the Dundee harbour, around 1814, though he may have expressed reformer sentiments from at least 1808. From there, he seems to have become increasingly political, with particular attention always to Dundee and to the developments of the mill-workers there, until his death in 1833.

He’s known for getting himself arraigned on a ‘sedition’ case - because he spoke at demonstrations, particularly one after the Peterloo debacle, and supported universal (i.e. at that time meaning male) suffrage. He escaped the so-called ‘justice’ which would have sent him to Botany Bay, taking refuge in France before he was enabled to return to Britain (only to hear of the death of one of his daughters). 

But eventually, after campaigns started to change the ways in which, well, some people thought about other people, he became elected in 1833, after the first Reform Act, as MP for the newly-formed constituency of Dundee, defeating his (also Whig) rival. His speech for his Dundee electors specified his opposition and hatred of slavery.  In 1872, long after his death and after long years of debate and opposition, a statue was erected to him in Albert Square, beside the Public Library, aka Albert Institute.

So, what’s the problem?  It lies in the family’s history: his father’s brother, John Kinloch, had become an owner of a plantation in Jamaica. Then John died, without a ‘legitimate’ heir of his body, though with several (four, I think) children of ‘mixed race’. So John’s heir was his brother, George Oliphant Kinloch, who arranged (remotely, from Scotland) for schooling for the children, and would be receiving reports from Jamaica about the plantation and its earnings. He signed at least one manumission document, but I don’t have any evidence for the context of this.  And then George Oliphant Kinloch also died. So what happened to the estate?

Well, it would be ‘in trust’ for the heir of George Oliphant Kinloch, whose first son was named John - and that son died in 1789: so George, the aforesaid reformer, second son and still a minor, became the ‘owner’ in name of the estate (and of course also of the Scottish estate of Kinloch, bought by his father from a cousin earlier, his father having sold another small Scottish estate in order to buy it… this is complicated…). Young George spent some time in France, in the early 1790s, and so learnt about the early, and idealistic, years of the French Revolution and the reasons for this. When he came of age (1796) and started to deal with the accounts for that Jamaican plantation, what did he think? We don’t know. He didn’t leave a memoir, and while there are some letters from him and to him, these date from a later time.

What we do know is that by 1804 the Jamaican estate, ‘Grange’,  had been sold, apparently to the person who had been in correspondence with George Oliphant Kinloch earlier.

So. Yes, George Kinloch of Kinloch, Scottish reformer, was for a few years in his 20s an owner of a Jamaican plantation worked by slaves. He may have ‘profited’ by the sale of the plantation. What he thought of it, we don’t know. What we do know is that at the time of his election as the first MP for Dundee, he professed a hatred of all slavery, and in particular of ‘negro slavery’; his phrasing of that time, not mine!

Please do not deface his statue!

Saturday 3 August 2019

Children of the Dundee Poor

I've been doing some more work on my family history, both here in Dundee and elsewhere in Scotland. And as it does relate somewhat to the landscape of Angus, I'll post here a piece I wrote several years ago on Thomas Lynch, his family, and his being 'farmed out' as a young child to Auchterhouse as an orphan child from Dundee. There is some new information that relates to this piece - particularly two elder siblings, Duncan born 1819 and John born 1821, in Port Glasgow, for whom I've both 'paper trails' and DNA evidence - but this is the original piece of writing from 2011.

I may add more later!

Seeking ancestors: Children of the Dundee Poor
© J Blain 2011

On a day in 1834 or early 35, four children were taken from Dundee to Auchterhouse in the Sidlaws. This was not a day trip for them: boarding out children was a way in which Dundee dealt with the problem of its orphaned poor. These four bore the Irish name of Lynch, still an unusual name at that time in Dundee. History has confused their origins; the father was Michael, or perhaps James, Lynch and the mother Margaret Haggart, or Haray, or Haughey. Perhaps, though it’s unlikely, they were even from two families not one. This is the story of the children, and it is also the story of their finding, based only in a mystery-man in my own family, a ‘Thomas Lynch’ for whom the only clues were in later census records giving a birth around 1831 in Dundee.

