I’m dreaming of an old Christmas – just like the ones they used to know

For those of you who do Christmas, you’re unlikely to have missed this weekend’s diary fixture.

I’ve seen a lot of new (to me) photos in the last few months, and yet there’s very few that cover Christmas. I was wondering whether my family is unusual in this, in that Christmas time hasn’t been a time of year that the camera comes out.

I’ve found a few photos that I wanted to share – all showing my paternal family, and most showing at least one of those Grandparents in about the 1960s.

The first three photos, all black and white, capture a more playful side of my Grandparents, a side that in the brief time I knew them, I’d not really knowingly experienced as I was probably just too little to realise.

Percy Martin wearing a Christmas hat
Percy Martin wearing a Christmas hat. Photo: Andrew Martin

I’m not sure whose house this photo was taken in, but there’s a tiny glimpse of the tree over on the right, and the obligatory bowl of nuts just over his shoulder. And that TV… wow! Might need a special adaptor for the Playstation.

I love this next photo – it’s clearly an act of two halves…

Edna drinking tea with her friend. Photo: Andrew Martin
My grandmother Edna (right) drinking tea with her friend. Photo: Andrew Martin

but then…

Teacups down, and the real drinks come out.
Teacups down, and the real drinks come out. Photo: Andrew Martin

Again, I’ve no idea whose house this is, or whether they’re from the same Christmas as the first photo above, but they capture a playful side of my grandparents wonderfully.

The next two photos show my now late uncle in the family home, and the other shows my aunt, and were taken at the same event just moments apart, and probably from the same spot.

My uncle Norman (seated right) and cousins, all wearing unusual Christmas hats. Photo: Andrew Martin
My uncle Norman (seated right) and cousins, all wearing unusual Christmas hats. Photo: Andrew Martin
My aunt Beryl (seated right) wearing a somewhat bag-like Christmas hat. Photo: Andrew Martin.
My aunt Beryl (seated right) wearing a somewhat bag-like Christmas hat. Photo: Andrew Martin.

Interestingly, I have all three of the framed photos seen on the walls in these two photos.

I love spotting photos within photos and always rush to get the magnifying glass out when I spot them on the wall, to see whether I have already found them.. or whether they are tantalising glimpses of photos that might be out there in the family somewhere.

In this instance, there’s two of my father when he was a small child (I’ve got them still in those frames) and the other is of my Great Grandfather Herbert Martin who was killed in a train accident France on his way home from WWI.

I love this window into late 50’s/60’s style, and it’s fun to see relatives in a more casual mood – those weird looking Christmas paper hats make me chuckle a lot.

Oh, here’s one more, this time of my other uncle, but whether he’s on the tea because this is the morning after, or whether it’s because he was a Policeman and had to go on duty.. I’ve no idea.

My uncle Barrie with tea and another stupid hat. Photo: Andrew Martin
My uncle Barrie with tea and another stupid hat. Photo: Andrew Martin

Speaking of style and weird hats, it brings me to the time for me to close this little blog post, with my own ‘style’ and stupid hat, via a photo taken just minutes ago.

Have a lovely Christmas time, and thanks so much for reading this blog through 2016, and for your support and kind words during what’s been a tough 12 months.

May your 2017 be full of broken brick walls, and lofty new branches that are easily climbed.

Andrew

Andrew Martin beside his Christmas tree. Photo: Andrew Martin
Have a great Christmas. Photo: Andrew Martin

 

My Grandmother’s Century

In the midst of the First World War, on 11th November 1916, my Great Grandparents Alfred Newman and his wife Clara (née Gilbert) became parents again for the fifth time. This time they welcomed another daughter – Edna – my Grandmother, to their little Ely family.

Today, in 2016, marks what would have been her 100th birthday.

2016 has been a hard year, although I’m sure that 1916 was harder. However, partly as a result of the four family funerals I’ve attended so far this year, I’ve found myself in what was once her family home, and for the first time seeing the mass of photographs, keep-sake tins of bits and bobs, letters, a passport, and other ephemera.

My grandmother would certainly know hard times too – witnessing her older brother Wilfred being sent home to die in 1929 after exhaustive treatment in hospital for septicemia and tuberculosis when he was just 16yrs old, and hearing the news that her little brother Owen had died on a Japanese hospital ship after it was struck by a torpedo off Singapore. There would be more.

