For me, as I suspect for many, the tracing of my roots began simply,with a curiosity to know where I came from and a conversation with an older relative. I was 13. A few hastily scribbled notes based on family remembrance may or may not have proven to be accurate, but at least it was a start.
Although my English grandparents lived a continent away and I saw them only once every year or so, they seem to have found my interest in the past somewhat entertaining, and were always willing to share another story, or dig out an old photograph or two. Summer visits would invariably include a trek out to an old cemetary or, if I was really lucky, I could persuade Granddad to walk over to Delapre Abby and sit with me for an hour or two while I pored over old documents in the records office.
I took my (…more)
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