I’d like to introduce…

Edward George "Ted" Turner

Edward George Turner, known affectionately to his family and friends as Ted, was a kind hearted, gregarious, right jolly English gent, loved by all who knew him. He was born on the 27th of June 1911 at Blake Cottage, Horn Street in Winslow, Buckinghamshire, where his father was employed as head groom to Mr Gosling of Blake House.

And His Lovely Wife…

phyllis

Miss Phyllis Mary Collins, daughter of William Collins, publican of the George Inn in Winslow, which is where Ted met her one fateful day in the 1930s

Sentimental Sunday: Why Everyone Should Keep a Journal

By Claire, on February 3rd, 2014
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I’m taking a Journaling Your Life e-course, which has been all kinds of wonderful even though it only started a week ago. In preparation, I spent a few days digging through boxes, dusty bookshelves, and dark closets, on a quest to find every begun-then-abandoned journal I own, and there are a LOT….. but, back to the point,

tucked inside an old, cast-off (about 75% abandoned ) journal, was a folded bit of teal paper covered in my handwriting. It was dated June 22, 1996 and began with:

“stories from Aunty Helen and Aunty Jeannette…”

I have to say, I have absolutely no memory of this particular conversation with two of my Great Aunts (siblings in my Grandfather’s family of 14 children), and no recollection of having ever heard these stories. And for that, I’m grateful beyond belief that June 1996 was among the few, brief periods when I was (…more)

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2 comments   American, I Really Like This...., Stories & Lore   , , ,  

In the beginning

By Claire, on October 16th, 2010
Jean turner 1938

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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