Death records, much later, of three of these children do exist. Thomas’s, five decades later in Glasgow, gives his parents as Michael Lynch, weaver, and Margaret McTaggart. Those of George and James, in Dundee, name the parents as James Lynch and Margaret Haggart, an interesting similarity of sound. James’s record says his father was a coal carter, likely resulting from confusion with James’s own occupation, while George’s death and marriage record show no occupation for his father. Perhaps, given the circumstances, nobody really knew.

But I am ahead of my tale. The children sent into the Angus countryside were James, aged around eleven in 1834 and possibly ‘boarded’ only very briefly before being placed in service on a farm or possibly placed directly into service, George, then around 6, Thomas, around 4, and a baby, Ann. Exactly when they went isn’t known. An entry in the Dundee Kirk Session minutes for 7thNovember 1834 states, ‘Messrs Fergusson & Kyd to attend to the case of Lynch family’, so that they were by then in care of the parish. Dundee death records show a Michael Linch, from Drogheda, dying from fever in the infirmary, buried in the Howff on 30th May 1834, though there is also a James Lynch, born in County Cavan, aged 40 dying of consumption in September 1835. There are records of baptism in St Andrew’s Roman Catholic Church, for James Linch, in 1823, son of Michael Linch and Margaret Harvy or Haray, and for Thomas Lynch, born in July 1830 but not baptised until January 1831, to Michael Lynch and Margaret Haghey. Alas, for childen named George and Ann no birth or baptism records are evident. 

What however makes these children traceable is that the 1820s were seeing only the beginning of Irish immigration to Dundee, so that the Lynch children are among the earliest Dundee births to families with Irish names. Consistently from the 1851 census onwards they appear as born in Dundee, and James, George and Thomas are shown in the 1841 census as born within Angus, though there is a small glitch for Ann in the 1841 census where she is said to have been born outside the county, though in Scotland, not Ireland.

Lists of the Dundee poor exist for some years in the 1830s, as small printed brochures, bound into volumes and available in the Dundee Central Library’s local history area, including sections on ‘The Board of Children’ for poor orphan children sent out with a sum paid for their keep. In these records, in 1835 and 36, George and Thomas are boarded, along with other children, with Andrew Scott in Bonnettown of Auchterhouse – today’s Bonnyton. Ann is there too, but in a different household, that of John Scott, with a monthly amount of fourteen shillings paid for her keep, whereas George and Thomas rate only the standard eight shillings. James is not boarded. By 1837, George has been ‘struck off the list or put to service during the year’, the standard phrase when children are no longer supported by Dundee parish, and Ann has been moved to the Dundee household of Robert Moncur in the Hawkhill, at the standard eight shilling rate. Only Thomas remains in Bonnettown of Auchterhouse. In 1838 and 1839 records Thomas is in Kirkton of Auchterhouse with a Mrs Chrichton, while Ann remains in the Hawkhill, and finally in 1841 census records Thomas is the oldest boarded child of several with grocer’s widow Charlotte Chrichton and her daughter Betsy, and Ann remains in Dundee with Robert Moncur.

In 1841, also, a James Lynch reappears as a farm servant at Carlungie in Monikie parish, and George is in Tealing, a male servant aged approximately 13 on a farm run by David Bell. Two younger boys there are identified as ‘orphans’, presumably boarded. Ten years later in the 1851 census – still clearly identifiable by that ‘Dundee’ birth – James is in Dundee, and married, George in Panbride, both farm labourers. Thomas is now also an agricultural labourer, in Westmuir by Kirriemuir, and married to Euphemia Low, a weaver there.

