Marriage Certificates can pinpoint Family-Secrets.

I discovered from my parents' marriage certificate that this was not my mother's first. It also was not my father's.

A new name has been brought into my family-tree from the certificate details. In column 4 titled 'Condition' I'm informed that Dad was 'The divorced husband of Alice Victoria Leagas'. This was a surprise – the third from one piece of paper.

Research confirmed his marriage to Alice was in October 1926, twenty-four years earlier than his second. I'm assuming there wasn't a third: well I haven't found another one yet.

There was a question that needed to be asked: could there be any children from the marriage?

The answer – Yes.

It took some lateral thinking to find them, but I have Birth Certificates which confirm Fred and Alice had two daughters; Eileen in August 1927 and Barbara in April 1929.

I've discovered that I have two half-sisters! Two living-secrets kept from me, and my brother when he was alive. Thanks Dad.

Of course I have to wonder whether Eileen and Barbara know their father had two sons some twenty years after them. Would they want to know? Would their parents have wanted them to know?

I've confirmed that my new-found-siblings have married, and now I need to investigate further to determine whether I have any other living half-relatives.

For the forty-five years, since my brother died, I believed that I was my father's sole living child: another illusion shattered.

 © Elliot Sampford 2014

Short-Version Birth Certificates hide the truth.

The copies of the birth and marriage certificates I'd ordered (I mentioned it to you a couple of weeks ago) from the General Register Office arrived and confirmed my suspicions about family-skeletons.

No laughing at my middle name!

I can only remember having a short-version (rectangular and only contains the child's details) birth certificate; rather than the usual full-version (oblong and contains the child's and parent's details); to record my entry into the world.

I believe the same applied for my older brother. I have to make this assumption because when I became custodian of the family's records, on the death of my mother, strangely there were no copies of birth or marriage certificates to confirm our history from the 1940's.

During my early childhood I was led to believe we were a typical 1950's family of husband, wife and their children. It was unusual during that era for unmarried couples to live together and even more for them to have children before marriage. Not in our family!

I now have an unabridged version of my certificate which shows the ('Name, surname and maiden surname of mother') details of my mother as 'Doris Edith Sampford otherwise Boath formerly Longman'. So that's what I wasn't supposed to see. On my brother's full-version certificate, acquired with mine, the words 'Sampford otherwise' weren't included. The term 'otherwise' seems more polite than 'alias'. Who was this man named Boath?

A similar compilation of the term was used, twenty-two months later, on my parent's marriage certificate, with the names Sampford and Boath being transposed. I also now have a christian name: who was Ronald Boath?

My mother and father, even after they separated a few years later, were good at keeping secrets; so were my one-time-pious, maternal grandparents; when they were alive. Perhaps they should have considered that truth will out at sometime. Perhaps they did and thought that as long as it was hidden until after they were dead it didn't matter.

I accept that in the 1950's and 1960's there were 'taboo' subjects which were not discussed in families between adults and children. But, who benefited from the reality of the situation being covered up, not talked about, not acknowledged? Who, and what, has suffered as a result of the conspiracy of silence?

The exhumation of this particular skeleton hasn't made any difference to what I believe about myself. It hasn't made any difference to the way I feel about my parents: my opinion was developed by their actions over time. What it has helped to explain more fully is why the four, and then three, of us, as a family group, were treated as the 'Black Sheep' by our middle-class Longman relatives. However, on an individual basis, I did not find this the situation with three of my childless Great-Aunts.

Do I regret seeking out the truth, hidden by the short-version birth certificate, as part of my family history research – No! This is just the beginning: there are at least two more bodies to be confirmed.

 © Elliot Sampford 2014

Lost Friend Found.

During the morning of Sunday 9th February 2014 I answered a telephone call and heard “Hello Elliot it's Phil Barling”.

That's nothing special you are possibly thinking – but it is. It was over forty years ago that I last spoke to him.

He and I were friends at our secondary school and after I moved to Stelling Minnis in Kent, his home village, in 1964 our friendship grew stronger. I enlisted into the army in October 1967. I think I last saw him in early 1968. I've often wondered what he might have been doing since I left.

In the summer of 2010 I made a return trip to the area to see if he was still living in the bungalow next to the local shop. The only information I obtained – wrong as it now turns out – was that he had moved to Folkestone, my early childhood town. I used the internet to try to locate him. I Googled his name along with 'Folkestone' – but no joy. I tried 'friendsreunited.co.uk', in particular our old school of Brockhill in Saltwood, Kent – but no joy.

In November 2013 I came across the Stelling Minnis Village Website and the Parish Magazine. I wrote to the Editor in the hope that through the website or the magazine I might obtain details of Phil's whereabouts. My letter, entitled 'Can you help' was published in the January 2014 issue.

On the 20th January I received an email from a lady called Evelyn Simpson: “Have you managed to track down Phil Barling? I used to play with Phil’s sister, Jill in the mid 60’s, and I may be able to track his whereabouts through her daughter.” I confirmed I needed her help.

On the 30th January, Evelyn wrote to me again giving me Phil's email address, which she had obtained from his niece.