In particular, these photographs are letting me see my grandmother for the first time in her younger years. So far, the youngest photo I have found of her is when she was bridesmaid for her older sister Phyllis, and she stands beside her, and their brother, in 1935. This is my grandmother at 18/19yrs old – just a teenager – but to me, she’s unmistakeable.

Phyllis Newman and Sidney Fitch wedding group in Ely, 1935.
Phyllis Newman and Sidney Fitch at their wedding in Ely, 1935. My grandmother is second from right, with their brother Leslie Newman on the far right. Photo: Andrew Martin.

Within two years she would walk down the aisle with my grandfather Percy Martin, although perhaps somewhat hurriedly, as my uncle was born just 6 months later.

Their family grew in Little Downham, a village near Ely, but it wasn’t without difficulties.

Until a fortnight ago, as I had watched her oldest son’s (my uncle’s) coffin be lowered into his grave, and eventually turned to walk away, my mother tells me that this uncle was not the first to be buried there. This confuses me, but she relays the snippets of information that my aunt has told her and my father over the phone just days beforehand. There was another sibling – Malcolm – who my aunt (being his sister) believes is buried somewhere there too.

Edna and Percy, my grandparents in happier times. Probably Hunstanton during the 1950s.
Edna and Percy, my grandparents in happier times. Probably Hunstanton during the 1950s. Photo: Andrew Martin.

It was a shock. I thought I knew all my aunts and uncles, how had I never known about this one, and how had I not just spotted it anyway in the records? So I’ve set myself the challenge of identifying his burial plot. That’s in progress, and will need my detective work to find the cemetery plot map.

The next day, I searched through the birth and death indexes at freebmd, and sure enough, baby Malcolm Paul Martin was there. His birth in a neighbouring county hospital, his death in the hospital at the city of Cambridge – away from where the family’s other children had been born, and far outside of where I’d suspect him – if I’d ever suspected there was another child to find!

The sadness of spring 1958 was revealed.

This must have been so very hard on my grandparents, with my grandmother, now in her early 40s, giving birth prematurely to her final child. He hardly stood a chance – not just because he was premature (there’s no indication of by how much), but he would have been struggling to feed and grow strong due to having a cleft lip, and his weakness meant he stood no chance against the pneumonia. He was just 2 weeks old. My father hardly recalls him (as he was only young himself), my aunt remembers only a little more. My uncles never said a thing.

After the breakdown of her marriage to my grandfather in the early 1970s, she remained living with my uncle, and was already a doting grandmother to my aunt’s children, but clearly missed them dearly as they were based in the USA. As my sister, my UK-based cousins, and I came along, she proved to be just as doting to us.

I remember staying with her and my uncle on a few school holidays and playing with the kids next-door. I remember where my grandmother kept the sweets (in plain paper bags on the tray on the sideboard) which caused me to develop my light-footedness in aid of the liberation of countless aniseed balls.

Edna with Claire and Andrew, circa 1984.
Edna with my sister and I, c.1984. Seems the Christmas excitement turned me into a demonic child that year. Photo: Andrew Martin

I remember (and still have) a couple of the Christmas toys she saved up to buy me in my childhood – and I found a letter just last week whilst clearing my uncle’s house, where my mother is explaining to her what the toy was that she’d paid for in 1983. That was quite a lovely little find.

My parting memory of her is sleeping in a hospital bed. The same hospital where she’d had Malcolm almost 40 years earlier. I didn’t understand what was happening as an 8yr old in 1986, but my memories can take me right back there in an instant.

I wish we’d known each other for so much longer, but I cherish the memories of the time we shared.

Happy 100th Birthday, Grandma.

Mother’s Day 2013

It’s Mother’s Day today in the UK – here’s a photographic gallery of my female ancestors.

Today is Mothering Sunday here in the UK, so what better way to mark it than to share a gallery of photos of my female ancestors.

The photographs show both my paternal and maternal direct-line of mothers, reaching from my mother to my Great Great Great Grandmother (Ann Bowers) on my maternal line, and from my father’s mother to my Great Great Great Great Grandmother (Avis Tall) on my paternal line.

Click on any of the photos below to see a larger version, and to view them as a slideshow.

Happy Mother’s Day!

My Maternal branch of Mothers

My Paternal branch of Mothers