It isn’t clear when these children were sent out to the countryside, and even whether they all arrived at one time. The Lists of Poor in Dundee for 1833-4 have no mention of them, tallying with the 1834 Kirk Session minute that puts two elders in charge of the Lynch family ‘case’. How directly the children were taken to Auchterhouse isn't given, so that we know only that they arrived there before the end of the year of 1st February 1834 to 25th February 1835. They might have been housed in Dundee for a while before being taken to Auchterhouse. The appearance of James as a farm labourer, though, suggests that he too was ‘farmed out’, arriving in 1835 if not the year before.

But what did happen to these four children, traceable through censuses and records of marriages, subsequent births, and deaths? James married Margaret Laing in 1850, and moved into Dundee before 1861, becoming a market gardener in Blackscroft, then a carter of coals and seemingly developing a small business in this trade. His children included Anne, Helen, Robert, James, George and Margaret, with Robert and Helen named for his wife’s parents. He eventually declined in health and became an inmate in Dundee’s West Poor House poor house, dying there of cardiac failure in 1904 aged in his 80s. Margaret Laing had predeceased him.

George, now a ploughman at Claypots, married Agnes Osler, a domestic servant in West Ferry, born in Murroes, in 1857 and in 1861 they are living in Cotton Road in Dundee with George a ploughman, later moving to 3 Crescent Street. They had children Margaret, Alexander and William, but George is not in the household with Agnes and the children in the 1871 and 1881 censuses. He may have been on a ship, having changed his occupation, as there is a George Lynch in the 1881 census on the Dundee ship Beryl, then in Aarhus harbour, with occupation ‘fireman’ which would be stoker. George died in 1890, at 3 Crescent Street, survived by his widow Agnes, the death reported by his son Alexander.

Ann, the youngest, had a somewhat different set of experiences. In 1851 she was a general servant in the household of brewer Thomas Kerr and his sisters Margaret and Mary, in the Hawkhill, along with three apprentices, a clerk and a drayman. However by 1861 she was lodging with embroideress Jean Christie in the Nethergate, her occupation given as servant, and with an infant daughter Mary. The child’s birth was recorded in 1860 as ‘illegitimate’ with her name given as Marian Jane Paterson Lynch, leading to speculation that the father’s name may have been Paterson. Ann then disappears from records, with no death or marriage found – but Mary is in the 1871 and 1881 censuses, at 3 Crescent Street, as ‘niece’ in the household of Agnes Osler or Lynch. 

Then Mary, too, disappears from records, possibly marrying or emigrating.

Thomas’s tale is the most complex and leads beyond the scope of this article. He married Euphemia Low in 1850, but though a child, James, was born in Kirriemuir in 1851, the marriage did not last. (Euphemia Low outlived the Lynch brothers, dying in Kirriemuir in 1818.) Thomas left her in the early 1850s, and reappeared in Glasgow records in 1868. His story therefore leads elsewhere, as does that of the infant James who would eventually become a farmer in Colorado – tales for another day.

But the question remains: Why were the four Lynch children sent out, in 1834 or 35, to the Angus countryside?  Dundee had an association which gave care to orphans (funds always permitting), a charity developed from 1815, opening its orphanage in 1821, supported by subscription, collection and in particular by bequests. But the efforts of the charity were aimed at the ‘industrious poor’ and several specific records suggest that a child’s admission to the Dundee Orphans Institution was dependant also on their father being ‘of the parish’, presumably of the ‘right’ religion rather than only living there, on the children’s perceived ‘fitness’ or ability to benefit, on an initial petition with recommendations by two notable people of the town, and also on their state of health. There are implicit social class assumptions here – and possibly of ethnicity, as very few children of Irish names appear in the ledger, excepting a James Keough and a Rose Ann Lynch admitted in 1857 and 61. The births of James and Thomas Lynch are recorded in the Catholic register, but Thomas’s baptism is a whole six months after his birth, and records of baptisms of George and Ann were apparently not made or have not survived. Did these children qualify neither for the Orphans Institution nor for provision from the growing Catholic community?