I wrote to him on the 1st February: “...I thought it could be good to be in contact and reminisce about those times [our teenage years up to October 1967] and what our lives have been since then. I started to draft a long email about my past but decided I wouldn't send it, at this time, because you may not be interested. It would be good to hear from you, but can understand if you choose not to reply.”

One week passed and I hadn't received a reply. I began to assume that as I had been the one to break up our friendship he didn't want to get back in contact.

His telephone call on Sunday 9th February proved me wrong. It was fantastic to speak to him. We chatted for forty minutes as if it had only been forty weeks – not forty years – since we'd talked. It won't be the last time.

I've already expressed my thanks direct to Nick Smith of the Stelling Minnis Parish Magazine, and the good-hearted Evelyn Simpson. However, I want to thank them publicly; for without their assistance I would still be searching for a long-lost friend.

© Elliot Sampford 2014

Sainsbury's Spring Onions past their best.

My wife was preparing our lunch-time salad today when she asked me where I thought the spring onions, that we purchased from Sainsbury's in Lincoln yesterday (31st January 2014) were grown.

I'm not good at guessing games so need-less-to-say I got it wrong.

As you can see from the photograph of the label; attached to the 'spring onions bunch' as defined on our receipt issued at 10:35 hrs. on the 31st January 2014; they had been grown in Egypt.

I would now like to draw your attention to the 'Best Before' date on the label. I don't know about you, but when I'm picking one bunch of – what I thought were fresh – spring onions from an almost full box of the product I don't expect to have to check the BB date.

Why were Sainsbury's in Lincoln selling supposedly 'fresh and versatile' produce after its BB date, without warning its customers, at the normal price of £0.75 per bunch. I know it is not an 'Eat By' date but there is a principle here: isn't there? What do you think?

My Family's History revisited.

Me with my Grandparents (Longman)

 It has been seven years since I last undertook any meaningful research into my family's history.

I stopped because we moved to Spain and the postal service there was not to be trusted to deliver mail, even though it had been correctly addressed. I was concerned that any copies of birth, marriage and death certificates that I needed to order from the General Register Office, in the United Kingdom, would disappear; either into someone's pocket for illegal purposes of identity fraud; or delivered to the wrong post box; or into another time dimension and universe.

Now as a resident back in the UK; I believe I can rely on the Royal Mail; I have the opportunity to visit archives when needed; the hunt has been brought out of hibernation.

The subscription to a well-known research website has been renewed; a family-tree software program has been purchased and installed on my laptop computer; a revision of my previous research has been carried out; a small batch of certificates of b.m.d. have been ordered from the GRO and should arrive in the next few days.

I hope when the copies of the certificates arrive the information shown confirms my research: and suspicions that I have found a couple of those 'family-skeletons' that my predecessors didn't talk about.

 I try to restrict the amount of time I spend on research but it is so easy to loose track of time when following up a lead to a possible new branch of the family-tree.

 I hope to be able to keep you up-to-date with my progress. Perhaps your ancestors might be linked to mine. Do these surnames mean anything to you; Sampford, Longman, Robins, Daley, Ruffell and Arkley: did you have relatives living in Walthamstow, West Ham, Whitechapel, Hackney, Bishops Stortford, Takeley or Epping from 1800 onwards?

© Elliot Sampford 2014

Fog, Frost and Spider

© Elliot Sampford 2014

The fog, frost and spider trio created this winter wonder of nature on the shrub by my front door.


© Elliot Sampford 2014

Sainsbury's Overcharged by 76%.

On Friday 3rd January 2014 we (my wife, Natalie, and myself) were overcharged by seventy-six percent on two items purchased in Sainsbury's Lincoln supermarket.

During our weekly shop at the store we were enticed to purchase a 750 ml container of 'Cif Bathroom' at the special offer price of £1.50, a reduction from the usual cost of £2.65.

 

There were only two spray bottles left on the shelf so we took both. It is a product we regularly use as it does its job well (Unilever please note).

Before we leave the car-park, I always check the receipt for our shopping to make sure we have received the multi-purchase discounts; 'Any two for £5.00; Buy one get one free; Mix and Match 3 for £10.00; you know the types I mean. Sometimes my wife gets annoyed with me for taking too long to check whilst sitting in the car: you don't get the opportunity or time at the check-out to verify the amount you've been charged is correct.

It didn't take me long to realise that we had been charged the normal price for the two bathroom sprays – to be honest they were the third and fourth items on the list – not the specially reduced price. We had been overcharged by £1.15 per item, £2.30 in total.

It was too great an error to ignore. If it had been £0.23 then possibly I wouldn't have bothered getting out of the car, back into the inclement weather, to return to the store.

We explained our dilemma to the nice, very nice, lady manning – can you say that or is it non-politically correct or sexually discriminative; should it be serving at – the customer services counter. On her return from the exploratory walk around the supermarket to verify our claim we were reimbursed in cash with the amount of the overcharge. I offered to have it refunded to the card account that I had used to pay for our shopping, but was informed it was just as easy to be given cash. This must be a new form of the 'Cash Back' service.

What is the point I am trying to make, as I received a refund – you may be asking.