Apparently not – so they became a charge on the parish, and were sent to the countryside, with (unlike many children of the orphanage) no possibilities of apprenticeship to a trade.

The pursuit of family history can involve many types of records, not only the most obvious ones of the censuses, and births, marriages and deaths. This article – and the discovery of the four Lynch children – was made possible by the lists of Dundee poor. In these lists, details are sparse. The ledger of pupils of the Dundee Orphan Institution (vol2, 1821-1892) is rich and detailed, a wonderful resource for family historians and for all those interested in the story of Dundee, giving details of parents’ names, occupations, even places of birth, names of those recommending children to the Charity, and notes on how children came to leave, apprenticeships or wages paid. From comments we know that Margaret Ann Dickson ‘Went to learn to be a tailoress with J S Smith Reform Street’, that Catherine Adam ‘Went out to America with her Aunt’, that Thomas Kermoth was ‘Engaged to Messrs Paxton & Sinclair, Coffee & Tea dealers 7 Reform St for 3 years’ and even what happened to this child after that period. But these children’s fathers’ trades were jeweller, engraver, shipmaster, wright, with only an occasional labourer, such as the father of Rose Ann Lynch admitted in 1861. For the children of the immigrant Irish, in these early years, the orphanage does not seem to have been an option. For children who developed some sort of problem, the orphanage committee requested that the Kirk Session ‘relieve them’ of the child – as in the case of Alexander Scott who developed ringworm.

The Lynch children clearly did not qualify and so, alas, their records are sparse. Family historians often search for ‘facts’ perceived as ‘truth’. But truths are what people make them. Even in the ‘factual’ records there is room for dispute and there are problems in searching: for instance, the burial record for Michael Linch, in the Howff on 30thMay 1834, is recorded in the online Howff burials as on 30thJune, and was indexed in the Scotland’s People website as Michael Smith, so that finding him required some effort and some lateral thinking. The death records for James, George and Thomas – giving different names for the father – may indicate that none of them have good information, or might still indicate that Thomas wasn’t related to the others. And records don’t hold the full story. There is need for imagination to interpret the records, to fill in the gaps – in the knowledge that we may never really ‘know’ much about our forebears, and that the speculation of uncertainty, while informed by history, remains with us.

Useful resources:
Lists of Poor in Dundee available at the Family History Centre, Dundee Central Library, Wellgate
Dundee Kirk session minutes, viewed at Dundee City Archives
Minute Books of the Dundee Orphans Institution, ditto
The Dundee Orphan Institution Pupils Ledger, 1821-92 ditto
Old Parochial Records, available from Scotland’s People at as scans, and from film reels available to view at Tay Valley Family History Society and at Dundee Central Library
Statutory Records, available from Scotland’s People at
Census records, available from Scotland’s People and from microfilm at Tay Valley and at Dundee Central Library, and via transcriptions on the website
Burial records for the Howff burial ground, Dundee, available from Scotland’s People, accessed also through the online material at and from microfilm at Tay Valley and at Dundee Central Library

Tuesday 2 July 2019

Silly quiz - regnal names in Britain

I haven’t posted here for far too long...

So (given the media's continuing insistence on 'royals') here’s a bit of fun, a rather silly quiz for any readers. It’s about ‘regnal’ names and numbers. Three questions;
  1. Given that since the Union of the Crowns,1603, Scotland and England have shared a monarch, how many monarchs since that time would have the same ‘regnal number’ in both countries, who share names of previous monarchs? (naming, please)

  2. Since the Union of the Crowns, how many names of monarchs did not occur previously as names of rulers in either country (in other words, they’re strictly post -Union names)? And what were these names? There are only a very few… 

  3. And, what names of monarchs are found only in Scotland or only in England before the Union of the Crowns? (Please, take this from around the year 1000, or there would be far too many…)
Any answers? - you can post here, or on my FB status to which I'll forward this.