Well, the scenario is this. After we took the last two 'Cif Bathroom' sprays from the shelve there were two empty display boxes left. Assuming there were originally twelve items in each pack that means that the customers who purchased the twenty-two items before us in Lincoln would probably have been overcharged. I assume this because if the error had been reported, before we brought it to the company's attention, then the incorrect price on the Sainsbury's central stock-computer-system would have surely been altered. Continuing with my thesis; the error probably occurred at every one of Sainsbury's supermarket check-outs throughout the UK when a purchase of this price-reduced-product was made; the customers thinking they were benefiting from a considerable cost saving.

Assuming Lincoln was not the only location where this deal was available; I find it difficult to believe that we were the only Sainsbury's shoppers in the UK who purchased 'Cif Bathroom' during this time, and were overcharged, to notice and report this problem. If we were shame on the rest of you, wherever you are. If the company had been made aware of the overcharging, before we reached the check-out, why was the normal price still being used?

In addition; what quantity of the item was sold at the non-special offer rate? What extra profit will Sainsbury's have made?

Was this an isolated error, do you think, or have you dear reader experienced a similar problem?

© Elliot Sampford 2013

Greedy Private Landlords.

My Wife and I own houses that we offer for rental. Because of this, we are classed by many of those who consider themselves, in various degrees, as socialists, as 'greedy private landlords'.

All too often, possibly every time, when the question of tenancy of rented housing is discussed, or written about, the cliché 'greedy private landlords' will be quoted.

Why are we labelled as being 'greedy' – by people who know nothing about us – because we invested our hard earned and saved; by forgoing purchasing unnecessary luxuries; money into property that we rent-out for our pension income?

If we had used our money to purchase an annuity to provide us with a retirement income, and in turn given an assurance company profit, would we be considered as greedy?

If we only receive our state pension, because we didn't plan for additional private revenue, and have to claim pension credits and other social benefit payments, paid for by other people's taxes, so we can survive, would we be considered 'greedy'?

Are there different classifications of private-landlords or are we all just one group of greedy investors in property?

What about people who invest in buying their own home, with the hopes that it will increase in value, so that they can sell it at a profit when they downsize, after the family has left, and supplement their pension: are private-home investors greedy?

© Elliot Sampford 2013

Obnoxious Odours.

Last Friday morning I was in the checkout queue, in a major supermarket, when I nearly collapsed.

It wasn't because I had over exerted myself loading my purchases from the shopping-trolley to the conveyor belt. It wasn't because of an anxiety attack thinking about the total cost of the items.

The cause of my possible transition to a comatose state was – and there is no polite way of explaining my dilemma – the unbearable stench from the person, alongside me, in the queue running parallel with the one I was in.

The obnoxious smog of fumes; stale nicotine from clothing and yellowed skin; fermenting waste alcohol spilt on clothes and on exhaled breath; and bacterial body odour; was emanating from the offending obese shopper. The cloud was enveloping, smothering me. I was beginning to appreciate what it would have been like in a gas attack whilst in the trenches.

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I was having difficulty breathing. My stomach was considering returning my breakfast to me. My legs were giving way, I held onto the counter. Claustrophobia began to control me. I looked to my wife, who was the other end of our trundler, for help. But, all she could offer was a skyward glance with raised eyebrows, a wrinkled forehead, and the pinching of her nostril as a physical suggestion of action I could take.

There was no possible escape route. I was trapped between the emptied cart of the customer ahead of me, and my half-emptied one waiting for me to put the final items on the slowly-moving rubber belt. It wasn't possible to reverse away from the checkout, and abandon the shopping, to fend for itself, as other shoppers, and their accompanying wire-mesh wheelbarrows, had joined the one-way exit system. The front wheels of the trolley behind Natalie were already snapping at her heals. Any escape route between the two adjacent queues was blocked by the tangled traffic jam of bodies and carts.

The monster from the cesspit didn't have too much shopping ahead of it and luckily for me started to move towards the cash register. The cashier must have detected the pungency of the danger heading towards her. Perhaps she had experienced it before. She moved her seat back as far away from the check-out scanner as possible and leant back to give added safety distance.

Although there was a degree of forward movement in my queue I didn't move. My lungs detected an increase in the level of oxygen available, as the abhorrent fog followed it's source, and allowed me to take a near-normal breath. My legs regained their stability. My breakfast remained where it was. I was able to complete the emptying of my trolley. I waited for the dark mass to move away with its packed and paid-for shopping before following my groceries to our bagging area.

I took the opportunity to glance towards the main exit aisle and I'm sure I could see shoppers moving to the left and right to offer a clear central path to allow the moving pollutant haze and owner to depart unhindered.

How can any human being be oblivious to the fact that they are dispensing a repellent smell? Or are they aware but don't care?

Have you experienced a similar incident? What did you do: did you say anything to the person? Is there a tactful way of telling someone they are giving off an obnoxious odour?

©ElliotSampford2013

Home Grown Organic Oranges

Today I picked the last nine oranges, of this season, from the little tree in our rear patio area. We've had a total of twenty-nine fruits this year: the heaviest of them was 17.6 ounces. The juice we get from them is bounteous, smooth and sweet.